A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  “So my grandfather and grand-uncles often said, and of course I believe it. What amazes me is how one family could have so much wealth.”

  “Why, madam, the truth is they were just spending the Emperor’s money on the Emperor. Otherwise who would waste so much on empty show?”

  Just then Lady Wang sent to inquire if Xifeng had finished her meal, and realizing that she was wanted she hastily ate half a bowl of rice and rinsed her mouth. She was starting out when some pages from the inner gate reported the arrival of Jia Rong and Jia Qiang, whereupon Jia Lian rinsed his mouth and Pinger brought him a basin to wash his hands. As soon as the young men came in he asked what they wanted, and Xifeng stayed to hear Jia Rong’s reply:

  “My father sent me to tell you, uncle, that the old gentlemen have settled on a plan. We’ve measured the distance from the east wall through the garden of the East Mansion to the north, and it comes to three li and a half, enough to build a separate court for the visit. Someone has been commissioned to draw a plan which should be ready tomorrow. Since you must be tired after your journey, please don’t think of coming over. If you’ve any proposals, you can make them first thing tomorrow.”

  “Kindly thank your father for his consideration,” replied Jia Lian. “I shall do as he says and not call on him now. This is the best possible scheme, the easiest and the simplest to carry out. Any other site would entail more work without such good results. Tell him When you get back that I thoroughly approve, and if the old gentlemen have second thoughts I hope he will dissuade them from looking for another site, when I come tomorrow to pay my respects we can talk it over in detail.”

  Jia Rong agreed at once to pass on this message.

  Jia Qiang now stepped forward to announce, “My uncle has given me the job of going to Suzhou with Lai Da’s two sons and the two secretaries Shan Pingren and Bu Guxiu. We’re to hire instructors, buy girl actresses and musical instruments and costumes there. He told me to let you know.”

  Jia Lian looked quizzically at the young man and asked, “Are you sure you’re up to it? This may not be a big job, but there should be plenty of perks—if you know the ropes.”

  “I shall have to learn,” was Jia Qiang’s cheerful reply.

  Jia Rong, standing in the shadow, quietly plucked Xifeng’s lapel. Taking the hint she said to her husband, “Don’t worry. Your cousin knows best whom to send. Why should you be afraid Qiang isn’t up to it? Is everyone born capable? The boy’s grown up now. He’s old enough to have seen a pig run, even if he hasn’t yet tasted pork himself. Cousin Zhen is sending him as a supervisor, not to do all the bargaining and accounting himself. I think it’s an excellent choice.”

  “Of course I wasn’t querying that,” protested Jia Lian. “I only wanted to offer some advice.” He asked Jia Qiang, “Where is the money for this coming from?”

  “We’ve just been discussing that. Old Lai sees no need to take silver with us from here. The Zhens down south have fifty thousand taels of ours. Tomorrow a draft can be written for us to take. We shall first draw thirty thousand, leaving twenty thousand to buy ornamental lanterns, candles, streamers, bamboo curtains and hangings of every kind.”

  Jia Lian nodded his approval. “Very good.”

  “Well, if that’s settled,” interposed Xifeng, “I have two good men you can take along to help you.”

  “What a coincidence!” Jia Qiang forced a smile. “I was just going to ask you to recommend a couple of people, aunt.” He inquired their names.

  Xifeng asked Nanny Zhao, who had been listening as if in a dream. When Pinger nudged her she woke up and answered quickly, “One of them is called Zhao Tianling, the other Zhao Tiandong.”

  “Don’t forget,” Xifeng cautioned Jia Qiang. “Now I must get back to my duties.” With that she left.

  Jia Rong slipped out after her and whispered, “If there’s anything you want, aunt, make out a list and I’ll give it to Qiang to see to.”

  “Don’t talk rubbish!” Xifeng snorted. “I’ve so many things already, I’ve nowhere to put them. I don’t care for your sneaky way of doing things.” And so she went off.

  Meanwhile Jia Qiang was telling Jia Lian, “If you want anything, uncle, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

  “Don’t look so pleased,” replied Jia Lian mockingly. “So this trick is the first thing you learn when you start handling business. If I need anything, of course I’ll write. There’s no time for it at present.”

  With that he saw the young men out. Then several servants came to make reports, after which Jia Lian felt so tired that he sent orders to the inner gate to admit no one else: all business must wait until the next day. Xifeng did not get to bed until the third watch, but no more need be said about that night.

  The next morning, after calling on Jia She and Jia Zheng, Jia Lian went to the Ning Mansion. With some old stewards, secretaries and friends he inspected the grounds of both mansions, drew plans for the palaces for the Imperial visit and estimated the number of workmen required.

  Before long all the craftsmen and workmen were assembled, and endless loads of supplies were brought to the site: gold, silver, copper and tin, as well as earth, timber, bricks and tiles. First they pulled down the walls and pavilions of the Garden of Concentrated Fragrance in the Ning Mansion to connect it with the large eastern court of the Rong Mansion; and all the servants’ quarters there were demolished.

  Formerly a small alley had separated the two houses, but since this was private property and not a public thoroughfare the grounds of both could now be thrown into one.

  As a stream already ran from the northern corner of the Garden of Concentrated Fragrance, there was no need to bring in another. And though there were not enough rocks or trees, the bamboos, trees and rockeries as well as the pavilions and balustrades in the original garden of the Rong Mansion where Jia She lived were brought over. The proximity of the two mansions made amalgamation easy, in addition to saving much labour and expense. On the whole, not too many new features had to be added.

  The whole was designed by an old landscape gardener known as Gardener Ye.

  As Jia Zheng was unaccustomed to practical business he left it to Jia She, Jia Zhen, Jia Lian, Lai Da, Lai Sheng, Lin Zhixiao, Wu Xindeng, Zhan Guang and Cheng Rixing. Artificial mountains and lakes were made, pavilions constructed, and bamboos and flowers planted, according to the plan of the gardener, All Jia Zheng did on his return from court was to make a tour of inspection and discuss the most important problems with Jia She and the rest.

  As for Jia She, he took his ease at home. If any minor points had to be settled, Jia Zhen and the others would explain them to him or send him a written report, while he passed on his instructions through Jia Lian and Lai Da.

  Jia Rong’s task was to supervise the making of the gold and silver utensils. As for Jia Qiang, he had already left for Suzhou. Jia Zhen, Lai Da and the rest were in charge of the workmen, keeping a register and superintending operations. Impossible to describe in full all that bustle and commotion!

  Owing to this all-engrossing business, Jia Zheng had stopped asking Baoyu about his studies and the boy was having an easy time. The only thing that worried him and spoiled his pleasure was Qin Zhong’s illness, now growing daily worse.

  One morning, he had just washed and dressed and was thinking to ask his grandmother’s permission to pay another visit to his friend, when Mingyan peeped round the spirit screen by the inner gate. Baoyu hurried over to him.

  “What is it?”

  “Master Qin Zhong. He’s dying!”

  Baoyu was staggered.

  “He was clear-headed when I saw him only yesterday,” he cried. “How can he be dying?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what an old fellow from his home just told me.”

  At once Baoyu went to tell the Lady Dowager, who instructed some trustworthy men to accompany him. “You may call to show your friendship for your schoolmate,” she told him. “But mind you don’t stay too long.”

&n
bsp; Baoyu hastily changed his clothes, then paced up and sown frantically, calling for his carriage. When at last it arrived he scrambled in and drove off, escorted by Li Gui, Mingyan and others.

  Finding the gate of Qin Zhong’s house deserted, they swarmed into the inner apartments, to the consternation of Qin Zhong’s two aunts and cousins who quickly made themselves scarce.

  Qin Zhong had already lost consciousness several times and been lifted on to a trestle-bed to die. At this sight Baoyu burst out sobbing.

  “Don’t take on like that,” urged Li Gui. “You know how delicate Master Qin is. They’ve moved him for the time being to somewhere more comfortable than the hard kang. Going on in this way, little master, will only make him worse.”

  At that Baoyu restrained himself and approached his friend. Qin Zhong lying back on his pillow was as pale as wax; his eyes were closed and his breath was coming in gasps.

  “Dear brother!” Baoyu cried. “It’s me—Baoyu!”

  He called several times but Qin Zhong made no reply. Still Baoyu went on calling: “Baoyu’s here!”

  Qin Zhong was at his last gasp. His spirit, which had already left its body, saw that ghostly guards had come with a warrant and chains to drag him off. He was unwilling to leave, for there was no one to manage the household’s affairs and his father had left three or four thousand taels of savings. He was longing, too, for news of Zhineng. But hard as he pleaded the ghosts were adamant.

  “You’re an educated young fellow,” they scoffed. “Don’t you know the saying, ‘If the King of Hell summons you at the third watch, who dares keep you till the fifth?’ We shades are strictly impartial, not like you mortals with all your soft-heartedness and favouritism.”

  As they were shouting at him, Qin Zhong’s spirit heard Baoyu call. “Have pity, divine messengers,” he begged. “Let me go back to say one word to my good friend. Then I’ll come with you.”

  “What good friend is this?” asked the ghosts. “The grandson of the Duke of Rongguo. His name is Baoyu.” The ghost in command gave a howl of dismay, then swore at his followers. “I told you to let him go back for a while, but you wouldn’t. Now he’s produced this favourite of fortune, what are we to do?”

  The ghosts, flustered by their officer’s alarm, protested, “You were thundering mad yourself just now, but the name Baoyu seems to have terrified you. Why should we shades be afraid of a mortal like him? What can he do for us?”

  Their officer swore, “That’s rubbish! You know the proverb, ‘The empire’s officials control all in the empire.’ That’s how it is in the nether regions too—the same for spirits as for mortals. It’ll do no harm to show some consideration.”

  Hearing this, the ghosts had to let Qin Zhong’s soul return to its body.

  The dying boy gave an indistinct cry and, opening his eyes, saw Baoyu by his side.

  “Why didn’t you come earlier?” he asked faintly. “If you’d left it any longer, I shouldn’t have seen you.”

  Baoyu clasped his friend’s hands and asked through tears, “What last message have you for me?”

  “Just this. When you and I first met, we thought ourselves above the common herd. Now I know how wrong we were. You should set your mind on making a name through the examinations, on winning distinction, in future....”

  With that he gave a long sigh and breathed his last. For what followed, read the next chapter.

  Chapter 17

  Literary Talent Is Tested by Composing Inscriptions in Grand View Garden

  Those Losing Their Way at Happy Red Court Explore a Secluded Retreat

  Baoyu wept over Qin Zhong’s death as if he would never stop; and it was some time before Li Gui and the rest could prevail on him to leave off. Even after his return he could not overcome his grief. The Lady Dowager gave the Qin family several dozen taels of silver in addition to funeral gifts; Baoyu went to offer his condolences and, seven days later, the funeral and burial took place. No need to record it in detail. Baoyu mourned for his friend and missed him every day, but there was no help for it.

  Some time later Jia Zhen came to report to Jia Zheng that the work on the new garden had been completed and Jia She had inspected it.

  “All is ready for you to look over, sir,” he announced. “If there is anything unsuitable, we can have it changed before the inscriptions for different places are chosen.”

  Jia Zheng reflected for a while, then said, “The inscriptions do present a problem. By rights, we should ask the Imperial Consort to do us the honour of composing them, but she can hardly do this without having seen the place. On the other hand, if we leave the chief sights and pavilions without a single name or couplet until her visit, the garden, however lovely with its flowers and willows, rocks and streams, cannot fully reveal its charm.”

  “You are absolutely right, sir,” agreed his cultured companions. “I have an idea,” said one. “The inscriptions for different places can’t be dispensed with, but neither can they be fixed in advance. Why not briefly prepare some tentative couplets and names to suit each place? We can have them painted on lanterns in the shape of plaques and scrolls for the time being. Then, when Her Highness favours us with a visit, we can ask her to decide on permanent names. Wouldn’t this be a way out of the dilemma?”

  “A sound idea,” agreed Jia Zheng. “Let us have a look round then today and think up some inscriptions. If suitable, they can be used; if unsuitable, we can ask Jia Yucun over to help.”

  “Your suggestions are bound to be excellent, sir,” they countered. “Why need we call in Yucun?”

  “Frankly, I was never a good hand even in my young days at writing verse about nature—flowers, birds and scenery. Now that I’m old and burdened with official duties I’ve quite lost the light touch required for belles-lettres. Any efforts of mine would undoubtedly be so clumsy and pedantic that they would fail to bring out the garden’s beauty— they might even have the opposite effect.”

  “Have no fears about that,” his secretaries assured him. “We can put our wits together. If each of us uses his ingenuity and we then choose the best suggestions, discarding the rest, we should be able to manage.”

  “Very well. Luckily it’s a fine day for a stroll.”

  Jia Zheng rose to his feet and set off at the head of the party, while Jia Zhen went on in advance to let everyone in the garden know they were coming.

  It so happened that Baoyu had just arrived in the garden. For he was still grieving so much over Qin Zhong’s death that the Lady Dowager often told his servants to take him there to distract him.

  Jia Zhen, coming upon him, warned him jokingly, “You’d better clear out! Lord Zheng is on his way here.”

  Baoyu rushed out like a streak of smoke, with his nurse and pages behind him. But just round the corner he ran into Jia Zheng’s party. Since escape was impossible, Baoyu stepped to one side.

  Now Jia Zheng had recently heard Baoyu’s tutor speak highly of his skill in composing couplets, remarking that the boy, though not studious, showed considerable originality. Having happened upon him like this, Jia Zheng ordered his son to accompany them. Baoyu had to comply, not knowing what his father wanted.

  At the entrance to the garden, they found Jia Zhen with a group of stewards lined up in wait.

  “Close the gate,” said Jia Zheng. “Let us see what it looks like from outside before we go in.”

  Jia Zhen had the gate closed and Jia Zheng inspected the gatehouse, a building in five sections with an arched roof of semi-circular tiles. The lintels and lattices, finely carved with ingenious designs, were neither painted nor gilded; the walls were of polished bricks of a uniform colour, and the white marble steps were carved with passion-flowers. The garden’s spotless whitewashed wall stretching to left and right had, at its base, a mosaic of striped “tiger-skin” stones. The absence of vulgar ostentation pleased him.

  He had the gate opened then and they went in, only to find their view screened by a green hill. At this sight his secretaries cried
out in approval.

  “If not for this hill,” observed Jia Zheng, “one would see the whole garden as soon as one entered, and how tame that would be.”

  “Exactly,” agreed the rest. “Only a bold landscape gardener could have conceived this.”

  On the miniature mountain they saw rugged white rocks resembling monsters and beasts, some recumbent, some rampant, dappled with moss or hung about with creepers, a narrow zigzag path just discernible between them.

  “We’ll follow this path,” decided Jia Zheng. “Coming back we can find our way out at the other side. That should take us over the whole grounds.”

  He made Jia Zhen lead the way and, leaning on Baoyu’s shoulder, followed him up through the boulders. Suddenly raising his head, he saw a white rock polished as smooth as a mirror, obviously intended for the first inscription.

  “See, gentlemen!” he called over his shoulder, smiling. “What would be a suitable name for this spot?”

  “Heaped Verdure,” said one. “Embroidery Ridge,” said another. “The Censer.” “A Miniature Zhongnan.”

  Dozens of different suggestions were made, all of them stereotyped cliches; for Jia Zheng’s secretaries were well aware that he meant to test his son’s ability. Baoyu understood this too.

  Now his father called on him to propose a name.

  Baoyu replied, “I’ve heard that the ancients said, ‘An old quotation beats an original saying; to recut an old text is better than to engrave a new one.’ As this is not the main prominence or one of the chief sights, it only needs an inscription because it is the first step leading to the rest, so why not use that line from an old poem:

  A winding path leads to a secluded retreat.

  A name like that would be more dignified.”

  “Excellent!” cried the secretaries.