The success or failure of the Zhao family in the brocade competition would directly impact the joyousness of their marriage alliance with the Ji family. If victorious, the Zhao family would be overjoyed, and the marriage would be like adding flowers to the brocade. If defeated, a mere glance from the Yang family, clearly indicating Yang’s brocade superiority over Zhao’s, would be enough to make the Zhao family grind their back teeth once again.
At such a time, marrying into the modest Ji family would not only fail to lift spirits but would feel like another kick down—after all, the Yang family’s marriage connections were all with either official or noble households. Losing the brocade competition and then marrying down—wouldn’t this mean they could never hold their heads high before the Yang family for generations to come?
Madam Ji and Ji Yaoting were deeply concerned about this situation. Mother and son discussed it privately and made their decision: if the Zhao family lost, they would use Ji Yaoting’s busy year-end wedding preparations as an excuse to delay further marriage discussions until after his wedding.
Of course, the best outcome would be Zhao’s victory, bringing double happiness.
Madam Ji changed her previous attitude of indifference toward the brocade competition winner and tacitly permitted Ji Yingying to meet with Zhao Xiuyuan.
When Ji Yaoting went to the Huanhua Dyeing Shop, he half-truthfully invited Ji Yingying along: “Brother is getting married at year’s end, and Mother has called craftsmen to renovate the courtyard. We’re short-handed with so much to do. Come help at the shop.”
The shop had a manager. Small transactions didn’t require the owner’s presence. Ji Yaoting spent most of his time in the small private room, waiting for major merchants to negotiate prices. With courtyard renovations, betrothal gifts to prepare, and silk dyeing at the workshop, Ji Yaoting was indeed busy.
Ji Yingying agreed without hesitation, leaving Ling’er in the back courtyard while bringing Xiang’er to sit in the small room with her embroidery basket and frame.
She understood that she couldn’t go to the Zhao residence, nor could Zhao Xiuyuan frequently visit the Ji family’s back courtyard. The family was creating opportunities for her and Zhao Xiuyuan to meet.
Ji Yingying thought Zhao Xiuyuan would come the next day after hearing from her brother. Unexpectedly, it took ten days before he arrived at the shop under the pretense of buying silk with new brocade designs.
When she heard him greeting Uncle Ji Gui, Ji Yingying, who was embroidering, nearly pricked her finger. She gave Xiang’er an urgent look.
Xiang’er suppressed a smile as she lifted the curtain to leave. After Zhao Xiuyuan slipped in and Xiang’er served tea, she tactfully retreated to guard outside the room’s curtain.
Perhaps because they had always met secretly and never so openly before, both Zhao Xiuyuan and Ji Yingying felt somewhat awkward. It wasn’t as natural as their meetings behind Zhulin Temple.
He wore a cyan-colored brocade robe with small floral patterns, reminding Ji Yingying of his figure with arms spread wide on the tower that day, making her too shy to keep looking at him. After not seeing him for many days, her heart felt like it harbored a playful little demon struggling to jump out, making her involuntarily glance up and then look down again repeatedly, eventually imprinting his refined features in her heart.
Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding her temple hair with a golden glow, making her skin appear translucently white, while a light blush spread across her cheeks. Zhao Xiuyuan had never seen Ji Yingying looking so shy and charming, and he found himself staring.
Ji Yingying’s gaze moved to Zhao Xiuyuan’s waist, where an exquisite vase-shaped sachet hung from his cyan belt, embroidered with bamboo. This was what she had made for his eighteenth birthday. Ji Yingying humphed, “You weren’t wearing it on the Mid-Autumn Festival, but now that you need something from me, you put it on?”
Once she spoke, the familiar feeling returned. Zhao Xiuyuan hurriedly explained, “I was running late that day and forgot. I wear it usually. Really!”
Seeing him flustered always brought a sweet feeling to Ji Yingying, and she couldn’t help but tease, “Why are you standing there like a fool? Sit down.”
To facilitate the display of silk threads, there was a large rectangular table in the small room. Zhao Xiuyuan sat opposite Ji Yingying, separated by the nearly ten-foot-long table, feeling somewhat constrained.
Ji Yingying giggled softly, propping her cheeks with both hands as she whispered, “I bet Uncle Ji Gui is standing right outside the curtain right now.”
Zhao Xiuyuan turned to look and couldn’t help but smile. Below the door curtain were two pairs of feet—one showing the edge of embroidered shoes beneath a skirt hem, belonging to the maid Xiang’er, and the other in blue cloth shoes with thousand-layer soles, clearly belonging to Huanhua Dyeing Shop’s manager Ji Gui.
Being watched like this, Zhao Xiuyuan couldn’t express his countless thoughts of longing. Besides wanting to see Ji Yingying, he had come with business to discuss, so he immediately placed his drawing on the table: “This is my new design for the brocade competition. Take a look.”
Ji Yingying was also concerned about this matter. She rose to move the tea tray to a small side table, then lifted the tablecloth.
Under the large square table lay a layer of finely bleached white linen. When major merchants came to order silk thread, samples would be displayed there for better color comparison.
Zhao Xiuyuan carefully removed the drawing from its bamboo tube and spread it out.
Many people came to the dyeing shop to match silk with patterns, and Ji Yingying skillfully took out the long nan wood paperweights to secure the drawing.
The drawing was two feet wide and three feet long. In it, a crescent moon hung over rippling clear waves. By the water, a blooming chrysanthemum was meticulously drawn in light ink in the gongbi style. The branches and leaves resembled a figure, the flower like a beauty’s face. The spreading, floating chrysanthemum petals were like billowing skirts. It appeared as if a beauty stood by the waves, her clothes floating, about to step on the wind and depart.
Tang people were obsessed with flowers. “One deep-colored flower, ten households compose poems about it”—this saying revealed the high price of precious peonies. Brocades featuring flowers, grass, and auspicious birds were extremely popular. As early as the Han Dynasty, Sima Xiangru had once pawned his Shu brocade “stern bird frost bird fur coat” to buy wine. This led to people competing to be refined, imitating the wearing of bird and flower pattern brocades. The trend remained strong in the Tang Dynasty.
“Chrysanthemums bloom in the tenth month. Among the Four Noble Ones—plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum—the chrysanthemum defies frost proudly, unafraid of power. Grandfather has seen this drawing and said it shows innovation,” Zhao Xiuyuan said softly, glancing at the feet under the door curtain. Still seeing them there, he lowered his voice further, “That day when you left, your skirts caught the wind, and I was inspired. This brocade design was made for you. If I win the competition, I’ll use it as part of the betrothal gifts.”
Looking at the chrysanthemum drawing again, Ji Yingying couldn’t help but smile, though she teased him: “Can such a freehand drawing be woven?”
In previous competitions, others had used chrysanthemums as subjects, but all were realistic drawings for brocade weaving. Being able to draw something didn’t necessarily mean it could be woven. Zhao Xiuyuan’s integration of gongbi and freehand styles made the weaving difficulty several times higher.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already woven a sample. Take a look at how to select and match the silk colors,” Zhao Xiuyuan said softly. “The sample uses blue brocade as the base, with silver for the moon and waves. Green for the stem and leaves. Yellow for the flower center and purple-red for the petals. It’s called ‘Lingjiang Xian.'”
Ji Yingying stared at the draft, gradually visualizing the brocade in her mind.
“I heard the Yang family’s competition piece this year is called ‘Ten Pattern Brocade.’ The Yang family’s brocades are known for their gorgeous opulence. I guess that piece must be quite colorful. My ‘Lingjiang Xian’ has a unique style. I just worry it won’t match the grandeur and brilliance of the Yang family’s piece.”
Ji Yingying remained deep in thought.
Zhao Xiuyuan didn’t disturb her, sitting beside her drinking tea.
After studying the drawing for the time it takes to burn an incense stick, Ji Yingying lets out a long breath.
“Such a design shouldn’t be difficult for you to color match,” Zhao Xiuyuan wasn’t worried at all. The peacock brocade he had woven earlier that year used four shades of green, three blues, and two purples just for one feather. This single chrysanthemum would certainly not stump Ji Yingying.