“Set her down,” he shouted.
The porters dropped the chair, Chi Lin nearly falling out. Chou Kuai-tze struck the lead porter, while the second one cowered.
“Do not blame them, Chou Kuai-tze,” Chi Lin muttered. “They are not at fault. It is my condition.”
Kuai-tze came to her, nodding respectfully, but clearly at a loss. Chi Lin continued to heave, when a second horse arrived – Lin Wu-luo, the Imperial Commissioner’s proxy. He remained on horseback, leering at the scene.
“Is all correct?” he asked.
“Not so,” Chou Kuai-tze snapped. “The ghost bride is ill.”
“She is pregnant, that is all,” Lin said, drawing an unkind glare from the journeyman.
“What is happening?” came a sterner voice.
A man approached on foot. Lin dismounted and bowed. Kuai-tze also bowed, but the man ignored them, coming to Chi Lin. It was the Imperial Commissioner himself – Ai-lo Wun-kua.
“What do I see?” he said, touching Chi Lin’s shoulder. “Is this Master Wu Hung-lin’s wife abroad in such a condition? Shameful.”
“I am sorry for it, my lord,” Chi Lin whimpered.
“It is not your fault that such errands send you forth in such a state. Not your fault.” He turned to the porters, who trembled in his presence. “Take her inside the Ya-men at once. Take her to my residence.”
The porters nodded, and then raised the chair, Chi Lin still miraculously intact. They raced to the Ya-men gate. Chi Lin was near to fainting.
5
Chi Lin had never entered the Ya-men before and scarcely noted it now, except her entrance caused a stir, the guards and clerks mumbling indignantly as she passed. It was an uncommon event. She did note the large courtyard and an array of offices and residences inside the governmental hive. She recognized the Superintendent, Po T’ai-kuan racing toward her, objections on his lips until he espied Ai-lo Wun-kua marching behind her like an angry prince.
“They sent her out to tour the ji-tzao,” he shouted at Po T’ai-kuan. “In her condition. What were they thinking?”
Superintendent Po shrugged, and then shook his head in agreement.
“I shall send for Ji Ji-bang,” he said.
“Send him to my residence. My wife will tend to her until then.”
“Just so, my lord,” Po T’ai-kuan replied. “Just so.”
“Tell Chou Kuai-tze and my proxy to do their inspection without the woman. I do not know what they were thinking.”
“Just so, my lord. Just so.”
The porters carried Chi Lin through a triple tiered gateway into a wide courtyard. She felt slightly better. Perhaps the curtailment of her part in the tour made her rally. Still, the chastisement Ai-lo Wu-kua might have for the House of Wu would be a heavy burden to bear. She fretted to be the cause of such calamity.
When they reached the Commissioner’s residence, a woman rushed to the chair – a tall woman with her hair in a high headdress topped with a red beaded bonnet. Chi Lin had never seen the likes of this before. The woman was wrapped in fur and spoke to two servants in a language unknown to Chi Lin. Then she helped Chi Lin out of the chair.
“Come and sit by our hearth. Warm yourself.”
“Ji Ji-bang comes,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said to his wife. “This is Chi Ming’s daughter, who now lives in the house of Wu.”
“The ghost bride?” the wife said. “I am honored. Come, come.”
Chi Lin was overwhelmed by the good nature of the woman and encouraged by the Commissioner’s acknowledgment of her father. The fact that Ji Ji-bang was coming with one of his smelly, but restoring potions was also sweet to hear. Once settled by the fire, a bucket was brought.
“Do not be ashamed if you need to use it,” the wife said. “I have six children and have filled many buckets of my own.”
Chi Lin embraced the device, but her vomit was spent. She feared retching with nothing left to deliver. She knew that to be worse than a steady stream. Instead, she bowed to the woman and sighed.
“You are kind,” Chi Lin said. She then turned to Ai-lo Wun-kua. “I am sorry for violating the Ya-men. I am sure the place will need purification.”
“Nonsense,” he snapped. “I embrace the ways of the Han people. I was born and raised south of the Wall. But when it comes to practical measures, Mongols set aside nonsense and do what is necessary to get the job done.”
“Please do not be angry with the House of Wu,” she pleaded.
“Why not? Who sends a pregnant woman out in bad weather to sit behind a screen and watch men bribe each other with ingots and wine?”
He sat sternly, his arms crossed. He wore a thick black robe with silver trim, and an oversized fur hat, even indoors. His mustache was long and thin. He wore his commissioner’s badge, a red metal plate on his left shoulder. It caught the shimmering light of the hearth.
“I am grateful for the fire,” Chi Lin said, “but if you insist on punishing my master for not halting my household duty, I will need to return to the chair and catch up to Chou Kuai-tze.”
Slowly, Ai-lo Wun-kua grinned, and then turned to his wife.
“Surely, this is Chi Ming’s daughter.”
He wife grinned also, and then arose to greet the doctor.
6
Ji Ji-bang was curt, giving Chi Lin a cursory glance, and then prepared the stomach-settling potion.
“You are lucky I am here,” he said the Chi Lin. “I have a portion to help you before the Commissioner prays to his god and waves the cross talisman over your head.”
Chi Lin did not understand the man. She felt relieved with the potion.
“I am grateful,” she said.
“Grateful for my brew or grateful that he does not cast a spell upon you?’
“This doctor believes in fewer things than any of us,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said, laughing. “My God would find him annoying if ever he had a chance encounter with him.”
“Which I shall not,” Ji Ji-bang said, wrapping his bottles in a leather roll. “Now, good lady, listen to me. Do not over do things. Your time is not near yet, but you must not compromise nature by heavy lifting or unwarranted travel. If you cannot tell Wu T’ai-po such things, I will do it. He pays me well, as the Commissioner can attest.”
Ji Ji-bang bowed to the Commissioner, the first time he did so because his fee was near at hand. Of course, the Commissioner did not pay him directly, so the bow was short and the physician disappeared in short order.
“I am in debt to you, my lord,” Chi Lin said to Ai-lo Wun-kua.
“Fret not,” he said. “Rest here and speak to me.”
“Would that be proper?”
“Tush. I am a Mongol and do not subscribe to Han proscriptions.” He leaned toward her. “I am a believer in the one God and follow the teachings of the prophet Ye-su. Do you know of what I speak?”
“I have heard of this.”
“From your father, no doubt. I am an Arka-‘un, guided by the ways of the Ne-tze-ehr. So when I heard the tale of your pregnancy by your dead husband, I shrugged my shoulders and looked to my God and thought of the many fairy stories told by my Han brethren.”
Chi Lin glanced to the ceiling.
“Please, my lord, Heaven will hear you.”
“Heaven always hears me, but not a celestial court or the souls of the many who have gone before, but a single spirit who sees all and knows all.”
Chi Lin drew her eyes away, afraid that such talk would compromise her state, perhaps more than the weather could.
“I am sorry for you,” she muttered.
“I know you are,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said. “You could not understand these things. Your father chastised me for the heresy, but he is a man of virtue and would not compromise me or my household beyond a head nod and a finger wag.” He laughed. “You father is well.”
“You have seen him?”
“I have. I visited him three moons ago. He complained of gas and the usual joint aches, but otherwise he appeared spry enough. I wis
h that I could bring him to the Ya-men and set him to best use, but nothing escapes his Majesty’s eye. I would not set your father up for a fall.”
“You are kind, sir.”
“I am as I am. I send him copy work . . . for your father and your brother.”
Chi Lin brightened. It was clear that this man was a friend of the family, and yet she never recalled seeing him. She had known the Superintendent, but the Commission was always no more than a name on the wind.
“And are you allowed to study in the House of Wu?” he asked.
Chi Lin feared to reply, but did not need to reply because, by Ai-lo Wun-kua’s facial expression, the question was a tease. Surely he knew the answer.
“I am a ghost bride, my lord.”
“Yes, and you carry a ghost child.” He winked. “But I know better. And when you have given birth and return to your tour inspections, you must always come to the Ya-men and sit with me. We can discuss the classics, if you wish and I will tell you the latest gossip from court.”
Chi Lin smiled, the prospect of such stimuli tempting.
“I am a mere woman, my lord. Pursuit of scholarship is forbidden.”
“Not under my roof. My wife reads and writes, but . . .” He leaned forward and whispered. “She has a poor head for philosophy and poetry. She can discuss flower arrangement and basket weaving, which is interesting for a moment or two, but does not keep my attention fixed.”
Chi Lin bowed again, and then silence prevailed.
The Commission napped by the fire.
7
Chou Kuai-tze returned, the inspection completed. Chi Lin felt restored and, although the chair was as rocky as ever, the porters had been rested and fed and were more inclined to keep her steady. The Commissioner’s wife said her goodbyes, Ai-lo Wun-kua allowed to sleep by the hearth. Chi Lin found the woman most accommodating and sensed a secret kinship to her — reading and writing.
One thing had changed on the return trip. The sky was dark gray and it began to snow — a light flurry and rare for the region. Chi Lin’s spirits raised as the flakes coated her lap and cap. She had remembered snow before, but it was many years ago when she was a child. The porters managed through the small accumulation, their feet bare and their skin bluish. More townsfolk were abroad now, the snow drawing their attention and wonder. By the time Chou Kuai-tze’s horse crossed beneath the outer gate to the Wu Homestead, the ground was covered entirely with white.
The entourage, such as it was, halted before the Jade Heart Pavilion. The Old Lady of the House stood on the porch clad in heavy fur and an ermine scarf. The flakes were sticking to her eyelashes underscoring the dissatisfaction she felt. Willow stood beside her with a furled san-tze. Upon seeing the Old Lady, Chou Kuai-tze dismounted, bowed and then escorted his horse toward the stable. The porters were at a loss at their next steps, so they stood shivering before the Old Lady of the House.
“Purple Sage,” the Old Lady snapped. “Why have you chanced it? Why?”
Chi Lin was downcast, but could do nothing more than apologize and explain, curtly.
“I am sorry, mother-in-law. I was ordered to do so.”
“Ordered?”
“Jasmine said it would bring glory and honor to the House of Wu.”
The Old Lady’s bottom lip curled. She looked beyond Chi Lin to the Blue Heaven Pavilion. She marched off toward the slick wooden boardwalk.
“My lady,” Willow said. “You will slip and fall.”
“Then you will pick me up and brush me off.”
The Old Lady marched beyond the chair, a trail formed by the sweep of her robe. Chi Lin grinned secretly. The First Wife would be berated, to be sure, and with good reason. Then, Chi Lin looked beyond the courtyard. Standing at a distance through the curtain of snow was Mi Tso-tze waving to the porters to come. They took her cue, lifted the chair and completed the journey.
Chi Lin would sleep deeply that night and not emerge from the Silver Silence Hall for three days.
Chapter Eighteen
Full Blossoming
1
A basket of Cheng-tze arrived at the Silver Silence Hall much to the delight of Mo Li, who said she could steam a delicious basket of buns from the orange fruit, and even could use the peel in her ingredient cupboard. Chi Lin was happier for the sight of the fruit than the promised taste. This was a gift from the First Wife — a sign that she had been chastised by the Old Lady of the House and wanted to make amends. Although, there was no word of regret from Ma Mai-to, who delivered them.
“These are hearty delicacies, my lady,” Mi Tso-tze said, peeling one for her mistress. “I have only tasted them once, but I know they will soothe your tummy and raise a smile to your lips.”
Chi Lin listened. She had had Cheng-tze before, her father being partial to them and also had some at the wives’ table in the Jade Heart Hall when Liang-tze sent baskets in filial respect to his father. On this occasion, Wu T’ai-po had taken three fruit, separated them into the sections and sent these to the women on silver plates. The fruit was delectable. But Chi Lin thought, as sweet as these might have been, Jasmine’s gift might prove bitter.
Chi Lin took a slice and brought it to her lips. She had not been outside in a week and requested that work be brought to her in the Silver Silence. Sitting on the chair and staring at the walls did not suit her and, although Mo Li kept a steady stream of buns and rice balls coming into the hall, Chi Lin feared overeating them, only to bring them up. Her morning sickness was slackening, but any untoward push might bring it on again. So now she ate this sweet fruit slice.
The bitterness not in the taste, but in the prospect. Chi Lin’s son, if the fa-shr was correct and her baby would be a man-child, would leave the Silver Silence Hall immediately to be weaned by an amah and taught to regard Jasmine as his mother and Purple Sage as his Auntie, much like Lotus and Orchid’s daughters. In this, Chi Lin had a sorrowful pang, her heart filled with regrets even before the child was born. If she was in another household, her children would be her own. But here she was just the Fourth Wife, and the ghost bride. She could prevent this by declaring the real father, but that would only bring dishonor to the house, herself and her unborn son. She would be able to keep him and be his mother, but she would be forced to fend from the roadside, and he would have no advantage of his adopted blood line.
Chi Lin swallowed the fruit, and then took another slice. She knew Jasmine had been berated by the Old Lady. She had not heard this from Willow, who only nodded and kept silent when asked, as was proper, but from Wu Chou-fa. The boys would drift over to Chi Lin’s window on occasion and greet her. On one visit, both brothers were contrite that their auntie was forced to ride the chair. But the younger son spit on the ground, and then laughed.
“Grandmother was extremely cross with mother,” he said.
“You should not say so,” Chi Lin protested, but not too insistently.
“You should not tell her such things,” Lin-kua said. “It is not for her ears.”
“But it was for our ears, brother,” Chou-fa said. “That was how loud grandmother shouted. So loud the worms stopped their eating and listened. So loud the servants were abuzz for days.”
“Really so loud?” Chi Lin said, secretly glad.
“He stretches the truth,” Lin-kua said. “He always makes more of nothing.”
At that point they began to slap each other until they raced away, no doubt to convert such energy into play. But Chi Lin was happy that Jasmine was chastised. That the First Wife could still lash out at her was a possibility, but it was a sign that Purple Sage’s unborn son stood well in the eyes of the Old Lady of the House. It was a warm sign — one of endearment.
Chi Lin took another slice, and then paused.
“Tso-tze.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Take this and enjoy it.”
Mi Tso-tze did not protest, but embraced the fruit slice greedily. She had been licking her fingers after she completed the peeling, but the slice
would be better indeed. As she sniffed the fragrance of the slice and let the pulp linger in her mouth, the world seemed to slip away.
Chi Lin heard a child-like song from the courtyard.
“The Monkey King outfoxed Prince Demon Pig
Ho ho he and a wo wo wei,
Then he drank the Heavens in one happy swig,
Wo wo ho ho he, wo wei.”
“He is here,” Chi Lin said, attempting to rise.
“Let me help you,” Tso-tze said, swallowing the slice.
Chi Lin wobbled to the window where she saw the source of the song, and heard another verse.
“Lord Buddha danced a jig to see it so
Wo wo wei and a he he ho,
And he struck the demon with his lightning bow,
Ho ho ho he, wei, wei, wo.”
The boy, Po Bo, who everyone called little Monkey, carried two baskets slung on the end of his carry pole. He was a slight child of ten sui, but the cargo was light and easily handled. Chi Lin looked forward to the cargo, because it was her sewing work — shoes and linen and clothing for repair and embroidery. She would not need to stare at the walls for the next week. She was grateful to her mother-in-law for allowing her to work from the hall.
Po Bo came near the window, and bowed.
“Mistress Purple Sage, I am sorry. I bring you more than usual.”
“Do not be sorry,” Chi Lin replied. “I am happy for it.”
Lao Lao appeared, hopping to the boy, who let the baskets fall.
“Rascal Monkey,” Lao Lao said. “You are letting the work touch the ground. Will you scrub the soil away?”
“Old Lao Lao,” the boy laughed. “I am not an old woman, like you.”
He giggled, while Lao Lao righted one basket.
“Tso-tze,” Chi Lin said. “Please help Lao Lao and . . . bring little Monkey three Cheng-tze slices.”
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