Chapter 4

After the drizzle the weather turned colder still, and the Huo family, packed and ready at last, finally set out on the road.

Along with the whole Huo household, old and young, Qi Qian'er slipped quietly back to Huo Manor, and was shut up again in the back court. The family always had matters she wasn't meant to know, and she couldn't be bothered to pry — she paid no mind to the odds and ends Master Huo had hidden away beneath the ancestral hall.

The first day, though, she'd watched the eldest young master take the youngest boy, Kui, out with him.

Kui didn't want to go, and cried fit to tear his heart out.

Qi Qian'er ran over and tucked half a dried fruit into the child's arms, and Kui stopped crying and, still hiccupping, gnawed at it with his milk teeth.

This was a lucky little fellow. She'd actually seen Kui again in the later days — led to burn incense at the temple by the master of an oil-press shop in the city, carried the whole way, plump and fair.

The shopkeeper had bought him a fried cake at the temple gate, and seeing Kui had no free hand to take it, had plucked the pinwheel from his grip and tucked it into the back of his collar...

The eldest young master traded Kui away for half a sack of brown rice and came back; the next day he took the eldest young mistress out and returned, eyes red, with half a sack of the bean-cake fed to livestock. The Huo family wanted for no money or valuables — only for grain.

These days you could take a bright silver ingot into the city and still find nowhere selling grain.

The first year of Yong'an was no easy time. Barely a few settled days, and then two heavy winter snows killed off no small number of the refugees who'd come from all over seeking a way to live.

War had left the fields untilled, and though the new emperor had grand designs for a golden age, even that had to come slowly. They all said there was a living to be had at the Son of Heaven's feet — who could have known that the common folk, come hurrying from thousands of li away with hope in their eyes, would only be driven roughly out again by the Right Army newly marched into the capital.

These couple of days Qi Qian'er kept thinking of that windfall back at the temple. A weak woman like her — where could she go, carrying such things?

Wherever she went, she couldn't keep hold of it.

Back then, lucky for her, she'd lived at Quanhou Village beside the old army camp. Scabhead was a military officer, small as his rank was, and though all he could give her was a life of plain cloth and coarse food, at least it was a life that kept a person alive.

Once life had gotten easier, she'd started nursing her grudges — but coming back now and seeing the state of things, without the Chen family's bowl of rice she'd have been dead and not even ashes left; to still be chewing over those little household quarrels would be pointless.

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After a couple of days of casting off and cutting down, the old Huo family was at last packed and ready, and while the refugees hadn't yet reached these parts, they set out all together on the road.

Leaving home, the whole big family cried fit to tear their hearts out — all but Qi Qian'er.

The family fortune, banked up over generations, could not be carried off, there before their very eyes. Madam Wang, the woman who'd stormed and thundered across the estate, could in the end only dress as a refugee — patched coarse-cloth coat, a ragged kerchief round her head, a little bundle in her arms — and set off sniveling on a wheelbarrow pushed by the eldest young master.

The young masters of this house had never known such hardship. One pulling and one pushing, they'd not gone far up the old post road before Madam Wang had fallen off three times and the second young master's shoulder was rubbed raw and bleeding.

To gain any grit a person has to take his falls and his toil. Silk-clad, jade-fed as they were — eldest young master, second young master, and the few others left of the family — even with their knees smashed to bloody pulp, they picked themselves up without a word and walked on.

After half a day or so on the road, the wheelbarrow was at least running steady.

Pushing the barrow, the eldest young master muttered: "Mother, the hundred-odd jin we traded for isn't nearly enough to eat."

Madam Wang glanced around, a wave of gloom settling over her. Of course she knew it wasn't enough — but what hung over the family now was the ruin of the whole house, and she didn't dare linger a moment longer.

Madam Wang, helpless: "Not enough to eat, then go hungry. Hold on! Endure! We'll see when we reach Little Nanshan. We've no lack of money, at least — I won't believe we can't trade even for bean-cake at ten taels a peck?"

The second young master, up front, muttered: "Ten taels? Mother, what are you thinking? There's nowhere to buy it even at twenty! And besides, how far is Little Nanshan from here? I reckon it's no better off over there!"

Despair in their hearts, they lost the will to talk. Madam Wang, though, looked about her, and even shot a glance at Qi Qian'er off to the side.

Qi Qian'er had a body built for hardship. With a full belly, she had far more strength than the eldest young master; for all the great big basket on her back, her step was steady.

As she walked, she was enjoying the show — the sorry state of these mistresses and young masters who'd bullied them in days gone by. The bitter days were just beginning now.

One Huo Manor — how many pitiful tenants had died there for nothing in ordinary times, how many poor helpless women had come through its gate on their knees and gone out laid flat... This was nothing yet.

Madam Wang slowly let out a breath, the veins standing out on the hand that gripped her bundle.

How long they walked no one knew, but seeing more and more refugees rushing headlong toward Qingfeng, and carrying no small store of valuables, and wary of trouble, they turned the barrow — with a local's knowledge of the way — off the old post road and went along the village track by Mount Baiquan.

They walked until Qingfeng's old city wall was out of sight, and Madam Wang couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out wailing — and as she wept she cursed: cursed Heaven for having no eyes, cursed that old wretch who'd thrown his whole family away...

Qi Qian'er carried a wicker basket nearly as tall as herself, and besides the two sets of bedding stuffed into it sat the second young master's five-year-old boy.

Wretched and forlorn, driven and harried, they walked who knew how long. Just as they'd passed through a deserted hamlet and come out its far end, she fell to the ground and couldn't get up.

The little boy burst out crying. Qi Qian'er struggled a few times but in the end didn't get up — and besides, she didn't want to get up anymore.

She'd finally caught sight of the place she'd been looking for.

Not far ahead, on a great stretch of run-wild farmland, stood an old army camp ringed with a fresh timber palisade, and planted outside it was a banner she knew well — the banner marked "Tan."

Forced to stop the barrow, the eldest young master looked back at the concubine-born sister who couldn't get up, anger rising in him, and in the end couldn't hold it, and pointed at her as he said to Madam Wang: "Mother! She's nothing but dead weight!"

Madam Wang looked at Qi Qian'er sprawled on the ground, then looked around. Aah — this scrawny, dried-up thing, taken out yesterday and brought back again, a creature no one would take even for five jin of bean-cake...

She hopped down off the barrow, came up and kicked Qi Qian'er twice, then scooped up the little boy, soothing him, and looked about her.

And looking, she saw, a hundred paces off, under the big willow outside the camp, an old woman sitting cross-legged on a blue-stone millstone with a long pipe in her hand.

The old woman was nothing to wonder at; what was, were the four or five goats, neither fat nor lean, gathered round her — and, not far off, a foot soldier standing there with a saber slung at his waist, half an arm missing, in tattered cloth armor.

Madam Wang's eyes lit up. She looked first at the one-armed man, then at Qi Qian'er on the ground, and with a curl of her lip said: "My girl, get up quick... your day has come at last!"

She had Qi Qian'er set down the basket, pulled her behind the wheelbarrow, reached into her bundle and fished out an unpatched jacket to slip on her, and seeing Qi Qian'er's hair all in a mess, even spat twice on her fingers and smoothed down the hair at her temples.

Qi Qian'er took this handling, the same as last life, with a witless look, her heart pounding fast and aching.

Madam Wang tidied Qi Qian'er up after a rough fashion, and once she looked halfway like a person, pulled her off toward the big willow. They'd gone only a few steps when the foot soldier gave a great shout: "Halt!"

Madam Wang gave a shiver and stopped where she stood. Her legs weak, she turned to look back at her two sons, who didn't dare even raise their heads, and cursed them inwardly for the bad seed they were.

Having come this far, she forced a few threads of a smile onto her face and called over: "Officer, we mean nothing by it! We just want a word with you."

The foot soldier looked them over carefully, then glanced at the old woman.

The old woman had been bored stiff these past days, unable to go anywhere, and she nodded to him, keen to watch the bit of excitement.

At that the one-armed soldier called to Madam Wang: "Come on, then!"

Madam Wang's legs were soft under her, and half a step in she pitched forward. Anxious, Qi Qian'er reached out to catch her and cried: "Careful, Madam."

Madam Wang hesitated then, and turned to look at Qi Qian'er's face full of concern, and somehow felt a sourness in her heart, and her eyes reddened on the spot.

No sooner had Qi Qian'er put out her hand than she felt she'd done wrong — last life she'd been sold off like a witless thing, and there'd been no such gesture then.

In that one instant, her old woman's heart clenched tight as a beaten drum, in dread that Madam would change her mind and not sell her after all.

Holding Madam Wang up, she stumbled with her to the big willow, and once before the others Madam Wang let her go, brushed the loose dust off herself, and quite earnestly made her bow to the old woman: "Old Mistress, good day to you."

Who'd have thought the old woman across from her would be an iron-headed sort with no feel for people at all? Madam Wang gave her greeting, and she only gave a stiff, cold snort: "Good my arse!"

How — how was anyone supposed to answer that?

Qi Qian'er's mouth quirked and she lowered her head. In her mind of old, this old woman had been every bit as frightening as Madam Wang. But looking now — why, she was only a dried-up old crone, nothing frightening about her.

Madam Wang had never in her life been treated so. Her face burned red with shame, but swallowing her temper she still had to smile and fawn: "You — look at you, now, how could it not be good? One look and anyone can see a face full of good fortune. Sons and grandsons all round you — isn't that good? One look and you can tell it's good!"

And even as she flattered, Madam Wang was carefully sizing the old woman up.

On her head the old woman wore a peach-pink brow-band gone nearly colorless, and stitched dead-center on it was a jade plaque — not quite green, not quite white — carved with a longevity pattern. From the style of the thing, it was plainly a piece a man would hang at his waist, and yet here it was, planted square in the middle of the old woman's forehead.

Broad forehead, faint brows, drooping eyes, big mouth, yellow teeth — a mean-looking face — and she wore a mismatched pair of gold earrings, one with a lotus-flower drop, the other just a plain hoop.

Looking lower, she had on a man's lined satin jacket, side-fastening, patterned with bats. Satin wears poorly, and grudging the good cloth, the old woman had patched the cuffs, hem, and collar all over with dark-red coarse-cloth.

As she moved you could see three silver bracelets on each arm, of different sizes and all of them good and heavy.

Good grief — it was as if she'd raked every last thing the house owned onto her own body.

Madam Wang had a clever mouth and knew how to handle people, and her flattery had gone right to the old woman's heart — for what the old woman wanted just now was a hall full of children and grandchildren.

At the kind words a few real smiles did surface on her wrinkle-heaped face, and she glanced Madam Wang up and down: "You've a sweet enough tongue on you. Where are you from?"

Madam Wang brushed the dust off herself again and said with a smile: "From over Qingfeng way."

"And going where?" the old woman asked.

Madam Wang answered: "To tell the Old Mistress true — the city's fallen, our home's gone, and with more and more refugees about we're afraid of trouble, so we're heading back to our old home."

At that the old woman turned her head to look at the one-armed man.

The one-armed soldier nodded to her.

The old woman sighed: "Damn their bones — quite right! What else would you do but go? Wait around to starve? Go on, then — the farther the better. This place truly isn't safe anymore."

Madam Wang, as if she'd had it confirmed, held back her tears and said: "Yes, yes, yes — you've seen so much of the world, Old Mistress, and that's just our thinking. Hard as it'll be back home, at least there's a mouthful to be had, isn't there — and all our kin are there besides, so we can lean on one another a little..."

There the talk ran dry, and besides, the old woman had no more wish to bother with them. Haughty and offhand, silver bracelets jangling, she stretched her arm out long and pointed at the ancestral-shrine courtyard of the hamlet not far off: "There — there's a well over that way."

Madam Wang propped up her smile but shook her head at the old woman: "Old Mistress, it's not water we're begging."

At that the old woman turned wary, and her whole face went mean: "Not water? You're asking directions, then? Hah! I don't know the roads. I'm — I'm from elsewhere myself, only got here a few days back."

Madam Wang bowed again: "Old Mistress — it's not directions either."

The old woman leaned back a little and glared, all on her guard: "Then? Then what is it you want!"

Madam Wang smiled bitterly, looked at the one-armed man, then at Qi Qian'er beside her, swallowed a few times, and only then, testing the waters, made her plea: "Well, uh — Old Mistress, old granny — does your house have a boy not yet married? This girl of mine... look at her — how about she be a wife for your house? Just... just trade her for a bit of food, and that'll do..."

Having stammered it all out, Madam Wang fell silent.

The old woman, sitting on the millstone, was taken aback, and she looked Madam Wang up and down, then Qi Qian'er.

Madam Wang had gone these days without food or drink, starved down thin as a cut sheet of paper, and with the last days' toil on top of it, she did look somewhat the part of one who'd suffered.

The old woman knocked out her pipe-bowl, tucked it into the back of her waistband, and hopped down off the millstone, walking straight up to Qi Qian'er and looking her over the way you'd look over livestock.

She had no mind to buy, but as custom went she still had to talk the price down and sniff at the goods, the better to show how much of the world she'd seen.

She circled her several times, then said scornfully: "This girl of yours? Skin and bone, thin-haired, not two taels to her, less than a house sparrow — and you want to trade her for food? Damn their bones — dream on! Don't want her, don't want her! Off with you, quick!"

Cursing inwardly, Madam Wang had no choice but to keep her smiling face and plead: "Aye, aye... she is a bit thin, true, but old — old granny, don't go by how small and scrawny she looks. Spinning, weaving, at the stove or in the fields, indoors or out — whatever the work, she can do it."

The old woman thought nothing of Qi Qian'er and only shook her head — didn't want her, be off.

Pushed to the wall, and from some well of grievance she couldn't name, Madam Wang's tears came pattering down. Weeping, she choked out her plea to the old woman: "Old granny, have a heart. I'll not hide it from you — it's a new dynasty now, and one oughtn't speak of the past, but ours was a good family, and this girl of mine..."

Madam Wang yanked Qi Qian'er over and felt at her hands, meaning to find some other good word to praise her with — but alas, Qi Qian'er was short, not yet grown into herself, thin-haired and sallow, with a pair of hands all over calluses.

Stumbling, she fell to spinning any old tale: "Ah, old granny, this girl's suffered something terrible, but she was well enough before! We raised her up as a proper young lady, we did. My husband — my husband, he was a scholar, at least — he was, he was a juren! Eh — you know what a juren is? One step up from a juren and you're top of the palace exams... This child, my — this girl of mine, she knows her manners best of all, even studied a few days at her father's knee..."

This speech of Madam Wang's stopped the old woman dead. The old woman had lived a life half wind, half wave, and the one great knot she'd never untangled in all her days was the matter of reading and writing.

A girl who could actually read her letters?

But hearing Madam Wang's words, Qi Qian'er felt her heart go cold — cold as falling through the ice in thin clothes in the dead of the ninth-nine winter.