“Ah, Yun Village!” Mrs. Yi sighed. She was meditating.

“I will listen to the words of the folksongs!” Gray shouted as he went out the door.

Mrs. Yi thought the whole thing over as she ground the medicine into powder with a roller. Unconsciously she said aloud, “Uncle Ma is representative of Yun Village.”

“What did you say?” her husband asked from the next room.

“Are there more than two thousand people in our Yun Village?”

“Two thousand four hundred and thirty-eight. Why do you ask?”

“Uncle Ma is the patron saint of this village.”

“So are you. As for me, I protect you only.” Mr. Yi laughed.

“If people cared about herbs, the world would be a different place.”

Mr. Yi said, “Didn’t Uncle Ma also plant a lot of herbs? He learned to befriend viruses. Prolonged illness makes a good doctor. You can see how healthy Mrs. Ma is; this is because her husband created a good atmosphere for her. I really admire the man.”

The husband and wife walked into the herb garden and sat on the wooden bench, unable to calm down for a long time. Mrs. Yi heard someone crying again, but the crying wasn’t sad, just a gentle venting. But why cry? Was it because things were always changing, or because the loved ones always had to leave?

3
The Deceased Uncle Liang Shan

Uncle Liang Shan had been dead for several years. His widow, Mrs. Liang, lived with her son Songbao in an earthen hut at one end of the village. All year round, she sold roasted sweet potatoes in Yun Village. She had learned this business from her late husband. When Mrs. Yi arrived, she was treated with freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

“Why do men in Yun Village always live short lives?” Widow Liang asked Mrs. Yi.

“They worry too much. We women settle for what we can get, but men don’t. Is Songbao taking after you?”

“Maybe,” replied Widow Liang. “He’s only fourteen, but I can already see that he’s an optimist. He can’t be held down.”

“It doesn’t matter how long one lives, does it?” Mrs. Yi said with a smile.

“Exactly! When Liang Shan was alive, he was so happy. He said he had been wandering around selling sweet potatoes. In those years, people didn’t even have enough for meals—how could they afford snacks? His business hadn’t been very good. But after he married me, life got better and better. He told jokes all the time at home, and Songbao could never leave his side. He never complained of his troubles. Perhaps that hurt his health.”

“I don’t think so. I think his rheumatic heart disease came from his drifting about when he was young.”

“Maybe. Anyway, he was happy with me for the last ten years or so. It should have been enough for him, and he died a happy man and without pain. He wasn’t a burden for others, either.”

“He was a good man.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Yi. I took the medicine you prescribed last time and feel much better now.”