Without the moderating influence of a maritime climate, November in the capital was bitterly cold. After lunch, Nanny Fang had already lit the under-floor heating system. At night, Minglan slept together with Grandmother Sheng in the heated inner chamber. It was warm enough, but extremely dry. Minglan was not accustomed to it, and woke up several times in the night to drink water, yet still found her mouth parched and her throat dry. When she woke the next morning, she lay in a daze listening to Nanny Fang speak.

The capital was the foremost place in the realm. The Emperor was close by; the censors and remonstrance officials had keen ears, sharp eyes, and very active saliva glands. Sheng Hong was appropriately cautious: he gave the finest row of rooms to Grandmother Sheng, still calling the suite the Shou’an Hall. His own main rooms came next, for himself and Wang Shi. Lin Yiniang’s Linqi Pavilion still occupied the western side, with Changfeng’s small courtyard adjacent to it. Changbai had a courtyard to himself, being prepared as his bridal chamber.

The capital Sheng residence was not as spacious as the one in Dengzhou. The three girls could not each have separate courtyards, so a large, open existing courtyard was divided up — a row of side chambers was separated with lattice fences and decorative screen walls, and then front and back additional servant rooms and covered side rooms were constructed for the maids and matrons — creating a reasonably private semi-independent small courtyard for each. The original name “Weirui Pavilion” had subtly incorporated Hualan’s name, and both Molan and Rulan had long disliked it. They quickly took the opportunity to rename their own spaces: Molan’s became the Shanyue Residence, and Rulan’s became the Tao’ran Pavilion. Minglan’s kept its old name.

Minglan barely retained any of these details, though Cuiwei and Danju remembered everything. One of them supervised the moving of the luggage from the Shou’an Hall into the Mucang Study, while the other directed the junior maids and household workers in hauling and lifting, washing and wiping — it took the whole morning to get everything done. Grandmother Sheng, not quite at ease, took Minglan personally for an inspection tour. Wang Shi accompanied them, feeling a little anxious, and breathed with relief only when Grandmother Sheng gave a nod of approval.

The capital version of the Mucang Study had only three rooms: a main central chamber flanked by two side chambers. Minglan, who valued her privacy, made sure to partition off her bedroom, and then used a bookcase and a curtain to divide the right side chamber into a small reading room. Danju and Xiaotao personally opened each of the trunks, wiped every book and ornament clean, and arranged them according to Minglan’s wishes.

Before Minglan had even finished settling in, Rulan came calling. Having just arrived in the capital, Rulan’s temperament being what it was, she certainly hadn’t made any new friends this quickly. She had grown thoroughly tired of the daily small-eyed warfare with Molan and had a belly full of things she wanted to say to Minglan. Once Danju made a bowl of steaming Maojian tea, Rulan dragged Minglan into the inner room without further preamble.

“Sixth Younger Sister — don’t you think Fourth Elder Sister has been rather unhappy lately?” Before the pleasantries were even done, Rulan pressed straight to the point.

Minglan gathered her thoughts and hesitated: “She seemed all right, I think — though Fourth Elder Sister does look like she has something on her mind. At midday she came by my room, had a look around, said barely two words, and left.” That was strange in itself. Molan was a person who always presented a fine face to the world — whatever she might be thinking underneath, her surface manner was invariably pleasant. She would make conversation about nothing if she had to.

Rulan put on the expression of one whose suspicions have been thoroughly confirmed, and lowered her voice with a conspiratorial air: “While you were away, Fourth Elder Sister had a very unfortunate incident at Pingning Junzhu’s.”

By rights, with the exception of the Crown Prince and the Emperor’s youngest son, all other princes were required to go and reside in their fiefdoms. The more favored received prosperous territories; the less favored went to remote frontier regions. But the current situation was strange — the succession had not been settled, and the second and fourth princes were both remaining in the capital with the Emperor’s tacit approval. The sixth prince held a rank that was neither high nor low — he had been enfeoffed as a Junwang, with his territory in Daliang.

The previous year, when the old Emperor had celebrated his sixtieth birthday, the sixth prince had come to offer his congratulations and brought along a row of tidy little sons. This nearly made the princes who had no sons weep with envy. The youngest was only four or five — a round, chubby, adorably naïve little boy. The Emperor grew fonder every time he saw him. The sixth prince, ever brotherly and affectionate, and his Junwang consort, ever perceptive and accommodating, took to bringing this little son regularly to visit the Emperor.

“Oh — I understand now. When I was in Jinling, I heard that the King wishes to adopt a nephew. Could it be this son of the sixth prince’s?” Minglan suddenly understood, and then was immediately confused again: “But what does this have to do with Fourth Elder Sister? This is an imperial family matter — how could we possibly have any part in it?”

Rulan shook her head with glee: “The sixth prince’s household also has a County Princess of just the right age. With the Emperor’s birthday celebrations coming up, the Junwang consort brought both children to the capital.”

Minglan thought it over and ventured: “Could it be that they are on particularly close terms with Pingning Junzhu?”

Rulan clapped Minglan on the shoulder and laughed: “Sixth Younger Sister is so clever… That day, Pingning Junzhu held a gathering for her guests. Mother took us two to attend. Fourth Elder Sister was so eager to please the Junzhu — flattering and fawning in the most obvious fashion — and the Junzhu completely ignored her. Didn’t give her the slightest notice, just kept talking with the Junwang consort and her daughter the whole time. Afterward, Mother told Father about it. Father gave Fourth Elder Sister a thorough scolding and confined her to quarters for half a month on top of it! Ha…”

“That… that is rather humiliating.” Minglan could easily picture the scene, and felt embarrassed on her behalf. No wonder Sheng Hong had seemed quite stern with Molan since their return.

With the old Emperor growing visibly older by the day, the Wang prince was just one son away from having a legitimate justification for his position. The sixth prince’s line had suddenly become the most sought-after association in the capital. Pingning Junzhu was eager to warm herself at this promising fire and had set her sights on the Jiacheng County Princess as a match for her son. When one thought about it carefully — Molan and the County Princess simply had no comparable standing.

Rulan was enjoying this enormously. She had hoped to find someone to enjoy it with her, but Minglan was not playing along — in fact Minglan was wearing a look of worry, which made Rulan frown: “What’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for Fourth Elder Sister!”

Minglan gave a wry smile: “Fifth Elder Sister, what I’m worried about is us. Even if it’s Fourth Elder Sister who made the blunder, we sisters can’t escape it either. When people outside talk about it, they’ll say the Sheng family daughters are poorly raised.”

Rulan was jolted. She turned it over in her mind, and realized with a start that this was correct. No wonder, lately at tea parties and poetry gatherings, the daughters of official families had been treating her with something of a cold shoulder — their words carrying a subtle edge. She had assumed it was directed at Molan alone. But it turned out that she had been dragged into it as well! Rulan’s fury ignited in an instant: “That, that little —!”

The word she wanted to say, she couldn’t say. Rulan’s face went red with the effort of holding it back. Minglan rushed to calm her: “Lower your voice — don’t say things that can’t be unsaid. We’re living much closer together now — be careful someone hears!”

Rulan smacked the table and said with feeling: “It doesn’t matter — she just went over to the Linqi Pavilion. Hmph! If she keeps on associating with that side, heaven knows what other embarrassing thing she might do next!”

Minglan looked with regret at the tea bowl that had been knocked off the table and shattered. That had been part of a matched set.

…

In the Linqi Pavilion, a gilded incense burner with a bat-cloud motif sat burning on the kang side table. Lin Yiniang looked at her daughter sulking before her, pulled her gray squirrel-fur hand warmer closer, and said with a frown: “You were only scolded once by your father — what’s all this face for?”

Molan played with a brocade sachet decorated with luck-and-longevity patterns, and shot Lin Yiniang a sideways glance: “That was the first time I’ve ever been punished like that — I nearly died of mortification. If Grandmother and the others hadn’t come back just now, I’d probably still be locked in.”

Lin Yiniang sighed: “Useless creature! No ability of your own, just sitting around with a mournful face instead of making plans. Fine, fine — everyone has their own fate. If you haven’t the ability, I’ll just find you an ordinary family and be done with it!”

Molan’s cheeks flushed, and she said with stubborn resentment: “That County Princess — she’s not even that pretty. Yuan Ruo Brother deserves better.”

Lin Yiniang brooded in silence for a while before saying: “Her birth is better than yours — and that beats everything else. Stop thinking about Qi Heng. I had your brother look into it — Pingning Junzhu is just as much a social climber as anyone else. She saw the sixth prince’s line rising and went to attach herself to them. That’s that… never mind. Hmm — I asked you to go have a look at Minglan. Did you go?”

Molan lifted her listless head: “Her furnishings are quite understated — arranged nicely enough. As for anything truly valuable, there wasn’t that much on display. Plenty of trunks going in and out, but I couldn’t make out the details. Mother — Grandmother adores Minglan. No matter how hard we try to compete, it’s useless. Why bother?”

Lin Yiniang slapped the kang table and glared: “When I say you’re useless, you really are useless! You go and make a show of yourself when you shouldn’t, and then you refuse to fight for what’s yours. This trip Minglan took back to the old family home — I don’t know how she managed to charm them, but your eldest uncle’s whole family is fond of her. And that’s on you too — I told you to make friends with Pin’lan, and you turned your nose up and said she was too coarse for you! Now look — Minglan comes back with bags full of gifts, and you’re not angry? You’re both concubine-born, but her mother was just some village girl, while yours came from an official family. And you have a full brother to stand up for you — you should be ten times her match. And yet here you are, falling behind!”

Molan turned her head sharply and said with stubborn pride: “Grandmother is set in her ways — she doesn’t like me. What can I do about that?”

Lin Yiniang’s anger cooled, and she grew quiet. Staring at the curling incense smoke, she said slowly: “The way Grandmother looks these days — she has probably already arranged something for Minglan’s marriage. Rulan has been planned for long since — once Wang Shi’s elder brother returns to the capital from his posting, the matter will likely be raised then. My daughter — you are the only one still hanging in the air, with nothing settled.”

Molan, hearing this, could not help but feel anxious. She looked at her mother with unease. Lin Yiniang glanced back at her with a smile: “Finding an ordinary examination graduate or the son of some official household — between your father and your brother, they know plenty. But someone with both talent and wealth, from a family of genuine standing — that’s much harder. …I wonder what sort of family Grandmother has in mind for Minglan?”

…

Minglan looked at the weeping old woman before her in complete bewilderment, then turned to look blankly at Nanny Fang. The old woman was dressed as a household matron — a dark red finely patterned silk padded jacket under a black velvet sleeveless vest — and she was clutching Minglan’s hand and sobbing: “…Young Miss, Wei Yiniang passed away so soon, and this old woman was useless — she fell ill herself at the time and wasn’t there to take care of Young Miss…”

Minglan genuinely could not follow the situation and could only stare.

Nanny Fang coughed and said: “Nanny Cui is getting on in years — her daughter-in-law wants to bring her home to be looked after. Without a senior matron by the young miss’s side, it wouldn’t do. So Nanny You has been found — she was the young miss’s wet nurse from the estate, and it was thought she would know the young miss well and be able to care for her properly.”

Minglan nodded. In truth, she had no memory of this Nanny You at all. She only recalled snatches from when she had been pretending to be in a daze and overheard the maids talking — that Wei Yiniang had been gentle and meek, with only a maid called Die’er who had been at all loyal; that the rest had been selfish and calculating, and had scattered and fled the moment things went wrong. So this Nanny You…?

Once the others had been dismissed, Nanny Fang told her plainly: “Grandmother had planned to choose someone reliable herself. But since she was already brought here, turning her away outright would not look well.”

Minglan thought for a moment and asked: “Since she had already been placed on the estate — who let her through the inner household gate?”

The position of a young mistress’s wet nurse was a plum appointment — generous monthly wages, the ability to deal with the head matrons as an equal, and the authority to issue orders to the junior maids. Most likely, she had been afraid of being implicated in Wei Yiniang’s death at the time and had made herself scarce. Now she was back.

Nanny Fang, seeing that Minglan had thought to ask this question, felt inwardly reassured by half, and said quietly: “The young miss is perceptive. Word is that she had been trying to come back for some years — but at the time the young miss already had Nanny Cui, so there was no opening. This time, it seems she used silver to get hold of someone with access.”

Minglan asked again: “Is there anyone backing her from further above?”

Nanny Fang shook her head: “If there were, Grandmother would never have permitted it. Since she was originally the young miss’s wet nurse, her stepping into this role is natural enough on its face. I’ve looked carefully into the matter — it was only the matron who made the recommendation who received some benefit. The concern is simply that, being the young miss’s wet nurse, if she turns out to be lazy or troublesome, it may be difficult for the young miss to press down on her without it looking badly.”

Minglan’s lips curved slightly upward. “Nanny Fang need not worry. I am quite old enough now to stop relying on Grandmother to shield me from everything.” She paused, then added with a helpless smile: “And if I really can’t manage, I can always call in reinforcements then.”

After Nanny Fang left, Minglan sat alone on the Xiangfei couch in the main room, head bowed in quiet thought for a moment. Then she said: “Please invite Nanny You in.”

Xiaotao went to fetch her. The moment Nanny You entered, she was again overcome with tears, rambling on at length about how impossible it had been for her to leave at the time, and how she had been missing Minglan every day on the estate. Minglan listened with a pleasant expression and gestured for Xiaotao to bring a stool.

Nanny You was not particularly old — middle-aged, more or less — with a diamond-shaped face and a wide mouth that gave her an air of shrewdness and efficiency. She had left when Minglan was only five years old; Minglan was now nearly thirteen. Nanny You kept bringing up little anecdotes from Minglan’s infancy and speaking of the hardships of nursing and caring for her. Minglan listened quietly. When Nanny You paused for breath, Minglan said mildly: “I’m afraid I don’t quite remember.”

Nanny You was visibly startled. The appeal to shared memories was the only trump card she had. She hurriedly dabbed her eyes and said: “But Young Miss was so clever and quick even then — everything taught once would be learned at once. How can you have forgotten?”

Minglan took the tea bowl Danju offered her, lifted the lid gently, and said in a low voice: “After Wei Yiniang passed away, I fell gravely ill and lay unconscious for many days. When I woke up, much of what came before was a blur. It is a pity you were not there — I might have recovered more quickly.”

Nanny You’s expression flickered with discomfort. She gave a dry laugh: “This old woman was utterly useless — that I should have fallen ill at precisely that time.” She wanted to say something about Wei Yiniang, but the household managers had already warned her not to, and she dared not.

Minglan sighed softly, with a mild, faint sadness: “Those were truly difficult days. Taking medicine every day, confined to bed — and no one truly close to care for me. Only this clumsy Xiaotao at my side. There were several times when the physician feared I might not make it. It is only thanks to the careful tending I received, and Grandmother’s love and care, that I managed to hold on to this small life of mine.”

Nanny You’s face cycled through shades of green and red. She pressed her handkerchief tightly in her fingers and managed a few hollow platitudes that even she could feel were feeble.

Minglan set the tea bowl down with its lid and smiled warmly: “But things are much better now. The senior maids in my room are all trained by Grandmother herself — the most capable and reliable of anyone. With Nanny added to our number, this little courtyard of mine will be very well looked after indeed.”

Nanny You felt a start of unease and could not help but look up. She found herself meeting Minglan’s long, graceful eyes — soft in their lines, the curve of her chin tenderly reminiscent of that young Yiniang who had died so long ago. But the expression was entirely different. Whatever was said, whatever was heard, those long slightly upturned lashes did not stir by so much as a hair — still as the wings of a butterfly at rest — while the elegant face smiled on, serene and clear as still water.

In this plainly dressed girl there was a quality of composed stillness — the effortless ease of someone accustomed to occupying a position of quiet authority. Nanny You felt something slip in her mind. The image before her did not match the memory she carried of a timid, frightened little girl always trailing at her own heels. A formless, wordless awe crept slowly up her spine.

Minglan held Nanny You’s gaze steadily: if she was clever enough, she would not make trouble for herself. Draw a salary, enjoy the full set of benefits, keep her desires modest, fulfill her duties properly — and everyone would part on good terms.

Author’s note:

The systems of imperial titles in the Ming and Qing dynasties were slightly different.

The founding Emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Old Zhu, was fond of his own family, and decreed that every son of the emperor would receive the title of Prince of the First Rank, followed by Prince of the Second Rank and so on in descending order. Essentially, all legitimate sons would receive some form of princely title, and the stipends prescribed were extraordinarily generous — fixed amounts of grain, silver, brocade, silk, and cloth each year, with the expenses of the entire prince’s household and guard staff to be covered by the state treasury. A bad precedent was set from the very beginning.

Zhu Yuanzhang fathered twenty-six sons. A number died in the wars of the Jianwen and Yongle succession struggles, but over the following two-hundred-plus years, the Zhu Ming imperial house continued to multiply, forming an enormous locust-swarm of a clan. By the Jiajing era, the state was still chronically impoverished, and a fraction of annual revenues was being consumed by maintaining the imperial family. Many historians have argued that if Zhang Juzheng had succeeded in curtailing the princely estates, or at least reducing their drain on the treasury, the Ming Dynasty might not have fallen.

The following is a passage from the television drama The Ming Dynasty in 1566, which I personally find to be a rather reliable production. The lines belong to Hai Rui:

“From the founding of the Great Ming to the present day, princes of the first and second ranks and members of the imperial clan are scattered across the realm. By established regulation, a single Prince of the First Rank receives fifty thousand shi of grain each year, twenty-five thousand strings of cash, forty bolts of brocade, one hundred bolts of patterned silk, five bolts of plain silk, one thousand bolts of gauze and light silk, one thousand bolts of winter cloth, and another thousand bolts of summer cloth. Other expenses beyond counting. Have you calculated what it means — that maintaining a single Prince of the First Rank drains the treasury to such a degree? With so many imperial clan members, the drain is beyond all reckoning. The lands annexed by the imperial family, the eunuchs of the palace, and the officials at every level amount to fully half of all land under heaven — and none of it pays tax. The common people can cultivate less than half of the remaining land, and yet are expected to pay taxes on the whole of it. This is common knowledge — and commonly unspoken. Take Zhejiang alone: the annual grain reserves amount to six hundred and twenty-nine thousand shi, yet the stipends owed to the imperial clan and the official establishments amount to one hundred and twenty to thirty thousand shi. Even two full years of Zhejiang’s reserves would not cover the clan’s stipend for a single year. The northern borders are raided by the Altan Khan year after year; the southeastern coast is ravaged by the Japanese pirates year after year — threatening the whole realm — and yet the military pay and provisions for the soldiers must be scraped together from here and there…”

…

The Qing Dynasty learned from this lesson. Not every son of the Aisin Gioro family received a princely title automatically. First, the rank of the mother’s clan determined initial standing, and then the princes had to earn their titles through their own conduct and achievement. The Nine Prince Succession was a classic case — Beizi, then Beile, then Junwang, then Qinwang — something like that, and most titles were inherited at a reduced rank.

This greatly reduced the cost of maintaining the imperial family and freed up a large amount of silver for the state treasury.

However, in researching recently, the author has come across material suggesting that some historians dispute this view — because while the Qing imperial family may have been less costly to maintain, the Eight Banners bannermen were not. Under the regulations set by Dorgon at the time of entering the Pass, all Manchu Eight Banners males who reached adulthood were entitled to draw a stipend — not a large one, but enough to ensure they would not starve even if unemployed. This guaranteed livelihood was, in the later Qing period, what produced the notorious spectacle of idle bannermen wandering the streets with their caged birds and cricket jars.

In one novel of the alternate history genre — I believe it was Far Eastern Madman 1908 — there was a passage of data indicating that after two hundred years of Qing dynasty expansion, the number of Eight Banners male adults had grown quite considerably. If one factors this in, then the total cost of maintaining the imperial family in the Ming versus the bannermen of the Qing may have been roughly comparable.

I cannot find precise figures, so I cannot say definitively.

The Han Dynasty also treated the imperial family generously — but so generously that those fiefdoms accumulated enough strength to challenge the central government, and so had to be suppressed several times and repeatedly curtailed. As a result, costs actually came down.

I once read a post on an internet history forum written by someone quite knowledgeable, who argued that the most satisfactory system for the imperial clan was probably that of the Tang and Song Dynasties — titles descending through generations until commoner status was reached, leaving the princes’ descendants free to pursue whatever path suited them: scholarship, commerce, or wandering the world sword in hand.

Something like that, I think — though I’m not entirely sure.

P.S.: I am not a historian — I simply enjoy history.