Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

  Once Ying Ling was seated, several trays of meat and vegetables were served complete with silver kuai-tze, which went to work immediate over ruby lips. It was interrupted only once by Wu T’ai-po’s wine salute, but then continued as if the woman had not eaten in a fortnight. Once sated, Ying Ling placed the kuai-tze aside, and then bowed to Chi Lin.

  “Thank you for coming, Mistress Ying,” Chi Lin said.

  “You are in need of my services, so I hear,” the mei-ren replied, reaching for her cup. “It has been some time since the House of Wu has called. But now that the flowers bloom and the hair grows thick on the pelvis, my services can be deployed more often.”

  “Yes, we are in need.”

  Ying Ling clapped. One of the porters came forth with a bamboo book. She pushed the food trays aside and rolled the scroll before her.

  “I have consulted the sticks and the astral charts for the First Son of Wu. He is an interesting case.” She tapped the bamboo slip. “Few first sons show more promise to fulfill their responsibilities than Wu Lin-kua, or so says the juncture of stars and the Yi-ching. So it is likely that many matches may suit.”

  “We want the best match.”

  “Good family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good looks?”

  “If possible.”

  “Broad thighs?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Bound feet?”

  “No bound feet.”

  Ying Ling frowned.

  “That narrows things.”

  “The Lady of the House does not want a wife with bound feet to replace her.”

  “Then we shall respect Mistress Wu.” Ying Ling regarded the scroll. “There is a daughter of T’ou and one of Chou that are most propitious.”

  “None in Gui?”

  “Gui daughters are young still, except for one, who has just come of age. She is not pretty and, as for child bearing, she might do, but the bride’s price will be low . . .”

  “And the dowry high.”

  “The Gui name counts for much and may curtail the dowry to the bride’s brush, bedding and scents.”

  Chi Lin thought on this. A match between the Gui and Wu House would be more fortunate for the Gui than the Wu.

  “But the advantages of marrying into the ji-tzao certainly would draw a chest of silver and much silk and horses. But this can be no more than speculation if she has bound feet.”

  “Her feet are unbound.”

  “Reach out then and see.”

  “I must still cast the sticks.”

  “Cast them and let us know.”

  Chi Lin sounded churlish in her demand, but Ying Ling was no more than a merchant providing a service; and since there were many more marriages to arrange, Chi Lin wanted the mei-ren to know not to take advantage and risk future business. Ying Ling bowed, stood and was helped into her chair.

  “One more word,” Chi Lin said. “Do you know the pleasure girl named Cinnamon Rose?”

  “Yes, mistress. She is a beauty. But her feet are bound and you can expect no dowry from that quarter. I would make inquiries for you on that score for an additional fee, but Cinnamon Rose is already taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “T’ou Chang-la has arranged to acquire her as his fifth wife. The bride price has already been paid.”

  Chi Lin smiled.

  “I thank you.”

  Once Ying Ling was gone, Wu Lin-kua appeared, released from his restriction. At once, he asked his Auntie for details. She provided none, except the one she needed him to know; the one hardest for him to hear. He wept. There was nothing to be done because T’ou Chang-la was the Master of the T’ou House and could offer Cinnamon Rose much beyond the First Son’s allowance. But his Auntie promised him a proper bride, which may not have salved his wounded heart, but kept him on the appropriate course.

  Chapter Three

  Passing the Torch

  1

  Honeysuckle, the eldest daughter of the Gui Household proved both available and suitable as determined by Ying Ling. Chi Lin considered this and also Lin-kua’s feelings. But the dowry was above expectations, so she announced to Jasmine that a match was set, once Wu Lin-kua sealed it and the bride price paid. A meeting was arranged at the Gui household and a still-sad Lin-kua arrived there with his grandfather and six journeymen to see what he could see. He had told Auntie Purple Sage that if he could not have Cinnamon Rose, Honeysuckle did not matter. Any woman would do if Heaven and the stars demanded it. This did not cheer Chi Lin. She sought Lin-kua’s happiness, but not at the expense of a propitious match. But she had little to fear, because once inside the Gui household, and once Lin-kua saw Honeysuckle, he was drawn to her. She was not a brazen pleasure bauble or a radiant beauty, but a girl with a demure countenance who peeked at her possible husband from across the tea table. In fact, she covered her mouth and giggled. He giggled in return, and when the time came to serve the cake, Lin-kua placed a red tea pouch on the saucer. He had approved.

  The bride price was paid three moons later, and then Wu Lin-kua went to collect his bride. Her friends and family ceremoniously taunted him, preventing him from entering, but when this custom subsided, the bride’s chair was readied, the red robes secured and a procession marched through the salt marsh to the House of Wu. Of course, Wu Chou-fa and his friends ambushed the groom with fireworks, a necessary prank, but this obstacle was overcome also, the bride and her dowry entering the courtyard, the ceremony commencing — short and felicitous — k’ou-t’ous to Heaven, a wine cup filled to the brim without spilling, and then the feast — raucous and merry while the wedding couple looked happily on.

  Chi Lin was satisfied with the match and the mei-ren’s work. Honeysuckle was unassuming and gentle — still young and to be molded as the Lady of the House when the time came. The two families, always rivals, were embraced with a new sense of harmony. Then, Lin-kua presented his new bride to the Old Lady of the House. She had been aware of things, but barely. She allowed Willow to dress her in her fine festive robes, which draped over her like curtains on a too-high window. Her face was sunken, her old eyes kept open by the shear force of will.

  “Grandmother,” Lin-kua said, bowing, Honeysuckle performing a deep curtsy. “My bride pays her respects.”

  “Gui Lei-la,” the old woman said.

  “Honeysuckle,” came the thin voice of the new bride.

  “Sweet as the flower.” The Old Lady glanced down at Honeysuckle’s feet. “Very sweet, indeed. Welcome to the House of Wu. You are of our family now.”

  The Old Lady was content, but expressed nothing more until Chi Lin came into her presence. Then she grinned, lifted her hand to her daughter-in-law, and then sighed deeply.

  “You have done well, Purple Sage. I know these things are in good hands now.”

  Chi Lin’s heart soared. She even told her husband these things when she visited the shrine, and then turned to the issue of the second son, Chou-fa.

  Much changed. Now that Lin-kua had married, he would need a place to live and, in due course, it was decided that the Bachelor Quarters would become the new Pavilion of the Precious Omen. Wu Chou-fa moved into rooms at the Journeymen’s Quarters, an arrangement he did not mind because he liked listening to their ribald tales and occasionally joined their games of Fan Tan. But Chi Lin knew this could not last. It was inappropriate and only a temporary measure. Wu Chou-fa had now assisted his grandfather with household planning – inventory, transportation and rites, but for the most part he was idle. Therefore, Chi Lin visited Jasmine and broached the prospects of marriage. Once again, Jasmine had pushed a son into a state of non-commitment. Chou-fa had visited the pleasure houses as had his brother, but unlike his brother, he was shy and only chose newcomers, who were not beauties and nearly anonymous. To Chou-fa, the pleasure was a disposal of need and never a dalliance or passionate expenditure. He saw no need to marry yet, and thus resisted his mother’s commandment.

  Chi Lin planned to meet with Chou-fa and persuade
him, but there was little incentive to fire the young man’s commitment. She asked Lin-kua to intercede. The brothers were close and she thought perhaps plain speaking would convince Chou-fa, but Lin-kua’s efforts were weak, his time invested in his new wife, who was soon kindled for motherhood. Chi Lin’s only course was to seek the council of her mother-in-law, but she was not in time.

  On the morning the Old Lady of the House passed away, Chi Lin was awakened by Willow.

  “You must hurry, mistress,” Willow urged. “She calls for you and only you.”

  Mi Tso-tze quickly dressed Chi Lin and together, Willow and Purple Sage hurried to the Jade Heart Hall, where the yi-sheng hovered about the Old Lady’s chair. She had refused to be moved to her bed. Wu T’ai-po stood silently in the room’s corner, while Wu Lin-kua knelt at his grandmother’s side. Jasmine peeked in from the kitchen, while Lotus was no where to be seen. When Chi Lin entered, Lin-kua stood.

  “Auntie,” he said, tearfully, “she speaks your name.”

  Chi Lin came to the chair, where her mother-in-law was as cold as the north wind. She stared blankly, but then looked up.

  “Purple Sage” she said, barely audible. Chi Lin kneeled, bringing her ear closer to the old one’s lips. “You have come.”

  “You spoke my name, mother-in-law.”

  “I go, daughter-in-law,” she whispered. “A woman’s heart is sometimes plagued by things she knows and cannot address. She cannot say it while she lives in the world of men. But I go now and I say now, you are a jewel among the treasures of my heart. Your stitches are the finest and you mend this family. You mend it.”

  Chi Lin did not know what to say. She hoped no one else heard these words, but she knew Willow had heard them and perhaps Wu Lin-kua.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked. “Can I bring something to ward off this cold?”

  “My shroud will do. Your warm hand is a comfort. Knowing you will see the mei-ren for my grandchildren, ushers me to the Yellow Springs in a calm boat on a gentle tide.”

  Chi Lin wept, the Old Lady fading in the dewy mist. This woman may not have been encouraging in the way Chi Lin’s mother had been, but she was a practical force – the bulwark and pillar for this household, and yet she now conferred such utility on the least of her son’s brides. Her mother-in-law squeezed her hand, and then released her, a half expressed utterance of Purple Sage managing across her lips. Then she was gone.

  Soon the shadow of Wu T’ai-po crossed the chair. He lifted Chi Lin to her feet, his old arms trembling under the effort. He looked down at his First Wife, and then departed, leaving the family to stand about the Old Lady of the House like silent statues in a wintry temple.

  2

  Any thoughts of another marriage were postponed for six moons as the household donned the white. By the time Honeysuckle was big with child, she was ensconced in the Jade Heart Hall as the Lady of the House, Wu Lin-kua assuming his grandfather’s role. Wu T’ai-po retired to a comfortable pavilion attached to the hall, all but relinquishing the daily business to his grandsons. He meddled to be sure, as any grandsire would amidst the verdant fingers of the semi-taught, but gradually he spent his days reading and sleeping and eating and farting, much to his contentment — nothing in want, all needs subscribed.

  With the mourning, all household members returned to pray at the shrine, including Wu Liang-tze’s wives, those still surviving, coming from the shambles of the Second Son’s vagrant estate. Wu Ming-kuan returned from the port, his apprenticeship having just commenced, but curtailed much to his displeasure. The mourning also brought a visit from Wu San-ehr in all his martial splendor, covered in white, of course.

  Chi Lin was happy to see Ming-kuan, but he fretted. He loved learning about the ships and the contours of the sea. He was still too young to set forth across the tides, but his skill with a brush made his studies successful, only to be interrupted by mourning. Chi Lin met with him daily listening to descriptions of rigging and sails, not that she knew the meaning, but it was a pleasure to hear his voice. Like a sea bird surveying the tides, Ming-kuan had found his vocation. As fretful as he was, he was still obedient and observed the rites, attending his brothers in daily prayers to Heaven for their grandmother’s ch’i.

  One afternoon, Chi Lin returned to the Silver Silence to a surprise visitor — Wu San-ehr, who arrived unannounced and, in her absence, made himself comfortable in her ke-ting. Mi Tso-tze sent Po Bo to warn her, but it was not timely, the custodian meeting Purple Sage as she entered the courtyard.

  “He is here,” Po Bo said. “Who would think that he would ever come here? But he marched over the threshold and howled for a bowl of wine and made himself comfortable on your best chair, mistress.”

  “Who is here, Po Bo? You are speaking too fast.”

  “The Third Son, mistress.”

  Chi Lin’s eyes opened wide. Her brother-in-law had never commiserated with her. He was a commanding presence in the household when he visited, but he remained in the Jade Heart Hall or took residence in the Bachelor Quarters. He had not crossed over the Silver Silence’s threshold since the night of the rape. Chi Lin hastened her pace.

  Wu San-ehr sat on the best chair, indeed, and he was calm about it. Chi Lin entered, curtsied to him, and then ordered Mi Tso-tze to have Mo Li prepare dumplings.

  “Brother-in-law,” she said, sitting opposite him, “this is unexpected, but quite felicitous.”

  “This Hall is quite felicitous,” he remarked looking about. “It has come a long way since I last saw it. You know how to charm the walls and coax the ceilings, Mistress Purple Sage.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I am unaccustomed to see so many books in a woman’s household, but I have been told you have crossed the divide on that score. If my father approves, who am I to dispute it?”

  “It wiles the time when I am not otherwise engaged.”

  “And engaged you have been.” He leaned forward. “You have proved to be a virtuous go-between — most wise and politic.”

  “Wisdom has little to do with it, my lord. What is available is available. As for politics, how could a woman know of such things?”

  “Know it or not, Heaven has guided you fortuitously.”

  “I thank you.”

  “I hope the next matches prove as politic.”

  Chi Lin was lost on the force of this remark. She knew little of the outside world, the flow of events and Imperial shifts in favor. How political could a connubial match be within a county town?

  “Pardon, brother-in-law, but when you say I have acted politically, I do not understand. If it was politic, it was driven more by fate than design.”

  “Then know this,” he said, sipping some wine, and leaning even closer to her. “The salt monopoly is a powerful trust. The Wu hold it, but that does not mean it is ours forever. There are others who would like to take it from us. But only the Emperor can do so. So it depends on political favor, which other families vie for.”

  “Do you speak of the Gui?”

  “I do. They have sent minions to court trying to sway the Emperor and his Heir to allow the monopoly or part of it to slip under their control.” He laughed. “But now the alliance between our houses allows them to have a share by proxy, and yet lets my nephew maintain the whole of it. That was your doing, Mistress Purple Sage.”

  “If it was so, it was not intended, but I am happy to feed destiny.”

  “You must continue to do so.” He sat back and surveyed the room. “Indeed this hall has improved and I shall help improve it more.” Chi Lin nodded. “Yes, you must feed destiny again. Wu Chou-fa must marry.”

  “He is disinclined to it.”

  “Nonsense. A man must marry as part of his contract with Heaven and Wu Chou-fa must overcome his timidity or whatever objections he may have. Does he like women?’

  “Yes.”

  “It would not matter if he likes men as long as he marries and does his duty.”

  “He has no ambitions toward
it. I believe he knows, in time, it must be done, but . . .”

  “I shall give him two incentives, Mistress Purple Sage. He shall move into Wu Liang-tze’s villa. Having a place he can call his domain will make him happier than any wife. But . . . he must marry to have it.”

  “That would be fine, brother-in-law, but the place, so I hear, is in disarray. The great storm devastated the main hall and it is still in disrepair all these years later. We use the place as a cold palace, the Second Son’s wives living in a bitter state.”

  “Why is this so?” Wu San-ehr barked. “Why have I not been informed of this? My father should have repaired it.” He looked askance. “I mean not to speak against him, but it only stands to reason that a good property should be maintained.”

  “I am not to say it and have no opinions on matters that do not concern me.”

  “They concern you now. Persuade Wu Chou-fa to a good match and the villa shall be restored. I have an army of personally loyal men who will lend their backs to it.”

  “And materials?”

  “I will donate toward it, and so shall Wu Lin-kua. It is his responsibility as Master of the House. And you shall make a match with the T’ou family.”

  “But Ying Ling must contrive the match.”

  “Of course the mei-ren must earn her keep, but it must be the T’ou clan. They must bring a mighty dowry to defray the costs of this restoration.”

  “But they are not as wealthy as the Gui.”

  “They stand to benefit more, so they shall pay more. You make this so and I will add a second incentive. I will tell Wu Chou-fa that he must marry and marry now or I will take him away from Yan-cheng and enlist him my army at the lowest possible rank.” He laughed. “That should get the pup’s attention.”

  Chi Lin grinned, not because she wanted to see Chou-fa as a soldier, but she was moved by her brother-in-law’s spirit. There was no doubt he could move Mount T’ai if he needed the space to grow rice.