Chapter 31

The noise from the main room startled the old lady out of her dream. She sat up slowly, turned her head, and saw a bowl of water by her pillow.

Sleeping on the fire-kang dried the mouth, and with age the mouth turned bitter. So the old lady rolled over, took up the bowl, and drank it down in one.

The water was sweet. There was a bowl every morning, and she'd grown used to the treat.

Dressed, she shuffled out of the east room in her slippers. Qi Qian'er, as she did every morning, hadn't lit the stove. Dry cakes and half a bowl of water made a meal.

Even with grain in the house now, she lived this way. And a fine enough life it was, mind you, fine-grain cakes.

Gnawing a cake, the old lady leaned on the doorframe and watched Qi Qian'er. She was stirring something in the pot with a stick she'd picked up outside. The old lady lowered her head. Yech, she couldn't bear to look. What kind of work was this? This black, sticky stuff. Though the smell of it did carry a whiff of grain.

A craving rose in the old lady at once, and she couldn't help asking: "First thing in the morning, and what's this you're at? Boiling porridge?"

Qi Qian'er stopped the wooden stick, her eyes bright. "Granny, you know, I do think it's you that's got the good eye!"

And she went on stirring away with a will.

Was the girl praising her? Had she lost her mind?

True, the old lady's eye had always been good, but good how? Be specific, and let me bask a little!

Muddled talk, that.

The old lady put out a hand, skimmed a bit from the pot, and licked it. "Well, you needn't tell me that! Go ask back home. Ten li round, indoors and out, who doesn't praise how brisk I am! Eh? Elm-bark flour? What are you doing with this? Not even a bit of bean flour mixed in. This stuff, neither dough nor porridge? What sort of paste do you call this? Isn't this a waste of good grain? I tell you, from ancient times to now, nobody's ever done work like this. Back home, if your mother-in-law tried this I'd have taken a ladle to her... So, so, what in the world are you making?"

Qi Qian'er stopped her hand and gave her a sidelong not-quite-smile. The old lady laughed sheepishly and smacked her fingers. "Look how fierce you are! Would you lose a scrap of meat by saying? Who ever learned a job without starting young? Mayn't a body even ask? What are you glaring at me for? Can't Granny teach you? Oh-ho, so now you won't have it! Glaring at me still!

"Hey! Granny's not from these parts, girl. What are we eating this morning? Is this a local specialty? See now, it smells all right too. Then I'll just have a bowl and try it?"

Qi Qian'er snorted a laugh. "What local specialty. The local specialty's fish and meat. And us? Poor as this, and eating meat? This isn't for you to eat! I'm just mixing a bit of paste. That yard at the mouth of the alley, we can take it! We'll stick our mark on it!"

The old lady could scarcely believe there was such luck. "Truly?" she asked, happy.

Qi Qian'er nodded, brimming. "Mm, we qualify! We're sixth rank, you sixth, me seventh. I don't believe it. Two titled ladies warding the house, and they'd dare come grab it? Scare them to death!"

The more she said, the happier she grew. Who doesn't love a big house? And what a spot, the mouth of the alley, what a proper official's mansion. From now on An'er and his little wife could live in the front court, and she and the old lady in the back...

She passed the paste-bowl into the old lady's hands, took up the brush and ink she'd got ready on the table, and the two made to go out together. On the way the old lady said, brimming too: "That's so, that's so. This poky little single-gate yard was never fit for our Scabby. We're a, a whatsit, what was it now?"

"Imperial Guard Camp, Long Saber Garrison, sixth-grade Recorder!!"

"Right, Recorder! Sixth-grade, sounds like a fat post. Your man'll do fine from now on."

The two drifted out like it was New Year. But nearing the gate the old lady stopped, of a sudden loath to leave. She looked at the house she'd worked so hard to set in order, and sighed:

"Ai, truth is, your eye's not bad either. This house is good too, and now I can't bear to give it up. You wouldn't know. Back home in the old days we lived in a half-brick house of bamboo-frame and rammed mud. And now we're to up and leave this, just so? The place all cleaned out, our things all here. Who's to help move them..."

Qi Qian'er, ahead of her, turned her head and said, bold as brass: "What are you saying! We're keeping that one and this one both! This here'll be the Recorder's woodshed!"

The old lady, timid: "Can we do that?"

Qi Qian'er gave a snort. Why couldn't they? Whoever came, fifth-rank, sixth-rank, petty small-fry, they didn't flinch now! They were small-fry themselves now. So what if they sprouted up a little?

Excited, the two hurried to the gate, opened it, and stepped half a foot out. Then, in a fluster, they cradled the bowl, clutched the brush and ink, and scurried back on tiptoe together.

Racing home, the pair set to in a great to-do.

The woodshed shut! The kitchen locked! The west room where the goods were kept, locked!! All of it locked! What had no lock got tied with coarse cloth-rope and a hard dead knot!

The cakes on the table cleared away, the new bedding on the kang stuffed into the kang-cabinet, the washed old bedding laid out instead. After all the topsy-turvy fuss, the old lady finally toed off her shoes, climbed onto the kang with a hiss of breath, and took up her sewing basket. And Qi Qian'er sat on the floor and started to look as if she were spinning thread.

The two of them, still catching their breath, had barely struck their doing-chores poses when someone outside called sweetly: "Is elder sister home? It's your Tao-family sister..."

Someone mannerly at the gate, announcing herself. And then the window of the house was yanked wide open.

Madam Gao, she who claimed to be of a great prefectural-city house, pulled the window open, shoved half her head in for a look, then hollered with a grin: "Aiya! They're all here! all here! What a fuss you make! Why stand at the gate? Come in! See, both of them here, at their chores!!"

In the old days, another man's wife barging in like this without a word would at most have started a shouting-match, or a cursing, or come to blows. But it was different now. The ones who'd got some sense didn't take after her, and were faintly afraid besides.

"Is the old lady home?"

"It's Guo-Yang's wife."

"Yu-Wan's wife."

"The Qian-Lü family, and old Madam Tao's come too."

They all stood at the gate and didn't come in. Madam Gao grew put out. The two in the house wouldn't lift their heads, wouldn't look at her, wouldn't greet her, and she pursed her lips.

She banged the window down, muttering, walked to the gate, and pitched her voice up in a call: "Honored madam! It's me, Madam Gao! Aiya, we've known each other how many years, and playing this game's no fun at all! Really..." She grumbled on, out of sorts.

Qi Qian'er heard, pursed her lips, and pointed the old lady toward the gate. The old lady gave her a hmph. No telling when this pair had worked up a sign-language between them.

In short, people had come mannerly and by the rules, to the door. So Qi Qian'er went to the yard-gate, all smiles, and met them courteously.

She curtsied first to the elders. And those few, knowing that from now on the folk in this yard were of a different sort, followed old Madam Tao's lead and returned it.

Old Madam Tao was senior in generation, but a commoner. Her sons and grandsons were in the army too, though what exactly they were, her house had no go-anywhere trumpet like Chen Siniu to spread the word.

A titled lady was a titled lady. There was a threshold to the house now, and they had to make a proper show of paying call.

Old Madam Tao carried herself with poise. She was widely-seen and shrewd besides, and had no taste for meddling. Among this pack of women she was the unseen head of them, a far better sort than the mean, sharp Chen Wu.

Come to call today, she led her people in salute to Qi Qian'er, and not a flicker of unwillingness showed on the surface.

Qi Qian'er knew her mettle too, and didn't show her edges before her.

Courteously she led them into the house. Old Madam Tao saw the old lady, saluted at once, and said, sweet as could be: "Congratulations to you, elder sister, a sky-high joy! It was late last night, and there's no calling to give joy in the dark. So first thing this morning we gathered and came all together."

The old lady, drilled half the night, was about to spring up and boast. Then she heard Qi Qian'er cough at the door. She mastered the various itchings in her breast, held herself grand, and said: "Aiya, what joy or no joy. It's all Qian'er's man, my Scabby making good! That's what won me a bit of face. Quick, come up and sit, Qian'er!!"

And to those outside: "Quick, boil water for old Madam Tao and the aunties."

Old Madam Tao sat with half a buttock on the seat, smiling. "Still standing on ceremony with us? No hurry, I'm not thirsty." Then to Yu-Wan's wife behind her: "Quick, go carry that little imp in."

Yu-Wan's wife nodded, smiling, turned and went out. In a moment she carried in Xique, in a little floral jacket, her hair in two little tufts bound with red cord, hugging a cloth bundle to her against her will.

Xique was a pretty child. In the door she called "Granny," showing a few little glutinous-rice teeth, sweet and pitiable.

Through the doorway, Qi Qian'er watched Madam Qiao out there, not daring to come in.

This Qiao was a heart of iron, forged of a thousand hammer-blows. Yesterday she'd wept over the wrong point. For all her weeping, the title was won under Chen Dasheng's name, and had nothing to do with the fourth branch.

She wasn't even embarrassed by it.

Shamed like that, anyone else would do well just to face people again within ten days or a fortnight. But she was a strong one. A night gone by, and, waking, she'd swiftly thought out a plan, set up a fresh battle-line, and come again.

But it wasn't like before now. She truly stood at the gate and didn't dare enter the yard.

Ever since the old lady learned she could cast out a wife on her son's behalf, she'd said openly, more than once, before others: where she lived, where she stayed, if Qiao dared set a single foot in it, that was gross unfiliality.

Qiao had a guilty heart, and truly didn't dare take that step.

Xique reached for granny and dropped the bundle in her hands.

The old lady was glad to see Xique too. Bad as the child's mother was, this was her own grandchild.

She half sat up, put out her hands to take Xique, stroked the child's little tufts fondly, and kissed her forehead. "Aiyo, who's this now? How did you come here?"

Stingy as this old lady was with all the world, when a grandchild came it was different. One arm held the baby, and the other, not heeding orders, reached into the kang-cabinet and fished out a plate of palace-made pastries.

Only once the pastries were on the table did she start to regret it. And by then it was too late.

Old Madam Tao smiled: "Aiyo, flesh and blood from birth, there's no breaking that! Our Xique missed her granny! We're holding the new clothes her mother made for granny, come to make our apology! Old lady, be big-hearted. For our Xique's sake, don't hold it against us..."

The dry firewood in the stove crackled and popped. Qi Qian'er carried out a stack of big bowls, set them out one by one, and ladled hot water into each with a gourd dipper.

Madam Zhou found no market for herself on the east-room kang, so she came out to make idle talk with Qi Qian'er.

Seeing Qi Qian'er boil plain water, she cast about for something to say: "Aiyo, honored madam, and this is what you treat folk to? Your house came by so many fine things yesterday. Can't you bear to bring a bit out for us to have a look?"

Ten-odd years living cheek by jowl in the rundown alley last life, Qi Qian'er knew her good points and her bad. So she asked, not standing on ceremony: "Auntie, those fine things of yours from the prefectural city, we hear of them every day. How about bringing them out for me to see, too?"

Everyone knew Zhou bragged. But nobody had ever asked her for the goods straight out.

Zhou's face went red at that, and she gave a hmph: "My family's fine things, why should I show them to you."

Qi Qian'er cocked a brow: "Just so. And you know they're my family's fine things too?"

That said, she took up the tray, briskly set the water-bowls on it, and carried them into the east room.

Behind her Zhou muttered: "Beady little eyes, sly little brows, black heart and black lungs, thick-skinned old-crow face!!"

On the east-room kang, Xique had her mouth stuffed full, still clutching a piece of pastry and not letting go.

Where had she ever eaten a thing like pastry? The old lady coaxed her tenderly: "Aiyo! It's all yours! all yours! Eat slow now..."

And she dragged the pastry-plate over in front of her granddaughter, one hand out to shield it.

The others had had half a mind to taste too. Seeing her like that, they hadn't the face.

Old Madam Tao thanked Qi Qian'er, lifted the coarse bowl and drank a sip of water, set it down, and said, a touch disappointed: "So elder sister truly won't give an inch?"

The old lady's face was flat as she stroked Xique's head, and she spoke a word at a time: "No. She and I, we truly haven't the fate to be mother and daughter-in-law. And you, don't take her pleadings hereafter. No use whoever comes! Not the Emperor himself! Let no one play vanguard for her. Little sister, there are inside things you don't know. My not telling you doesn't mean they aren't so."

Old Madam Tao sighed: "Yes. How would I know your house's inside affairs? You know how I am, I like my incense and my prayers, don't care to go out. When she comes begging me, I think of the old days. That night she birthed Xique, and us on the road, no hot water even, blood half a basin, and she gripping your hand, calling 'Mother' over and over. And when Xique was born, the two of you holding each other and crying so. I'll not forget it my whole life..."

The old lady smiled at that: "I haven't forgotten either. That's Siniu's debt to her. Let Siniu repay it..."

Qi Qian'er took the pastry-box from the cabinet, drew seven or eight sheets of paper, laid five pieces in each, and sat in the corner of the kang wrapping them.

Quiet, hard-working Qian-Lü's wife came to help. And, lowering her voice, she actually asked: "They say your Master Chen's to come home?"

Qi Qian'er started, and looked up at the honest lump of last life. Even she had her lively, bold moments.

Qian-Lü's wife, thinking she'd said the wrong thing, went pale and abashed.

Qi Qian'er said low, smiling: "I don't know either. They say he's coming back."

"Oh, that's a fine thing then. You've weathered it through too..."

"Mm..."

The women went off all smiles, each with a packet of pastries in her arms.

It was a good way off before Xique realized she was getting farther and farther from her darling sweet cake and from granny. She burst into a wail, the crying receding, and receding.

Qi Qian'er saw the women out. Coming back, she found the old lady with one hand pressed to her chest, the other braced on the kang-table, head down, trembling.

She hurried over to steady her: "Why put yourself through it? If you truly can't bear to part with her, then give her a step down. Why work yourself into this state?"

But the old lady raised her head with a look of pure spite and glared, grinding her teeth: "Don't mention her! I'm talking about you! Tell me, my pastries... how many did you give away? Eh!"

Qi Qian'er let go and sat up. She'd known it, known it. If she ever pitied this mean old crone again, she was a dog.

She clapped her hands, went to the cabinet, took her half-done elm-bark paste, picked up the brush and ink, and went out.

Seeing her go, the old lady got anxious too, and scrambled off the kang after her: "Hey, I only said a couple of words? Said a couple of words, and you take my pity to heart? Eh? Silly girl, you great fool, I'm sixth rank, I'm sixth rank now, you dare ignore me? You wait. When my Scabby's home, I'll have your head cut off!!!"

Since yesterday, she'd had Qi Qian'er's head cut off no end of times.

In the alley, three carts wide, paved with bluestone, Qi Qian'er and the old lady glanced about like a pair of thieves, darting this way and that. With more choices now, the two wanted a look at all the houses they'd never dared dream of.

By the old lady's reckoning, her four grandsons ought all to live in one alley. That was proper closeness.

But Qi Qian'er resisted, in a roundabout way. Was she mad, to fetch three sisters-in-law all older than herself to sit next door and vex her?

She'd long since settled it. At the very back of Quanhou Manor there was a fine row of houses set against the hill. Pack those three off there in one heap! Forever mouthing things they couldn't live up to. Not one visit in three or five years, and when they did come, all lectures, pointing and picking, as though their men's higher rank made them somebody.

If you're so able, take the old lady away. In the end it's still me who tends her.

Mm, not that it came to enmity. Only the little frictions of cousins' wives. Everyone lived apart, and there was no feeling between them...

Surveying every quarter, grandmother and granddaughter reached the mouth of the alley. Qi Qian'er, furtive, saw no one about. She pulled a roll of paper from her breast and lay down on the ground to sort the strips.

But she didn't know that on the roof of the house right beside her, two people were crouched, one lying, one kneeling.

Su Bailian bit into a fruit and said to her meridian-cut, kneeling junior-brother: "Junior brother? These two, the old lady and the little wife, sneaking about the manor all day, roaming everywhere. What in the world are they after?"

Doctor Cheng threatened through his teeth: "Su Bailian! Someone's coming! Untie me..."

Su Bailian turned back, scornful: "No!"

Doctor Cheng was furious. Seeing men and horses come slowly into the alley-mouth in the distance, he swallowed his rage and forced the qi through his channels. Face mattering more than body. At last he spat a mouthful of fresh blood and went rolling off the roof.

He thought he'd take a hard fall. Instead he fell into Su Bailian's arms.

Su Bailian looked down at her junior-brother, blood on his lovely lips, all tenderness. Her heart quivered, but her face was in dead earnest as she said to him: "Junior brother! You're, you're hurt! Come, don't be afraid! Senior sister will heal you!"

And with that she carried Doctor Cheng into the house...

Qi Qian'er had no notion that her and the old lady's furtive doings had been watched from start to finish.

She brushed the paste on well, laid down the paper strip, took up the writing-brush, and proudly wrote a few large characters on it.

Great Liang Imperial Guard Garrison, Long Saber Garrison, sixth-grade Commander-Recorder Chen Dasheng, offici...

"You? What are you writing?"

Someone spoke of a sudden behind her. Her heart gave a great lurch, and Qi Qian'er whirled round in fright. When she saw who it was, her hand shook, and half a bowl of ink slipped from her grip.

Chen Scabby! I'd know you if you were burnt to ash.

From far off, Chen Dasheng had seen his own granny, and a slim little girl in a head-cloth, sneaking about together at who knew what.

Ducking here, sprawling there, peeping this way, peering that. In any case, Chen Dasheng had never seen his granny carry on so. She looked just like a child at hide-and-seek.

He was quite baffled.

Meng Wanquan, leading the way, made to go over and call out, but Chen Dasheng stopped him.

He couldn't have said why himself. He only found the two of them a delight to watch, and something in his chest eased.

As if some spirit moved him, he edged over, slowly, small step by small step.

These ten-odd days, little Hua'er had jabbered in his ear no end of times. Second Brother, that she-devil of yours! Second Brother, that fierce shrew of yours! Second Brother, that vixen of yours... So? Had he married a person or a monster?

For this one meeting, his sworn brother Chang Lianfang had hauled him into the scented-water hall, the bathhouse, of Yanjing. Twelve days in the capital, and every two days he'd had to spend an hour soaking there.

Poor Chen Dasheng. A whole night lying in ambush in the frozen winter wilds was nothing to him, yet twice running he'd fainted dead away in the scented-water hall.

Four big fellows pinned him down and scrubbed the skin and flesh off him top to bottom. And once that ordeal was through, there was the scented bath to soak in.

A real scented bath, the kind that, walking out the door in high autumn, draws a few bees and bugs after you.

To keep his Second Brother from being cowed by that female sprite, Chang Lianfang put out ox-strength. He hurried the guard garrison's workshop to rush the robes, cap, and armor. He wheedled warhorses out of the Emperor. Busy as could be, and gladly, till his two elder brothers and his own father were pickled to the gills in a vat of vinegar.

Chen Dasheng and the rest were foot-soldiers born. The most they'd ridden was a cart. In these ten days, under Chang Lianfang's hard drilling, they'd gone from clinging trembling to the horse's neck and not letting go, to whipping up a gallop now with their cloaks streaming.

Today Chen Dasheng wore a guard's saber at his waist. On his back was a gold-woven brocade pouch hung with a blood-jade ring and five-colored silk tassels. Inside it, of course, was the army-shaking soul-severing long saber.

On his head, a wingless black gauze cap. On his body, a brocade robe of black ground worked with the roaring-tiger pattern. Round his waist, a gold-washed silver belt, hung with the guard's bronze tally, a silver fish, a silver flint-striker, and a stamped ox-hide pouch. On his feet, calf-leather-soled black boots.

And the most fearsome thing of all, the thing that dropped jaws all over the ground, was this.

Sixth-grade Recorder Lord Chen had a face that had struck the whole guard garrison, the Emperor, the entire Chang house, and half a hall of palace eunuchs speechless.

No one could have guessed it. Wipe the grime from that face, and beneath it was a sweet-melon face. That's right, Chen Dasheng was born with an uncommonly sweet face, what the country folk call a baby-face.

Round face, handsome brows, up-tilted deer-eyes, a nose neither high nor low, a mouth neither thick nor thin, the right corner of it hooked naturally upward. So even silent he seemed three-parts smiling, and speaking, ten-parts sweet. A face made to be doted on.

The pity of it. The man was an old soldier of the long saber. And stood up in his finery, he was less bearable to look at than ever, still so sweet.

The Emperor fretted himself sick over it. In the end it was Chang Lianfang who thought of a way: have Second Brother wear a fierce demon-mask. That might, perhaps, possibly, go some way toward rescuing the Long Saber Garrison's image.

So it was settled!

The mask was in the making.

And that face of his, because he had to see the Emperor, had been taken in hand all day long, by Zeng Anbang, by Guo Qian, by Earl Chang. Greased and scented, truly. In short, these ten-odd days the seven old blades had been tended head to foot, till now there wasn't a spare margin left even on their toenails.

When they walked past, it was seven pear-blossom scents drifting by. A man passed and left a pear-and-fruit fragrance. Whoever met them had to give a sniff.

Qi Qian'er's nose was full of the sweet scent. Of course she knew what Chen Dasheng looked like. But a Chen Dasheng like this she had never seen.

He was looking at her with bright, bright eyes, and a look ten-parts sweet.

Chen Dasheng thought he'd carried himself off rather well. But to Qi Qian'er it was the strange, fresh business of a spirit-tablet turning into a living man.

She was timid, her heart aquiver, so frightened she'd dropped the ink-bowl in her hand.

Chen Dasheng, quick, bent and caught the ink-bowl.

But no one had reckoned that Qi Qian'er still held a writing-brush.

And so the face of sixth-grade Recorder Lord Chen, the Emperor's beloved old blade, got tended thickly by that brush, from his chin clear up to his brow.

He straightened, and handed the ink-bowl back to Qi Qian'er with a smile: "What are you doing?"

Qi Qian'er answered blankly: "Claiming a house for our boy!"

"Our boy?"

"Mm, he's called An'er. His eyes are like yours, round, and he loves to laugh. Only, you never met him."

Chen Dasheng's heart bloomed all at once into a rainbow. It hung on the very tip of him, the whole man sweet enough to run honey.

He said: "We'll meet him, sooner or later."

Qi Qian'er nodded, and said, quite certain: "Yes. Three years from now."

Chen Dasheng was in the best of moods. He pointed at the writing on the gate and asked: "I know that 'Chen.'"

Qi Qian'er nodded: "Mm, under it is Dasheng, Chen Dasheng!"

Chen Dasheng sniffed: "Then, then I'll help you! I can write it now."

Qi Qian'er looked at that streak of ink, blinked, and smiled too: "All right!"