Chapter 28

Hearing Zhuo Siheng say this, Fan Xiliang finally made up his mind, and went back to tell his father his decision. His father said little, only that wherever the Ministry of Personnel assigned him, there he was to go, and no fuss.

The next day Fan Xiliang got word and came straight to Zhuo Siheng: sure enough, he'd been given a posting away — to be magistrate of Tongtai County, in Xiangyi Commandery, Lingzhou.

He was both glad and nervous, but Zhuo Siheng simply congratulated him outright, and his cousin's firm, confident blessing gave him boundless courage; in the end Fan Xiliang declared, full of ambition, that he'd surely make something of himself, and come back to the capital in three years without disappointing his father or his cousin!

Zhuo Siheng had meant to introduce Tong Shipei to Fan Xiliang — after all, this was the friend from the same exam roll he'd made all the way back at the prefectural exam — but who'd have known Tong Shipei would be shut up at home by his father, forbidden to come out before taking up his post so he could quietly cultivate some historiography learning. Tong Shipei sent Zhuo Siheng three letters of complaint one after another, their allusions elegant and every word weeping blood; reading them, Zhuo Siheng thought old Tong's iron-blooded cramming seemed rather effective after all — otherwise how had young Fangze's writing improved again in so short a time?

He himself was in fact very busy just then: with a new house, of course it had to be furnished. The place needed no real structural work, but the furnishings were all for him to see to; luckily he had a little of the emperor's granted money left over — not much, but if he started with the necessary furniture first, it wouldn't run out.

Just then Fan Xiliang volunteered: it happened the Xiangguo Temple's open market was opening at the start of the third month, so why not go and buy some of the practical goods the common folk sold at their own stalls — cheap and hard-wearing.

"You've a long journey to your post ahead, and that's just where you'll need money — don't spend it on my household." Afraid Fan Xiliang would try to pay for him again, Zhuo Siheng didn't forget to remind him on the way: "I've some of His Majesty's granted silver now, enough to buy these things."

But Fan Xiliang said, "Cousin, I leave for Lingzhou in the middle of the month, and our cousins won't reach the capital until the fourth month, so I'm afraid I won't get to see them. Let me buy some household things as a meeting-gift, then — I can hardly be the elder cousin and prepare nothing; it would truly weigh on me, and my mother, if she knew, would blame me for it."

Bringing out his aunt like that, Zhuo Siheng really couldn't argue, and only told him to buy a little less — enough to convey the thought was plenty.

From the time he came to the capital and studied hard until he passed high, Zhuo Siheng had never seen how lively the Xiangguo Temple's open market — held five times a month — could be; the moment he neared it he was struck dumb by the sight of the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Fan Xiliang introduced it proudly as they went: "You wouldn't know, Cousin — this is the liveliest spot in all the capital! It's called the tile market: on market days the people are layered thick as roof-tiles, and commoners and merchants alike can set up stalls and cry their wares here. In a while, in the back court of the Xiangguo Temple, there are all sorts of rubbings, calligraphy and paintings, old seals and block-printed editions too — all great fun!"

The street at the entrance of the Great Xiangguo Temple was already packed with small vendors at their stalls: seasonal fruit that farmers from the capital's outskirts had carried in on shoulder-poles, someone selling their own home-pickled snacks, and even people selling their own chickens, ducks, cats and dogs.

Inside, it was a dazzling array with everything to be had; whatever daily necessity of clothing, food, shelter or travel one could think of, this market held it all and left nothing out. Only now did Zhuo Siheng understand just how prosperous the capital his father had spoken of truly was.

Fan Xiliang said the capital began to turn warm by the fifth month, so one had to get ready things like bamboo mats and cooling blinds early; they went to where bamboo-work was sold and bought a good deal. Zhuo Siheng had thought it would be expensive, but on asking, the price was under two hundred coppers.

"That's just the going price here; the secondhand things over there are cheaper still, but ours is a new home, so let's get some new ones!" Fan Xiliang said cheerfully.

Zhuo Siheng quietly did the sums: a string was a thousand coppers, and he still had a few dozen strings saved, plus the travel money from before, which — thanks to his cousin's help all along the way — he hadn't entirely spent and had kept against need; for furnishing the house it would certainly be enough.

So he set his mind at ease and let his eyes range freely, buying a small screen-curtain for the couch, then going to look at bed-drapes — these were sewn and embroidered by two women at a stall, the patterns simple but tasteful. Fan Xiliang picked out one peach-red and one pink-purple, saying he'd buy them for the two sisters, Huiheng and Ciheng; but Zhuo Siheng thought at once of those batches of relief goods his cousin had put together for the family back in the day, among them a few oddly colored women's ornaments the sisters hadn't used to this day, and hurried to stop him — choosing himself, for Ciheng, who liked blue, a tasteful, clear indigo bed-drape, and for Huiheng a set of plain, elegant ochre silk and pale red. Fan Xiliang felt his own eye was no match for his cousin's, still less his knowledge of the sisters' tastes, and so switched to asking around from the side, inquiring where else good household goods were sold.

Zhuo Siheng thought that both his sisters were grown now: the wing-room, though larger than the single room the whole family had lived in at Xingshan Township, and more than roomy enough for two, would still be better if the sisters each had a room of their own. Getting a carpenter to make a wooden partition would do, but it would need a screen and curtains to go with it. Yet he looked all around and saw no suitable screen — they were either too dear, or too big, or gaudily decorated on top; his own sisters had never cared for finery, and would surely turn their noses up at that sort.

Seeing him choosing so long, this time it was a carpenter's apprentice at the stall who offered a suggestion: "You look to be dressed as a scholar, young master — why not just buy a screen frame to take home, stretch and size a piece of silk on it yourself, and inscribe some poems or calligraphy you like on it? Wouldn't that be finer still?"

Zhuo Siheng thought this a fine idea! Huiheng's calligraphy was so good; having her write something herself would be more heartfelt and useful than anything bought.

Since the goods bought and sold were many and included plenty of large, bulk items, one could hire a donkey-cart on the street behind the Xiangguo Temple to haul them home. Zhuo Siheng bought a good many cases and chests, and some writing things for Xiheng; Fan Xiliang, worried the tradesmen might be careless moving the goods, insisted on watching over it, and told Zhuo Siheng to go ahead into the temple hall and buy the incense and candles first, then come back once he'd seen to things, so they could offer incense together.

However lively it was outside, going deeper into the temple there was still a hushed calm untouched by the mortal dust. Several doors away from the bustling outer court, the Mahavira Hall's incense burned thick, and the pilgrims coming and going were all deeply devout. The Great Xiangguo Temple was a royal state temple that had received imperial title, ancient in its history and said to be highly efficacious; even without the market, those who came to pray for the Buddha's protection were an unbroken stream. Zhuo Siheng bought the incense and candles, and with his cousin not yet back, walked alone around the hall looking at the Buddhist verses on the walls, lit by the ever-burning lamps — gathas that famous men of dynasty after dynasty had vied to inscribe.

He gradually came round to the back side of the Buddha statue, where the hanging sutra banners screened the view; by now this group of pilgrims had gradually dispersed, and the hall was falling quiet, with only one or two especially devout ones still kneeling on the prayer mats before the Buddha, murmuring amid the curling incense smoke.

Not wishing to overhear anyone's private words, he was walking quickly past the gatha before him when he heard a bitter, sorrowful sigh, and then the murmuring voice of a woman on the verge of tears:

"Merciful Buddha, in your grace you blessed Siheng to take first place and bring glory to the Zhuo family's gate; your disciple comes especially to fulfill her vow..."

Zhuo Siheng froze and stopped. Who was praying for good fortune on his behalf? This voice was not one he knew.

After a brief silence of several kowtows, the woman's low, soft voice came again: "Your disciple is greedy and never satisfied, but I beg the Buddha, in consideration of a mother's heart, not to reproach me for troubling you so many times... I pray that the whole Zhuo family may be safe and well and the house rise again; I pray that poor Hui'er may be sound in body, with never an illness or misfortune; I pray..." Her voice suddenly choked, as if she could no longer hold it in, and she sobbed: "I pray that Ci'er and... the fourth child too may have smooth and happy lives all their days, free of care... my dear children... it is your mother who has failed you..."

A haggard figure he hadn't thought of in a very long time suddenly flashed through Zhuo Siheng's mind; he pulled the sutra banner aside and strode out — and was suddenly caught by the arm.

"Cousin, I've finished!" Fan Xiliang's smile was bright and warm; he waved the paper packet in his hand. "I passed a stall and saw two exquisite caltrop-flower bronze mirrors, for our cousins... Cousin?"

Zhuo Siheng pushed past him and rushed out.

But it was already too late.

There was not a soul on any of the prayer mats; on one of them were still the damp, scattered traces of tears.

He hurried out of the great hall again, only to see the surging tide of people below the steps: there were no fewer than several dozen dressed as women, and there was no telling any longer which was the one he sought.

"Cousin, what's happened?" Fan Xiliang had never seen Zhuo Siheng like this, and hurried after him, pressing to know.

"It seemed there was someone I know..." Zhuo Siheng didn't know how to begin. "That person spoke my name and my family's before the Buddha..."

Fan Xiliang, who knew nothing of such fine old matters in his family, took it for some marvelous karmic encounter before the Buddha, and said with a smile: "Maybe some girl, seeing your outstanding bearing that day of the zhuangyuan's parade, lost her heart to you in secret, and came here to pray for a good match with you."

Zhuo Siheng shook his head. "Don't talk nonsense, cousin — it's not that." Yet his eyes still searched relentlessly through the crowd, trying to find the woman's figure; but doing so was as futile as fishing a needle from the sea — in the blink of an eye a dozen people had come and gone from the inner court, so how could he possibly find her?

His expression was earnest and a little troubled; seeing it, Fan Xiliang knew he'd been flippant, and hurried to apologize, asking what the person looked like so he could help search too.

"There's no need — she's already gone. I think it was a... an old acquaintance of my family's." Seeing Fan Xiliang's deeply worried look, he smiled again. "It's nothing important, only something I wanted to ask about. Don't apologize, cousin. Come — let's offer incense together, to bless your journey to your post in Lingzhou and my family's safe arrival in the capital."

So he said; but stepping back into the hall, he still couldn't help turning to look once more — and saw only a vast sea of people.

Could that woman have been Ciheng and Xiheng's mother — his third aunt, Madam Jiang?

More than ten years had passed; there was no knowing how she'd fared. Zhuo Yan and Song Liangyu had never blamed Madam Jiang for leaving, nor had they hidden from the children their several origins. Huiheng and Ciheng, though young when they were raised at the family's knee, remembered a thing or two all the same — it couldn't be kept from them — and of the four children three knew, so there was no need to conceal even the youngest Xiheng's parentage any longer. Zhuo Yan and Song Liangyu treated all four of their children as their own, without the least favor of one over another.

Between father and son, Zhuo Yan and Zhuo Siheng were the closest in heart, and talked the most; but for the one most looked after and most doted on, that was the frailest, Huiheng; Ciheng was frank and quick-tongued, bright and lovable, and it was she Zhuo Yan worried over most — if she came home even a little late from learning medicine he'd go to fetch her himself, or he'd never rest easy; and Xiheng, the youngest, every character he learned Zhuo Yan half wished to teach him with his own hand on the brush — only that later, when his father's health failed, it was Zhuo Siheng who taught his little brother more himself.

Such deep bonds between parent and child had nothing at all to do with blood, and the children didn't take the matter to heart in the least. Yet if his sisters and brother came to the capital, would Ciheng and Xiheng want to see their own birth mother? They were grown now too; perhaps in this matter he ought to follow their wishes.

Better to think it over once the family had all arrived...

Zhuo Siheng reckoned up the days: perhaps the family hadn't even received his letter yet. And with a household of several — the old ones old, the young ones young — he wondered whether the journey to the capital would prove full of trouble.

He could only hope that, with three separate applications to bless the Zhuo family reaching the bodhisattva today, it might give the matter a little extra attention...