Chapter 11: Qing Peng Yue1
Li Wei had only been home for a day, but the creaking sound of the front gate had echoed numerous times.
Neighbors and acquaintances from the alley came by one after another, either inviting him for drinks, banquets, tea, or horseback outings, eagerly attentive and enthusiastic. Wang xiucai, delighted by the blooming of several wintersweet trees in his courtyard, eruditely composed a few poems and sent his grandson, Mo Qing, to deliver an invitation to Li Wei. He prepared a small red clay stove, inviting Li Wei to come over to brew tea with snow, and appreciate the blossoms together as teacher and student.
Li Wei received the invitation with a bead of cold sweat on his brow. Wang xiucai, despite never advancing in official ranks, had a peculiar and strange temper. He had run a private school in his own home for years, where Li Wei had studied under him. Wang xiucai was fond of Li Wei’s quick wit and intelligence and had guided him diligently from his early lessons to the completion of his elementary education. The scholar dearly loved Li Wei and whenever they met, he would inevitably earnestly provide his teachings. Li Wei considered himself a coarse man, whenever he met his aloof and arrogant teacher, who used flowery, verbose language, he could not avoid getting a headache.
After enduring an afternoon of drinking a bellyful amount of tea, Li Wei returned home only to be swept away by other hospitable neighbors for drinks. This pattern repeated for several days before the household finally regained some peace.
On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth lunar month, marking the Little New Year, the heavens took no rest, great snowflakes fluttered like butterflies, blanketing houses, streets, mountains, rivers and grasslands and plains, in a shimmering white layer, turning the world into an icy, splendid palace resembling the legendary Moon Palace. Every household prepared lamb roasts and roasted meat, offered sacrifices to the Kitchen God, and cleaned their homes.
Inside the house, Lu Mingyue sat by a table, cutting a stack of red paper, spreading out sheets of it and arranging an inkstone and brush. She called out for Jia Yan repeatedly.
Jiayan, who was in the courtyard with Helian Guang, training a spirited young horse, reluctantly ran inside. “Mother, what is it?” he asked.
Lu Mingyue caressed her temples and gestured to the red paper on the table. “This year, you’ll write the spring festival couplet.”
Hearing that his mother expected him to practice his calligraphy again, Jiayan’s excitement training horses in the snow and ice immediately deflated. He twisted his hands awkwardly and said, “Mother, we’ve always bought couplets from outside. Why must we write them ourselves this year?”
“In past years, you were too young and didn’t know how to write, so Mother could only go out to buy them. Now that you’re older and have had some schooling, how can we justify going out to buy them?”
“Mother, my handwriting is ugly, maybe you should write them instead?”
Lu Mingyue arched a brow and shot him a sharp look. “Do you think I have time to write these?”
“Then let Uncle Guang write them.”
Lu Mingyue’s expression darkened. “You’re the only man in this household, how can we ask someone else to do it?”
“Uncle Guang is also a man—and an elder—so he should write them.”
A deep manly voice called through the window, “Jiayan, your Uncle Guang never went to school and barely recognizes a handful of characters. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Jiayan stammered and made every excuse he could, dodging and deflecting for half the day. In truth, he hated reading and writing and was aware of his own poor penmanship. He was certain that if he wrote the couplets, he would earn a scolding from Lu Mingyue.
Lu Mingyue knew her son’s thoughts all too well. She was so angry that she had no choice but to say, “It doesn’t matter how good or bad your penmanship is, as long as you write earnestly and neatly enough not to embarrass us, I’ll accept it.”
“Alright, alright,” Jiayan grumbled, obediently taking his place at the table. He held the brush halfheartedly, scratching his head, racking his brain, and frowning miserably as he struggled to write.
From outside came the sound of Helian Guang sharpening his blade. Distracted for nearly half the morning, Jiayan cobbled together enough words to fill the stack of paper. As soon as he handed the couplets to Lu Mingyue, he dashed away.
Lu Mingyue inspected her son’s work.The couplets were simple but passable: for the kitchen, ‘Rice and flour as high as mountains, oil and salt as deep as the sea’; for the courtyard, ‘The courtyard overflows with fortune’; for the lintel, ‘Raise your eyes to welcome joy’; for the tree, ‘Roots deep and leaves flourishing’. However, when she saw the couplet meant for the woodshed— ‘Firewood burns brightly’—and the one for the chicken coop— ‘Eggs passed down endlessly’—she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Thinking of how much worry Jiayan caused her daily, she became fretful. Just as she was lost in these thoughts, she heard Jiayan cheerfully call out, “Changliu!”
Changliu entered wearing a woven rush raincoat dusted with snow, looking like a little snow sprite. He greeted Helian Guang with a ‘Uncle Guang’ to which the man responded with a soft hum as he helped him out of the raincoat. “Go inside and sit.”
Lu Mingyue had already walked over, adjusting Changliu’s collar affectionately. “It’s still snowing—why did you run out here? Cold?”
“Not cold. Mother made me bring a hand warmer. Mother asked me to invite you, Uncle Guang, and Jiayan to come over to our house for dinner tonight.” Changliu’s long lashes were damp with melting snow and trembled delicately. Lu Mingyue’s heart ached as she pulled him into a hug.
“Alright, let aunt tidy up a bit, and we’ll go together,” Lu Mingyue replied.
Many years had passed since she first brought Jiayan from the sandy barrens of Dunhuang’s Sanwei Mountain to Ganzhou. Their first New Year’s Eve was spent in Jiguang Temple, eating a meal of wild vegetables and beans. Back then, Old Master Li had been alive and when burning incense, upon seeing Jiayan playing in the snow in thin clothes, he brought Lu Mingyue and her son home and told her that they would be treated as family. Over time, their family situation had improved, but every Little New Year’s Eve, they still celebrated at the Li household.
Li Wei and Helian Guang exchanged a brief nod as they passed each other, then headed into the side room together.
Meanwhile, Madam Li had just finished combing her hair. Her long tresses hung over her shoulders, and she wore a snow-white fleece half-sleeve over a long skirt embroidered with ruyi2 and longevity patterns. She sat on the kang bed with Chun Tian and Xianxian, cutting and drawing. Lu Mingyue entered the room, her voice warm with laughter. “What’s going on here?”
It turned out they were making paper-cut window decorations. Chun Tian’s pale hands held a fine brush as she drew floral patterns. Xianxian was busy cutting with scissors. Madam Li smiled and said, “I felt a bit better today and thought of bringing out last year’s designs to make some decorations to paste on the windows. But these girls won’t let me lift a finger; they’ll only let me sit here and watch.”
“These are tasks for the younger girls in the household. How could we trouble the mistress of the house to do it herself?” Lu Mingyue gathered Madam Li’s long hair in her hands and suddenly noticed it was so sparse it barely encircled her finger. “Perfect timing, let me style your hair into a high bun, symbolizing rising step by step for the new year.”
Madam Li shook her head. “My hair is getting thinner and thinner; I doubt it can hold such a bun anymore.”
“My skills, you don’t believe in them?”
“Of course, I do. You’ve always been clever and deft. In your hands, there’s nothing you can’t transform into something wonderful.”
At that, Lu Mingyue’s interest was piqued. She sent Jiayan to fetch a basin of hot water from the kitchen and asked Changliu to bring his mother’s trousseau. She pulled Madam Li onto a soft cushion and laid out a collection of sweet-scented osmanthus hair oil, rouge, powder, lip balm, and jewelry, ready for a grand makeover.
“Oh dear, you are turning me into a decorative vase.”
“Whether it works or not, let’s leave that for others to decide. Once we get Li Wei to come and take a look, he won’t believe his eyes.”
“Master is not that sort of person,” Madam Li chuckled weakly, lacking the strength to resist and simply letting Lu Mingyue have her way. Soon, the makeover was complete. The sickly and dull pallor of her face was concealed by vibrant makeup, her pale lips now a bright shade of red, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes smoothed out. Her hair was styled into a high bun, adorned with ornaments that jingled softly. There was no trace of her usual weary, sickly demeanor.
“You see, you usually keep things too plain. With a proper dress-up, don’t you look wonderful?”
“Don’t over praise me. What I look like, do I not know?”
The children around her all laughed and complimented her beauty. When Madam Li looked in the mirror, she even felt she looked a hundred times better than usual. Her gaze drifted to Chun Tian, who was helping her with pinning flowers near her temples. The girl’s face was like jade, her brows and eyes dark and vivid. Madam Li could not help but think about the beauty of youth and the cruelty of time. Reflecting on her own life, filled with hardship and little control, and uncertain how many days she had left, sadness welled up in her heart.
Li Wei and Helian Guang, hearing the cheerful commotion, came out from the ear room. One man was reserved and aloof, the other dignified and gentle. Curious, they asked, “What interesting things are you talking about that are making everyone happy?”
“Look good?” Lu Mingyue asked with a smile.
Helian Guang felt a slight sting in his heart at her smile.
Li Wei had not fully processed the scene but, sensing the mood, forced himself to nod and said, “Beautiful.” Then, watching everyone surrounding Madam Li, realizing the attention was on his wife who looked a little different, he added sincerely, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Yun-jie like this, very beautiful.” Ever since he could remember, Yun-jie had always been sickly, her complexion pale, her expression often weary. It was rare for her to have the healthy, rosy glow of a normal person.
The room was warm and bright, filled with the rich aroma of food and drink. As the men, women, older and younger sat together, Ah Huang barked by the door and window. It turned out that outside, the wind and snow had picked up again, softly tapping against the windows and doors as the lights of countless homes, small and gentle, rested in its snowy arms.
Everyone raised their cups and exchanged well-wishes:
“May every day be as joyful as today, and every year the same.”
“Family reunion.”
“Good health.”
“Academic progress.”
“Abundance of food and drink.”
The room erupted in laughter as they clinked glasses, passed dishes, and indulged in the warmth of the occasion.
After the meal, the women tidied up the hall while the men lingered over a few more cups of wine as the children ate sweet treats. Listening to the softening sound of wind and snow outside Lu Mingyue gathered her clothes and, taking Jiayan, bid farewell to the Li family.
The streets and alleys were deserted, transformed into a crystalline world of ice and silence. Lu Mingyue, having had a few cups of warm wine, felt a flush of heat as she walked through the snow, one foot deep and one foot shallow, holding Jiayan’s hand. Each step left a deep imprint in the snow. The piercing northern wind blew against her, and the wine’s warmth surged, leaving her momentarily dazed. For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself as a child again, her parents leading her home after watching a play under a moonlit sky. The bright and serene nights of Suzhou seemed just like this, happening before her eyes.
But then she snapped back to reality, this was not the gentle spring breeze of Gusu City. She was holding Jiayan’s hand, walking through the desolate streets of Gongde Alley. The wind had stilled, the snow had stopped, but the biting cold cut through to the bone. Behind her, Helian Guang followed, carrying a leather lantern
that cast a warm glow over the mother and son in front.
“Ah!” Lu Mingyue suddenly exclaimed. Her footing was unstable, and she nearly fell, pulling Jia Yan down with her. But a steady, unyielding hand gripped her waist, keeping her from collapsing.
“Mother—”
“Be careful,” Helian Guang leaned against her back and murmured from just behind her. “Don’t fall.”
His hand remained firm on her waist, steadying her. Even through her thick winter clothes, she could feel the strength in his grip. It was as if his gaze—sharp and unapologetically bold—had taken physical form.
Her body, entirely supported by his palms, trembled. The trembling sensation began at the spot where he held her at the waist and spread rapidly, leaving her entire body tingling.
Lu Mingyue quickly steadied herself, shook off Helian Guang’s hand, and tightened her grip on Jiayan as they walked forward. “Walk properly and watch your step.”
“Mother, mother, slow down.”
Helian Guang’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure. The wind could not blow it away, and the snow could not cover it up. Lu Mingyue felt as though ants were crawling across her back, her skin heating. She hurried into her house and closed the door with a bang.
“Mother, Uncle Guang is still outside.”
Her face warm from the cups of wine, she patted her cheeks randomly and let out a sigh of relief.
Footnotes:
- Qing Ping Yue was originally the name of a melody from the Tang Dynasty’s imperial music bureau (jiaofang). Later, it became a name for a poetic tune pattern (cipai), also known as Qing Ping Yue Ling (清平乐令), Zui Dong Feng (醉东风), and Yi Luo Yue (忆萝月). It was a commonly used tune in Song Dynasty poetry and was also a melody name in traditional nanqu (Southern-style opera music), belonging to the Yu mode. As a cipai, this tune follows a standard structure: Dual sections, eight lines, and forty-six characters in total. The first section features four lines with an oblique-tone rhyme (仄韵). The second section has three lines with a level-tone rhyme (平韵).
Poets such as Yan Shu (晏殊), Yan Jidao (晏几道), Huang Tingjian (黄庭坚), and Xin Qiji (辛弃疾) have all used this pattern, with Yan Jidao being particularly prolific in this style. A representative work is Li Yu’s (李煜) poem, Qing Ping Yue: Since Spring Departed (清平乐·别来春半). In this case, it is the structure used to write spring festival couplets. ↩︎ - The ruyi is an ancient Chinese symbol and has many variations. The word ruyi itself comes from the two characters rú (如) and yì (意), and together they literally mean “as one wishes.” ↩︎
TN: Hope everyone is doing well! The cozy atmosphere of this chapter makes me want winter to come already!
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