Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

  “Who has such abilities?”

  “Gao Lin.”

  “Gao Lin,” Jasmine snapped. “I would sooner have my own worker try. Gao Lin is a wondering tea spout and I cannot afford to have servant children under foot. No. Not Gao Lin.” She sighed. “And why are you here? Why are you not feeding the worms?”

  Chi Lin touched Jasmine’s robe sleeve.

  “I observed that the white has been shunned. You told me that when the neighborhood comes not to expect the household to wear the white, I would assist you with the ji-tzao inspections.”

  Jasmine stood abruptly. She turned to her sons.

  “And why are you two here?”

  “Master P’ing Chin has a sick headache today,” Lin-kua replied.

  “He told us to study on our own,” Chou-fa added.

  “And is my ke-ting a place to study? If you were not here to startle your auntie, my Guan-yin would be still whole.”

  She swiped her robe sleeves, and then turned away. Her sons bowed and darted out. Chi Lin was pressed to know what to do, so she stood still and stared at the broken statue.

  “It is true you will help me beyond these walls,” Jasmine grumbled. “But not today. We must have a journeyman to assists us and porters. I will let you know.” She slowly turned, her sad countenance now sporting an imperious sneer. “I . . . will . . . let . . . you . . . know.”

  Chi Lin bow quickly, and returned to the courtyard. She did not mean to stand poorly in the First Wife’s eyes, but she knew that it would be so, if not for this, for some other cause. She was glad to know that she would assist beyond the walls and the prospects buoy her spirits.

  She walked sprightly to the moon gate where the path turned to the Silk ji-tzao. She would gambol her fingers in the mulberry leaves and feed the fat worm babies as they crawled on the twigs and branches. As she reached the gate, she felt two eyes watching her. She halted, not turning.

  “Thank you, Auntie,” came a voice, Lin-kua’s, she knew because his voice was going through the change.

  “Thank you, Auntie,” hailed a higher pitched voice, Chou-fa’s to be sure.

  “Be about your studies,” she said softly, still not turning.

  “Why did you do it?” came the lower voice.

  “You have made mother angry at you,” came the higher voice.

  Chi Lin grinned. They were good boys and grateful, but puzzled by their elder’s conduct. She should let them ponder the answer. But, no. She raised her empty basket, the one that had carried the Moon Cakes.

  “Your mother is angry, true. It is a pity. And yet she cannot beat me with the bamboo rod. She cannot.”

  She lowered the basket, and then drifted beneath the gate, knowing she left two grateful young gentlemen bowing in her wake.

  Chapter Eleven

  Inspecting the Ji-tzao

  1

  Chi Lin looked forward excitedly to the time when she would join the First Wife to perform an inspection tour of the Yan-cheng tenants and the salt and silk ji-tzao. It did not happen for two weeks after the broken Guan-yin statue. Chi Lin suspected that the delay was punishment for taking blame for the breakage. Jasmine did not entertain her during the entire interval, but then, word came that, if the weather held clear, Purple Sage was to present herself to the First Wife to learn how these tours were performed. Chi Lin was not sure whether this would be the tour or just a demonstration, but she was anxious nonetheless and extremely enthusiastic at the prospects.

  Gao Lin cautioned her to keep a steady heart and not to show her liking for any task shared with the First Wife.

  “Mistress, hear me if you will,” he said on the morning before the tour. “I remember when your husband undertook these inspections. He was carried like a sullen idol from place to place before meeting with the pao-t’ien elder. It is official dynasty business and not an outing for pleasure.”

  “I know this, Gao Lin,” she replied. “But it would make me happy to sit in my husband’s chair and be regarded with respect.”

  “Respect, yes. But a shadow of our lord.”

  “It is indelicate to remind me of this, Gao Lin. I have consulted at the shrine and know that, as the ghost bride, I am a household shade. But even a spirit’s consort can lift into a respectful mood those who toil.”

  Gao Lin did not contradict her, but his words were worthy, because she had been thinking of the tour as a lark in the sun . . . until now. Even Lao Lao cautioned her. She would have liked to consult Willow on the subject, but the servant had not been about lately, and, when she encountered her, it was in passing. Chi Lin thought to make bold and ask her mother-in-law about the tour, but feared offending her. After all, the Master of the House had relegated this task to the wives and his journeymen until Wu Lin-kua came of age. Perhaps the Old Lady of the House would have liked to have undertaken the tour and begrudged her daughters-in-law or the opportunity. In any case, Chi Lin kept her silence until the day arrived.

  She entered humbly the Hall of Blue Heaven, expecting a lecture from Jasmine and references to the broken statue. But she noticed the statue had been repaired and stood finely on its table pedestal. She thought to touch it, but feared accidentally breaking it again, although it would have been the only time she would have done so. While she observed it, she did not notice that two carry-chairs were brought into the courtyard, one larger than the other, two porters to each. A rider also entered on a tall, gray and white horse. He wore a silver badge about his neck — the Imperial Seal of the Salt Monopoly. Chi Lin knew from this that he was the journeyman assigned to the tour.

  “That is Chou Kuai-tze,” came a voice from behind.

  Chi Lin turned to see Jasmine attended by a hand maiden.

  “The horse is a high one, sister-in-law,” Chi Lin said, nodding.

  “As it should be. We represent the House of Wu in this exercise, Purple Sage. It is best you remember this as we proceed. Our prosperity depends on how the tenants regard us. It is a mutual respect, but we keep them in their proper place.”

  She offered Chi Lin a small fan, her own being ornate and larger.

  “Thank you, sister-in-law,” she said.

  “It will be handy against the flies and will help ward off the more noxious smells.”

  Chou Kuai-tze dismounted and inspected the porters, who knelt in place. Once satisfied, he signaled the women to mount the chairs. Chi Lin found her chair precariously small. She hoped she would not fall out.

  “Tiao ba!” Kuai-tze shouted, and the porters raised the chairs abruptly, still taking care to keep them level. Kuai-tze mounted his steed. “Ch’u ba!”

  Forward they went, too fast for Chi Lin’s sensibilities. She gripped the arms tightly. The caravan rushed through the courtyard and the moon gate. The House of Wu was passing behind them fast. Chi Lin had not seen the outer courtyards since the day of her wedding, but she had no time to drink in their beauty. Soon they were beyond the walls heading toward the Yan-cheng Ya-men.

  The street was how she remembered it, grayed with age and deeply rutted. Carts bumped in these ruts — carts filled with cabbages and scallions and fruited baskets. Pedestrians raced along beside the chairs and behind the chairs, engines of industry bent on attaining their destinations, wherever the sale of goods or bent backs were needed. Some looked up and regarded the two chairs and the horseman, but this parade was salt monopoly business and no business of theirs. So they just shaded their eyes and continued along their route.

  Chi Lin settled in as the porters slowed their pace. Soon they brought the chairs together in such a manner that Jasmine could observe her sister-in-law. She tapped the chair arm with her fan.

  “Sit straighter, Purple Sage. Yan-cheng is watching us. We do not want them to say that the House of Wu harbors scarecrows behind their walls. We are the wives of Wu Hung-lin, who is remembered in every household along this way. So do not look like you have been pegged to the arm rests. Appear at ease, but do not grace a soul with your smile.”

  Chi Li
n was not smiling, so there was nothing with which to grace the world. As for sitting up straight, she managed just about sitting in the chair without slipping out. The air was tart with the road dust, the vegetable carts and whatever came from Chou Kuai-tze’s horse’s backside. The fan was used frequently to wave the stink away. She was glad when they halted and the horse rode ahead. They had reached the Ya-men, where the Imperial Commissioner would add his authority to their company.

  2

  That authority came as a proxy in the person of Lin Wu-luo, Commissioner Ai-lo Wun-kua’s delegate. Together with the Wu House journeyman, this was the official authority to carry out the salt inspection. Chi Lin watched as the two men approached, a second horse now added to their company. Lin Wu-luo wore an identical breast plate badge for the Salt Monopoly — a silver plaque etched with the character lu with its crossed paths and dabbled dots inside a delimiting box. Chi Lin was impressed. It far outstripped her meager ingots. Jasmine nodded to the proxy, so Chu Lin followed suit. Then together, the porters turned onto the salt road, the two horsemen flanking them now. Chi Lin was happy for this, the horses now better positioned, the stink flowing behind her.

  The pace was slower — more a procession. The pedestrians were fewer also, but those that toted their wares at the end of carry-poles, bowed as best they could to the county’s best family. They did so now because they were tenants of Wu T’ai-po, to whom they owed allegiance and rent. Soon the ji-tzao appeared in the distance — the evaporation towers poised over the pits marking the charcoal filters and the salt gathering process. Jasmine pointed.

  “Family Lu,” she said. “They are many and industrious. They always meet their obligations with both salt and silk. You will see. They are the favorite tenants and receive larger gifts at New Year.”

  Chi Lin looked toward the low cluster of houses near the tower. She also noted a silk ji-tzao nearby. The smoke sent a thin mist across the road, the acrid brine smell nipping her nose. The Lu may have been the favorite, but they were indeed the smelliest. As the chair passed the pathways to the Lu ji-tzao, a ragged nest of children poked their heads up out of holes — new charcoal holes, perfectly fitted for little folk and spidery hands. Four adults waved their hats at the procession, fully expecting to be acknowledged as the favorite tenant. They were, because Chou Kuai-tze raised his hand, and then tapped his badge.

  The pathways branched at every step, each leading to another ji-tzao, the landscape dotted with evaporation towers. Chi Lin had never ventured into this zone, except during her wedding procession, when she was, for the most part, a prisoner in the bride’s chair. Her own home was beyond this and her father may have traveled this way to the Ya-men and to Yan-cheng market, but Chi Lin had been sheltered from the blight. And blight it was, to her eyes. This was not a painting of gentle hills and flowers, but a scarred plain, marshy and inclined to the sea — an invisible sea, only guessed at by the distant tidal sounds and gulls. Still, this was the source of wealth for the House of Wu, so how scarred could it be?

  Some towers appeared abandoned or less worked, at least. Jasmine opened her fan and frowned.

  “The Wei Family,” she said. “They should be slaves and not tenants.”

  “Why so, sister-in-law?”

  “Why do you think?” Jasmine huffed. “If the Lu is favored and the Wei frowned upon, why do you think it so?”

  “They make less salt.”

  “They make no salt at times and try to pay their rent in carrots and turnips. That the Master of the House allows them to stay on the land is a wonder.”

  “But he does.” Chi Lin smiled. “He is a good man.”

  “You should never speak about the Master, sister-in-law, especially when your words can be heard by one of his journeymen.” She snapped her fan closed and rapped it on the side of the chair. “It is not proper. The porters will gossip. Our father-in-law’s good character is of no concern to others. Their opinion is formed on their assessment of us. They look to this chair and see women of worth, and therefore the House is worthy of such women and the master is respected.” She frowned. “You are here to observe how they regard me and how to frame your next venture, when I am not here to draw their respect. You will learn. I have sons and you shall not, but there is a reserve of respect for a ghost bride outside the bounds of the house. Your duty and obedience will reward us.”

  Chi Lin sat silently listening to Jasmine outline her own superiority. Not even the Old Lady of the House was as virulently specific on the matter. Still, her mother-in-law could hold to such ideas, because her position allowed it. Chi Lin could not understand why Jasmine needed to fortify her position. She had sons, after all — clear evidence of her status.

  They turned off the main road near a larger house — a pavilion with a wide porch. It did not have crenulated tiles or an upturned roof because it did not have the proper permissions, but it was a large affair — large enough to hold dozens of tenants on the porch as the procession approached.

  “What is this place?” Chi Lin asked.

  “It is the pao-t’ien house.”

  Chi Lin understood. This is where the tenant families held congress to decide mutual issues before deferring to the Ya-men or the landlord. The pao-t’ien elder resided here when issues were rife for discussion. It was here also where the books were presented for inspection. It was here Chou Kuai-tze and Lin Wu-luo dismounted to be greeted with a bucket of wine and a host of reverential bows. The ladies were greeted by bows only. The elder appeared on the threshold and there was a convivial exchange with the journeyman and the proxy.

  Chi Lin realized that she alone was new to this. These men were accustomed to the company and indeed the expectations. Whether the elder was Lu, or Wei (she doubted Wei), or Chou, Ch’u, Ch’ao or Li, Chi Lin could not guess. But the men greeted each other, presented growing sons to be admired, waved some cash strings about and made highly charged sexual comments to which she could not be a reflection, because Jasmine remained as frozen as an idol.

  When these niceties were completed, Chou Kuai-tze turned to Jasmine, who arose. She looked to Chi Lin, who took her cue from her and also stood. Jasmine walked to the porch, Chi Lin following. It was a mystery to her. She had no idea what to expect inside except the overbearing smell of sweat and salt.

  3

  An observer. Chi Lin was an observer — demure and still and patiently so. The pao-t’ien house was plain inside, the walls unadorned and the floor bare. A table was center-room with two chairs, and, upon it, a bamboo book was opened to a place for convenience, Chi Lin was sure. To the side, a partitioning screen stood, two chairs behind it, and, to these chairs, Jasmine and Purple Sage were led. The screen was unadorned, thinly gauzed, and no impediment for observation or from being observed. But it served to phantomize the ladies of the Wu House, as was proper to the proceeding. Beside the screen was a shallow basket.

  Once settled behind the screen, Chi Lin sat without a sense of action. However, she noticed Jasmine closing her eyes and thought to do so also. But her interest in the inspection was too intense to be shut out from what the screen failed to obscure, so she remained fully alert. Chou Kuai –tze sat in one chair, while Lin Wo-luo took to the other. They unfurled their brushes, wells, ink sticks, chop seals and lacquer pots. The elder bowed and presented them both with one purse each, of which both men seemed to ignore. The elder bowed and placed these purses to the side of the book, and then produced a small cache of silver coins. He looked to the screen, catching Chi Lin’s eyes. She almost closed them, but curiosity kept them open. The elder bowed to the screen, and then tossed the coins into the shallow basket, and then bowed again. Jasmine grunted upon hearing the sound.

  So that was it. Chi Lin watched now as the journeyman and Imperial proxy perused the bamboo slips, making a note here and a note there. They grinned and winked and finally looked up at the elder.

  “Very good,” Chou Kuai-tze said, dipping his seal in the lacquer pot and pressing it into the book.
/>   “Very fine,” Lin Wo-luo echoed, doing the same with his own seal and pot.

  Chi Lin noticed that during the perusal, the two purses somehow disappeared. She knew where they went and guessed their purpose. She imagined that salt production could be high or low, the approval depended on those purses and their weight in the recipient’s hands. She would later find out that the amount offered could be determined beyond weight by counting the number of silver coins in the shallow basket, each coin denoting an ingot in the purse. The one thing eluding Chi Lin was why the journeyman and proxy would cheat the monopoly beyond the certainty of greed. If the monopoly was short and the Imperial Certificate compromised, would not the House of Wu lose the award? Then again, if tenants like the Lu overproduced, it would even things out from tenants like the Wei who were nearly vagrant. There had to be a better way, but who was she to question it?

  After the accounting and sealing, tea was served, followed by some small wine, not in buckets, but poured from leather flasks. Nothing was offered to the ladies, but during this post-inspection ritual, the small basket was retrieved by the elder and the silver coins wrapped in gauze. This was passed through the screen to Jasmine, whose eyes were wide open now.

  The journey back was different, the roads veering to the Lu Family’s silk ji-tzao. Chi Lin was conscious that the inspection of the silk works was a secondary act, one not accounted for in books and completely free of male intervention. In fact, when they approached the ji-tzao, Chou Kuai-tze and Lin Wo-luo held back at a distance, the Lu family women escorting the porters and chairs into a special space where three baskets of cocoons were ready for inspection, the best batches, no doubt.

  Jasmine looked to Chi Lin as if this was her moment to shine.

  “Never be pleased with the state of things, sister-in-law,” she said as they approached. “To show favor breeds encouragement for lesser results. Always be critical.”

  The chairs were set in the middle of two dozen women, who curtsied. No bribery here, Chi Lin noted, but a sincere regard for Jasmine’s opinion. A basket was lifted to her. She sniffed, and then poked her fingers into the cocoons. Her head cocked, and then she frowned.