The Price of a Mother's Breath

The next day, Edwin Lauren arrived twenty minutes earlier than our appointed time. That was not a good sign. A client who arrives late is rude. A client who arrives too early is anxious.

He removed his hat at the door.

“May I come in?”

“Please, come in.”

Edwin looked even more exhausted than he had the day before. A crumpled coat. Sleeves stained with ink. Dark circles under his eyes. The dry lips typical of someone who hadn’t slept. In his hand was a thick briefcase. The bag was heavy. Another bad sign.

“Did you bring them?”

“Yes.”

Edwin placed the briefcase on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the desk.

“These are the complete settlement summaries for the past two years. I’ve also included the patent application records, the laboratory lease agreements, and the assistant employment contracts.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

Cecilia took the documents and began sorting them. Settlement summaries. Patent application records. Laboratory lease agreements. Assistant employment contracts. Exactly what I had requested yesterday.

I did not open the papers immediately. Instead, I looked at Edwin.

“What is the matter with your mother?”

Edwin’s hands froze on his lap. That single question changed his face. It looked more pained than when he had explained the contracts. More broken than when he had spoken about the settlements. People are always weaker to their family’s suffering than to their own.

“She has been ill for a long time.”

“And the diagnosis?”

“I was told it is blood-pus disease.”

I stopped writing. Blood-pus disease? It was a name I had never heard before. In this world, disease names were usually intuitive. Burning cough sickness. Black spot disease. Mana atrophy.

“What kind of illness is it?”

Edwin looked at me with mild surprise. Of course. I was a lawyer, not a doctor.

“At first, her gums began to bleed,” Edwin said. “They bled when she brushed her teeth. Later, they bled even when she was still.”

I lifted my pen again.

“And then?”

“Bruises appeared on her body. Even though she hadn’t bumped into anything.”

“Did the wounds heal?”

“They healed poorly. Even small cuts would fester.”

“What about her legs?”

Edwin’s hands stiffened on his knees.

“She said they hurt. They swelled, and she felt weak. These days, she can’t walk for long.”

Cecilia’s pen flew across the paper. I said nothing. Gum bleeding. Bruising. Delayed wound healing. Leg pain. General weakness. One word from my previous life rose in my mind.

Scurvy.

Fuck.

I swallowed the curse inwardly. I had hoped it wasn’t true. But this world had people too. They sailed ships, waged wars, and endured winters. The poor filled their stomachs with bread. And where there is poverty, disease follows. Only the name had changed.

Blood-pus disease. A rather fitting name. Since they didn’t know the cause, they called it blood rotting. Since the gums bled, they called it blood-pus. When people don’t understand something, they give it the most terrifying name possible. That’s simply how humans are.

I asked, “What did the doctor say?”

“He said it was a disease in which the blood rots. That bad moisture had accumulated inside her body.”

I pressed the tip of my pen against the paper. Any doctor from my previous life would have clutched the back of their neck at those words. Not that I was a doctor, or even a science major. But even I knew this much. Scurvy was neither a curse nor a rotting of the blood. It had nothing to do with ghosts, moisture, or mana contamination. It was a disease caused by eating the wrong things. Or more precisely—by not eating what one needed to eat.

“And the treatment?”

Edwin shook his head.

“He said there was none. That we could only manage it so the illness wouldn’t worsen.”

“What exactly are you managing?”

“Her diet. He said we must protect her teeth, so she should eat soft foods. Soak white bread in water, and feed her thin porridge.”

“What about fruit?”

Edwin paused for a moment.

“He told us not to give her any.”

I stopped writing completely this time.

“Who said that? Which person gave such instructions?”

“The doctor.”

“He told you not to give her fresh fruit or raw vegetables at all?”

“He said to avoid everything raw.”

“And the reason?”

“He said raw foods would upset the stomach. That they were bad for blood-pus disease.”

I lowered my head. Telling a scurvy patient to avoid fruit and raw vegetables. To eat bread. To eat thin porridge. To drink warm water. Perfect. If you took every method of saving a person and flipped it exactly upside down, this was the prescription you would get.

Was it simple ignorance? It was possible. The level of medicine in this world was still that primitive. But I looked at Edwin.

“Who sent that doctor?”

“My wife sent him.”

“Lillian Persy.”

“When did treatment begin?”

“Before we were married. To be precise, shortly before the engagement talks began.”

I nodded.

“What is the doctor’s name?”

“Dr. Bernt.”

“Do you have any records?”

“Some. They were attached behind the settlement documents.”

Edwin pulled out another folder.

“They were bundled together as proof of expenses.”

I took the folder. Medical records. Dietary recommendations. Prescription logs. Medical billing statements. Cecilia received them and organized everything. I opened the dietary recommendation first. The handwriting was neat.

I stared at that sentence for a long time. Refrain from foods with strong acidity. Well written. Perhaps when medicine is ignorant, the sentences at least need to look professional.

I moved to the next document. The prescription record.

Mind Purification Liquid. What a lovely name.

“Is she still taking the medicine?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of medicine is it?”

“It was prescribed by the doctor my wife sent. She takes it twice a day.”

“What are the ingredients?”

“I don’t know.”

“What color is it?”

“It’s orange.”

“What does it taste like?”

“She said it’s sour, slightly bitter, and smells like a mana potion.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Orange hue. Sour taste. Bitter aftertaste. The scent of a mana potion. Orange juice. Add vinegar. Then a mana potion. It was too precise to pretend I didn’t know. Yet I had no evidence to claim I did.

I knew the name of this disease. Scurvy. I knew why it occurred and why the medicine worked. It was because of the orange juice. But this court would not accept my memories from a previous life as evidence.

I learned this in my previous life. Such words would not hold up in court. I would be lucky if they didn’t treat me like a madman. In this world, the disease called scurvy did not yet exist. There was only the ignorant name blood-pus disease. There ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was no known treatment. No medical texts. No officially recognized medicinal records. No precedents.

Intent could not be proven. There was no evidence that Lillian Persy had known about scurvy. No evidence that she had known orange juice was the cure. No evidence that she had known preventing fresh fruit and vegetables would prolong the illness. Nothing.

Lillian Persy. Just how much did you know?

I opened my eyes.

“Is the medicine bottle at home?”

“Yes. Should I bring it?”

“For now, I’ll review the records.”

Edwin nodded. I turned to the medical billing statements. The same items appeared every month. Mind Purification Liquid. Mana stabilization supplement. Consultation visit fee. Dietary management fee.

I paused briefly, then reopened the settlement summary. Advance payment for research equipment. Advance payment for materials. Advance payment for prototype production. Compensation for failed experiments. Advance payment for assistant wages. Laboratory rent. I had expected all of that. My hand stopped at the next line.

「Advance payment for family support」

I narrowed my eyes.

“Sir Edwin. What is this ‘advance payment for family support’?”

Edwin remained silent for a moment.

“It is my mother’s medical expenses.”

Cecilia’s pen stopped. I looked at the next lines.

「Health management costs」

「Consultation visit fees」

「Supply cost for Mind Purification Liquid」

「Dietary management fee」

This was truly not good.

I asked slowly, “Your mother’s medicine costs are also being charged to the settlement account?”

Edwin nodded.

“Yes.”

“The consultation fees and dietary management fees as well?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a contract for the medicine supply?”

Edwin could not answer.

“That is…” He pressed his lips together. “There isn’t one. It was something Lillian helped with out of goodwill.”

Goodwill. A wonderful word.

I pressed the settlement summary with my fingertip.

“It is goodwill, yet it is recorded as debt?”

Edwin froze. For the first time. The office grew quiet.

I set the billing statement down.

“Please continue.”

Edwin swallowed once.

“At first, I only thought I was grateful.” He stared at his fingertips. “My mother’s illness had lasted a long time, and I had no money. The salary of a Magic Tower assistant was not enough to cover the medicine costs. When Lillian sent the doctor, I…” He stopped speaking.

“You thought you had been saved?”

Edwin lowered his head.

“Yes.”

Salvation. A dangerous word. More dangerous than any contract. People become weak toward those who save them. Even if that person holds their leash, they feel gratitude.

I asked, “What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did Lillian Persy say about your mother’s illness?”

Edwin’s face trembled slightly.

“Lillian said… that to cure my mother’s illness, more advanced technology was needed.”

My pen stopped.

“Not medical arts, but magic engineering technology?”

Edwin spoke slowly.

“She said blood-pus disease was an illness in which the blood and mana flow inside the body collapsed at the same time. That conventional medicine could only manage it.”

“So she said a more precise mana circulation device was necessary. A device that would purify the blood, deliver medicine deep into the body, and filter out the rotten mana.”

Cecilia looked up.

“And she said you could create it, Sir Edwin?”

Edwin gave a small laugh. It was not a laugh.

“Yes. Lillian told me that if I gave up, my mother would be given up as well.”

He looked down at his hands. The office fell silent again.

“Did she say exactly those words?” I asked.

Edwin thought for a moment.

“The words were slightly different.”

“How did she phrase it?”

“She said that if you stop, the research stops. And if the research stops, the path to overcoming your mother’s illness stops as well. She said she would work as hard as I did.”

I set my pen down. How clever. She had never threatened to let his mother die. She had never said she would stop the medicine. She had never written that she would discontinue the treatment costs. Instead, she had given him a dream. The dream that he could save his mother with his own hands. The dream that he could defeat the disease himself. The dream that magic engineering could surpass medical arts. And then she had taken ownership of that dream through a contract.

“So you continued your research without rest?”

“Yes. If I rest…”

Edwin closed his mouth. There was no need to say the rest. If I rest, my mother will die. That thought itself had been made part of the contract.

I opened the contract to Article 11.

Health management. Family support. Livelihood stability. Beautiful words. Beneath those words were the medicine costs. The consultation fees. The dietary management fees. The price of his mother’s breath.

I looked at Edwin.

“Has your wife ever said she would stop the treatment?”

“Not directly…” He bit his lip.

“Speak.”

“Lillian said that if I stop now, all the settlements would have to be recalculated. The laboratory maintenance costs, equipment costs, medicine costs, consultation fees—everything. She said she would do her best, but the merchant group could not endure indefinitely.”

Edwin’s voice grew lower.

“I know what that means.”

I nodded. It was not a threat. That was what she would say in court. It was merely a statement of reality. She had only spoken about the merchant group’s financial situation. She had only expressed concern about the sustainability of the research. She had only settled the family’s medical expenses. Words could be crafted endlessly. Words were free. Proof was expensive.

I looked at the prescription record again. Blood-pus disease. No raw foods. White bread. Thin porridge. Mind Purification Liquid. Charged to the settlement account. It was perfectly revolting.

There was only one truth I knew. They had told a scurvy patient not to eat fruit or raw vegetables. They had fed her orange juice as medicine. And they had recorded the cost of that medicine as debt.

But courts only liked proven truths.

Dr. Bernt could simply say: I considered the patient’s stomach condition. At the time, avoiding raw foods was standard medical practice. The Mind Purification Liquid was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an auxiliary remedy adapted from folk prescriptions. Lady Persy merely followed the doctor’s advice.

Lillian Persy could simply say: I did not know. I trusted the doctor. I only wanted to help the patient. The costs were unavoidable under the settlement structure.

That was the end of it. Intent could not be proven. She had slipped away so cleanly it made me want to kill her. And that made me even angrier.

Edwin asked cautiously, “Lawyer. What can you do with this?”

I did not answer immediately. There were things I could do. There were things I could not. The law was not omnipotent. The law could not punish every evil intention of mankind. It could only punish the evil that could be caught with evidence. That was why the more wicked a person was, the more they hid behind paper.

“I don’t know yet,” I said.

The light in Edwin’s eyes dimmed slightly. A bad lawyer would sell hope here. It will be fine. We can win. Don’t worry. Such words were cheap. Cheap hope would be billed expensively later. I did not want to sell cheap goods. Not yet.

“However, please leave all the materials here. Keep the originals and I will make copies.”

“Understood.”

I thought for a moment.

“As for your mother…” Edwin looked at me.

“Tell her not to suddenly change anything she has been doing until today. Meals, medicine, treatment—do not change anything abruptly.”

“Why?”

“Changing things suddenly could be more dangerous.”

It was not a lie. But it was not the whole truth either. I could not overturn a patient’s prescription based solely on knowledge from a previous life. I was not a doctor. It might not even be scurvy. Moreover, if the other side moved, it would become more troublesome. Evidence would disappear. Records would be整理. The doctor would coordinate his story. And his mother might become even more endangered amid the confusion. Sometimes a lawyer protects people with half-truths.

Edwin closed his mouth and nodded.

“I understand.”

He trusted me. Trust. What a terrifying thing. I could only hope he had not placed it in the wrong person.

After Edwin left, only Cecilia and I remained in the office. Cecilia quietly organized the settlement documents.

“The medicine cost claims appear every month. The amounts are quite large. The consultation fees were also charged to the settlement account.”

Cecilia stopped speaking.

“Senior. This is…” She could not continue. I knew what she wanted to say. This is too much. This is strange. This is how you bind a person. All of it was correct. And all of it was insufficient.

I opened the contract to Article 11. Health management. Family support. Livelihood stability. Beneath those words were the medicine costs. The consultation fees. The rent. The price of his mother’s breath.

Edwin conducted research. Research created costs. The costs accumulated in the settlement account. When the settlement account grew, he could not receive profits. When he could not receive profits, he had to research more. When he researched more, the costs accumulated in the settlement account again. In the meantime, his mother drank the medicine. The medicine costs accumulated too.

The way to bind one person. Catching only the laboratory was not enough. Catching only the books was not enough. Sealing his mouth was not enough. In the end, you had to seize his heart. A mother. The oldest hostage of all.

I recalled Edwin’s words. If you stop, the research stops. If the research stops, the path to overcoming Mother’s illness stops as well. That was not a threat. It was worse than a threat.

I closed the contract.

“Lillian Persy did not write a good contract.”

Cecilia looked at me.

“Then what did she do?”

I pressed the closed contract with my finger.

“She bound a person very well.”

Cecilia said nothing. I opened the contract again. Article 18. The contract remains in effect even after divorce. The next clause. The management rights and un-deducted cost settlement structure remain even in the event of bankruptcy. Truly impressive. It remained even after the marital relationship ended. It remained even if assets collapsed. It remained even if one’s life was ruined. It was practically a contract of the soul. Even Mephistopheles would come to learn from it.

I took out a blank sheet of paper. The three lines I had written yesterday appeared again.

「Divorce alone is insufficient」

「Bankruptcy is impossible」

「No method currently exists to nullify the contract’s effect」

I stared at the third line for a long time. There was no method. That was correct. The path to tearing the contract apart head-on was blocked. Divorce alone was not enough. Bankruptcy was a trap. Claiming the contract was invalid was weak. Edwin had signed. He had received explanations. He had received the books. The settlement structure was clearly documented. Annoyingly enough, the documents were clean.

I picked up my pen. Cecilia held her breath. I placed a small dot beneath the third line. I did not write the sentence yet. I could not be hasty. Legal theory was a blade. A blade was most frightening before it was drawn.

I closed my eyes. Contract. Claim. Future profits.

I opened my eyes.

“Cecilia. For now, prepare the economic law statute books first.”

“Senior, there are thirteen volumes of economic law statutes.”

“You should read them first.”

“What? I read them first? What about you, Senior?”

I looked at Lillian Persy’s contract. Clean sentences. Sophisticated clauses. A kind hell.

“I need to prepare myself to feel even worse.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I need to see what the other party believed in when she wrote this contract.”

Cecilia looked at me for a moment. Then she quietly stood up.

“I’ll bring the statute books.”

“Thank you.”

Cecilia headed for the door. I opened the contract once more. The sentences were still clean. Rights. Settlement. Protection. Family support. Truly good words. When you bind a person with good words, it lasts a long time. That was why the law was necessary. The law did not believe in good words. The law looked at who was suffocating beneath those words. At least a good law should do that.

I closed the contract. The night grew deep. Tomorrow, I would go to the courthouse.