PART FOUR
Eighth Month, 1722
Spring flowers, the autumn moon, when will they end?
How much can we know of the past?
Last night in the little tower, again an east wind,
I can’t bear to look back at my old kingdom in the moonlight.
The carved railings, the jade steps, must still be there;
It’s only the rosy faces that have changed.
I ask you: how much grief can there be?
As much as a spring river flowing east.
Li Yu, Last Emperor of the Southern Tang, song
lyric to the tune “The Beautiful Lady Yu”
1
Xifeng arrives at the yamen nearly an hour later than she intended. The new apartment that they are renting is farther south than Rongguo, and she had underestimated how long it would take for her to walk to the center of the city. Breathless and sweaty from exertion, despite the autumn cold, she hurries to the courtroom. It is deserted but for a young clerk shuffling through a pile of papers near the judge’s bench.
Attempting to quiet her noisy breathing, she advances between the empty seats. “Excuse me, has the Jia trial been held yet?”
The clerk looks up. “It was over a quarter of an hour ago.”
She composes her features into a smile, and stops only a few feet from him. “Can you tell me what the sentences were?” She had prepared a bribe of a few silver taels in her sleeve, but money is so tight that she hopes that she will not be forced to use it. To that end, she had washed and pressed her gown the day before, and had gone to Cousin Rong’s to borrow makeup from his mother. She had smeared the cheap lead powder, which she would not ordinarily touch, over her face, and brightened her cheeks with the sticky rouge. She feels the clerk’s gaze on her, both curious and admiring.
He consults the papers before him. “The first charge was treason. Jia Zheng got seven years—”
She stifles a gasp. How will Uncle Zheng survive seven years in prison? He will be an old man by the time he is released.
The clerk continues, “Jia Baoyu, Jia Lian, and Jia Huan each got three years.”
Three years! Everyone knew that Lian and Huan had nothing to do with politics; even Baoyu was no more than a dabbler. The court must be making an example of them. With a growing feeling of dread, she asks, “Were there any other charges?”
“Jia Lian was also sentenced to two years for usury.”
The pit of her stomach grows cold with shock. So the loan agreements had been used against him. She imagines how furious he must be at her—and Lian’s anger is the type that instead of dissipating with time only grows stronger without a vent. She is abjectly grateful that she will be spared from his anger for five years. But when he returns from prison, what then? Blindly she turns away from the clerk towards the courtroom door.
“There was one more charge.” The clerk’s voice stops her.
She is surprised. “What is it?”
“Jia Zheng and Jia Baoyu were charged with obstruction of justice, and each got sentenced to two more years.”
“Obstruction of justice?” she repeats. “What for?”
The clerk consults his papers once again. “Jia Zheng’s nephew Xue Pan was involved in a murder case last fall—”
“A murder case! I didn’t know anything about that.”
The clerk continues, “Jia Zheng was charged with illegally approaching the district magistrate and getting him to drop the charges.”
A dart of suspicion enters her mind. Jia Yucun had been a district magistrate before he was promoted. Was it possible that he had been the one overseeing Xue Pan’s case? She had never known how Uncle Zheng and Yucun had become acquainted in the first place. Could Yucun have given evidence against Uncle Zheng?
Another clerk enters the courtroom and begins to gossip in an under-voice with the first one. “Did you hear that he’s actually going to marry the Marquis of Donghou’s daughter? Pretty well for a nobody from the country!”
She has never met the Marquis of Donghou’s daughter, but has heard of her spoken of as beautiful and accomplished, someone who would have been considered a good match for Baoyu before the confiscation, had he not been betrothed to Baochai. She wonders who they are talking about.
“And now he’s been promoted from Under-Secretary to the President of the Board of War to Minister of Rites,” the first clerk says. “Whoever heard of such a young man being made Minister of Rites?”
A wave of sourness comes over her as she realizes that they are talking about Yucun. Only a few months ago he had wanted to marry her, and had told her that he would not marry to further his career.
“Don’t you know why he’s been promoted so fast?” the second clerk asks maliciously.
“I’ve always heard he was hand in glove with the eunuchs.”
“Yes, but there’s another reason.” The second clerk leans down and begins to whisper in the first one’s ear. She is close enough to catch some of the words: “… gave evidence against other officials about their ties to other Princes.” Her earlier suspicion hardens into bitter certainty: Yucun had betrayed them. When she had thought of the arrests and confiscation as the blows of impersonal fate, she had been able to endure them philosophically. How had Yucun hated her, to turn against them like this? Was it because she had broken off the affair? Or was it simply his ambition?
Slowly she goes towards the door.
Again the clerk’s voice stops her. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
She sees from his face that he is hoping to be paid for his trouble, but she turns away. “No, nothing else.”
Even the long walk through the gathering dusk does not blunt the fear and ache of betrayal in her heart. She turns onto Drum Street and enters the low-ceilinged, cluttered apartment, lit by a single lamp. On the narrow kang, Lady Jia, Tanchun, and Xichun all turn towards her eagerly, asking for news of the sentences. Ping’er, who is giving Qiaojie loquat syrup for her cough, looks up, her face anxious. Xifeng is struck anew by Daiyu’s absence. She had disappeared during the chaos of the confiscation, and none of Xifeng’s inquiries has yielded a clue as to her whereabouts. Mrs. Xue and Baochai come out from the single bedroom. The apartment is so crowded that she often wonders why they continue to live with the Jias, rather than moving in with Pan’s wife.
“What’s the news?” From her backrest, Lady Jia’s imperious voice cuts through the babble of the others.
When she tells them the treason sentences, they are all stunned into silence. Lady Jia falls back with her eyes shut, as if she cannot bear to face the news. The others begin to weep. Even Qiaojie, infected by the others’ tears, whimpers in Ping’er’s arms.
“Seven years,” Tanchun says. “How will we ever manage without Father for so long?”
Xifeng wonders herself. She has collected all the jewelry they were wearing the day of the confiscation and sewn it into the padding of a quilt. Ordinarily all of their jewelry should have amounted to thousands of taels. However, because of national mourning, everyone was wearing fewer and more modest pieces. Nevertheless, there were more than a dozen pieces, including less valuable items such as hair ornaments and her West Ocean watch. She has been pawning them one by one, to pay for their rent and living expenses, but even with the strictest economy, the jewelry will not be able to keep them for more than a few years.
Trying not to look at the Xues, she forces herself to continue. “There was another charge as well. Uncle and Baoyu were also convicted for obstruction of justice.”
“Obstruction of justice?” Lady Jia exclaims, bewildered.
“It seems that Uncle Zheng intervened in a murder case against Xue Pan.”
“A murder case! What are you talking about?” Lady Jia turns to Mrs. Xue, who bursts into tears.
“Yes, it’s true. Pan killed someone last year in a fight, and his family charged Pan with murder. I asked Zheng to speak to the district magistrate about it, and the charges were dropped.
Zheng never said anything because he knew it would embarrass us.” She kneels on the ground before Granny, kowtowing. “It never crossed my mind that you would be punished for Zheng’s kindness.”
Baochai’s expression does not change, but her face flushes an unflattering beet-red, and her small eyes look down on the ground. She kneels beside her mother. “We would never have asked Uncle’s help if we had thought it would injure you, after all your kindness to us.”
For several moments there is no sound but Mrs. Xue’s sobs. At last Lady Jia says, “That’s all right.” Despite the seeming generosity of her words, her face is expressionless, her voice dry. “We’re such close kinsmen. You’ve lived with us for more than three years.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Xue stammers. “We are closer than ordinary kinsmen.”
“If we don’t stand by each other in times of trouble, then who will?” Lady Jia says.
“We will try to be worthy of your kindness to us.” There is silence as Mrs. Xue and Baochai climb up from the floor.
Xifeng forces herself to break it. “There was one more charge.” All the way home she had debated whether to tell the others about the usury charge. She could have lied about Lian’s sentence. She could imagine their not finding out the truth for years; but she cannot bear the idea of living with such a secret over her head, one that might be discovered and revealed at her weakest moment.
“What is it?” Lady Jia says. “I know that they found those bolts of Palace Use silks in my room. Were we charged with possession of contraband?”
“No!” Forcing herself to get the words out, she speaks jerkily, “Lian was sentenced to two years for usury.”
“Usury!” Granny looks dumbfounded. “He was making loans? To whom?”
She turns on Xifeng. “How could you let him? Why didn’t you—” She stops, realizing the truth. “He didn’t make the loans, did he?” She struggles to her feet, her face distorted by rage. “How dared you? After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay our kindness.”
She had decided on the way home that the best strategy would be to admit her fault, but she feels choked by injustice, and retorts, “We were spending too much. I was worried we’d have money troubles later. I didn’t think it was wrong to make some money on my own.”
“You dare to defend yourself after disgracing the family like this? You should be begging my forgiveness. Look at what your selfishness and greed has brought upon the family.”
“I didn’t bring this on the family! The loans wouldn’t have been discovered if not for the confiscation, which was Uncle Zheng’s fault. And if the Embroidered Jackets hadn’t found it, the money I made would be supporting us right now, and you would be grateful to me!” She doesn’t know what has gotten into her, why she can’t be silent and meek. Somehow she is not as afraid of Granny as she used to be. Torn loose from her home, servants, and money, Lady Jia is nothing but a querulous old woman who retains power because the rest of them are weak enough to obey her. “Why was it so wrong to try to make some money of my own? The men in this family know only how to spend money, not to make it. And look at you! We all saw how much money and jewels the Embroidered Jackets found in your room during the confiscation! How did you get all of that, except by—”
Granny steps forward and strikes her on the face with the force of her whole arm. She does not move, shocked and humiliated by the blow.
“Don’t say another word! You commit a crime for which poor Lian, for which the whole family, has to pay. And instead of begging forgiveness, which you don’t deserve, you dare to try to justify yourself.”
Xifeng puts her hand to her burning cheek. She lowers her eyes, not to hide tears, but to hide her anger. She turns and goes into the back bedroom.
2
To Baochai’s relief, Jingui does not keep her waiting for more than a few minutes before having her ushered into the Inner Quarters. To her amazement, she finds her sister-in-law deep in conversation with a strange young man on the kang.
“Oh, this is my adopted brother, Xia San,” Jingui says, in response to Baochai’s shocked look. He is a flashily dressed young man, Jingui’s age or a little older.
“I didn’t know that you had an adopted brother,” Baochai says, trying to keep a tone of reproof out of her voice. It is wrong for Jingui to be entertaining men during Pan’s absence.
“My mother adopted him this spring. He’s come up to the Capital on business.” Jingui turns to Xia San with a tinkling little laugh. “Why don’t you go amuse yourself somewhere? My sister-in-law isn’t used to much company.”
After Xia San leaves, Jingui waves to Baochai to take his place on the cushion next to her. Surprised at this gesture of friendliness, Baochai climbs onto the kang. Seating herself beside Jingui, she is more than ever aware of the disparity between their appearances. Jingui is exquisitely dressed in a sable-lined red vest and yellow brocade gown. Baochai wears the same gown that she had been wearing the day of the confiscation, a lavender-sprigged brocade whose pale color shows the smudges of dirt around the wrists. Over it, she wears a bulky padded jacket, which she had made herself when the weather began to grow cold. Even her hairpins have been given to Xifeng to pawn. The only jewelry she wears is her gold pendant. Xifeng had refused to take it, insisting that it was as much a part of Baochai as the jade was part of Baoyu. Now she is pleasantly aware of its weight beneath her gown.
“My mother would have come,” she says, “but she wasn’t feeling well. She sends you her regards. Have you heard from Pan lately?”
“No, I haven’t. Tell me, how are the Jias doing?” Jingui’s face is alive with malicious curiosity.
Prompted by Jingui’s questions, Baochai repeats the charges and sentences against Uncle Zheng. Despite Jingui’s exclamations of surprise, Baochai has the strange impression that she has heard them already.
“What about Baoyu?” Jingui asks.
Managing to keep her composure, Baochai tells Jingui that Baoyu will be in prison for five years.
“Good Heavens! You can’t wait that long. Why don’t you break the betrothal?”
Baochai looks down, feeling her face flush. “I’m not sure we can. After all, the dowry has already been paid, and we certainly can’t expect to get it back at this point.”
“Yes, that’s true. Besides, it’s not as if you could make much of a new match at this point. Everyone knows that you’ve been living with the Jias for years. For you to break things off with Baoyu now would only make you look bad.”
What Jingui says is true, but Baochai cannot bring herself to tell the real reason that she cannot break the betrothal: Uncle Zheng and Baoyu had been convicted of obstruction of justice for helping Pan. How can she and her mother abandon the Jias after the risks Uncle Zheng had taken, the sentences he and Baoyu must serve? She herself had urged her mother to ask the Jias’ help. How could she have known how the favor would bind the families together? And buried deep in her heart is another reason for not breaking the betrothal. On the day of the confiscation, when the men were being dragged off by the Embroidered Jackets, she had at first turned away, thinking that the sight would be too painful. Then she saw Baoyu with his arm protectively around Uncle Zheng, his face full of concern for his father. He looked so noble, so handsome, that her heart started to beat wildly, and she had actually cried his name and run a few steps after him. In that moment, Daiyu, and his affair with her, faded from her mind.
“And what about the Jia women?” Jingui asks. “Where are they living now?”
“At first, they lived with Cousin Rong, but there wasn’t room, and Lady Jia didn’t get along with Cousin Rong’s mother. So they moved into a little apartment on Drum Street, south of Rongguo. Actually,” Baochai forces herself to continue, “that was one of the reasons that I came today, to ask you whether my mother and I might come here to stay with you.” She does not relish the idea of living with Jingui, but the conditions in Drum Street, with eight people, including a fussy, coughing baby, sleeping i
n one room, are nearly intolerable.
“Here?” Jingui says. Now that she has wormed all the information she wants out of Baochai, she is markedly less cordial. “I’m afraid that really wouldn’t be convenient.”
“We wouldn’t be any trouble. We don’t need much room.”
“It’s out of the question.”
“Surely Pan would want you to let us live here.”
Jingui gives a little shrug, clearly expressing her indifference to Pan’s opinion.
Baochai had expected Jingui to refuse, and hoped that she would be more likely to accede to the next request, having already refused one. “If it isn’t possible for us to live here, then, would it be possible for you to give us a loan?” she says. Determined to make the jewelry last as long as possible, Xifeng is extremely stingy about buying even such necessities as food and clothing.
“Pan took almost all our cash down south to buy merchandise. I’m afraid we haven’t any to spare.”
“Even something like thirty or forty taels would be extremely useful.”
Jingui shakes her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Baochai has never known anyone like her sister-in-law, who seems to feel no compunction about refusing all requests, feeling no need to even offer an excuse. She makes her final request. “Well, at least can you send a messenger to Pan down south?”
The Red Chamber Page 30