The body of the lord of the Asu settlement had been dressed with great care. He lay there in his finest robes, adorned with his most precious ornaments, still and unmoved, oblivious to everything that had happened outside.
Zhù Ying looked at this half-familiar, half-stranger of a figure, and a line came to mind: leaving the body untended, girding on armor to fight one another.
Zhù Ying sat down on the footstool at the edge of the bed and said nothing more, making no move. Xiang Le and Xiang An were still in turmoil, and even in this room where a body lay in state, they could not settle their hearts for a long time. The lady of the Asu settlement walked to the bed and sat down beside it, speaking softly: “And just like that, he was gone.”
Zhù Ying listened as the lady went on and on about how from here on the household would rest on the children’s shoulders, and how no one knew what the future would bring.
Zhù Ying heard her out at length. When the lady finally stopped, she said, “I made our brother a promise — that I would do everything in my power to protect his children.”
The lady said, “Ah — when I too close my eyes one day, I won’t have to worry about any of them anymore.”
Zhù Ying said, “Sister-in-law, you’ll need to make up your mind and hold firm. If you keep going back and forth, the settlement will truly fall into chaos.”
The lady looked at her husband’s face, and said slowly, “I will only be at peace once your elder brother is properly buried.”
Zhù Ying said, “I feel the same.”
A chill had already settled on the mountain. Leaving the body as it was could not go on. The sooner the old lord was buried, the sooner the new lord could begin her own path.
The lady suddenly asked, “And after this — how do you intend to treat these sons and daughters of mine?”
Zhù Ying looked up at her. The lines of the lady’s face had grown hard. She fixed her gaze on Zhù Ying, unwilling to let any expression pass unnoticed. Zhù Ying’s face offered nothing to catch hold of. She said, “The same as I promised your husband.”
The lady exhaled. “Will the room you stayed in before do?”
Zhù Ying said, “That would be very fine.”
She and her twelve companions were settled in the same place they had stayed before. The constables were tense but excited, and none dared make any noise. Xiang Le and Xiang An looked considerably better than before. Xiang Le accepted a basin of hot water brought by one of the Asu household’s servants; Xiang An went to lay out the bedding.
Su Mingluan strode in, dressed in the magnificent robes of a lord of the settlement, her face alight with excitement. In Zhù Ying’s gaze, the young woman standing before her and the old man lying still in that room gradually overlapped and then were separated again. She said, “Did things go smoothly enough?”
Su Mingluan set down her staff and blade, came and sat down facing Zhù Ying, and said, “Well enough. My brothers and I have sworn to one another: we are family, and we will never harm each other. I will treat my brothers’ children as my own, and they have agreed to treat my children as theirs. Today — thank you, sworn father, for your help.”
She spoke with Zhù Ying in official speech, still with a trace of an unusual accent. Zhù Ying noticed that among Su Mingluan’s attendants were two of what she called “reading companions” — one of them a young man from the shaman’s family. She shook her head. “Without me, you would have won regardless. I only happened to be there.”
“It was truly difficult. I never once intended to harm my brother, but with A’Hun’s interference I was trapped and unable to move freely. I am grateful to you for talking sense into my eldest brother — otherwise it would have been very hard to bring things to a close.” Su Mingluan had a heart full of things she wanted to say, and in the end, all of it distilled into these few words, which could not be faulted from any direction.
Zhù Ying looked at the coronet she wore and said, “Today is the beginning of your rule as lord. There will be much to do in the time ahead. I have never doubted you could hold this seat.”
Su Mingluan said, “Mother wants Father to be buried quickly. I know you are very busy in the lowlands and cannot stay long, but please, if you can, stay for Father’s funeral.”
“Of course.” Zhù Ying said, “I would also like to speak with your eldest brother.”
Su Mingluan did not refuse outright; instead she raised her staff and said, “Look at this — it is in my hands, not in my brother’s, and it is right before everyone’s eyes. Anyone with eyes can see it. Anyone who sees it will think at once of what I have received, and what my brother has not. This is not something that words can explain.”
“Like a blade striking the flesh — no matter how you say it isn’t serious, only the one who feels it knows the pain.”
Su Mingluan said, “Is Sworn Father suggesting…”
“Think about how I appear — I meet with you, I talk with you about affairs, but I never go to speak with your brother. Anyone with eyes can see that too. Your brother gave me a charge; the moment he passed away, I stopped paying attention to his son. That would reflect badly on me. It would leave people uneasy.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Su Mingluan was quiet for a moment. Then the young man from the shaman’s family spoke up suddenly: “Why are Teacher and the lord being so roundabout? You are both straightforward people — just say what you mean! Teacher is busy, the lord is busy, and you haven’t much time to spare. Don’t waste it.”
Su Mingluan said, “Sworn Father…”
“Say it.”
Su Mingluan said, “Tomorrow, when the horn sounds, all the mountains will know my father has passed away. Whether it is I or my eldest brother who takes the seat, the wolves and jackals will be circling. We are bound to have to fight another battle. I need to replenish some weapons — please help me.”
Zhù Ying said, “Being prepared is only right.”
Su Mingluan said, “I’ll use A’Hun’s confiscated property to pay. But I cannot afford to wait for the court’s usual process of requests and approvals.”
Zhù Ying asked, “How much do you need?”
Su Mingluan said, “The settlement already has some stores. Only a small replenishment is needed.” She also understood that such things were tightly controlled by the court, and did not ask for too much. The bulk of what she needed was arrows and bows. Bows were not something the court strictly banned civilians from owning — what the court banned were crossbows. Su Mingluan was not asking for crossbows now, because crossbows were more precise but more intricate than bows, and far harder to repair. Beyond that, some bladed weapons — not many, but the mountain people’s craftsmanship was inferior to the lowlands’, and what the settlement had would be sufficient for fighting other tribes.
Zhù Ying said, “Agreed.”
For things the court did not expressly forbid, things that could go either way — she had no objection. Right now she also needed Su Mingluan to stabilize the Asu family’s situation as quickly as possible.
Zhù Ying also asked about the situation with the tea and orange trees on the mountain: “Talking with A’Jie earlier made me think of the orange harvest coming up in the lowlands, and it suddenly occurred to me — there seem to be some on the mountain too. How many are there? What’s being done with them? And the tea — what are your plans for that?”
Su Mingluan said, “All in reasonable shape. Sworn Father wouldn’t bring this up casually — surely there is some plan in mind?”
Zhù Ying said, “If it is convenient on your end, you could have them purchased and resold. The details of the business — you and the merchants can work that out yourselves.”
Su Mingluan said, “Agreed.” She quickly understood the significance of what was being offered, but her thoughts were not on this at the moment. She gave a look to another young woman beside her — a cousin by clan — who gave her a nod in return.
Zhù Ying added, “You must hold things steady. If the mountain falls into chaos, no one benefits.”
Su Mingluan said, “I also don’t want anything to happen to my family. Sworn Father — when Father was still alive, we spoke of the matter of submitting a formal memorial. We don’t understand the ways of the court, and I don’t know what you have in mind. What should we do next?”
Zhù Ying caught, from the corner of her eye, the hand that gripped the staff give a single involuntary, convulsive tighten — and she kept her expression perfectly still. “You have already submitted a memorial pledging allegiance. Requesting an official enfeoffment is entirely appropriate. A map would be helpful — the better the map, the better. Right now, you cannot afford major conflict with the Suoning family or the Liji tribe. Do you understand what I mean?”
Su Mingluan’s grip on the staff loosened slightly. She shifted the staff to her other hand, wiped her palm on her skirt, cleared her throat, and spoke again. “I understand what the map means — draw my territory generously, but don’t include their home ground within it. What kind of enfeoffment should I be requesting?”
Zhù Ying said, “No need to rush. I have explained the concept of nominal governance to you before. This enfeoffment is hereditary. As for the title itself — ‘lord of the settlement’ does not read elegantly in official documents and carries no particular prestige. It will probably need to be changed. You can think about what you would like.”
Su Mingluan smiled. “If my aspirations seem too high, this will never come to anything.”
Zhù Ying said, “And don’t aim too low either! In the end, you must be able to stand on your own feet!” She spoke earnestly to Su Mingluan: “I do not know how many more years I will remain here before being recalled. Whatever comes after me may be someone entirely different. Nan Prefecture has no prefect at the moment, and there is no telling what manner of person the next one will be.”
Su Mingluan committed her words carefully to memory, then asked, “If you leave and the court sends someone new who is disrespectful, may I simply ignore him?”
Zhù Ying said, “You can also submit a formal complaint, or give him a beating, or simply stop taking any notice of the court.”
Su Mingluan’s eyes widened slightly. “Ignore the court?”
“Am I supposed to tell you that if the court sends someone to bully you, you still have to endure it — because he was ‘sent by the court’?” Zhù Ying smiled. “Of course not. If the court has real ability, you will naturally submit. If the court has none, commoners taking up arms is a cycle that repeats itself every generation. What do the books say?”
Su Mingluan laughed. “Sworn Father is just the same as ever — not changed at all.”
“What is there to change? Though — I still hope you will not distance yourself from the court. I would like to see you go out into the world and look further. Since you have pledged allegiance to the court, you ought to take a hand in the affairs of the realm. Little Sister — do you know how vast the realm is?”
Su Mingluan dropped her composure, and as she used to do when still a student under Zhù Ying in the lowlands, unconsciously leaned closer. “The realm?”
Zhù Ying said, “Yes — the realm is vast! From the capital to here is two thousand seven hundred li. From the settlement to the county seat is a two-day journey; from the county seat to the capital is two months — thirty times the distance!”
Su Mingluan could not begin to imagine such a breadth, and for a long moment her mind traveled far away. Then she sighed. “I have only this one settlement —”
“I have nothing at all,” said Zhù Ying, “and yet I will stand one day in the court and speak on affairs of state.”
Su Mingluan said, “We are different — you are one of them. And I am… a barbarian?” She said this last word with a soft, amused laugh.
Zhù Ying said, “What difference is there? You yourself just said ‘we.’ Once you have your official enfeoffment, you will be able to speak to the court about things that matter. But that is all in the future. Right now, clean up what needs to be cleaned up at home first. Some people cannot be spared; others must be kept. You understand.”
Su Mingluan sighed. “I understand. I have four brothers! Too many — I cannot move against them, and I must not. I can only deal with people like A’Hun — so that no one can use my brothers’ names to stir up trouble.”
Zhù Ying said, “That you understand is good.” She also did not need Su Mingluan to immediately bow in gratitude and beg the court to establish a full county under its jurisdiction. That was not realistic. Setting aside what kind of person Su Mingluan was — even just considering the terrain and the settlement, it would be very difficult to govern. Different languages, no written script: even now, if Su Mingluan wanted to register a household census, she would not be able to come up with an accurate population count.
And then tax and conscription? These people could pick up their families and vanish into the deeper mountains the very next day. Or… come fight the officials. If that happened, the trouble would be something to behold.
Besides which, Su Mingluan genuinely only controlled this much territory. Beyond it, people would not be of one mind with her — not that they were fighting constantly, but at least two rounds a year would not be unusual.
But that was all right, Zhù Ying thought: scattered has its advantages.
Su Mingluan, seeing that Zhù Ying had neither taken advantage of the situation nor treated her as a fool and deceived her, was quite pleased. “Then I will follow Sworn Father’s guidance! I’ll write the memorial right now! It’s just that our maps are not very accurate either.”
Zhù Ying said, “It’s getting late. You should go and discuss the funeral arrangements with your mother, and keep a close eye on the settlement. This is the moment when you need to pay most attention to what is happening at home. Write the memorial slowly. You go find your mother — I’ll go and have a talk with your brothers.”
“Good.” Su Mingluan smiled as she said it.
Su Mingluan went off to discuss the funeral arrangements with the lady of the Asu settlement. Zhù Ying first made her way to the eldest nephew’s quarters.
The eldest nephew was still living in the great hall. Su Mingluan had given him A’Hun’s spacious compound, along with all the furnishings and servants from within it, but he had not yet moved in. The whole family was sitting by the firepit.
When he saw Zhù Ying arrive, the eldest nephew rose and called out, “Sworn Father.”
Zhù Ying sat down beside the firepit and said, “Your father made this decision in his heart a few years back already — the time he came down the mountain.”
“He thought I wasn’t good enough.”
“No — he had his eyes on you, all of you, taking you in entirely. You are very good.” Zhù Ying said.
The eldest nephew smiled a little, then passed a bowl of rice wine to Zhù Ying. Remembering that she might not drink, he was about to take it back when Zhù Ying had already accepted it. In the firelight, the two faces glowed. Zhù Ying said, “Fighting the Liji, keeping this settlement together to the shape it is now — you were capable of it. You have four children. Your father had four children; you have four more. If each of those four has four, how many would that be? Could this settlement even hold them all?”
The eldest nephew said, “We’d branch out into smaller settlements — after I bury Father, I’ll talk to my sister about it. I’ll go find a place and build a smaller settlement for myself. Won’t be competing with her then.”
Zhù Ying said, “If that were what your father intended, he wouldn’t have needed to make your younger sister the lord — he could simply have split you each off into your own smaller settlements from the start. Or he could have set up your own settlement while he was still alive. What he wanted was for the whole family to be together, each doing better and better — wearing finer silks, carrying sharper weapons…” She showed some of the things she had brought from the lowlands, and cited the improvements to settlement life since the trading post had been opened.
The eldest nephew said, “Things have genuinely gotten better.”
Zhù Ying said, “You are all family. I’ve spoken with your sister — she also says that was all a matter of guarding against A’Hun.”
“A’Hun.” The eldest nephew said. “It’s still better if I leave.”
“Not right now,” Zhù Ying said. “Don’t cause your mother grief.”
“If we’re here quarreling, that’s what will cause her grief.”
Zhù Ying thought for a moment, then said, “Then do this — don’t go far. Stay somewhere I can find you. As long as I am still here, I will help you just as I help your sister. You siblings must not be fighting one another.”
The eldest nephew stared into the firepit. He thought for a long while; then suddenly drank down the wine in his bowl, and said, “Agreed!”
Zhù Ying said, “Go and see your father. No matter what, I am always here.”
The eldest nephew having no more intention of fighting, things became much easier. Su Mingluan had two brothers on her side, and had spent little breath persuading the rest. Su Mingluan’s younger sisters had never carried much weight and raised no objections. Zhù Ying went from one place to another, talking with each of the nieces and nephews in turn, and it was not until midnight that she returned to her room and went to sleep.
The next morning, just at dawn, the silver-rimmed horns were sounded outside — a low, rumbling tone, somewhat different from the horns of ordinary occasions, threaded through with a piercing shrillness from bamboo flutes more piercing than usual. Somber and sharp at once, this was a sound that had not appeared at the mountain settlement funeral Zhù Ying had attended before.
In other respects, it was much as she remembered. The family filed forward to place various treasures into the coffin. When the lady of the Asu settlement had placed her offerings, Su Mingluan stepped up. Behind Su Mingluan walked a small girl whom Zhù Ying had never seen before. She was being held by Su Mingluan and reached into the coffin to place a pair of pearls. She called softly to Su Mingluan: “Mother.”
Zhù Ying glanced toward her, then said nothing.
Zhù Ying had brought several boxes of gifts, originally intended for the living. Now she reopened the boxes, and placed the contents into the coffin one box at a time. Together with what the Asu family had already placed as burial goods, the whole coffin had grown heavier by more than a hundred jin — additional pallbearers had to be hastily added, with more bars slid under the frame, before it could be lifted.
Su Mingluan arranged her father’s funeral with lavish splendor, to demonstrate that hers was the legitimate succession.
The bloodstains on the ground had not yet been cleaned away. A’Hun’s family had vanished from the settlement, but the settlement’s order had been restored. The siblings all held their own followers in check, and the funeral was seen through to completion.
When they returned from the burial, Zhù Ying stayed one more night in the Asu household. That night, the settlement blazed with lights from top to bottom. Everyone drank, sang, and danced — celebrating the sending-off of the old lord and the welcoming of the new.
Zhù Ying sat alongside the lady of the Asu settlement, with the small girl between them. The lady said, “I’m glad you’ve come back!”
“Is this your daughter’s child?”
“Yes… her father died.”
Su Mingluan was in her mid-twenties now — having a daughter was hardly surprising. What Zhù Ying found somewhat strange was why it had not been mentioned.
The lady said quietly, “The circumstances of her birth were not auspicious.”
In the years when Su Mingluan had still been a young girl, the lord of the Asu settlement had hoped to find an able son-in-law, so that his daughter and her husband could together help his eldest son manage the settlement. The son-in-law he found was a tall, strong, capable young man — good in both fighting and speech. The young couple had been doing well together, and everyone had high hopes for them. Then came an unforeseen turn: the son-in-law had returned from a fierce battle against the Liji tribe, where he had narrowly won but was gravely wounded, and was carried home only to die.
The little girl had been born exactly when her father died. By custom, she was considered inauspicious, and was kept and raised elsewhere. It was not until Su Mingluan ascended to the lordship that she had brought her daughter back.
The girl looked about five or six years old. Her eyes still held a touch of bewilderment. Zhù Ying reached out and touched her head. She shrank back like a startled nestling. Zhù Ying put a hand behind her head and waited until she relaxed, then touched her again. Slowly, she began to speak to her, asking her name. She said: “Little Sister.”
Little Sister as well…
Zhù Ying rolled two fingers together, and a small flower appeared at her fingertips. The little girl’s eyes brightened for a moment. Zhù Ying beckoned to her, and lifted her onto her knee.
With so much to do down in the lowlands, Zhù Ying could not linger on the mountain. She prepared to set out the next day.
Su Mingluan had prepared many gifts for her, and also drew Zhù Ying to her room, where she presented a small box with great solemnity. “Sworn Father, this is something I wrote myself — please review it and offer your guidance.”
Zhù Ying opened the box and found inside a map drawn on cloth — simple in rendering, with mountain ranges and waterways sketched roughly, labeled “Geographic Territory of the Ying Tribe Asu Family.” There was also a memorial, stating that her father had passed away; that following his dying wish, she had assumed the lordship; and requesting an official enfeoffment from the court.
The memorial said, primarily, that it was because of the benevolence Zhù Ying had described to her about the Emperor that she had come down the mountain to study for a period. She had seen for herself the “peaceful contentment” and “abundance of food and clothing” in the lowlands, and because of the trading post that had been established, the Emperor had shown himself to be a trustworthy person who kept his word. Her maternal cousin was also studying in the capital and had spoken to her of the capital’s civilization.
She “had long harbored admiration” for this, and so was requesting an official enfeoffment from the court; she wished to manage the mountain peoples on the court’s behalf.
Zhù Ying nodded. “Good. I will also write a memorial, to explain your case in full. Do your best, and take good care of yourself.”
“Sworn Father may rest easy.” Su Mingluan’s brow and eyes relaxed.
The two of them exchanged a few casual words, and then Zhù Ying said, “I saw Little Sister.”
Mention of her daughter made Su Mingluan raise her chin. “I’ve brought her back!”
“Mm,” Zhù Ying said, “you know Huajie, don’t you?”
“A’Jie is a gentle and kind person.”
“Half the patients she sees have ailments that started in childbirth. You’re at a critical time right now — don’t be in a hurry to have another child.”
Su Mingluan’s face flushed, somewhat uncharacteristically. “You’re still my sworn father — why are you telling me this?”
“I say it precisely because we are close. That is far worse than falling ill. An illness lasts a few days and a dose of medicine sets it right. But this — ha, look at everything you have above and below you right now: can you afford to be set back for a year? Among Huajie’s patients, she sees women who go through pregnancy, miscarriage, childbirth, difficult labor, stillbirth, a month’s rest ruined — and a lifetime of suffering, sapping the strength from those who aren’t sturdy enough, and claiming the lives of those with a little less luck. Of course there are also those who give birth a dozen times without trouble — but this is not a moment for you to be testing your chances.”
Su Mingluan’s expression grew serious too. “I understand.”
Zhù Ying said, “Good. It’s time I headed back.”
She had come up the mountain full of conjecture; she was going back in a mood of cheerful ease. Zhao Niangzi did not return right away, choosing to stay in the Asu household to keep her sister-in-law company for a while. Zhù Ying’s return journey was entirely her own.
When she arrived back at the county yamen, the mood of celebration that had taken hold there had not yet faded. Gu Tong had not gone up the mountain with her. For these days, he had been in the back quarters keeping Zhù Da and Zhang Xiangu company — what the old-fashioned might call “dressing in bright clothes to delight one’s parents.”
Zhù Da and Zhang Xiangu were, by the standards of Fulu County’s locals, people who had seen something of the world — even if their characters were sometimes rough and their words not always reliable. But because they were Zhù Ying’s parents, in Gu Tong’s eyes this became “a simplicity that moves one to admiration — which is how they could raise a teacher like mine.” Looking then at the young Hammer, he also felt that since the teacher had brought the child back, he ought to be magnanimous as well, and so he had been teaching Hammer characters. Hammer’s memory was extraordinary, which gave Gu Tong a tremendously gratifying sense of accomplishment. The opposite was true of Shitou — each lesson in characters brought forgetfulness the day after, and Gu Tong had been driven to leaping up in frustration: “How is this possible?” Had he misjudged things? Was it only these two children living together — and not those the teacher intended to personally instruct? But that couldn’t be right — otherwise why had they been brought home?
He had puzzled over it for several days, and then Zhù Ying came back. He set the two children aside at once and came forward eagerly. “Teacher, you’ve worked hard. Teacher — is there anything the matter?”
Zhù Ying said, “All is well. Hey — why aren’t you at home?”
“This is my home — is that not all right?”
Zhù Ying smiled, then saw Hammer and beckoned to him. “How many more characters have you learned in these past few days?”
Hammer said, “I know six verses now!”
“Good. This is like eating a meal — all the dishes on the table are yours, so there’s no need to rush and stuff everything in at once. Chew slowly and thoroughly. If you’re pressed for time and someone’s hurrying you, then take big bites first and get full — then take your time later.”
Hammer laughed, and his small face came alive with expression. “Yes!”
“Oh, goodness — back for one moment and already busy again!” Zhang Xiangu walked out of her room saying.
Gu Tong quickly pulled Hammer and Shitou both away. Wait — Cao… it seemed like he also…
Zhù Ying handed all the things she had brought back to Zhang Xiangu and Huajie to sort out. Zhù Da asked, “Any tea?”
Zhù Ying said, “Yes.”
Zhang Xiangu said, “Look at you — we still have some at home! And you’re already eyeing it again!”
“I like this better than any tribute tea! Those have no flavor — this one has a proper kick.”
Zhù Ying said, “If you like it, it’s all yours.” The mountain tea was far less refined than tribute tea and commanded far less in price, but it was fresh, and Zhù Da said he liked it. That was something she could easily supply. She thought: better he drink tea than drink wine.
Zhù Da tucked the tea away first in his room, then went out to find Hou Wu for a chat.
Zhù Ying changed her clothes and went out to see to what came next. She planned to get two-thirds or more of Fulu County’s farmland planted with winter wheat this year. After several years of attention to water management and what she had been doing over the past two years to build up soil fertility, she expected it should be possible to get two harvests — one rice and one wheat — and thereby increase the overall yield.
Beyond that there was Sicheng County. She had originally agreed with the former Magistrate Qiu to start with a trial planting in the official fields; now Huang Shier had been confiscated. She had wheat seed in hand, and decided to expand the trial area. Apart from the official fields, some of the land still in her custody would also be planted.
The reason Huang Shier had inadvertently prepared for her was this: through annexation, he had already merged many scattered plots into contiguous expanses. When Zhù Ying had distributed the land, she had not done it haphazardly — taking a bit here, a bit there, and a patch in the middle for someone else — but had distributed it in orderly sequence, which also made it easier to manage. What remained in her hands was in unbroken blocks, whatever she wanted to do with it being considerably less troublesome.
Beyond all this, Zhù Ying’s most important task at this moment was to write a memorial and forward Su Mingluan’s memorial to the court.
Her address to the Emperor followed its customary rhythm: first extensive praise of the Emperor’s virtue, writing that the Emperor’s benevolence had caused “the four peoples of the realm to submit in admiration.” Then the matter of the Asu family — framed as a matter of “tribal customs.” The lord of the Asu settlement had passed the lordship to his daughter, Su Mingluan. She used the name “Su Mingluan” in the text, as those three characters on paper carried a certain auspiciousness and did not obviously signal a gender.
Then she wrote that Su Mingluan had “long admired the ways of civilization,” that she herself had taught her to read, and that the memorial was written in Su Mingluan’s own hand. She also described briefly some of Su Mingluan’s work promoting agriculture, invoking the principle that “those without stable livelihoods lack stable hearts” — she was inclined to build something permanent, and in any case it was better than being a mountain bandit who came down at set intervals to pillage.
Su Mingluan was now requesting an official enfeoffment, wishing for a properly recognized rank. Her own recommendation was: the Asu family’s territory was not particularly large — adding up mountains and water, it was perhaps a little bigger than Fulu County’s area. Beyond the Asu family’s reach were other tribal groups; the Asu family lay in between them, also serving as a buffer. Maintaining a favorable relationship with the Asu family was therefore quite important. So she recommended that the court agree — simply a nominal governance arrangement, a “local official” title.
She had heard that decades ago the court had nearly concluded a nominal governance arrangement, which then came undone due to unforeseen events. Now that it had finally been picked up again, this was entirely a result of the Emperor’s great virtue. Congratulations to the Emperor! Thirty years on the throne, and what a towering prestige he commanded!
Not a word in the middle giving credit to herself — she made her own contribution as light and incidental as possible.
She then also wrote a letter to Leng Yun. For a court matter of this significance, alerting Zheng Xi and others in advance would not be appropriate — Zheng Xi had too many eyes watching him, and sending him a letter like this could cause problems. Leng Yun was different: he was the prefect of this very region, and it was entirely reasonable to keep him informed. Zhù Ying wrote without ceremony, asking him to keep an eye on things.
Once everything was sealed, Zhù Ying had the memorial, map, and other documents bundled and sent off to the capital by fast relay horse. Counting on her fingers: by fast relay, it would reach the capital; then there would be deliberation, which would likely involve some wrangling — for example, over whether a woman could hold such an enfeoffment, or what rank to bestow, or how the title should be worded. Then a reply would need to be sent, a messenger dispatched carrying official robes and a seal, and another envoy sent along to formally invest Su Mingluan with her title up in the settlement. At minimum, this would take over two months; if things dragged on, it might stretch past the new year.
The speed of it all depended on how much the court squabbled.
Her estimation: the enfeoffment would be approved. The rank would likely fall somewhere between the fifth and sixth grade — fifth was possible but probably not, sixth should be achievable. The difficult part might be the title itself. The court was fond of giving women titles like Lady or County Consort — titles that were clearly not positions of authority in their own right. But Su Mingluan was a lord of the settlement, a person who wielded real power — not someone whose status depended on a husband. Zhù Ying could only lightly suggest in the memorial that this “official title” was meant to be “hereditary,” so that it would spare the court trouble generation after generation, and spare the Asu family anxiety generation after generation.
After sending off the memorial, Zhù Ying went to Sicheng County in person to oversee the winter wheat planting, and while there, to look in on the irrigation channel rerouting.
She was in Sicheng County one day, just checking on the channel work, when she felt a faint swaying. The people around her also made puzzled sounds. Zhù Ying asked, “What’s happening?”
An experienced old farmer in the field changed color. “Could this be the earth dragon turning over? As a young child, I once experienced one — a bit stronger than this. Take care, Magistrate!”
Zhù Ying said, “Out in the open like this, what harm can come? It’s not as though there are roof beams overhead to fall on us. Let us go on with what we’re doing.”
She kept a calm face, but back at the county yamen she ordered both counties asked immediately whether anything unusual had been felt, whether there was any damage. And she thought to herself: this is not an auspicious sign.
It proved not to be. Within two days, Zhù Ying had received word — an earthquake. On the road from Nan Prefecture toward the capital, there had been an earthquake, and the road had been damaged. The couriers she had dispatched were blocked along the way. The south was a land of mountains; once past Nan Prefecture heading toward the capital, there were mountains all along the way. In fair weather, the official road was still passable. After heavy rain, the road was sometimes washed out. An earthquake was even less predictable.
A few days after the earthquake, there was another tremor. This one Zhù Ying felt while in Fulu County. Since the shaking was not severe, the people of the county remained calm. Zhù Ying cursed her luck inwardly: the dispatches would be delayed again.
Worse was still to come. A third earthquake struck — smaller this time, barely perceptible.
Zhù Ying did not know much about earthquakes, only that they tended to affect a wide area. Taking a detour was something she could not even begin to figure out, so it was better to wait. Fortunately the couriers were unharmed, and a month after the third earthquake they managed to get back on the road. By the time they reached the capital, the new year would surely have arrived.
Things were going to be delayed again. Zhù Ying counted the years she had been in Fulu County — after the new year, she would be entering her fifth year. The end of her term was near. Of course, another three-year extension would be better — but she needed to prepare for the worst. She was beginning to regret not having written another memorial requesting reappointment for three more years. Who knew how long the court would take to approve it.
She waited until the end of the year. Whether her memorial had reached the capital was still unknown, but two imperial decrees arrived from the capital: the Empress Dowager had passed away, and not long afterward the Empress had also passed away.
The empire went into mourning.
Zhù Ying could only lead the yamen officials to change into plain undyed clothes and observe the prescribed mourning rites. The deaths of the Empress Dowager and the Empress came with their own regulations: ordinary commoners observed grief for a set number of days and that was sufficient; officials observed it for longer, with bans on marriages and celebratory activities. Capital commoners wore mourning garments for more days than those in other regions; capital officials wept for more days than those elsewhere.
In general, the farther from the capital, the shorter the time required and the lighter the obligations.
With both women gone, the new year could not be celebrated in any grand fashion. And in many people’s hearts there was also another thought: three earthquakes, and now who would be the next to die?
Everyone was thinking it, but it was something one dared not lightly voice even to parents or siblings.
Zhù Ying felt not the slightest unease about the “third earthquake.” What she cared about was this: if someone truly did die next, would the court still find time to deliberate on her memorial? Better that it not end up shoved into some corner, serving as a leg under someone’s table.
With that thought running through her mind, Zhù Ying still did not dare write to Zheng Xi or Leng Yun to discuss it — some things were risky to say aloud, and even more so in writing. She could only pray: just don’t let this delay my affairs!
By early spring — the second month — the wheat had not yet been harvested, when a fast rider arrived from the capital! The drumming of hooves landed like a blow against every heart. The leader of the group was a young man of fine features, wearing a pale green official robe. He had come to summon Zhù Ying to the capital for an audience with the Emperor.
He brought two imperial decrees. Accompanying one of them was a set of red official robes: the Emperor had raised Zhù Ying’s honorary civil rank to the fifth grade junior rank. From this day onward, she was the Court Academician. The Emperor bade her travel to the capital wearing her crimson robes.
Zhù Ying received the decree, rose, and asked, “What is this for?”
The young man said, “Perhaps — to bring some good cheer.”
He said it without much conviction. Three earthquakes, two imperial deaths — then the Council of State forwarded Zhù Ying’s memorial to the Emperor, and the Emperor had been beset by suspicion and portents. Zhù Ying had simply arrived at the right moment.
Zhù Ying asked, “My memorial — has it been approved?” Judging by the Emperor’s response, it did not seem to indicate displeasure.
The young man said, “That is precisely why His Majesty wishes to summon you to the capital for a personal audience — so that everything may be properly decided!”
Zhù Ying understood. In other words, she was being used to bring good fortune.
Zhù Ying said, “Very well! I will prepare to set off for the capital at once.”