Zhenyan Diary Notes

Yuzhou — evening

The market was loud before sunrise again—carts, voices, donkeys, arguments over price. The herb stalls opened early. I passed dried roots, bundles of leaves, orange peel, and things I did not recognize. I should ask about two of them next time.

Father, Li Wenru, used to say a market town teaches more than books if one listens carefully. He was right. People tell on themselves without meaning to. The herb seller is tired. The carpenter is short of food. Someone in their house has been ill again.

I thought of him today and felt thankful again that he lived through the years of Heavenly Flowers. Too many did not. Perhaps that is why in our family, even ordinary talk often turned to health and weather. We frequently discussed appetite, sleep, fever, swelling, cough, and grief. We were never allowed to ignore what the body was saying.

A woman came complaining of headaches. It may be grief more than heat. Another called herself weak, but I think she is worn down by work and not being noticed. A child coughing in damp air. Nothing comes alone. Illness always drags daily life behind it.

Yuzhou remains a good place to observe and learn. Trade brings herbs, remedies, gossip, and warnings. The officials bring order, paper, and tension. Everyone watches everyone.

I am tired tonight. Sleeves still smell of herbs.