Unexpected Upheaval

The next morning, before leaving for the company, Bi Qingtang said to Tan Yang, “Little sister, don’t rush to find a job. Take a year or so to rest at home first.” Tan Yang smiled at him, neither agreeing nor refusing. As soon as Bi Qingtang left, Tan Yang took the reference letter written for her by Mr. Seidler and headed to the renowned Western hospital in Shanghai—Paulownia Hospital, founded by Germans in the early days of Shanghai’s opening.

Thanks to Seidler’s reputation in the medical field, the German director of Paulownia Hospital spoke highly of his student, Tan Yang, praising her and expressing that the hospital was in urgent need of a pediatrician. He hoped she could start work as soon as possible.

On the day they attended the dance at Fang Ya’s house, Bi Qingtang was delayed by business and arrived late. As he entered the hall, he saw Tan Yang standing with her back to the door, surrounded by several ladies engaged in lively conversation. She wore a lake-blue taffeta gown, cut to fit her figure from bodice to waist, then flaring out just below the hips, exuding an elegant nobility reminiscent of a narcissus. The sleeveless dress bared her shoulders, a bow perched on her right shoulder, its ribbons cascading down. The fabric gently gathered at the back to form a deep V, revealing the curve of her back. Her hair, loosely tied with blue silk, draped over her left shoulder, the glossy black setting off the smoothness of her exposed back in a way that was breathtaking and evocative.

Bi Qingtang lingered in the doorway for a moment. Another gentleman, also late, paused beside him, casting an admiring glance at Tan Yang. Jealousy quickly clouded Bi Qingtang’s pride, turning it to anger. He strode forward and called out, “Tan Yang!”—always using her full name in public. Tan Yang turned with a smile, and the other ladies looked over. Bi Qingtang nodded curtly in greeting, then stood his ground, making no move. Seeing this, Tan Yang walked over to him herself.

“Why are you so late? Sister Fang Ya has been looking for you everywhere!” she said gently, half-reproachful. Bi Qingtang frowned, scrutinizing her. “Why are you dressed like this? What’s wrong with a cheongsam? Is this what you learned overseas?” His questions left Tan Yang bewildered, and seeing her unfazed only stoked his anger further, making his face darken. “Go! Change into something decent and come back!” he barked. Tan Yang raised her head, meeting his gaze stubbornly. He added, harsher still, “Go on!”

At once, Bi Qingtang realized his voice had grown too loud. The people nearby had pricked up their ears and were watching covertly. Yet, unwilling to lose face, he couldn’t back down in front of others and kept up his stern demeanor. Deep down, he knew that both he and his little sister were people who cared about appearances; so, though he confronted her with a fierce expression, there was unease beneath the surface.

After a pause, Tan Yang lowered her head slightly, smoothed her hair, and turned away. As soon as she left, whispers about the incident spread through the ballroom. Some of Bi Qingtang’s friends even teased, “Now that’s impressive—your modern, Western-educated wife is still your traditional little bride.” Bi Qingtang gave a strained laugh and made an excuse to go upstairs to make a phone call.

“Hello, it’s me. Has my wife returned? Put her on the line.” After a moment, he switched the receiver and spoke gently, “Little sister, it’s even colder tonight. When you come back, wear something warmer.” He paused, then asked, “Is our little girl behaving? If you’re too tired, you don’t have to come back—I’ll just stay a while and then go home.” Hearing a soft assent from the other end, he hung up, confident that she would soon return in different clothes.

When Tan Yang reappeared at Fang Ya’s house, now in a dark green cheongsam and smiling, Fang Ya hurried over, aggrieved on her behalf. “Why come back? Isn’t he domineering enough already? What era is this? He dresses and does business like a Westerner, but at heart, he’s as feudal as his father! Don’t be afraid of him—if you give in once or twice, he’ll only push you further.” Tan Yang looped her arm through Fang Ya’s, laughing. “Oh, don’t say that. In a marriage, when one loses their temper, the other should yield. Why should I provoke him over such a small matter?”

Fang Ya shook her head in frustration, but Bi Qingtang approached grinning, took Tan Yang’s wrist and said, “Come, I hear you just got back from Germany. Some friends are dying to meet you.” As he steered Tan Yang away, he winked mischievously at Fang Ya. “Excuse us, excuse us!”

Watching Bi Qingtang fuss over Tan Yang, Fang Ya muttered helplessly, “A woman’s whole life, really…” Madame Zou, the Fourth Concubine, smiled from the sidelines. “Who can say what goes on between a couple? If you ask me, it’s not clear who has the upper hand.”

Bi Qingtang chatted with friends for a while, then led Tan Yang into the dance floor. She stayed by his side, smiling the whole time. “Little sister, I had to rescue you quickly, or they’d start giving you all sorts of advice,” he joked. Tan Yang lowered her head, silent, and Bi Qingtang squeezed her hand.

Perhaps he believed that as long as he held her close, he would have her for a lifetime.

Throughout the evening, Bi Qingtang stayed close, telling jokes, uneasy yet attentive. In public, Tan Yang never embarrassed him, always gentle and smiling at his side.

After the dance, they rode home together. The dim light of street lamps flickered through the windows as they sat side by side. Bi Qingtang recounted stories from his day at work, while Tan Yang gazed absently out the window, responding only half-heartedly when pressed. Suddenly, he fell silent, leaned in, and stroked her shoulder, feeling the smooth silk of her dark green cheongsam—cool and sleek as a lake’s frozen surface. “Didn’t I tell you to wear something warmer when you went out? Why didn’t you wear a coat?” “I forgot,” she answered lightly.

He chuckled, resigned, then took off his jacket and draped it over her, his hands resting on her knees. “You can’t let your knees get cold—when you’re older, they’ll ache, and then you’ll come after me.” Tan Yang smiled reflexively at his familiar words; after years of marriage, even expressions of lifelong devotion had evolved into such practical care. As the car sped on, the jade earrings at her ears quivered like playful summer insects. Seeing her smile, Bi Qingtang complained affectionately, “You’re punishing yourself just to spite me? What am I going to do with you?”

Tan Yang pouted. “This time, you were clearly in the wrong, but you make it sound like I’m the unreasonable one,” she retorted, then added, “You’re always so sly!” Bi Qingtang turned away, unable to hide his laughter. Tan Yang reached for his arm, nestling against him. “Big brother, may I discuss something with you?” Feeling guilty, Bi Qingtang quickly agreed. “There’s nothing to discuss—just tell me what you want.” “I’d like to start working next week. It’s bound to happen anyway, and the longer I stay home, the rustier my skills will get.” He grunted, then smiled with mock seriousness. “You’re the sly one!” Both burst out laughing.

At Paulownia Hospital, Tan Yang and a senior doctor took turns covering pediatrics, alternating days; the work was light and the pay generous. When she received her first month’s salary, Tan Yang went straight to Bi Qingtang’s department store to buy yarn and a box of cigars.

Bi Qingtang lounged on the sofa, eyes closed, savoring a cigar. “The first time I took you out, I tried to get you to buy me foreign cigarettes at the department store. Honestly, I never thought this day would come! I always figured, if I could provide for you, what harm could there be?” “You planned to support me all along?” Tan Yang paused, incredulous. Bi Qingtang only smiled, watching her work the yarn. “This rose-pink will look beautiful on our girl.” “I’m planning to knit a cardigan with bunny ears for her.” As she spoke, she tossed the paper-wrapped yarn aside.

Bi Qingtang eyed the silver-gray yarn. “Oh? Is that for me? How nice,” he teased. “But I don’t want bunny ears!” Tan Yang giggled, hand covering her mouth. Bi Qingtang unwrapped the yarn’s paper, frowning in mock dismay. “Isn’t this from our own department store? How could I bear to profit from my own wife’s hard work?” “Then next time, Mr. Bi, give me the wholesale price?” she cajoled. He hesitated. “We’ll see.” “You’re such a miser!” Tan Yang scoffed. Bi Qingtang laughed heartily. “Depends on how good our relationship is—especially tonight.” He made sure to leave his meaning unmistakable.

Because the other pediatrician at Paulownia was elderly and lived far from the hospital, whenever a child needed urgent care at night, it was always Tan Yang who was called. This happened a few times each month. Yan Tan, their daughter, disliked being without her mother at night and would cry, so Bi Qingtang was often left to comfort her.

One late evening in April, after their daughter had just fallen asleep, Bi Qingtang lay in bed reading the newspaper in his pajamas, while Tan Yang sat nearby knitting. The silver-gray sweater for Bi Qingtang was just beginning to take shape, the ball of yarn rolling along the sofa with her movements. They chatted about their daughter’s antics before sleep when a servant knocked softly at the door. “Madam, a phone call for you.”

Tan Yang went to answer, returning after a short while. “Was it the hospital?” “Yes. An old man brought his grandson for treatment—pitiful, really.” “Is it absolutely necessary to go? They can’t pay much.” “I must. It’s a matter of life and death.” “Ah, but it’s so late. Let me go with you,” Bi Qingtang offered, tossing aside the covers. “No need. If our girl wakes up and can’t find us, she’ll be upset. I’ll take the car there and back—don’t worry.”

Hearing this, Bi Qingtang didn’t insist. “Alright, go and come back quickly. I’ll wait for you.”

Past ten o’clock, the streets of Shanghai were quiet, the night air cool. Tan Yang tucked her hands into her coat pockets and urged the driver, “A little faster, please. It’s so cold, and the patient’s still waiting.”

The doctor on duty told her the patient was in her upstairs office. Tan Yang hurried up the stairs, while the doctor left for the ward. To save electricity, only the bulb at the end of the hall was lit; her office door stood half-open, light spilling out, harsh and pale. A wooden sign by the door read: Pediatrics—Mrs. Bi’s Office.

She quickened her pace and pushed open the door to see a bundled child laid on the examination table, and an old man in patched clothes and a black felt hat crouched at the bedside, head bowed low. Tan Yang, anxious to help, didn’t look too closely—she quickly removed her coat, donned her white gown, and tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll examine the child right away.” She fetched her stethoscope and leaned over.

The child appeared seven or eight months old, body mottled and stiff. When Tan Yang reached to check, she found no breath, no pulse. Her heart dropped, a cold sweat breaking out down her spine. She did not fear a dead child, but with her medical knowledge, she knew that such cold rigidity meant the child had been dead at least a day.

But who would bring a dead child to see a doctor? A chill of horror crept over her.

“Mrs. Bi.” Hearing someone call her, Tan Yang instinctively straightened and turned around—only to feel a sharp pain at the base of her skull, the world spinning into darkness. She collapsed.

Outside, the wind rustled the leaves. The driver yawned, glancing toward the hospital. He saw the side door open and an old man pushing a cart slowly emerge. The battered felt hat was pulled low, hiding his face; all that could be seen was a tangled, graying beard.

The spring night in Shanghai was quiet, yet tinged with restlessness and disorder, thick with an air of dread and uncertainty.

Author's Note: Due to work arrangements, I’ll be away for more than two months, so there will be a pause in updates. No longer being a student, I can’t control my own schedule. When I return home, I’ll update more frequently. Thank you, dear sisters, for your unwavering support! O(n_n)O Haha~

I’ll use the next two months to gather inspiration. Even if I can’t make great progress, I hope my writing will improve when I return.

A deep bow to all—may you be happy every day!