Her change into women’s clothing indeed shocked many people. Before, when they said Mu Xiaoshu was different from them, no one had seen her true appearance. Wearing long robes and jackets every day, no one considered her a woman. Now, with her hair coiled up and wearing a fur-lined jacket, standing there—what a fine young lady she was, with a proper figure, waist, and hips distinctly defined. She wasn’t the delicate type of lady who would fall at the slightest touch. Her graceful beauty was interwoven with a spirited bearing, her charm residing in that air of chivalry. Having seen all the flowers in the world, this one still captivated the heart.
The Seventh Master muttered that it was inappropriate. Ding Yi expected him to cause trouble and was prepared for it. But he didn’t. He walked over and touched the sable fur on her shoulder, “You refused to let me take you shopping but allowed the Twelfth Master to spend money. This child—truly an ingrate who turns her elbow inward, saving money for the master! But your head is bare. Didn’t your Twelfth Master buy you any head ornaments? That’s perfect. Where’s the hairpin I gave you before? It would suit this outfit perfectly. Wear it and let your Twelfth Master have a look.”
Ding Yi replied awkwardly, “That hairpin isn’t with me. Last time, you wouldn’t take it back when I offered, so it’s just sitting idle at my place.” She spread two fingers to demonstrate, “Those filigree flowers were this big, and the hanging pendants this long…”
Before she could finish, the Seventh Master pulled the jade hairpin from his head and accurately inserted it into her hair bun, saying proudly, “If you don’t like those jingling trinkets, then use this of mine. This is the finest blood jade, a unique piece. The craftsman who made it has already died, so you certainly won’t find a second one like it anywhere. I’m giving it to you. It can’t compare with this outfit but make do with it for now. A young lady should wear accessories on her head; it makes her look more precious. Just look…” he raised his thumb, “like someone from a great family, who can freely stroll in and out of mansions and residences.”
This was a competition. Beijingers had one peculiar habit: self-deprecation. For instance, what the Seventh Master said, claiming the hairpin wasn’t as good as the clothing, was a roundabout way of elevating himself. It was already a unique piece, the only one in existence—how many fur skirts or jackets could match it? He had become smarter this time, not displaying an attitude of supremacy, but saying, “This thing of mine isn’t good enough, can’t compare with others.” Yet in saying so, he had already drawn the comparison. Taking one small step back was taking a large step forward—advancing by retreating.
The undercurrent was tumultuous, and everyone knew it. Ding Yi stiffly raised her hand to remove the pin, not intending to accept someone’s things when she didn’t plan to develop a relationship with them, fearing she couldn’t return it later. She said, “It’s too precious; I can’t accept it…”
The Seventh Master pressed down her hand, looking left and right, with a satisfied expression as if both the person and the object belonged to him now. He didn’t listen to her at all, merely nodding repeatedly, “The master wasn’t wrong about you; you truly bring me face! Later, come with me to the old residence to meet my Second Sister-in-law. She’s good at matchmaking; I’ll ask her to arrange for us.” His self-assured manner hadn’t diminished at all.
The so-called “old residence” referred to the Forbidden City, and “Second Sister-in-law” naturally meant the Empress. Speaking of the Empress, there was a saying: the previous Empress Hun [Kun] had transcended the three realms, while the current Empress Su was rolling in the dust of the mortal world. She was obsessed with arranging marriages for the imperial clan, and playing matchmaker had become the greatest pleasure in her flower-filled, brocade-embroidered life. To live in such a state was to have reached a certain level of achievement.
Ding Yi looked at the Twelfth Master, who gave the Seventh Master a cold glance, “Second Sister-in-law has already played matchmaker for you once. Do you have the nerve to trouble her again? Last time at the grand banquet, when she and the ladies of the household spoke to me, I didn’t agree. This time, I’ll propose it myself, and my chances are somewhat better than yours. Brother, you might as well give up this idea. Having established a family, focus on establishing your career. Getting lost among women can’t satisfy you—feeding jasmine to a camel, how much can it fill?”
The Seventh Master hadn’t expected Old Twelve to confront him so openly now. Like a string of fresh lychees that both were eyeing and salivating over, previously they had maintained politeness and restraint, but now the lychees had been peeled, and neither was willing to back down.
He gave him a sidelong glance, disliking his unpleasant words, deliberately turning his back to him, and smiling shamelessly at Xiaoshu, “Let’s eat early and go to the lantern festival! Don’t listen to Old Twelve’s nonsense. He just can’t bear to see us happy together and tries every way to blacken my name before you. If you believe him, you’ll have fallen into his trap.”
She knew whether he was black or not. Ding Yi shook her head, “I’ve already arranged with the Twelfth Master; we’re going to the lantern festival by ourselves. If the Seventh Master has no companion, take Na Jin with you!”
Na Jin and the Seventh Master were inseparable as a weight from a scale. The Seventh Master glanced briefly at that fat face and quickly diverted his gaze, “Then let’s all go together. The lantern festival is a mixed crowd; having one more person means one more helper!”
So it was settled—a tail would follow them wherever they went. Even if unwelcome, he couldn’t be shaken off.
There was no choice; everyone should eat, and after eating, prepare and attend to their respective affairs.
Northern ice sculptures were famous, like flowers blooming in extreme cold. Everyone knew about ice lanterns once mentioned. Suifenhe’s lantern market was beautiful, laid out on the widest stretch of ice on the Great Sui Su River. This month’s freeze was severe, forming a solid ice layer several zhang thick beneath their feet, creating a natural, uncolored platform. People walked on the ice, wandering among various ice mountains standing tall. If a red lantern was lit here, this area would turn red. If a blue lantern was lit there, that area would turn blue. After visiting one place and moving to another, looking up, you might find someone familiar—even strangers might exchange a smile.
Ding Yi’s love for this crystal world had been deeply rooted in her heart since childhood. She remembered when she was only four or five years old, during New Year when Shichahai had frozen over. Her three brothers had prepared an ice car to take her out to play. That ice car was just a small thing about three chi-squares, carved exquisitely, with curling cloud motifs like Queen Mother of the West’s carriage during her royal tour in opera performances. Below were iron blades serving as skates, and above stood a small flagpole with a handwritten “Great Great Great King.” The three brothers formed a circle, pushing the ice car to each other. Ding Yi sat in the car, and in the back-and-forth motion, she could only hear the whistling wind and her irrepressible screams.
Now everything had grown distant. Childhood memories flashed past, and when she tried to retrieve them, she found her hands empty, unable to grasp them again.
She bought a lantern at a small stall by the riverbank—a simple bamboo frame covered with colored paper, suspended by three strings from a small stick. She carried it this way, walking and pausing, looking around. Those who brushed shoulders with her were all strangers, and she stood in a daze, inexplicably feeling a wave of desolation. Looking back, in the dim lamplight was a familiar face, tinted by the colorful glow, appearing somewhat hazy.
The Seventh Master was a play master. He was good at ice skating and didn’t wait for them to find a way to leave him behind. He found a place to place bets, wagering one or two taels of silver, and engaging in competition with others. Sometimes, Hong Ce truly found this person unfathomable. Determined to snatch someone, he would get distracted midway, encountering new attractions that caught his interest, and disappear without a trace. As the Great Emperor would say, “This person is like trying to bite a moon reflected in water—there’s no place to start, yet it’s marvelous!”
Old Seven changed his shoes and went to compete with others. With a few quick moves, he slid away, nimble in hand and foot, like a bird skimming over water, vanishing in a flash. Ding Yi was a bit worried, “We’re unfamiliar with this place, and the Seventh Master is so playful. What if something goes wrong? Those armor-wearers are not to be trifled with.”
Hong Ce said, “He knows his limits; he’s not a child needing to be led by the hand.” Then he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, asking if she was cold, “There’s a stall ahead; let’s sit there and wait for him.”
It was a small tent enclosed with felt, blocking the wind on three sides and welcoming business on the fourth. In such an icy world, watching people come and go while drinking a warm bowl of milk was a pleasant pastime.
Ding Yi ordered two hanging-furnace baked buns and led him to sit around the stove. The stove was used to heat tea soup, and red charcoal glowed from beneath the large teapot. She narrowed her eyes, hugging her legs, with the firelight gathering in her arms. Faintly smelling the aroma of the buns, she took a deep breath and said, “The longer we wait, the hungrier I get. The baked buns here are different from our city’s. They’re really big here; one equals two of ours… Please, could you add more sesame seeds for us?”
The owner was a small old man over sixty, with very red cheekbones, looking unlike a local. He responded cheerfully, his three fingers like a ladle, scooping up a pinch and sprinkling it over, immediately filling the air with fragrance. Then he poured two bowls of butter tea and handed them over. The tea was thick, and Hong Ce took a sip, smiling in appreciation, “The taste of Khalkha.”
The owner heard this with surprise, patting the flour on his hands and saying, “So this master has been to Khalkha?”
He replied calmly, “I passed through while doing business, drank their tea. Once tasted, it’s remembered for a lifetime. Khalkha is quite a distance from Suifenhe. Have you come all this way to make a fortune, old man?”
The old man had learned some Northeastern dialect, though his tongue couldn’t quite manage the turns, his pronunciation still retaining the vague intonation of Mongolian. He shook his head, saying, “No choice. Khalkha’s twelve tribes are fighting among themselves, dividing territories, causing herdsmen to fear venturing onto pastures. With our livelihood cut off, should we stay there waiting to die? Better to sell all the livestock, with my daughter married in Suifenhe, move the whole family here to make a living.”
Hong Ce frowned slightly, “Has Khalkha been unstable recently? I trade with them and haven’t heard of such things.”
The old man opened the furnace door, inserted tongs, and took out two baked buns. Placing them on a plate, he added a dish of sauce and a dish of chili, busy with his hands while responding, “You’re a traveler. Those in business fear destabilizing their foundation, so they report good news but not bad. On the surface, everything is prosperous. In reports to the Emperor, the garrison commander says all is well. If it’s good, then so be it. The Emperor only cares that Khalkha doesn’t rebel; he doesn’t care if people are fighting each other to death.”
As for Hong Ce, his life was inextricably linked with Khalkha. Whenever he heard of trouble there, his heart would inevitably be deeply concerned. Ding Yi saw his preoccupation and pressed his hand, with warm eyes and a warm smile, breaking off a piece of bun to feed him, comforting him, “If the sky falls, tall people will hold it up. Once this business is completed, visit the garden more often. Though the father-son relationship is close, distance can make it less sweet. I may not understand much else, but I know the old saying that family harmony leads to success in all endeavors.”
He had thought of this too, but because of his strong pride, he was reluctant to lower his head. He felt wronged in his heart, having spent over ten years in Khalkha, believing he had endured all possible hardships—how much worse could it get? But fearing her worry, he spoke lightly, “I understand. In my youth, I didn’t think things through. Now I understand somewhat better and will do as you say later.”
The two exchanged a smile, simple yet warm. When they left the bun stall, it was nearly the hour of Hai. It was New Year’s Eve, and every household was setting off firecrackers. The startling sounds of two-step firecrackers rose one after another. Wealthy families were setting off fireworks, with brilliant and dazzling patterns blooming competitively in the pitch-black night sky. They stood side by side watching, the fire trees and silver flowers reflected in each other’s eyes. They narrowed their eyelids, afraid to lose the moment. Ding Yi tightened her hand warmer and said it was wonderful, “This New Year’s Eve we’re together; in the future, we’ll be together year after year.”
He opened his cloak, its large wings tightly wrapping around her, lowering his head to whisper in her ear, “As long as you don’t tire of me, I’ll stay with you year after year.”
Such a feeling should leave no room for doubt, but for some reason, the future still seemed distant and unreachable. Even with him before her, he still felt intangible. She lifted her face, pressing her lips to his jaw, “I always feel like I’m dreaming, and when I wake up one day, you’ll be gone.”
When in love, one must adapt to the sudden fear of gain and loss. She knew she was being a bit foolish. These words, avoiding his gaze, were like a murmur to herself as she held him tighter. Calling to him repeatedly, he could feel her voice vibrate but couldn’t see what she was saying, becoming somewhat anxious, “Ding Yi…”
She collected herself and looked up, her smile more dazzling than the fireworks. A fireball suddenly shot up from the ground, and she pointed it out to him. The fireball opened in midair, with sparkling stars falling in all directions. They stood beneath that sea of flowers, the shadows of people around them fading, becoming thin and even transparent. The world was left with just the two of them. Even years later, recalling this moment would still be beautiful enough to make one’s heart tremble.
As the fireworks quieted down, another spectacle began. A yangko dance troupe appeared from somewhere, with performers dressed in bright colors, red silk ribbons at their waists, walking on wooden stilts about two chi high as they approached from a distance. This was probably what was called “singing in the village”—people gathering spontaneously during agricultural idle times or festive days to parade through streets and alleys for fun. Stilts and bouncing dancers went hand in hand, dancing with water sleeves while singing, “Speaking of the virtuous, speaking of the virtuous, where might the virtuous be? Beijing City renamed as Shuntian Prefecture, outside the city is a Wang family village…”
Most of what was performed in the theaters of the capital were Beijing operas and Eight-Cornered Drums. These local minor opera types generally didn’t enter formal venues, so it was a rare opportunity to see them. A group of people surged forward in clusters, like masters gathering for a pilgrimage, stretching for half a li—what a large troupe! With many people singing and dancing, the sound of gongs and drums filled the sky. All that could be seen were chalk-white faces and fiery rouge. Ding Yi became a bit anxious, caught in the flow of people, surrounded by nothing but heavily made-up figures and shrill lyrics: “Old Lady Wang, thirty-three years old, gave birth to three sons in one pregnancy, at one and two years old held in mother’s arms, at three and four years never leaving mother’s side…”
Her head buzzed with noise, and she lost sight of the Twelfth Master, suddenly finding herself in the middle of the sea, unable to find shore in any direction. She grew anxious, calling out with a tearful voice, “Master Jin, Jin Yangxian…” Suddenly remembering he couldn’t hear, and was no longer within her field of vision, she couldn’t contact him anymore.
Too many people seemed to be surging more and more densely in one direction, like wave after wave of tide, drowning people to the point of dizziness. Hong Ce struggled to search for her silhouette in the sea of people! He could only shout her name as loudly as possible, but even if she responded, he couldn’t determine her location. He had no choice but to wait in place.
He stood with his hands hanging down, feeling defeated. Having lost her, his heart was in disarray. He hoped she hadn’t gone far, but there was a vague premonition of trouble, an invisible hand gripping his heart, preventing him from breathing. It took great effort for him to break free from the crowd. The performers’ show was also nearing its end, without a beginning or end, just gradually moving away. He looked around frantically. A gust of wind swept past, bringing a desolation that seemed inevitable after the passing of splendor. His search was fruitless; she had disappeared.