The man turned in irritation and took a wide-brimmed veil hat from one of the attendants following behind them, pressing it firmly down over his wife’s head.
The two of them walked and rested, talking and laughing in turns, and after a good deal of effort reached the summit. Following the directions of an old woodcutter they encountered, they at last found the pavilion — which bore the name “Wuwang,” meaning “No Hope.”
“Why give it such a name?” The man frowned. Truly inauspicious.
Minglan answered without thinking: “Lady Liuli once said: when there is no hope left, that is precisely when hope is about to arrive.” The aphorism was dialectically philosophical — philosophical to the point of being nearly a cliché. She had a vague sense she had read it somewhere in one of those inspirational life-wisdom collections.
The pavilion was old and worn — its four columns so weathered that no trace of their original color remained; the roof had some seventeen or eighteen holes in it and admitted light quite generously; the stone seats below were crumbling and damaged; and when the wind blew a little hard, a few tiles would tumble down.
Out of consideration for their heads, the two of them decided against sitting inside. They found a broad-canopied pine tree nearby, where two pages immediately brought out the folding stools carried on their backs, set them up, and invited the Marquis and his Lady to be seated; off to one side, another attendant began setting up a small stove to boil water and brew tea.
— Privileged class. Decadent indeed. Minglan reflected on this, even as she sat down with great speed.
“…One born the daughter of a ducal household, one born of the lowest station — and yet in the end, their fortunes were reversed.” The man’s reflection was nothing new; countless people over the years had given voice to similar laments.
“Do you look down on a woman like Empress Jing’an?” Minglan asked quietly.
“Not at all.” Gu Tingye shook his head. “Although Empress Jing’an’s nature was a little unbridled, she was not lacking in genuine goodness of heart. More than a few outspoken, forthright officials were spared because of her earnest intercession. For a woman of the rear palace to dare speak frank counsel to the ruler — that is very rarely done.”
“Then do you look down on a woman like Lady Liuli?” Minglan asked again.
“I did, somewhat, in the past. I felt she had led Lord Gao Shi astray.” Gu Tingye spoke slowly. “But once I had been through my own trials, I came to understand: to remain upright and principled, to keep one’s dignity intact and hold no grudge against heaven or man, to be self-reliant and self-strengthening — while living among the very lowest rungs of society — how extraordinarily rare a thing that is.”
Minglan lifted her head and stared, transfixed, at the pavilion not far away.
In outward appearance, the Wuwang Pavilion and Empress Jing’an’s mausoleum were about as comparable as… well, as two very different things — there was no comparison at all. Yet much like the fates the two women had ultimately arrived at, these two structures formed an oddly fitting counterpart: happiness, more often than not, was ordinary — even unremarkable; while tragedy, more often than not, was magnificent and grand.
Minglan shook her head. She did not want the magnificent and grand.
“…His Majesty has been considering sending me to Shu to govern the border region. The other day, I took the initiative and petitioned His Majesty myself. It would be no less than two terms — at a minimum, ten years.” Gu Tingye delivered this remark in a calm, unhurried tone — and it landed like a thunderclap.
Minglan almost leapt to her feet: “What?! You’re going to Sichuan?! And what about me?! What about Tuan Ge’er?! What about Yuan Ge’er?! And you actually petitioned His Majesty yourself — you’ve only just returned, how long have you even been back?! Do you not care about this family?!”
Gu Tingye, holding a large palm-leaf fan, waved it slowly in her direction, and said with an amused smile: “It was precisely because I petitioned proactively that I could negotiate for something worthwhile in return. I told His Majesty: never mind any rewards or honors — I ask only that my wife be allowed to accompany me to my post.”
Minglan’s heart, which had lurched into her throat, settled back down — only to flutter again with anxiety: “Would His Majesty agree to that?”
Gu Tingye, with full composure and gravity, said: “I told him: my wife is constitutionally lacking in the wood element, and fire overcomes wood — hence the repeated disasters of fire and flame she has endured. As for myself, my birth chart is rich in the water element, and water overcomes fire — therefore my wife ought to remain at my side at all times.”
Minglan rolled her eyes: “His Majesty agreeing to that kind of nonsense? More likely he’d bestow a great water vat, Imperial Gift Edition, and have me soaking in it at all times to resolve my water deficiency.”
Gu Tingye burst out laughing. Reaching through her thin gauze veil, he pinched her cheek, then composed himself and said seriously: “I petitioned His Majesty in good earnest. I said: from childhood I have had few close bonds, and have survived to this day in spite of all manner of obstacles. I ask His Majesty, out of compassion, not to separate my family again — for if I were to return to find that something had happened to my wife in my absence, it would break my heart; and as for this servant, I vow loyal and faithful service to the state, devoted to the utmost until my last breath.”
“And then His Majesty agreed?” Minglan’s eyes lit up.
“He did. And the Empress also put in a word on our behalf.” Gu Tingye smiled gently. “In the end, His Majesty said: it has been the tradition for generals stationed at the borders to leave their families in the capital — but it is not without exception. Take the Mu Wang household of the former dynasty: they never sent wives and children to the capital, and yet they held the southwest for how many generations? In the end the entire family died in loyal service to the state. And as for those who were determined to rebel — even with their entire families under the Emperor’s eyes, they rebelled when they wished to. Is this not a clear example? As long as the ruler and subject trust one another in their hearts, that is all that is required.”
“His Majesty is wise!” This was the first time, since coming to this ancient era, that Minglan had meant those words with her whole heart. “And he is absolutely right — those who truly intended to rebel, precisely in order to make the Emperor lower his guard, were often the most willing to leave their families behind as a show of sincerity! Who would be as guileless and straightforward as you?!” Right — and hadn’t Wu Sangui’s eldest son been, in the end, either killed or taken away?
Gu Tingye gazed at her, his eyes full of smiling warmth. “Are you not afraid that Shu will be less prosperous than the capital, that the southwest is humid and full of miasma?”
“Not at all, not at all.” Minglan pushed her stool over and sat close beside him, linking her arm through his and shaking it repeatedly, until even the gauze of her veil hat swayed. “As long as the whole family is together, I’m not afraid of anything.”
Gu Tingye wrapped an arm around her and said in a low voice: “That is exactly what I thought as well. Official rank and titles — those are secondary. What matters most is that our family remains together for a long time. How many years does a person have in this life? While we are young, let me take you to see the world. We will not have lived in vain.”
Minglan’s heart was full — brimming over with happiness.
Like sunlight breaking through a thick canopy of dark clouds; like a storm petrel pushing through the howling gales to finally reach the far shore; like pilgrims who have traveled ten thousand li and at last glimpse the white tip of a tower and weep for joy — it felt as though every past moment of hesitation and uncertainty had only become the reason for this joy to be that much greater.
Gu Tingye’s arms tightened around her. “There are none of the capital’s stuffy rules out in Shu. When we’re there, I’ll teach you to ride a horse, and you’ll teach me to fly a kite. The two of us will never be apart.”
Minglan smiled and cried at the same time — tears hot and rolling, like warmth rising from the deepest part of her heart.
— Let us go. To the Land of Heavenly Abundance. There, where Li Bing and his son built the Dujiangyan; where the girls and young men are beautiful and full of spirit; where the land is fertile and the brocade blooms like flowers — and where their future, full of hope, awaits them.
(The End)