Sam Clemens—Mark Twain invited Lin Yuchan and Su Minguan to spend Christmas at their new home in Hartford, Connecticut.

It was only about twenty miles from Springfield. Upon arrival, they discovered that Rong Hong was also among the guests. There were also some local literary celebrities, all drawn by the author’s reputation, coming to welcome him.

These people were somewhat surprised to see a group of Chinese men, women, and children of various ages in the living room. Some even voiced complaints about why colored people were invited together, when their culture didn’t even celebrate Christmas.

Mark Twain invited everyone to read his new manuscript. While the audience was frequently bursting into laughter at his witty remarks, he suddenly said coldly:

“There are many humorous things in the world; among them the white man’s notion that he is less savage than the other savages.”

Then he made an expression, waiting for applause.

Everyone looked at each other, all feeling this joke wasn’t funny at all.

Rong Hong smoothed things over: “Actually, replacing white men with Chinese men would be the same. This is a universal human failing.”

Lin Yuchan immediately retorted: “This is a failing of white men and Chinese men. We women don’t claim it.”

Olivia was startled, then burst into laughter.

Using “man” to represent all humanity was a conventional usage in English that natives had long grown accustomed to. Only this foreigner could make trouble from it, drawing out a different meaning.

Olivia raised her glass, looking around at the ladies and misses present: “To the savageness of women.”

The boarding girls’ English had gradually improved, at least understanding this was a joke, so they joined in the cheering and celebration.

The gentlemen, seeing the ladies happy, could only cheerfully engage in self-deprecation and laugh along.

Someone played the violin, performing the melody of “Jingle Bells.” The guests hummed along in high and low tones. Circles of candles burned on the chandelier, wood crackled in the fireplace, and walnut pumpkin soup bubbled in the pot. Fresh-baked apple pie sprinkled with cinnamon was served on plates decorated with red and green colored paper. Outside the window, the heavy snow had just stopped, covering the evergreen firs, cedars, and holly in pristine white, with light from neighbors’ houses and kerosene street lamps showing through the snow.

After dinner, most guests took their leave. Mark Twain invited several Chinese guests to visit nearby Asylum Hill Church to observe the Christmas Eve candlelight service.

“Only Pastor Twichell there doesn’t mind me joking about him.”

Lin Yuchan readily agreed. Su Minguan hesitated slightly, but she laughingly pulled him out the door, walking on the freshly shoveled stone path.

Currently, foreign church chapels within the Qing realm, though containing many good people, inevitably carried an air of condescending cultural invasion due to the unequal nature of China’s relationship with the great powers. Su Minguan’s wariness of this was quite normal.

But this was America. Local churches didn’t carry so much historical and cultural baggage—they might as well go see something new.

Children from the local church welfare home draped themselves in colorful tablecloths and curtains, dressed as ancient people, performing a nativity play of Jesus’s birth. Elderly couples gently embraced each other, sitting side by side on brown wooden benches illuminated by rows of candlelight.

The accompanying Chinese girls were initially curious: “Oh, this orphanage has so many boys.”

Only after Lin Yuchan inquired did they learn that New England was prosperous, with few cases of abandoned babies due to gender or poverty. Rather, due to religious reasons, illegitimate children faced extreme discrimination—even with living parents, no one was willing to raise such shame. So the church took them in. Besides the orphanage, there were also training and employment institutions for fallen unmarried mothers—the welfare chain was quite mature.

Everyone marveled at this.

The church had a small pipe organ, and the local congregation choir softly chanted hymns. In an instant, the entire hall fell silent.

Having only heard music limited to the harsh suona at weddings and funerals back home, this was their first time hearing harmony. They were immediately enchanted, lifting their heads to listen quietly, their eyes reflecting the brilliant candlelight.

Lin Yuchan also inexplicably felt her eyes moisten. The choir wasn’t particularly professional, but the carefully designed harmonies covered the inadequacies in tone, and the church’s dome purified the ordinary voices, making them three-dimensional and ethereal, like celestial music floating in the air.

But she knew this beauty had nothing to do with religious faith. Only people who had lived for generations in safe, prosperous lands could possess such peaceful and serene voices.

When would Chinese people also be able to live such leisurely and comfortable lives? Their songs, no matter what they sang, would surely be beautiful too…

Suddenly, she felt warmth on her shoulder. Su Minguan slowly embraced her, gently resting his chin on top of her head, his expression relaxed as he lowered his head to steal a kiss on her hair.

He had intentionally hidden in a corner, but didn’t expect the candlelight overhead to cast their shadows, stretched extremely slender, announcing this gesture to the marble floor in the very center of the church.

Several people on the benches immediately broke into smiles, turning to look for them.

When the hymn ended, the pastor and several gentlemen came over with smiles.

“Ah, Chinese students from afar. Your reputation precedes you.” A kindly old man in a gray suit greeted them. “I’m the mayor of Hartford. Welcome to the Constitution State.”

Hartford, though the capital of Connecticut, had a population of only tens of thousands, no more than a large village in China’s Jiangnan region. Even as mayor, after work, he mingled anonymously with ordinary townspeople.

Lin Yuchan and Su Minguan exchanged glances, both seeing some puzzlement in each other’s eyes. They politely greeted the mayor.

Didn’t the newspapers say these Chinese students were all only in their teens?

Little did they know, in European and American eyes, Chinese people never looked old. Especially a petite girl like Lin Yuchan, with fair, full skin and sincere, lively eyes, several old gentlemen judged at first glance that she was no more than sixteen.

The mayor had sharp eyes and noticed their fingers still intertwined, unable to separate in time. He smiled knowingly.

Young lovers in the throes of passion.

He recalled rumors about Chinese conservatism and early marriage, and speculated they might already be married to be so intimate.

“Forgive my ignorance, but do married Chinese ladies have any obvious, um, markers, like rings or something?” The mayor looked at Su Minguan and asked humorously, “I need this clue to decide what tone to use when chatting with this charming lady.”

The mayor’s wife, with silver hair, held the mayor’s arm and timely put on an exaggerated jealous expression.

Lin Yuchan’s cheeks flushed as she turned away with a suppressed smile. Who said Americans were straightforward? To ask a simple question about marital status, they invented so many roundabout ways of speaking.

Su Minguan, following their usual explanation, told the mayor they were only engaged.

Then he held her a bit tighter.

Mark Twain’s expression suddenly brightened. He had always assumed these two were already married…

He had in mind to spill all the amusing incidents he’d witnessed on the train, but fortunately, his conscience remained intact and he dismissed the thought in time.

“Have you considered getting married in America?” he suddenly said, teasingly pointing to the pastor beside him. “This respectable pastor just officiated two Christmas weddings today—he has everything ready. And he certainly wouldn’t mind earning some extra money…”

Pastor Twichell was dumbfounded. It was Christmas Eve, and he still wasn’t getting time off!

The mayor quickly laughed and smoothed things over: “No, no. Our Connecticut law requires parental consent for marriage of men and women under eighteen…”

“She’s eighteen.”

Su Minguan suddenly said quietly.

The surrounding people fell silent.

Su Minguan’s eyes suddenly flashed as he pulled Lin Yuchan forward two steps, away from the candlelight’s illumination.

He took a gentle breath, about to speak.

Lin Yuchan said, “Yes.”

One word, very straightforward.

He was somewhat surprised, instinctively backing away, smiling: “They’re just joking, teasing us.”

She lowered her head, her gaze dropping to look at her abdomen.

Hidden beneath a thick coat and skirt, flat and unrevealing, no one could see the secret within.

She glanced again at the American welfare home children playing in the church, saying softly: “It can’t be like that.”

Children whose parents weren’t legally married couldn’t get birth certificates—they were illegitimate children, discriminated against, bullied, with no legal standing whatsoever, and their parents couldn’t hold their heads up either. In the nineteenth-century world, this rule applied to both China and America.

The solemn church further reminded her that in religiously devout America, “unmarried childbirth” was even harder to accept than in the Qing dynasty.

Su Minguan smiled slightly, feigning disappointment: “Just for this reason?”

“What else do you want?” She rolled her eyes, saying lightly, “It’s just a piece of paper.”

He stared at her unblinkingly, his gaze intense, as if bewitched.

Lin Yuchan felt embarrassed under his stare, turning away and saying somewhat petulantly: “You asked me first!”

Though he hadn’t asked aloud. However, when he said “she’s eighteen,” certain thoughts could no longer be hidden.

Su Minguan squeezed her hand firmly, returned to the candlelight, and quietly asked the mayor a few questions.

The mayor and pastor were rather surprised. They had thought it was a joke, but seeing this young Chinese man’s expression, he seemed serious!

“…Yes, yes, it’s certainly possible. First register at the city hall, then you can choose a church or other religious venue according to your faith… However, sacred marriage, sacred law—not to be taken lightly…” The mayor busily gave this impulsive young man warnings, elaborating on the law, “If you truly want to marry this virtuous and beautiful lady, you must be prepared to be responsible for her for life. You must have sufficient savings to support her and your future children, you must legally represent her, you must be responsible for her property and dowry…”

Someone suddenly tapped the mayor’s arm and whispered a few words.

“Ah, what unfortunate timing.” The mayor slapped his thigh. “I almost forgot—according to the latest Connecticut law, two foreign colored people…”

Su Minguan patiently asked: “Not allowed?”

“No, no,” the mayor smiled proudly, “Our Constitution State is progressive and open. We guarantee married women’s inheritance rights, and whites and colored people can freely intermarry—several such couples live in town now… But you know, each state has different laws. Some places don’t allow foreigners to marry, some don’t allow Chinese to settle and marry… Like California, I hear politicians are already advocating to prohibit Chinese from forming families there—truly unfortunate… Like neighboring Massachusetts, they temporarily don’t recognize the legal validity of such marriages. New York should be fine, New Jersey and Washington… I’d have to check…”

Su Minguan raised his eyebrows slightly, gaining new knowledge. He had known American states were self-governing, but hadn’t expected such detailed legal minutiae to vary everywhere!

How did such a patchwork country hold together? Just by railroads?

Lin Yuchan suddenly interjected, excited enough that her brow flushed: “Are you saying if we marry here, this marriage is only valid in Connecticut?”

The mayor was somewhat puzzled but nodded: “That’s right. American states are self-governing. This document only has legal effect in this state and cannot serve as proof of your marriage after returning to China… I happen to also be a lawyer. My advice would be to go to the Qing legation to obtain Chinese marriage documents… Though even if the legation provides this service, given that your legation is located in Massachusetts, where conservatives currently control city hall, they may not recognize marriage certificates of foreign colored people from Connecticut, so it might not go smoothly… Damn it, I’d suggest you return to China to register, then re-enter America as an established married couple. Don’t bother with this hassle.”

American law was a black hole, with each state and locality going its way. The mayor talked himself into circles and somewhat inelegantly cursed.

Others pretended not to hear. Mark Twain laughed heartily.

Looking up, the seemingly young Chinese girl didn’t take offense at all, but instead smiled like a flower, urgently pressing: “Then we must marry here! Reverend Pastor, Mr. Mayor, we’ll trouble you.”

Of course, the actual marriage procedures would have to wait until after the Christmas holidays. Lin Yuchan produced her court-stamped diplomatic passport as identification. Su Minguan’s identity was more complicated—he only had a steerage ticket to America.

However, he rummaged through his clothes and cleverly found an old detention certificate from the San Francisco police department in an inner pocket. The white paper had a large blue stamp marked “VOID.” But at least the document showed his place of origin and age.

On the public coach to Hartford, the two were silent for half the journey.

“Have you thought it through?” Su Minguan suddenly asked.

“Have you thought it through?” Lin Yuchan bounced the question back.

He lowered his head and smiled, his nose touching her forehead.

He was simply a greedy person. Having been her lover for so many years, he suddenly wanted to taste what being married felt like.

The Great Wall hadn’t collapsed—it still stood fresh and solemn in his heart. But he no longer needed that thick wall to shield him from wind and rain. It had become smaller and smaller, until it was easily stepped over by that grown-up youth.

Seeing mountains as mountains, seeing water as water. He already knew clearly what kind of person he would be in this life, no longer needing youthful vows to remind himself. He wasn’t doing this to please ancestors, nor to continue the family line, much less to fit into some social circle and follow the crowd…

Just to give his future child a legal identity.

Though it was still early months, the two hadn’t yet discussed the various details of raising children in the future. But at least the new life needed a proper starting point.

This was a consensus that needed no words between them.

A’Mei had told him that perhaps in the distant future, people could freely marry or not marry, freely cohabitate, and have children. But they lived in the nineteenth century and still had to “follow local customs,” treating an innocent little life’s future with careful consideration.

Moreover, this was only a marriage valid in Connecticut and a few other states. Outside this five-thousand-square-mile territory, unless they went through a series of cumbersome paperwork procedures, legally, they would still be single men and women.

Heaven knows, when Lin Yuchan heard Hartford’s mayor say “this marriage is only valid in Connecticut,” that excitement of a windfall from heaven…

Her eyes lit up. It was comparable to earning her first pot of gold from tea back then.

Su Minguan secretly rolled his eyes several times.

No help for it—couldn’t tie her down. What fate didn’t provide, don’t force.

So far away, the ancestors probably wouldn’t know anyway.

Mark Twain helped guide them, leading them to the marriage registration office under Hartford’s city hall.