* * *
—
Mr. Yao had only just acquired his lakeside villa. His business in Jingdezhen had continued to flourish. His twelve-year marriage to the lovely Bright Moon had produced three fine sons and a daughter. The family succession was assured. He had to wait only another fifteen years or so before handing the potteries over to his oldest son; and in the meantime, he had a nephew who was perfectly competent to run the business day to day.
So he could afford to take two or three months off each year, to live the leisured life of the gentleman he had become. What better way of doing so than setting himself up in a fine villa on the fashionable West Lake, a good ten days journey away from the smoking chimneys of his potteries in Jingdezhen?
And if he wasn’t quite sure what to do in this aristocratic place once he’d got there, the merchant meant to find out.
He’d been glad therefore, on a visit with his wife and children to a famous nearby temple, to be introduced by the temple priest to a distinguished neighbor, the general, who had politely expressed his pleasure that the villa, which had been left empty and neglected for some years, now had an owner at last. Would the general care to visit, Mr. Yao had asked, and perhaps suggest improvements he could make? The general had been delighted. He had business to attend to in Hangzhou, but a date for his visit had been fixed for ten days after his return.
And now here he was.
* * *
—
“The setting is really excellent,” Guanji remarked as the two men toured the grounds. They were right on the waterfront.
“I’ve ordered a boat so that we can go out on the lake,” Mr. Yao said.
“There are particular places on the water recommended for viewing the moon, sunsets behind the pagoda on the hill, and so forth,” Guanji told him. “I’d be glad to show you when the boat arrives.” And your pretty wife, too, he thought to himself. He’d met her only briefly at the temple, but had seen enough to make him accept the invitation to visit the merchant’s villa with pleasure.
“Thank you, General,” Mr. Yao replied.
Like many Chinese gardens, the grounds of the waterside villa were divided into numerous smaller spaces, which provided both intimacy and constant surprise, making the place as a whole seem an even larger domain than it was.
They passed over a miniature humpbacked bridge that crossed an empty pond. “Red carp for the fishpond, I thought,” Yao remarked.
“Excellent.”
The path led them to a walled garden, entered through a circular moon gate. The garden had been cleared, but not yet planted. “You’ve thought about plants?” Guanji asked.
“A lot of peonies,” Mr. Yao replied.
Guanji paused. “May I suggest you don’t make peonies your main statement,” he said. “I’ll tell you why. At least two of the lake villas are already famous for their peonies. I’d advise you to consult a professional and devise something unique, all your own.”
“Thank you.” Yao was appreciative. “That sounds wise. Just a few peonies then, to please my wife.”
“Of course.” Guanji smiled. “One should always please one’s wife.”
“My wife can be willful,” Mr. Yao remarked with a laugh, “but I count myself a fortunate man.”
“Ah,” said Guanji. “You might try some plum blossom trees,” he remarked casually, “to complement the cypresses you have in here.”
Having left the walled garden, they followed the path, which led up a few steps. At the top of the steps, Guanji suddenly stopped, struck by a thought. “What about a philosopher’s stone?” he said, pointing to a site just ahead.
The karst limestone rocks with their exotic shapes and mysterious cavities remained as popular as ever with the rich who could afford them.
Mr. Yao gave a wry smile. “You mean, General, that there’s no point in my pretending to be poor.”
“None at all.” Guanji laughed. He rather liked this intelligent merchant.
* * *
—
He learned more about his host when they went inside. The villa had already been comfortably furnished, with solid, excellent-quality tables and chairs and divans covered with expensive silk brocade. Some lacquerware. But he noticed several more interesting items.
The first, by the entrance, appeared to be a very fine blue-and-white Ming vase on a table. Or was it?
“You are wondering,” remarked Mr. Yao, “whether that is a Ming vase or a copy.”
“No copy, surely, could be so fine,” Guanji replied politely.
“At one of my potteries in Jingdezhen, we make a copy of that vase which even experts, at first glance, have mistaken for the genuine article. This, however, is the Ming original.”
They went down a passageway past other treasures.
Entering the room where they were to be served tea, Guanji noticed a cloisonné pot. Modern cloisonné was plentiful enough, but with time, it disintegrates. Ancient cloisonné, therefore, was greatly prized. Some jade figures caught his eye. Han, two thousand years old. “You are a connoisseur, Mr. Yao,” he said.
“Not really, General.” Yao gave a self-deprecating smile. “Just well advised.”
Guanji bowed his head. His host might be a newly made gentleman indulging his vanity, but he knew what he was doing.
“You may be acquainted with them already,” Guanji offered, “but thanks to my late uncle I know most of the antique dealers in Hangzhou personally, and I should be happy to share my thoughts as to which ones best merit your trust.”
“You are most kind,” said Yao. “Ah.” He looked up. “Here is my wife.”
* * *
—
She was perfect. Can one really say that of anybody? Perhaps one can, he thought. If he’d been struck by her beauty when he briefly met her at the temple, that was only enhanced by what he was experiencing now. She was serving them tea.
There was nothing stiff or formal about the Chinese ritual of serving tea. The aim was to make the guest feel welcome, at home, at peace. Every move was simple and practical. The warming of the teapot and the wide, bowl-shaped cups with hot water; the gentle tipping of the dark twists of tea leaf into the teapot. The scenting cup offered to each guest to sniff the tea’s aroma; the first infusion in the teapot; then the pouring of the tea, straining the leaves, into a jug, from which the cups were carefully half filled, no more, with the clear, delicately scented liquid.
Only one detail of the tea ritual was not strictly practical. This was when the guest gently tapped two knuckles on the table to say thank you—referring to the charming tale of how once, centuries ago, a certain emperor who was traveling incognito and staying at an inn poured tea for his own servant, who, so as not to give the emperor’s identity away, made this almost invisible gesture, to indicate the kowtow.
What made Bright Moon so special, then? She served the tea flawlessly, but so did the serving girls in the teahouses. No, it was the grace with which she did the whole thing. It was almost magical.
And how did she achieve that? Guanji tried to analyze it. Her posture, the way she held herself perhaps. For she sat very correctly, with her back slightly arched—but only so far as nature intended. She was perfectly centered, her face in repose.
He noticed that her breasts had a beautiful curve, not large, yet womanly.
And suddenly he desired her. It wasn’t the usual mixture of curiosity and lust he experienced with most pretty women. This was something more. I may be falling in love, he thought.
“I have told my wife,” said Mr. Yao, “that you know more about this area than anyone on the lake.” This was clearly an invitation to him to say some words to her.
“Your husband gives me too much credit,” he said politely. “But it is true I was born in the garrison at Zhapu, up the coast here, and my uncle was a well-known printer and litera
ry figure down the road in Hangzhou. So I suppose it was natural I should come to the West Lake to retire.” He smiled. “I am sure you know the charming legend of how the West Lake was formed.”
“I do, sir,” she said. “The Sky Empress tried to steal the magical White Jade Stone that the Jade Dragon and the Golden Phoenix guarded, and finally, during a battle with her army, the Jade Stone fell to earth and created the West Lake, which is guarded to this day by the Phoenix Mountain.”
“Exactly. And there are lots of other stories concerning the lake, you know—mostly stories of lost love, of course. The tale of the White Snake, for instance.”
“ ‘The White Lady is imprisoned in the pagoda by the lake,’ ” Bright Moon said quietly.
Guanji looked at her in surprise. There were endless versions of the tale. The most popular modern ones twisted what was really quite a grim old story into a more conventional romance. But the line she had quoted came from an older, lesser-known poem that he wouldn’t have expected her to know.
“ ‘Her lover will die when he finds a white snake,’ ” he quoted back at her. He turned to Mr. Yao. “Your wife has an unusual knowledge of poetry,” he remarked admiringly.
“She has. She has,” Yao cried with a laugh. “She can quote all sorts of stuff.”
Bright Moon inclined her head towards Guanji, accepting his compliment. Then she raised her eyes and gave him a little look. It was brief and Mr. Yao didn’t see it, but the message was clear: My husband’s crude. But what can we do?
Guanji turned to Mr. Yao. “Have you been up to the Leifeng Pagoda yet?” The curious old ruin was nine centuries old. Long ago, Japanese pirates had burned down the wooden top stories of the great eight-sided tower, but the stone trunk still stood like a ghostly old guardian on its low hill above the waters. “Some scholars believe, you know, that there’s a hidden tomb under the tower that contains a lock of the Buddha’s hair.”
He continued to talk easily in this fashion about past emperors who’d visited the lake and some of the notable residents at present. He was addressing them both, but he was careful to make eye contact only with the merchant, not with his young wife.
“Your mother should hear this,” Yao suddenly cried to Bright Moon. “Go and fetch her.”
“You know my mother was not feeling well,” she gently reminded him. “And I am still serving tea.”
“Never mind, never mind,” he said. “Your mother is only a little tired. Tell her I asked her to come. This will brighten her up.”
Bright Moon said nothing as she rose to go, but her resentment was obvious, and Guanji could hardly blame her. Mr. Yao, however, was unrepentant.
“It does her good to be contradicted sometimes,” he remarked cheerfully as soon as she’d left. “Her mother came to visit us just after we first met you at the temple,” he continued. “A most beautiful woman. From a rich peasant family, but unusually refined. She was the concubine of a senior mandarin of an ancient and distinguished family, after she was widowed. My wife was a late child, with grown-up brothers when she was born.”
“I see.”
“Bright Moon looks like her mother, but she also bears a close resemblance to some of the mandarin’s family. Indeed, he adopted her as his own daughter, if you take my meaning.”
“I believe I do.”
“It may surprise you that Bright Moon’s mother, unlike the rest of her family, has unbound feet. That is because her own mother came from a rich Hakka family and it was to please them that her father did not bind her feet.”
“As a Manchu, of course,” Guanji replied easily, “none of the women in my family, including my own wife, had bound feet.” Although from time to time he had slept with Han women whose feet had been bound, Guanji had never found the fabled lotus feet erotic. In fact, on these occasions, he’d tried to ignore them.
“I hope she is well enough to join us,” Mr. Yao said. “I think you will like her.”
A few minutes later, the lady in question appeared.
* * *
—
And Guanji stared. What age must this woman be? From the information he’d been given, she had to be in her sixties. Older than he was. Yet she looked like a woman of fifty at most—an exceptionally beautiful one, too.
It suddenly crossed his mind that Mr. Yao might have an ulterior motive in making this introduction. He smiled to himself. Did Yao want him to take the woman into his own household? It would create a social bond between the newly made gentleman and his distinguished neighbor. It might also, he shrewdly guessed, keep a mother’s steadying hand closer to his young wife.
Well, I’m free to do whatever I please, Guanji thought.
“The general has kindly said,” Mr. Yao told her, “that when the new boat arrives, he will take us all out and show us the best beauty spots on the lake.”
“There will be a full moon in three days,” Guanji reminded them. “Might your boat have arrived by then, Mr. Yao? I should be at your service.”
“Alas, I don’t think it’ll come so soon,” Yao replied.
“The next full moon, then,” Guanji said cheerfully.
“It will have to be without me,” Mei-Ling said. “I must return to my family before long.”
“Stay at least until then,” Yao encouraged her.
“You are very kind, though I’m afraid it’s not possible,” she replied. And turning to Guanji, she added, “You will say I am ‘hurrying like a traveler with far to go.’ ”
A famous quote, from Nineteen Old Poems. It referred to the short time between life and death—with the implication that one must seize the day. Was it a signal that she was interested in him? Or was she just showing that she was literate, like her daughter, because she knew this would please the vanity of her daughter’s husband?
“Perhaps the boat will arrive in time,” said Bright Moon.
A momentary silence fell, and the girl’s mother stepped in to keep the conversation going. “I have heard, General, that you retired early to pursue the literary life. If it is not an impertinent question: Was that a sudden decision, or one you had contemplated a long time?”
Mei-Ling did not really care, but men of rank, in her experience, liked to talk about themselves.
“Ah.” Guanji paused and considered. He did not really need to consider at all, for he had given this little speech many times. But people like to think they have asked an original question. “When I was an orphaned boy,” he began, “I was told it was my duty to become a warrior like my father, who died a hero. He was a member of the Suwan Guwalgiya clan, whose spirit pole is in Beijing. I am the ninth-generation descendant of Fiongdon, Lord of the Bordered Yellow Banner, close companion of the founder of the Manchu royal house. Fiongdon was made Duke of Unswerving Righteousness, and in the centuries after his death was raised still further, finally becoming a Hereditary Duke, First Class.”
“Outside royalty, there is no higher rank,” said Mr. Yao, with a nod to his wife and her mother, to make sure they understood what a fine guest he had been able to invite to his house.
“My uncle in Hangzhou, who brought me up, was a figure in the literary world. He printed many fine books and often wrote memoirs and dedications. But he impressed upon me that my duty and destiny were to become a great warrior in the service of the emperor. And as he was a man of some fortune he was able to ensure that I had the best horses, arms, and teachers, as well as a good education in both the Manchu and Chinese languages to fit me for such a role. As you know, there are not so many Manchu warriors nowadays who are trained in the old ways, and he hoped I would stand out.”
“Which you surely did,” said Yao politely.
“Up to a point, Mr. Yao. The bannermen treated me as one of their own. They taught me their songs and all the old stories. I rode with them. I shot the bow and arrow. I knew the freedom of the open steppe.
I loved it. I also enjoyed my studies at school. But I never wanted to be a scholar. I think I had too much energy and high spirits.” He looked at the two women. “And yet something was missing from my life. I found it in poetry, perhaps. I sensed it on visits to the temple.” He stopped, as if he could not find the words. “I even secretly wondered if I should become a priest. Boys of a certain age often have these feelings, if they are at all sensitive. I felt it was a weakness. I stuck to my duty. I fought against the Taiping. I willingly risked my life, as every soldier must. I rose to command men.” He stopped.
“But your sense that something was missing did not entirely leave you?” Bright Moon asked.
“I was fortunate in my marriage. I often told my dear wife that she was too good for me, but she was kind enough to pretend that she was not.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I think I may say that we were both very happy, and I miss her every day. When my dear daughter was ready to marry, we went to great trouble to find her a husband with whom we believed she would be equally happy. And I’m glad to say she is.” He paused a moment. “To answer your question, as long as my wife was living, I felt spiritually complete. But after I lost her, then…I longed for Hangzhou and the West Lake. It is perhaps a weakness for a soldier to admit that he is vulnerable. But I suspect that I may have had more of the character of my uncle than of my father, really.”
“It is not a weakness,” said Bright Moon with feeling.
“Well, you are kind to say so,” Guanji replied. Then he suddenly brightened. “I have two fine sons who’ve been bred to the military life and have no such doubts at all. Handsome young devils.” He turned to Mr. Yao. “They say the Dowager Empress Cixi likes handsome young Manchu warriors and promotes them.” He laughed and gave the merchant a knowing look. “So I have high hopes for their careers!”
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