“We don’t need very much. Even as little as a hundred taels would help. Perhaps you could squeeze a little out of your ordinary operating expenses—”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the Abbess had said. Xifeng could hear the note of finality in her voice. “Now be sure to give Lady Jia my regards.”
As Xifeng trudges into the city through the western gate, she seethes at how the Abbess had not even bothered to formulate an excuse. She obviously had the money and was simply unwilling to lend it. If the Jias ever get Rongguo back, Xifeng thinks, she will never contribute so much as a copper coin to the Water Moon Priory. Exhausted, she sinks down to rest on a small ledge on the inside of the city walls. Where else can she go? she thinks. Time is running out. In less than an hour it will be getting dark. Suddenly, the answer floats up to her from her tired brain. Jia Yucun. She has tried not to think of him since she ran into him buying medicine for Qiaojie. But hadn’t he made it clear that he still had feelings for her? Would he really refuse to help when he saw how desperate she was?
She remembers hearing that he had moved into a new mansion not far from Rongguo. Could she risk waiting until tomorrow, so that she can make herself fresh and pretty for the visit? She does not dare to wait. Who knows when the slave trader will find a buyer for Ping’er? She must go as she is, exhausted and cold in her sodden clothes, her face bare of makeup. Fortunately, the snow has stopped. Smoothing her hair, she climbs to her feet, her hope giving strength to her legs.
She sets off in the direction of Rongguo. When she is a few streets away, she asks someone where the Minister of Rites lives, and is directed to a street two blocks north of Rongguo. She walks rapidly, wanting to get there before the light fades entirely. When she turns onto the street, she can see that the towering triple gate, only slightly smaller than Rongguo’s, is already closed. She goes to one of the side gates and hammers on it. A gateman steps out. “What is it?”
Assuming a confidence she does not feel, she says, “I have a message for Minister Jia from my master, Mr. Jia Lian.” She hopes that Yucun will realize that the message is from her when he hears Lian’s name.
It seems to her that the gateman is looking at her strangely. It is unusual for a maid, rather than a page, to be carrying a message to a male recipient. He puts out his hand. “If you have a letter, I’ll take it in for Minister Jia.”
She shakes her head. “There is no letter. I have a message. My master told me to deliver it to Minister Jia personally.”
The gateman looks at her even more strangely. After a moment, he shuts the gate in her face and disappears. She is not sure whether he is shutting her out or going inside to ask whether she is to be admitted. She decides to wait a little while before knocking again. The temperature is dropping as the sun sets, and her wet stockings are starting to tingle painfully against her skin. She forces herself to jog back and forth to keep warm. After she has waited about ten minutes, the gate opens again.
“You may come in,” the gateman says.
She follows him through the gate and across a large, formal courtyard. Most of the buildings are unlit; all she can see is that they are large and well-proportioned. The gateman leads her through another courtyard, and another one. She wonders whether he is taking her to Yucun’s study, until she sees they are approaching what must be the Inner Gate. She is surprised. Why would Yucun wish to see her in the Inner Quarters, where his wife will certainly hear of her visit? At the Inner Gate, the gateman, forbidden from entering the women’s quarters, leaves her with a waiting maid. In the light of the lanterns at the gate, the maid in her butterfly silks at first reminds her of the maids at Rongguo. However, a second look reveals that she is too plain-faced to have been chosen to serve at Rongguo. The maid leads her to what appear to be the main apartments. How strange, she thinks. Won’t his wife be there? As Xifeng crosses the courtyard towards the front door, she is seized by a sudden nervousness and has an urge to turn back.
Forcing herself to follow the maid into the front room, she sees that Yucun is not there. Instead, a young woman sitting on the edge of the kang regards her with singular intentness. The woman wears an ermine-lined jacket and sable cap studded with a pearl pin. Her face is pretty, but is marred by the anxious frown that draws her brows together and hardens her mouth.
“Who are you?” the woman says, starting up at the sight of Xifeng. “What do you want with my husband?”
So this is Jia Yucun’s wife, the Marquis of Donghou’s daughter. She is attractive enough, but her face and figure lack distinction. She is fumbling with a small metal handwarmer shaped as a fish, and drops it on the floor in her agitation. A maid hastens to pick it up. Xifeng notices that this girl is as homely as the first maid. It occurs to her that Jia Yucun’s wife is a jealous and insecure woman who deliberately surrounds herself with unattractive girls.
“My name is Ping’er,” she lies, because Xifeng is too distinguished a name for a maid. “I’m here with a message for Minister Jia. If you will please have a maid take me to him, I will deliver my message.”
“My husband is not here. He has gone to Tianjin on Ministry business. Who sent you?”
Xifeng’s hope slips away. Who can she go to now? All she can think of is getting away from here. “My master, Mr. Jia Lian, sent me. If Minister Jia is not here, I’ll come back another time. Can you tell me when you expect him back?”
“My husband won’t be back for another week at least,” Jia Yucun’s wife says. She refers to Yucun as “my husband,” instead of “Minister Jia,” as if asserting her claim on him with every sentence. “Can’t you give me your message?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry to disturb you.” She moves towards the door.
“Just a minute,” Jia Yucun’s wife says sharply, following her.
“Yes?”
“If you give me the message instead, I’ll give you two silver taels.”
For a moment, Xifeng wonders whether she can use the woman’s curiosity and suspicion to raise the whole sum of money. She decides that the few taels she might get from lying to Yucun’s wife are not worth the effort. “I’m sorry. My master, Mr. Jia Lian, instructed me not to give it to anyone but Minister Jia.”
“Why are you lying?” Yucun’s wife cries, her face alive with suspicion. “Jia Lian is in jail. Who really sent you? One of the young ladies?”
Xifeng realizes that she is on dangerous ground. “Lady Jia sent me. She told me to say the message was from Jia Lian, because it wasn’t proper for her to send to Minister Jia herself.”
“What does she want?”
She decides to tell some version of the truth on the unlikely chance that Yucun’s wife will help them. “Lady Jia sent me to ask for a loan. The family has fallen on hard times. My mistress remembered that Minister Jia used to visit Lord Jia in the old days, and hoped that he might help.”
“You’re sure you’re from Lady Jia?” the woman repeats, as if she has not heard the rest of Xifeng’s words. She draws closer, putting her hand on Xifeng’s sleeve. “I’m sure that he was in love with one of the young ladies there. I’ll give you ten taels if you tell me her name!”
Xifeng looks at her wonderingly. Why is she so jealous about ancient history? If only Yucun’s wife had offered a hundred, or even fifty taels, Xifeng would have given her own name. As it is, she refuses and escapes from the house.
When she arrives home, almost sick with cold and exhaustion, the family is about to have dinner. Gratefully, she changes out of her wet clothes and sits down to the winter melon soup and steaming rice. She has just swallowed a few mouthfuls when Granny Jia says, “I’ve arranged a match for Ping’er. Her new husband is sending a wedding sedan tomorrow morning.”
That night, she and Ping’er do not sleep in the bedroom with the others. Xifeng takes a pillow and quilt, and she and Ping’er spend their last night together huddled on the kang in the front room. She does not say anything at first. Ping’er is weeping silently, and Xifeng pats her shoulde
r. Finally, after Ping’er grows calmer, she says, with tears in her own eyes, “I tried my best to find a way to keep you. If only I had a little more time …”
Ping’er nods and gulps, catching her breath on a sob. “It’s all right. I know how hard you’ve tried.” She sobs again, and Xifeng hands her her own handkerchief. “Sometimes even you can’t fix everything.”
The way Ping’er says “even you” pricks her. Once she too had believed there was almost nothing she couldn’t do. How she had lorded it over others, glorying in how well she ran Rongguo. How proud she had been when she made all that money from her loans! Now, how limited, how powerless, she feels. She had not been able to save Qiaojie, and now she cannot save Ping’er.
“Did Lady Jia tell you anything about the match?”
“His surname is Jiang. He’s thirty-three years old.”
“Will you be his first wife, or a concubine?”
“The first wife.”
“That’s good.” The man is old to be marrying for the first time, but she wonders whether an older husband will be gentler and more patient with Ping’er.
“The problem is,” Ping’er says, “he’s a tea merchant. Usually he lives in Anhui, where the tea plantations are.”
“Do you mean he doesn’t live in the Capital?”
“No, he comes to the Capital only once or twice a year to sell his tea.” Ping’er begins to sob again. “But he decided to find a wife here, because he thought he could get someone better.”
It had never occurred to Xifeng that Ping’er would be leaving the Capital. She had assumed she would at least be able to see Ping’er a few times a year. She is afraid, not for Ping’er, but for herself. How will she ever survive among the Jias without someone she can trust? In the whole great city of thousands of people, there will be no one who cares for her, no one she can turn to. Perhaps the two of them will never see each other again. A terrible fear of loneliness overcomes her. How will she struggle on alone? She realizes that even during the time that she and Ping’er were estranged, she had still drawn strength from Ping’er’s presence. She begins to weep. She feels Ping’er’s hand groping for hers under the covers. Their fingers interlace and they hold on to each other.
“How can I leave you?” Ping’er says. “We have always been like sisters. Even when I was a child, you took care of me. And the way you helped me take care of Qiaojie … You couldn’t have treated her better if she had been your own child.”
“Perhaps things will go well for you after you are married. For all we know, he may be a kind person,” Xifeng says, trying to comfort her. “Perhaps you may even have another child.”
“I don’t want another child.”
“That’s how you feel now, but perhaps you will one day. It’s worse for me. I think Qiaojie was my only chance to be close to a child.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have a child of my own. My period is getting more irregular than ever. Sometimes I don’t get it for two or three months on end.”
“It’s because you don’t take care of yourself.”
“I don’t think it’s that.” Something is not right with her body. She feels it. She gets exhausted too easily, and her color isn’t good. “Besides, I don’t think Lian will ever sleep with me again.”
Ping’er does not demur. She squeezes Xifeng’s hands. “Yes, I’m afraid for you. He’ll be so angry when he gets out of jail.”
“Yes, well, it won’t be for a few years yet.” Xifeng tries to speak lightly. She too is afraid of what Lian will do to her when he is released.
“Will you do one thing for me?” Ping’er asks after a pause.
“Yes. What is it?”
“You’ll be here, in the Capital. Will you go to see her sometimes?”
Ping’er is referring to Qiaojie’s grave. “Of course I will.” The tears come to Xifeng’s eyes again. “I would have gone even if you hadn’t asked me.”
“You’ll burn incense, and bring offerings? I was thinking you should bring those sweet rolls with red bean stuffing. She liked those, didn’t she?”
Yes, Qiaojie had eaten so little, but those rolls were one of the few things she seemed to like. “Of course.”
“You’ll be sure to go on the Grave Sweeping Festival?”
“I will.”
“Good,” Ping’er says, as if her mind has been relieved of a care. “Then every Grave Sweeping Festival I will know that you are going out to her grave, and on that one day, I’ll be able to picture exactly where you are and what you are doing.”
After this, Xifeng feels Ping’er’s body relax against hers. They are quiet for a long time. Eventually, she sees Ping’er’s eyelids start to flutter shut. In a little while, Ping’er is snoring gently. Xifeng looks at her face in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. Her eyes are still swollen and her skin is blotched with tears. The cheeks have lost their roundness and color, and there are dark hollows beneath her eyes, but still, there is a sweetness to the curve of her lips, and her breath is peaceful.
Perhaps things will not go badly for Ping’er after all. Perhaps her husband will grow fond of her, and she will have another child. Surely that will be some compensation for the loss of Qiaojie. It occurs to her that Ping’er is the lucky one—lucky to be able to escape the tyranny of Lady Jia, lucky to escape the atmosphere of disappointment and deprivation among the Jia women. How much would Xifeng herself give to be able to escape from Lian, to start again with a new husband, without a history of resentment and betrayal? How much would she give to be able to have a child?
She puts her arms around Ping’er, listening to her breathe, and lies awake until morning.
PART FIVE
Fourth Month, 1723
Parting is easy.
It’s the coming together that’s hard.
Li Shangyin, “Untitled Poem”
1
Baochai walks home from the marketplace with Xifeng, the weight of her laden basket bumping against her side. Now that it is spring, the vegetables are plentiful again. They have bought bunches of red-veined amaranth, tiny curled pea shoots, even a plump, golden-skinned melon to eat after dinner.
She feels the sunlight warming her hair, luxuriating in the feeling of actually being too hot. “I’m glad the winter is over. I remember how awful it was walking home from the market with the freezing wind in our faces.”
Xifeng looks at her with a faint smile. Baochai notices that she is slightly out of breath. As always, Xifeng has insisted on carrying the heavier items. “Yes, the winter was hard,” she says, “but there will be more winters yet before Uncle Zheng and Baoyu come home.”
“Surely next winter won’t be so hard. Pan will certainly be back from the south by then.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?”
“No, I went to ask at Jingui’s last week, and she still hadn’t heard anything. I don’t understand what can be keeping him. She wrote to him more than five months ago.” She is secretly afraid that he has gotten in trouble again, and is languishing in prison somewhere, unable to help them. Surely, if he had heard what had happened to the Jias, he would understand how much they needed him and would come home.
They walk on in silence for a few minutes. Xifeng says, “You’re very patient to wait so long for Baoyu.”
Baochai blushes, as she always does on the infrequent occasions when her betrothal is mentioned. “Well, you are waiting for Lian,” she says, just to deflect Xifeng’s remark, which seems to draw an embarrassing attention to her own fidelity. The moment the words are out of her mouth she regrets them. Of course, Xifeng must dread Lian’s return.
“That’s different,” Xifeng says. “I’m already married to him. I have no choice. You are only betrothed to Baoyu. There’s no reason for you to wait for him like this.”
Baochai is annoyed by this attempt to revisit a topic she considered closed. “Uncle Zheng and Baoyu were sentenced for obstruction of justice be
cause they helped Pan. How could we abandon them after they got in trouble helping us?”
Xifeng stares at her with an incredulous expression. “Is that what’s holding you back? What does that have to do with you? You’re a Xue, not a Jia. You might as well save yourself. When Pan comes back, you should ask him and your mother to arrange a new match for you.”
“Don’t you like Baoyu?” Baochai asks, surprised by Xifeng’s vehemence. She suspects Xifeng of some ulterior motive. Perhaps Xifeng wants to get rid of her because she knew of Xifeng’s affair with Jia Yucun. Perhaps Xifeng does not want her as a rival for control over the household after she marries Baoyu.
“It’s not a matter of whether I like him or not,” Xifeng says. “He’s going to be in jail for four more years. Besides, he wanted to marry Lin Daiyu instead of you. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
The mention of Daiyu pains her. Lying awake at night, she often thinks of Daiyu. She tries to change the subject. “What does it matter to you whom I marry?”
Xifeng shrugs and gives a little laugh. “I don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.”
“Why would I regret it?” Even to her own ears Baochai’s words sound hollow. She has not thought about Baoyu for months. She tries to picture him and even has trouble conjuring up the details of his face. Xifeng is right. Her waiting for him is just beginning.
She glances at Xifeng, again trying to fathom her motives. Xifeng has not been the same since Qiaojie’s death and Ping’er’s marriage more than two months ago. She has stopped arguing with Lady Jia. She no longer scolds the Two Springs when one of them is cheated at the market or burns a dish. Baochai finds her manner gentler, more approachable, than when she had ruled the roost at Rongguo. Perhaps she really is concerned about Baochai’s future.
As they turn onto Drum Street, Xifeng stumbles a little, and almost drops the basket. As Baochai steadies her, she notices that Xifeng looks pale. “What is it? Don’t you feel well?”
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