“Tap, tap, tap, tap…”
The sound of the wooden fish mallet, accompanied by the chanting of sutras, drifted through the gaps in the doors and windows to reach Wu Ren’s ears. She had already been living in this nunnery for two days. Apart from the nuns rising earlier than she did, and the meals consisting only of vegetarian food, there was nothing else to complain about.
This was a registered nunnery in Wuzhou — a proper Buddhist establishment — and she felt reasonably at ease staying here.
She looked into a mirror and checked her hairstyle. The reflection showed a young woman with her head wrapped in blue cloth. The room Wu Ren was renting from the nunnery was one of the simpler ones: inside there was only a bed, a table, a chair, and a wardrobe. The luggage she had brought was equally modest — a few articles of clothing, a comb, and the mirror, along with what little money remained after she had prepaid the nunnery for room and board.
The room was utterly silent, which made it feel all the more cavernously empty. After finishing with the mirror, Wu Ren flopped back onto the bed and slept as though she could blot out the entire world. It was not until a nun, worried she might be ill, came knocking at the door that she stirred. “Donor, are you there? It is time for the evening meal.”
Several knocks came, each louder than the last. Wu Ren pressed a hand to her head and sat up. The sky had already darkened. She slowly pulled open the door. The young novice nun, seeing her appear, let out a breath of relief and asked, “Shall I bring the food over to you?”
“Oh — thank you.”
When the little nun returned with a basket of food, she found Wu Ren seated at the table. She set the basket down, touched the oil lamp to light it, and said, “When you are finished, just put the bowl and chopsticks outside the door.” She also asked whether Wu Ren was feeling unwell and whether she needed a physician sent for. There was a physician not far from the nunnery who sometimes came to see to the ailments of the faithful, and his medical skills were said to be reliable enough.
At the word “physician,” Wu Ren’s brow furrowed. “No need,” she said. “I slept too deeply — once I shake off the drowsiness I will be fine.”
The little nun did not linger, and hurried off for the evening devotions.
Wu Ren ate slowly: a bowl of vegetable porridge, a salted egg, and a small plate of rice cakes. Before she knew it, she had finished everything. She tidied the bowl and chopsticks back into the basket, set it outside the door, then closed herself in again. She returned to her room and fell back asleep.
She slept for nearly two full days and nights. When the sky finally began to lighten, she could sleep no more. She rose with the sound of the nunnery’s chanting sutras in her ears, drew water to wash herself, went to eat breakfast, and then returned to her room to count what money she had left, turning over in her mind the question: What was she to do now?
If it hadn’t been for that charlatan swindler landing himself in legal trouble, it would never have occurred to her that her own mother had also been cheated out of money. Her Third Maternal Aunt was a woman warmly beloved by every manner of swindler, and whenever the family ate together and the subject arose, someone was sure to sigh and call her “foolish” — yet here was her own mother, falling for the very same trick. And all for her sake, no less.
For her sake! Wu Ren squeezed the coins hard in her fist, thinking bitterly: And what good did it do?
She let the money cascade back into the coin pouch. She had no desire to go home, not yet.
Wu Ren suddenly felt the room was too small, too dark, and stifling. She walked out, latching the door behind her with the back of her hand, and wandered the modest grounds of the nunnery to clear her mind. The morning service in the main hall had ended; before the Bodhisattva now, only one little nun kept watch over the incense and candles. Recognizing Wu Ren, she picked up the wooden mallet and began tapping again — tap, tap — as if to play her a little accompaniment.
Wu Ren looked up at the Bodhisattva’s face. I don’t ask for great wealth or rank. I only ask to live in peace and security. Is that too much?
The Bodhisattva’s eyes were cast downward, serene as ever.
I really am losing my mind — when has a Bodhisattva ever answered anyone in human speech?
Wu Ren stepped out of the main hall and soon found herself beneath a great tree. Its branches were festooned with strips of red cloth tied on by supplicants. Some story — no one knew where it had first circulated — held that if you tied a strip of red cloth to this tree and made an offering of oil money, your wish would be granted. The more money you gave, the larger the cloth, and the more surely the wish would be fulfilled. Very quickly the branches had become a dense tangle of red strips, one after another.
Wu Ren tilted her face up and moved in slow circles beneath the canopy of shade, thinking about how many troubled souls — people not unlike herself — must lie behind all these. One low-hanging branch dipped its red cloth down against her forehead; the cloth was red with some black marks on it. Here and there, a literate visitor had written private words on a strip, hoping the Bodhisattva might see their wish first and fulfill it ahead of all the others.
Wu Ren lifted her hand to brush this uninvited visitor aside — and then her hand stopped. The handwriting looked faintly familiar. It was her own mother Wang Shi’s brushwork.
Wang Shi knew a few characters, but wrote them poorly — every stroke seemed to plant its feet wide in a belligerent stance, each character absolutely domineering in form. And this strip of cloth was one of the larger ones among all the wishes hanging there.
Could it be that Mother came here too? That she had entered a proper nunnery, and not just sought out those swindlers? How much money in total has she been giving to these people?!
Wu Ren felt a flare of anger. She seized the red cloth and found it covered in written wishes — she wondered whether the Bodhisattva had the patience to read them all. The first was for the family’s fortunes to flourish. The second sought for Wu Yi to branch out and prosper soon. The third sought for Wu Ren to find a good match in life. The fourth asked for the family’s health and safety.
Wu Ren’s gaze snagged on the final wish: This devotee prays that in her next life she be not born into a female body, that she be spared the pain of having her ears pierced and the suffering of childbirth.
The signature read: Wang Fuqu.
The character qu — with all its many strokes — was written slightly larger than the other two.
In an instant, Wu Ren’s throat tightened and her entire chest and belly seemed to congeal into a lump of dough. Her mouth turned sour; her eyes, her nose, every part of her face ached with something she could not name, and her head began to ring. She slowly released her grip. The red cloth fell back again, heavy against the branch, and the branch swayed faintly.
Wu Ren drew a deep breath and looked around her. The great tree, draped in red cloth, seemed to have enveloped her entirely. She sifted through several of the strips marked with black ink and looked at each one. Some had writing, some had drawings. Praying for a child, praying for a good marriage, praying for parents’ health, praying for…
Did any of you get what you wished for?
Wu Ren broke into a run, leaping in a few strides out from beneath the bright, vivid canopy of red and green. She nearly ran straight into two nuns arguing with each other: one was saying, “You remembered it wrong.” The other replied, “I did not.” They both fell silent when they saw her, murmured a brief invocation of the Buddha, and walked past her — as though the quarrel of a moment ago had never taken place.
She walked on, and encountered the little nun who had brought her meals. The little nun looked somewhat dejected. Wu Ren glanced at her more carefully, and the little nun said, “Donor.”
“What is the matter?”
“My teacher scolded me,” said the little nun, “saying I wrote a character wrongly.”
“Which character?” Wu Ren asked.
The little nun looked at Wu Ren’s plain and simple appearance and concluded she probably did not know how to read. She answered reluctantly, “An account book entry.”
Wu Ren had no heart for further conversation, and the little nun did not expect her to. The two soon parted ways. Wu Ren had no appetite for the midday meal either. Returning to her room she felt hemmed in; sitting down she was restless; going out again she ran into the little nun once more. Having nothing better to do, she made her way over to the little nun and offered to look at which character had been written incorrectly.
The little nun figured it was worth a try, even if nothing came of it. “Just don’t let teacher find out,” she said quietly, and handed over an account book. It was a very old ledger, its age impossible to determine, recording donations of various goods from the faithful. The little nun had been using it to practice her copying. Her teacher insisted she had copied a character wrong and demanded she correct it. Wu Ren glanced at the page and said, “These are simply two different ways of writing the same character. Neither is wrong.”
The little nun relaxed, visibly pleased, and was beginning to smile and say something when from the room next door came the sound of two other nuns continuing their argument. The walls were thin, and faintly through them came a fragment: “the accounts don’t add up.”
The little nun quietly pointed toward the door. Wu Ren tiptoed out. From where the little nun sat, she slipped along the wall toward the main hall; the passage to the left of it led through a narrow lane. She followed this lane forward, intending to step outside the nunnery to walk and clear her head before returning. She had not yet reached the front hall when the wooden fish in the main hall resumed its tapping. Wu Ren glanced back: the Bodhisattva’s head was blocked from view — the door frame enclosed only the lower three-quarters of the statue’s body. The offering table before the image and the merit-donation box stood perfectly centered in the frame.
Wishes that go unfulfilled — are those not also accounts that don’t add up? Has anyone ever called the Bodhisattva to account?
She pinched her earlobe. A strip of red cloth drifted through her mind.
Wu Ren walked on in silence. When she reached the mountain gate she felt weary, and sat down on the stone steps. The sun was warm; the steps had soaked up its heat and felt pleasant. The events of the last several days boiled through her head like a pot of chaotic water coming to a rolling boil.
A shadow fell across her. Wu Ren looked up, displeasure plain on her face, at the figure standing before her. A woman with somewhat dark skin and an unremarkable appearance — mildly familiar. Oh, it’s her.
Jiang Zhou looked at the clear-featured young woman, and the young woman promptly performed a small transformation for her benefit — shifting from obvious unhappiness to a faint smile. Taken aback, Jiang Zhou said, “This lady — you…”
Wu Ren rose slowly. “Mm, I was just sitting here resting my feet. There are no incense-offering visitors today; if you have come to worship, go right in — the nun is quite free at the moment.”
“So the lady has come from inside the nunnery? Would you by any chance know if there is a woman traveling alone staying here?”
Wu Ren tilted her head and blinked at her. Jiang Zhou volunteered, “Oh — I am from the yamen. Looking for someone.” She showed her official token as she spoke.
Wu Ren examined the small tablet carefully. “Who are you looking for?”
Jiang Zhou held up a hand to indicate a height. “A young woman, around twenty, fair-skinned, about this tall — people say she is quite pretty. Surnamed Wu.”
Wu Ren felt a small jolt of surprise. Jiang Zhou continued, “Does the lady know her? Wait, you…” — around twenty, fair-skinned, this tall, not bad-looking either — just didn’t know the surname. Surely not?
Wu Ren said, “I will go get my bag.”
Jiang Zhou had been running this errand for two days and had been searching everywhere, frantic with worry that a lone young woman might have come to some misfortune. Now that she had finally found her, she fell in right behind Wu Ren and said, “You are Wu Eldest Miss, aren’t you? Thank goodness you were in a nunnery.”
Wu Ren went to her room, gathered her things, and said to the nun, “I have business and must go back for a while. Please be so kind as to hold the room for me until my prepaid time runs out.”
The nun invoked the Buddha’s name in acknowledgment.
…
Jiang Zhou kept her eyes on Wu Ren as they walked. This young woman looked so quiet and composed — yet had simply walked out of her home without a word of explanation. Quite a temper. Not that it was her place to judge; once she handed the person over, her part of this errand would be finished.
She kept close watch on Wu Ren but offered no reproaches. She only said, “The weather has turned hot — don’t sit in the sun like that, or you’ll get heat-sickness.”
Wu Ren glanced at her. “Does the lady also know medicine?”
“A little bit.” Jiang Zhou pinched her thumb and forefinger together, leaving only a tiny gap between them, to indicate just how little.
The corners of Wu Ren’s mouth lifted slightly. Jiang Zhou reached out her hand. “The day is getting on — let me carry your bag for you.”
You have already had the bag in your hand for a while; you can hardly run off again now.
Wu Ren walked for a short distance before she began to struggle to keep up with Jiang Zhou’s pace. Jiang Zhou slowed down accordingly. “Shall I help you along?”
Wu Ren shook her head. She could walk — just slowly — and had no need of support. The two made their way from the nunnery all the way to the Foreign Studies Academy, without entering the Prefect’s residence directly. The academy had not yet let out. Jiang Zhou addressed the gatekeeper: “Please be so kind as to inform Instructor Zhū that Jiang Zhou has come with Wu Family Eldest Miss to see her.”
The gatekeeper said, “A moment, please. Both of you are welcome to step inside and sit.”
Before long, Huajie arrived at the gate, together with Meng Shi and Wang Shi. Wang Fūqu lunged forward in one stride and grabbed her daughter, looking her up and down and all around. Jiang Zhou, seeing this, set the bag down on the long bench and said to Huajie, “I found Wu Eldest Miss at that nunnery on the northern end of town. She had paid for her room there and had been staying there quietly for a few days.”
“Thank you for your trouble,” said Huajie.
Wang Fūqu’s face was iron-grey. When she heard it was the nunnery on the north side of town, she gave her daughter another pointed look but said not a word. Meng Shi said softly, “You child! If you wanted to keep a vegetarian fast, at least tell the family.” She also expressed her thanks to Huajie.
“The important thing is she’s back,” said Huajie. “And Eldest Miss does look as though her spirits have improved somewhat.”
Wu Ren lowered her head slightly.
Huajie turned to Wang Fūqu. “Would you like to take the day off tomorrow? Let the two of you have a quiet reunion at home — there is no need to hurry.”
Wang Fūqu managed a strained smile. “Then I will take the one day.”
Meng Shi said she was heading in the same direction and had hired a carriage that could take them along. Wang Fūqu declined at first, but Meng Shi said, “Why stand on ceremony with me? You surely don’t intend to walk all the way home?” Wang Fūqu finally agreed.
Wu Ren waited until the conversation between the two older women had wound down, and then abruptly asked Huajie, “Instructor — are you still taking students?”
The question slid past the ears of the two old friends, Meng Shi and Wang Shi, without quite registering.
“What do you mean, Eldest Miss?” said Huajie.
Wang Fūqu grabbed Wu Ren by the arm. “What are you doing?”
“If you are still taking students, I would like to come and study. If Mother can learn, so can I.” The news that Huajie was still accepting female students to study medicine had circulated through quite a bit of the city. However, the number of women who met the conditions was not large; and a few who had been inclined toward it, upon hearing it was held within the Foreign Studies Academy, had lost their resolve.
Wu Ren had sat in the sun outside the nunnery for half a day and burned out this idea from it.
Huajie was a little surprised. Truthfully, she had set her heart somewhat more on Wu Xin. That younger girl was small, and could begin learning from scratch. Wu Ren seemed gentle and scholarly, and she could read — which in itself was ideal — but she was a little older and right at the critical juncture for marriage. Huajie had understood the thinking of Wu Ren’s parents and had therefore not tried to disturb things.
But Wu Ren had brought it up herself. Huajie said, “Learning from the beginning is quite a commitment of time and effort.”
“You may test me first, if you like,” Wu Ren said.
“Very well — the two of you go home first and set the family’s mind at rest. If you are truly willing, come back together tomorrow.”
“Yes,” said Wang Fūqu. Wu Ren followed her mother in giving Huajie a bow. Meng Shi hurried off to hire a carriage and rode the mother and daughter home to the Wu Family’s house.
…—
When the Wu family saw the mother and daughter return, Wu Yi said, “Dinner is almost ready — let’s eat.”
Wang Fūqu dismissed the household helpers and sent her younger daughter, Wu Xin, to her room to fetch a thimble. Once only the four of them remained, Wang Fūqu said, “She ran off to a nunnery! Were you planning to become a nun? Have we brought you shame? How could you just disappear without a word and go to a nunnery?”
Wu Ren’s father, Wu Da, also said, “How could you be so reckless?”
Wu Yi said, “Don’t blame A’Jie — it has been hard on everyone. It was just an unhappy accident; no one wanted it to happen.”
“She doesn’t have to want anything,” said Wang Fūqu. “Her parents will see to it properly, and she just needs to wait to be a bride.”
“And is that something I can simply decide I want and it happens? Father wanted to be a great wealthy man too — didn’t work out for him either, did it? When things go well, you live one way; when things go badly, you live another. I will live my own life — so what if I don’t marry? You won’t have to spend the money!”
“If you never marry and have no home of your own, what will become of you when you’re old?”
“I see the Bodhisattva takes money but doesn’t deliver. Looks like she has decided to default on that particular deal with me. If I keep spending all my days in this bewildered, frantic state, I’ll lose my mind — and I’m afraid I may not even live long enough to become old.” Wu Ren said this with such flat conviction that Wang Fūqu rolled her eyes until the whites showed.
Wu Da said to his wife, “She’s your daughter — you deal with her.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Wu Ren said. “I want to go to the Foreign Studies Academy to study medicine.”
“You want to be a physician? Will you be able to make ends meet? Meng Shi and I — we already had our households in order. Instructor Zhū was an official’s family to begin with — what about you? Are you going to study all those years just to be someone’s auxiliary help? You really do have opinions of your own, don’t you? Who taught you? Which friend? Is it that Zhao girl from the street across the way? I am going to go to her family and ask them just what they’ve been—”
Hearing their mother grow increasingly harsh, Wu Yi intervened quickly: “If A’Jie wants to study, let her go. The Foreign Studies Academy is still taking students, isn’t it? Having something to do is better than sitting at home brooding. More skills never hurt anyone.”
Wu Ren glanced at him. Wu Yi said, “It’s all right. Just keep living here at home!”
Wang Fūqu said, “That’s easy for you to say now — once you marry a wife, it will be a different story. After your father and I are gone…”
“Then I’ll sit the examination for a female official position,” Wu Ren said. “I hear there are female constables in various regions — proper government appointments. I can see the Wuzhou yamen has them too; they were just holding an examination not long ago. There will always be openings from time to time. I’ll keep studying in the meantime. While literate people are still scarce, I can probably work my way into a post.”
“Hm?” Wu Da made a small sound of realization. “Yes — women can hold official and clerical posts now…”
Wang Fūqu turned this over in her mind. This is actually more reliable than simply marrying a man! There were officials within the yamen — what if their official aura suppressed the malignant influence, and her daughter’s fate turned for the better? She, too, said, “Yes — that’s another path entirely!”
A post as an official was exceedingly difficult to attain; Wuzhou had altogether only a handful of female clerks. But Wu Ren could read and write, so placing her as a female yamen worker should not be difficult. And if, when all was said and done, her horoscope truly proved intractable, at least she would have a means of livelihood, plus her brother Wu Yi to rely on — so there would be nothing to fear by way of being bullied.
The family quickly settled on a course of action.
The next day, Wu Ren accompanied her mother to the Foreign Studies Academy.
Huajie was there with Lingdang, and all four of them met at the gate. “Have you talked it over?” asked Huajie.
“Yes,” said Wang Fūqu. “Let her come along and muddle through as a listener for now, and see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out, you can always send her away.”
“If she applies herself, it will certainly work out,” said Huajie. “Please come in.”
The students at the Foreign Studies Academy were a mixed group. Lingdang was young, and after a few days her Mandarin was still only halfway passable; she could recognize a few characters and wrote them rather badly. Meng Shi and Wang Fūqu were older and learned slowly. Then there were several young women of various ethnic groups who appeared sharp enough but ran into the same language difficulties as Lingdang — studying medicine and studying the language at the same time.
By the end of the very first day, the one who learned most fluently was Wu Ren.
Huajie had given Wu Ren a literacy primer. She accepted it, and while Huajie stepped out, she flipped through the pages — she already knew all the characters — and set it aside. She pulled out several sheets of paper and began copying Wang Fūqu’s lesson notes. The medical content was new to her, so the method was the traditional one: the teacher writes above, the students copy below. For uncountable generations back, this was how students had learned.
She had only copied a few pages when Huajie returned, a female yamen worker behind her carrying a wooden human figure — covered in dots and lines. Wu Ren glanced at the wooden figure’s bare form, handed Wang Fūqu’s notes back to her, unrolled a large sheet of paper, and began to sketch the figure.
Huajie began to lecture on meridians and acupoints — the students were to listen and memorize. Lingdang, learning official Mandarin word by word alongside the lesson, stole a glance at the newly arrived “Wu Eldest Miss.” Wu Ren’s hand was perfectly steady. Quickly she outlined a human form. As Huajie said, “Three fingers below the navel…”
She marked the point and labeled it “Origin Pass.”
Huajie lectured the acupoints along one meridian line — only one line per day. Wu Ren finished her diagram swiftly and without ceremony slid it across to Wang Fūqu. Wang Fūqu’s own sheet of paper bore only a domineering stick figure; she took her daughter’s diagram and carefully tucked her own away. Wu Ren bent her head and drew herself a second copy, looked around at the others, sighed quietly, and gave the second finished copy to Meng Shi.
Huajie watched her produce four diagrams in one unbroken stretch, handing one even to Lingdang, and keeping the last one for herself. She came to look at the drawings — every dot and line was accurate. Huajie was genuinely pleased. “You really are a clever person.”
Wu Ren gave a small nod.
Seeing how fluent her writing was, with well-formed characters that spoke to considerably more than mere literacy, Huajie said, “I have all the previous lesson notes here — you are welcome to copy them out at your leisure, and you may come to me with any questions. Before long we will also be holding a charitable clinic, and anything involving women’s ailments will fall especially to us…”
“Understood,” said Wu Ren.
Huajie went to check on Lingdang and the others. Wu Ren sat in her seat and copied notes. At the end of the day, Huajie asked, “So — how was it?”
“Not bad,” said Wu Ren.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
“I’ll come.”
…—
After Wu Ren joined the Foreign Studies Academy to study medicine, Huajie found that everything seemed to run smoothly on its own.
Distributing paper and brushes at the academy, checking lesson notes, testing knowledge — Wu Ren had her own mother and Meng Shi both to look after, and both of them learned slowly. She made arrangements for them, then offhandedly “organized” the other students as well. She sorted them into groups by ability, noted which subjects each student excelled at and which needed work, compiled it all into a chart, and from then on not a single error occurred.
Meng Shi was herself a capable widow who had managed her own household affairs; Wang Fūqu was similarly a brisk and efficient woman — and yet neither of them had a fraction of Wu Ren’s methodical thoroughness.
Of late, Huajie had been pressing forward with organizing her own accumulated notes. She had initially thought to gather her experience into a collected work once she grew old, so that she might pass it on to her students and consider her life complete. But Zhù Ying wanted to print a book, and Huajie was obliged to bring together what she had on hand right now. Wu Ren’s arrival had freed her from almost all the school management duties; apart from teaching her classes, she scarcely had to worry about anything else, and was free to devote herself entirely to the manuscript.
Wu Ren could also manage accounts. She kept the finances of the medical portion of the academy so meticulously that when settling up with Qiu Wen, not a single coin was ever off.
Huajie was delighted to come home and tell Zhù Ying, “We’ve struck gold!”
Zhù Ying was also in good spirits and said, “It seems everything is going smoothly for both of us.” The men and women she had brought down from the mountains had, by now, gradually settled in. The women were first placed under Sister Hu’s supervision; the men were handed over to Hou Wu. Both the rear courtyard and the front now had proper guard personnel. She had also made use of the flower garden in the rear of the official residence, clearing out several rooms there for the women to lodge in; the men stayed in the front courtyard with Hou Wu.
“Are the rooms livable?” asked Huajie.
“They are,” said Zhù Ying.
“Oh my, more accounting to do. If only Wu Eldest Miss could help me with that.”
“Some things can’t be handed to an outsider,” said Zhù Ying. “Zhao Su is coming — his family’s intention is that, given his age, he should take a wife and bring her along to his post. We will certainly need to prepare a gift.”
“Which family’s daughter has been mentioned?”
“The message that came from their side said as much, but the specific person hasn’t been named yet.”
“Then I’ll have the gift prepared in advance.”
“The new Fulu County Magistrate will be arriving soon as well.”
“Oh my!”
“Yes — finally someone coming.”
The two of them chatted idly for a bit, and then Huajie asked Zhù Ying for a few more literacy primers.
“Didn’t I already give you some? One per person at the Foreign Studies Academy — and you yourself said Wu Eldest Miss already knew how to read.”
“She does. The other day I passed by the infant welfare hall and thought to drop off a few copies there as well.”
“That place… Is there anyone to teach there?”
“Zhang Liu knows how to read — just have him teach along the way.”
“That works. But it will have to wait a few days until the new print run comes in. I gave Xiang An and her group several copies — it is good for apprentices to know their characters.”
“There should still be some left. A hundred copies were printed in all; setting aside the Foreign Studies Academy, Xiang An’s group, and the copies kept at the residence, you should still have ten.”
“Those were sent to the capital. When you have something good, you have to show it off at regular intervals — otherwise, when you’re this far away, people easily forget you.”
“I see! Then I’ll wait for the new print run.”
Zhù Ying made a gesture at her: “Your new book — please do hurry along.”
“Mm.” Huajie thought it over; she could ask Wu Ren to help copy and organize the manuscript. A handwritten draft always accumulated many revisions and corrections, and after enough crossing-out and rewriting it became difficult to read clearly. Having it all recopied cleanly in one pass, followed by her own editorial review, would make the final printing much more reliable.
Having discovered Wu Ren’s usefulness, Huajie also wanted to discuss with her the scheduling of patient consultations. That sort of discussion would sometimes require Wu Ren to come to the residence, which meant letting the household know. She would need to mention it to Zhù Ying.
“If it’s for work, just bring her along,” said Zhù Ying. “Also let Mother know — Mother has met her before.”
“All right.”
Zhù Ying had not met Wu Ren in person; knowing the broad shape of Huajie’s affairs was sufficient — there was no need to involve herself. The new Fulu County Magistrate, Shang Peiji, was presently staying at the post station and would be coming to pay his respects the next day.
…
Shang Peiji was experiencing just a small flutter of excitement. After a long and jolting journey, he had finally reached Wuzhou.
When he saw the boundary marker engraved with the characters for “Wuzhou,” he almost wanted to sit down on it and refuse to move — the road had been so exhausting.
He was a northerner. Setting out in the fourth month for the south, he had turned his luggage trunk inside out looking for his lightest summer garments, put them on, and still sweated without pause. Even worse was the language barrier, which plagued every official who came south.
Fortunately, the post station master spoke Mandarin well enough to follow, and after a brief exchange with him, Shang Peiji was given a place to rest. The station master then passed the news back to Wuzhou City.
Zhù Ying sent word to notify Magistrate Mo and Fulu County’s Tong Li and the others. Magistrate Mo had been the acting administrator of Fulu County in the interim, and Tong Li and his colleagues were currently keeping watch over it; if Shang Peiji was to take over Fulu County, he would need to deal with all of them.
Shang Peiji had not imagined he had already set the Prefect in motion. When he arrived at Wuzhou City the next day, he still half worried that his arrival was too abrupt and he might not manage to see the Prefect in person. He first went to the Prefect’s residence to leave his calling card, steeling himself for the possibility of being turned away and told to wait. Instead, the gatekeeper received him with considerable warmth: “So this is Magistrate Shang! Please wait one moment — I will go in right away to report.”
Shang Peiji was smoothly ushered through to the signing room, where he formally came face-to-face with the “legendary Prefect Zhù.”
Before meeting her, Shang Peiji had harbored a great many imagined impressions of Zhù Ying. This was someone who stirred things up constantly; in his mind, she must carry an overwhelming, imposing presence. Yet when they actually met, she turned out to be a slight, scholarly-looking young person who appeared younger than himself. Were it not for the confirmation that he had indeed arrived at the genuine Prefect’s residence, and were it not that the person before him had no beard whatsoever, he might even have wondered if someone was playing a trick on him.
“Magistrate Shang?” said Zhù Ying.
Shang Peiji performed an elegant bow. Zhù Ying studied him: around thirty, a square, broad face, a handsome short beard. That matched what the records had said.
Shang Peiji was not only “the new county magistrate” but also a newcomer to officialdom. He had passed the Jinshi examination, which was why at this age he was so many years older than Zhù Ying had been when she first took office after passing the Minfa examination — nearly double her age, in fact, and even a bit more than that. He was thirty-one this year. For a Jinshi graduate, that was by no means considered old.
“Please be seated,” said Zhù Ying.
Shang Peiji sat down and clasped his hands. “Being newly arrived, I may be wanting in many respects — I ask for the Prefect’s forbearance.”
“Not at all, not at all.”
Zhù Ying exchanged a few pleasantries with him, asked about the hardships of the road, and then inquired, “Have you brought your family with you?”
“I have not. My mother-in-law dotes on her daughter and would not permit her to travel so far. She has remained in the capital.”
“I see. And your father-in-law is—?” Looking through the three generations of his family in his records, Zhù Ying had found nothing of note — all listed as “commoners,” with no official rank.
Shang Peiji could only say with a resigned air, “His family was only recently posted back to the capital after serving in an outside appointment — the Prefect may not know of them. However, my wife’s paternal uncle by her father’s side is the current Vice Minister of Works.”
“Your wife’s family certainly has a distinguished background,” said Zhù Ying. “You will need to work hard.” Vice Minister Cai of the Ministry of Works was no ordinary person — his father had been an official in the Eastern Palace when the Emperor was still Crown Prince.
“Yes.”
Zhù Ying then said, “Please invite the Deputy Prefect and the others to come.” While Ding Gui went to fetch them, Zhù Ying told Shang Peiji to take the opportunity to meet the people in the residence, since they would be dealing with each other in future and it would be helpful to be acquainted.
Before long, Zhang Jiong and the rest had all arrived.
Shang Peiji’s gaze rested a moment longer on Su Feihu and Lin Miao, and then he fell into conversation with Zhang Jiong. Both men had passed the Jinshi examination, which gave them more to talk about; they began by comparing the years in which each had passed, then moved on to discussing examination chief examiners and the like. Zhù Ying listened with patience throughout, but Zhang Jiong was the first to bring his exchange with Shang Peiji to a close.
“You’ll come to know each other’s characters well enough once you have had time together,” said Zhù Ying. “Come — let me make an introduction. This is Magistrate Mo, who has been acting administrator of Fulu County.”
Shang Peiji exchanged courtesies with Magistrate Mo, who said, “Magistrate Shang is arriving at a fortunate time! The Prefect herself shaped Fulu County into the prosperous place it is today — when I took it over, I didn’t have to worry in the least about recovering back taxes and the like. Fulu County’s treasury is now well-stocked. You have landed on your feet!”
Shang Peiji had heard the warnings about inheriting a mess from one’s predecessor, but reasoning that all the reports Zhù Ying had sent up to the court were good news, the situation could not be too dire, so he received the words with a composed smile.
Zhù Ying invited him to stay for the meal, and the next day she had Wang Sikong escort Shang Peiji out of the city.
…
Shang Peiji and his few servants made slow progress on the official road. He looked at the crops growing along the way and concluded his assessment had been right — the situation in Wuzhou was not too bad.
He had wanted a posting as principal administrator, one that would spare him from being hemmed in from all sides. His wife’s family had searched and found that this was the best placement they could offer him. Remote, yes — but Zhù Ying had tidied things up. Vice Minister Cai held to one theory: Zhù Ying was of humble origins, and everyone said she was capable — capable or not was beside the point, but her luck in rising so steadily through the ranks was genuinely remarkable. Nearly everyone who had come into contact with her had ended up promoted.
Send the nephew-in-law over to catch some of that luck. Sound plan.
Before Shang Peiji had set out for the south, he had received some advice; he had been properly courteous when meeting Zhù Ying, and he found her a decent, upright sort of person. Wuzhou — remote as it was — already had something of a prosperous air. The common people on the streets were not as well-off as those in the capital, but every one of them radiated a certain vitality.
Shang Peiji was reasonably satisfied.
He made his way all the way to Fulu County, where Tong Li and the others respectfully welcomed him into town, showed him to the yamen, and briefed him on all matters of administration. Shang Peiji skimmed the archives and checked the storerooms, and found it just as Magistrate Mo had said — the county treasury was well-stocked.
Excellent, Shang Peiji thought. With this as a foundation, I can truly make my mark.
He also called on the county’s elder gentry, visited the county school, summoned all the yamen clerks and staff for a briefing, and finally took a fresh look at the literacy stones in the marketplace, asking a few vendors along the way whether they could read.
Fulu County’s people had always felt a particular fondness for their county magistrate, and they sang him a little verse.
Prefect Zhù didn’t inflate her achievements, Shang Peiji thought to himself. She genuinely did a great deal of real work here.
Then he began to notice something that sat uneasily with him. The commercial spirit in Fulu County was altogether too strong. Everything came back to money, to profit — and Shang Peiji found this distasteful. He first asked about the “guild halls”; the county’s gentry and elders explained the profits involved — even if a fellow townsperson needed to lodge there, they paid; carrying messages or goods along the way also required payment. Money-changing services as well.
Everything came back to money.
The women of the county were also quite unruly — it had gone well beyond mere forwardness. Peasant women going about their business in public was one thing, but women of every station of life were opening their mouths to scold their husbands. Having female constables was all well and good, as that served the purpose of keeping the sexes separate — but male and female yamen workers eating together at the same table was truly insufferable to witness.
Shang Peiji first issued an order explicitly reaffirming the “Proper Separation of the Sexes,” noting that this had been the rule in Prefect Zhù’s time as well. He said, “When the Prefect first took charge of Fulu County, everything was newly established and the yamen’s resources were lacking — such arrangements were unavoidable. Now that the treasury is well-stocked, there is no need to strain under one roof.”
He also posted a public notice reaffirming the moral principles of human relations and social order. He then summoned the local gentry and urged them to be “pure and generous in spirit” — was it not a corruption of local customs, he asked, to charge fellow townspeople for a helping hand?
Finally, he composed a heartfelt and lengthy letter to Zhù Ying, writing that he understood how “exceptional times call for exceptional measures,” but now that matters were essentially in order, she ought to rein things in somewhat and restore proper norms, so as to prevent people at the court from using these things as grounds to attack her.
The letter was sent to Nanping County — and found no Zhù Ying there. By now it was early in the fifth month; Zhù Ying had eaten her rice dumplings for the Dragon Boat Festival and then taken her entire household up into the mountains to escape the summer heat.
Shang Peiji waited several days for a reply and received none, then made inquiries — and discovered that the Prefect had actually gone into the mountains.
How could this be permitted?
“A gentleman does not stand beneath a tottering wall!” Shang Peiji declared. “I must go and see him!”
Tong Li, watching this cascade of bewildering actions, advised him carefully, “Magistrate, Wuzhou is under loose imperial administration — it is entirely natural for the Prefect to make regular tours among the various tribes. Besides, we are not at all familiar with the mountain paths. It would be better to wait for the Prefect to return and then go to the prefectural seat to see him.”
Shang Peiji waited in a state of anxious impatience for half a month, and then Zhù Ying came back from the mountains. The mountain estate had been in good shape; she had left her parents there to continue their retreat from the summer heat, with Xiang Le remaining to look after them.
She returned to the Prefect’s residence and walked straight into Shang Peiji, who was blocking the gate.
Zhù Ying received him courteously and invited him inside. Shang Peiji’s expression was none too good, for he had since discovered yet another thing that troubled him: it was one thing to promote female officials in abundance, but she had also gathered a great many female laborers.
“Does Magistrate Shang have something on his mind?” asked Zhù Ying.
Shang Peiji’s cheek twitched. “I wonder whether the Prefect received the letter I sent?”
“Magistrate Shang shows concern for me,” said Zhù Ying. “However, I could not do otherwise. Even Confucius praised Guan Zhong.” She then repeated the explanation she had given before about the matter of the “tottering wall.”
Shang Peiji was profoundly unconvinced, but he composed himself and said, “I see — so that is how the Prefect thinks of it. I was being presumptuous.”
“There is no need for such modesty. What the Magistrate said also has its merits.”
It has its merits and you still refuse to listen, is that it?
Shang Peiji took his courteous leave and returned to Fulu County, where he immediately began writing furiously — a long letter to Vice Minister Cai. He set down all of Zhù Ying’s various doings in detail, and offered the following verdict on her: She has a fondness for taking risks.