Chapter 8: Returning Home
The main house door remained only slightly ajar, with Madam Li yet to rise for the morning.
A neighbor, Madam Pan, brought over a jar of salted vegetables. Finding no one in the hall and the main house’s doors and windows tightly shut, she headed toward the kitchen, where Aunt Zhao had rolled up her sleeves making noodle soup.
Aunt Zhao kneaded a dough ball in her hands while keeping an eye on the pot. Seeing someone coming up, she did not bother to greet them and said hurriedly, “Come, come, give me a hand and stoke the fire in the stove.”
“Busy so early in the morning,” Madam Pan was a familiar neighbor and she settled herself by the hearth and tossed in a handful of firewood. “It must be hard on you these days, with a house full of adults and children to care for. How do you manage it all?”
“It’s not so bad, mostly cooking and laundry, this and that.” Along with Xianxian, staying with the Li family, Aunt Zhao’s living expenses were covered, and her monthly wages were generous. The work, shared and supported by others, was far easier than her previous days on the farmstead, so she bore no complaints.
Madam Pan nodded with a knowing smile. The Li’s were well-known for their generosity and fairness, making their neighbors willing to associate with them. Lowering her voice, she asked, “These days, Madam Li seems to be rising much later than before.”
Aunt Zhao hesitated, unwilling to say too much, and replied vaguely, “Madam coughs a bit at night and only gets some rest after dawn.”
Madam Pan nodded. “I’ve noticed her spirits seem a bit low during the day. It is most likely that winter’s harsh cold can sap one’s strength and cause one to be easily tired, but come spring, when it’s warmer, she may feel better.”
Aunt Zhao let out a sigh for no apparent reason, pausing her hand movements. “Still don’t know when the Master will be back.”
“With the New Year just over a month away, Li Wei should be returning soon,” Madam Pan said, gathering firewood with a smile. “He’s never missed a Lunar New Year. Among the neighbors, his butchering skills are unmatched. The community’s annual pig is still waiting for him to come back and slaughter it.”
Their conversation naturally unfolded from there, with Madam Pan complaining, “Lately, pork prices at the butcher’s shop have risen by several coins per pound. Pork used to be cheap, but if this keeps up, it’ll soon be as pricey as mutton.”
“Not just livestock, even the deer and muntjac that Xianxian’s father usually hunts in the mountains and sells down the mountains have been mostly bought up by government officials this year. Right now, a single deer leg is worth as much as half a lamb.”
Chun Tian stood just outside the door, listening to the women’s idle chatter about daily matters. After standing there quietly for a while, she turned and walked toward the main house. The pervasive smell of medicine lingered year-round in the main house, seeping even into the doorway. The bitter, acrid scent was far from pleasant.
Passing by the main house, she noticed incense burning before the ancestral shrine in the central hall. Ah Huang lay curled beneath the table, sound asleep. In the side room, two children occupied the kang bed. Changliu sat upright, his back perfectly straight, while Xianxian lay on her stomach at the edge of the bed, listening intently to the story Changliu was telling her.
Despite his tender, youthful voice, Changliu recounted the tale with a measured seriousness: “The poor scholar dreamt he had become a high-ranking official, dressed in a splendid crimson robe adorned with a python pattern, a jeweled sword hanging from his waist. He stood majestic and proud, utterly content—when suddenly, a clap of thunder sounded from the heavens, and he awoke.”
Chun Tian leaned against the doorframe, listening intently for a while. For some reason, a faint smile appeared on the corner of her lips. Changliu caught sight of her as she entered and immediately fell silent, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.
“And then? What happened to the poor scholar after he woke up?” Xianxian asked.
“Nothing happened,” Changliu murmured, lowering his head.
“His attire is incorrect,” Chun Tian walked toward them little by little. “If he were truly a high-ranking official, he wouldn’t be wearing a red python-patterned robe. An official of that rank would wear a purple robe adorned with floral, rounded, embroidered emblems, and they wouldn’t carry a sword. Instead, they would often hang a goldfish pouch from their waist.”
Changliu stammered, “That’s what I heard was told in the opera.”
“And what happens next?” Chun Tian asked with a smile. “I’ve never heard this story before. What became of the poor scholar?”
As they conversed, Madam Li arrived, walking unsteadily in a swaying manner. She hadn’t yet washed or combed her hair, her pallor showing signs of exhaustion and haggardness. Her gaze first fell on Changliu, and then she turned to the others with a smile. “Once again, I’m the last to rise this morning.”
Xianxian fetched warm water and tended to Madam Li with her hair and dress. Chun Tian, having nothing else to do, picked up a comb and began brushing Madam Li’s hair. As she finished dressing her hair into a bun, Chun Tian noticed a small white jade bottle on the vanity. A vivid peony was painted on its surface, accompanied by a crimson seal on the side. Recognizing it as makeup, she handed it to Madam Li. “Madam, apply this.”
Madam Li took the powder compact, caressing it in her hands for a moment before closing it again with a faint smile. “Let’s save this for another day.: She instead reached for the rice powder box nearby. Dabbing a bit of the powder onto her fingers, she applied it to her face.
It seemed as though the vibrant rouge and bold makeup had been set aside, left waiting for the return of someone long anticipated.
That day, Changliu was seated at the table, practicing his calligraphy. Nearby, Ah Huang let out two low whimpers, burrowing its body further inside. Suddenly, the sharp sound of hurried footsteps broke the quiet, and Helian Jiayan poked his head through the door, calling out, “Changliu! Changliu!”
“What is it?” Changliu put down his brush and looked up. “We agreed to study together, why are you late?”
“Your clothes are dirty again,” Changliu frowned and his brows furrowed. “Where have you been?”
“A rich merchant in the west of the city was having a wedding, and they were throwing coins at the gate. I grabbed the most of anyone,” Jiayan pulled a handful of coins from his heavy sleeves. “Here, weren’t your eyes on that sparrow? Let’s go get it together.”
“Tomorrow, Teacher is giving a test, and I haven’t memorized everything yet,” Changliu replied. “Have you finished your studies?”
“The Teacher doesn’t bother with me anyway,” Jiayan said, curling his lips. “Come on, come on. Let’s go buy that bird.”
Unable to resist Jiayan’s insistence, Changliu eventually gave in, and the two went off hand in hand to play.
Not long after, Lu Mingyue came looking for Jiayan. Upon hearing that the two boys had gone out to play, she sighed. “That child, never staying at home.”
After sitting and chatting briefly with Madam Li, Lu Mingyue prepared to leave, but Chun Tian stopped her. “Troubling Madam Lu to step into the west wing for a moment to talk.”
Lu Mingyue tilted her head and smiled. “What is it, Miss Chun Tian?”
Chun Tian retrieved a handkerchief from under a pillow and handed it to Lu Mingyue. “Asking for Madam Lu’s opinion.”
Taking the handkerchief, Lu Mingyue made an expression of surprise. On the cloth was an intricate embroidery of a small creature nestled amidst wild grass: a pair of glimmering green eyes, half a green wing, and long slender legs. From a distance, it appeared to be a winter insect hidden within the foliage. The embroidered scene was depicted with such vivid detail it seemed alive, as if painted with the finest lacquer, ink and brush.
Lu Mingyue carefully examined the exquisite work, “Very well embroidered.”
Chun Tian pressed her lips together, “This was originally the embroidery frame that belonged to Xianxian. I took it back and added a few details myself.”
Lu Mingyue seemed to recall the matter, carefully unfolding the handkerchief to examine it. With some surprise, she remarked, “You’ve improved it well.”
Chun Tian’s cheeks flushed faintly as she mumbled, “With Madam’s craftsmanship, if you praise someone’s work, then it must be true. In winter, the wealthy households prepare many garments and the city lacks skilled embroiderers. I thought I might recommend myself as Mao Sui recommended himself1. If Madam thinks my work is acceptable, let me give it a try?”
Lu Mingyue fingered the handkerchief thoughtfully, deliberating for a moment before responding, “Not mentioning other things, embroidery strains the eyes and consumes a lot of energy. Your injuries are yet fully healed. Doing this kind of work is tiring and laborious, it is better not to.”
“Troubling Madam to ask for me. If nothing else, I can embroider a few handkerchiefs.” Chun Tian’s face grew redder as she spoke softly. There was a hint of a hidden trouble hard to mention expressed in her tone. “It’s better than doing nothing all day, feeling useless. Besides, I have stayed here for quite some time now, eating and drinking medicine. I can’t continue spending Madam Li’s money for free.”
Lu Mingyue noted her slightly bowed head and the hint of discomfort in her demeanor. After a moment’s consideration, she nodded. “Alright then, I have some embroidery patterns. I’ll bring them over for you to look at another day.”
Chun Tian quickly curtsied in thanks, then hesitated before adding, “Requesting Madam to conceal the truth of the matter, don’t let Madam Li know.”
From that point on, Chun Tian began taking on small embroidery tasks, helping Lu Mingyue with patterns and stitched panels. As her wounds slowly healed, the scabs began to fall away, revealing fresh, pale new skin.
During the twelfth lunar month, the academy granted a ten-day break. Changliu, freed from attending classes, still spent his days studying and practicing his calligraphy. Lu Mingyue, unable to tolerate Jiayan’s wild and mischievous antics, decreed that he must rise early each morning and study alongside Changliu, ensuring he recited a few lessons before heading out to play.
Poor Ah Huang was not spared from the chaos.
On the seventh day of the twelfth month, Aunt Zhao was scrubbing the stove and unearthed some aged rice and red beans and other miscellaneous ingredients from the storage jars. She mixed them with dried fruits, pine nuts, milkfruit, persimmons, and chestnuts, simmering them over a low flame throughout the night to produce a rich pot of Laba porridge.
Madam Li had just taken her medicine and had little appetite. She ate only a few bites before stopping, her gaze gentle as she watched Changliu finish a bowl of porridge. “Once you’ve memorized your lessons, go with Aunt Zhao to deliver some Laba porridge to the neighbors. Offer greetings to the aunts and uncles.”
Changliu nodded, “Yes.”
Madam Li instructed, “Today is the Bathing Buddha Festival. Your Huaiyuan-gege mentioned taking you and Jiayan to Zhuangyan Temple to play. If you come across performers or jugglers, hold on to Jiayan and stay away from the crowds to avoid getting jostled. At noon, when the monks, practicing Dāna2, distribute Buddha porridge, each of you should have a bowl, and once you’re done, come straight back. Mother will be waiting for you at home.”
Changliu nodded again, “Yes.” After a moment, he looked at Madam Li, paused, and added, “I’ll bring a bowl of Buddha porridge back on Mother’s behalf.”
Madam Li shook her head, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she coughed. “Mother does not care for it. Changliu can just enjoy it.”
Changliu shifted uneasily in his chair and, with some anxiousness, raised his head and asked in trepidation: “Mother.”
“En?”
“Mother, I heard you coughing last night.”
Madam Li froze for a moment, then smiled softly and said, “Mother is fine.”
Changliu twisted his hands and stared at the table for a long time without speaking. Then, after a pause, he said again, “Mother.”
“Silly child, Mother is perfectly fine.” Madam Li pulled Changliu into her arms, gently stroking him. “Mother is okay.”
During the twelfth lunar month, every household was bustling with activity, and the streets were clear of wanderers. From adults to children, everyone was lively with preparations for the new year. The markets were more crowded than usual, filled with an array of goods: dried fruits, preserved meats, winter delicacies, clothing, jewelry, cosmetics, fireworks, lanterns, puppet shows, and performances of Hu music and dance, the streets bustled with activity. The Hu merchants brought out their finest wares and treasures for sale. Married women prepared new head ornaments and those in the yamen and military sent up their tributes.
From the camel caravan, a haunch of venison was delivered, keeping Aunt Zhao busy for days. Meanwhile, Huaiyuan somehow managed to catch a whole litter of rabbits, which he brought to the Li household for amusement. Xianxian, dismayed by Jiayan’s incessant teasing chants of ‘rabbit meat for dinner’, hid the rabbits in the side room.
After the tenth, the markets began selling New Year items: prints of guardian deities to hang on doors, hanging thousand blessings scrolls, gold and silver foil offerings, burnable offering papers, window decorations, and couplets. The festive atmosphere grew thicker with each passing day.
Not far from Blind Alley was a small temple called Jiguang Temple. Though its Buddha statues were worn and the incense offerings sparse and unpopular, it housed a few doddering, elderly monks. Behind the temple ran a quiet, narrow street called Gongde Alley, which belonged to the temple. The monks rented out the residences there—half were rented to the locals as private schools for the neighborhood children, and the other half as ordinary residences.
Lu Mingyue had lived in Gongde Alley for several years. A widow raising a child alone, she valued the peace and privacy the alley offered, away from gossip. She also took a fancy to the private school next door, believing in the efficacy of Mencius’ mother’s three moves3. She hoped that this atmosphere would encourage learning and progress in school and restrain Jiayan’s playfulness.
When Helian Guang returned home, the courtyard gate was shut and the house silent.
The man did not bother knocking. Facing an earthen wall that was more than one person high, he stretched out and with a swift twisting leap, his tall frame cleared the courtyard wall, and he landed steadily inside. He opened the gate himself and led his horse into the yard.
Jiayan had gone out to play early in the morning, leaving Lu Mingyue alone at home. She was sitting cross-legged under the window, sewing clothes. Hearing the noise in the courtyard, she assumed Jiayan had returned.
“Jiayan?” she called.
There was no response.
Instead, the horse let out a loud neigh, its hooves clattering on the stone slab. This was followed by the sound of a man’s heavy, steady footsteps. Though they weren’t particularly loud, they rang in her ears like a tolling bell, making her heart race uncontrollably. Flustered, she scrambled to stand up in a panic.
In the courtyard, Helian Guang, draped in a filthy felt cloak was crouched on the ground, removing the wooden clogs from his horse’s hooves.
Hearing footsteps, the man looked up, squinting as he sized her up.
He was exceptionally tall and broad, with deep-set features and pale eyes tinged with a faint blue hue. When he fixed his gaze on someone, it felt direct, unabashedly scrutinizing, making Lu Mingyue uncomfortable and self-conscious.
“Is there any food at home?” Helian Guang’s voice was low and gruff, coarse from what seemed like nights of ceaseless travel.
Lu Mingyue frowned, averting her gaze. After a long pause, she replied coldly, “There’s some leftovers in the pot.”
Helian Guang grunted in acknowledgment, patted his dirty hands, and strode off toward the kitchen.
In the pot, he found a few hard, leftover steamed buns from Jiayan’s earlier meal. Grabbing one, he gulped down some cold water and then sat on a low stool by the fire, legs folded up, wolfing down the food.
Lu Mingyue stood outside, watching from a distance. Such a massive man hunched over, with his legs curled up, while fitting on a tiny stool.
She was a Han woman, born in the south’s misty and elegant city of Gusu. When she was young, her family had fallen from grace, exiled to the borderlands at Hexi. Though she had lived in the frontier for over a decade, deep down, she still carried the southern sensibilities of refinement—delicate cuisine, fragrant tea, and the ideal man should excel in playing the guqin, chess, calligraphy, and painting; ride a horse while leaning against a slanted bridge, and have ladies with red sleeves waving to him from the balconies.
Footnotes:
- Mao Sui recommended himself: chinese idiom that means to offer one services in the style of Mao Sui offering his services to the King of Chu of the Warring States ↩︎
- Dāna: practice of cultivating generosity, taking the form of giving to an individual in distress or need, or of philanthropic public projects that empower and help many. ↩︎
- efficacy of Mencius’ mother’s three moves” Refers to the well-known Chinese idiom about Mencius’ mother (孟母, Mèng Mǔ) moving three times (三迁, sān qiān) to find an environment suitable for her son’s education. It symbolizes the importance of a good environment in nurturing character and learning. ↩︎
TN: Hope everyone is doing well! Slowly starting to understand some of these characters more!
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