After Mid-Autumn, the weather in Jiangning stayed clear for about two days before turning overcast. Walking along the road, a faintly cold autumn wind sent fallen leaves swirling across the streets, lending the once-lively city a certain touch of desolation.
Of course, to most people, the city still looked much as it always did—this was simply what autumn was supposed to look like. The river ran clear, the pleasure boats still drifted along it, oars stirring soft splashes as they glided lightly beneath the drooping willows. The wind swept fallen leaves into little whirls that spun and settled onto the water’s surface, bobbing along with the light and drifting off into the distance. The city streets were filled with every sort of pedestrian and carriage, blue-robed sedan chairs, peddlers and porters of every stripe; wide avenues and narrow lanes, long stone steps of bluestone, wooden bridges spanning the narrower stretches of the waterways. Where the current ran slower, women could be seen washing clothes on the stone steps, chatting and laughing; farther off, teahouses and banquet halls sent the scent of wine drifting through the air.
Most people were still busy hurrying about, making their living as always—by now, of course, it had simply become part of daily life. Whenever anyone had a spare moment to sit in a teahouse or rest by the roadside, conversation would inevitably turn to some interesting recent rumor, and these days that meant, more often than not, something about Mid-Autumn night. Chief among these topics were the sudden appearance of that poem to the tune “Prelude to the Water Melody,” and the story of how Kang Xian, the great master of Neo-Confucian studies, had publicly scolded the crowd at the Zhishui poetry gathering.
Cause, course, and consequence; coincidence, suspense, and climax—that was the recipe drama needed. If it had simply been some talented young man composing a poem that stunned the room with its brilliance, people would have grown tired of hearing about it soon enough. Add a beautiful, talented woman’s favor into the mix, and the drama gained another layer. And this particular poem, “Prelude to the Water Melody,” had that in spades. People loved a good poem, but they loved a good story even more; for several days now, anyone who sat down at a pleasure house would inevitably hear the girls perform that same tune, “When Will the Moon Be Full and Bright,” and hold forth on its finer points.
As for who had actually written the piece, that remained mostly speculation—no particularly reliable information had yet come to light.
The Su household. Ning Yi. Ning Yi, courtesy name Liheng. A live-in son-in-law of the Su family.
At the Zhishui poetry gathering, Kang Xian’s brief but pointed rebuke had firmly settled the question of the poem’s quality, yet it did nothing to resolve the doubts still lingering in everyone’s minds. Why had this man never had any reputation before? Where had such talent come from, and why, possessing it, had he gone and married into a merchant family as a live-in son-in-law? And most pressing of all: had he bought the poem, or stolen it from someone else? That question was on the mind of practically everyone discussing the matter.
Scandal, after all, made for better drama than praise, and people were always more inclined to believe the worse story. Scholars buying poems to build a false reputation was nothing new, and whenever people brought the matter up, this was generally the direction their speculation leaned. After all, the status of a live-in son-in-law was a lowly one; some even said that such men had no backbone at all, had forgotten their own family and lineage—anyone with a shred of pride, the reasoning went, would never do such a thing.
Still, over the past few days, a different story had also circulated—that the Su family’s second young lady, Tan’er, was a woman of exceptional beauty and grace, and that Ning Yi had fallen for her at first sight, willingly marrying into her family just to stay by her side forever. But in an age of such deeply entrenched male dominance, precious few were inclined to believe a story like that. Frequenting courtesans was common practice in society, and women were treated more or less like property—who would believe a man had gone to such lengths for a woman? And even supposing one did believe it, if the man had no real talent, that would be one thing—but if he truly did have talent, and still chose to marry into a family for a woman’s sake, that would be seen as an outrage against heaven and man alike, a disgrace to manhood, a waste of a proper classical education, even a disgrace to the world at large.
In this era, people much preferred the fairy-tale version of events: a hero passes the imperial examinations with top honors, then returns to marry the woman he loves. The idea of a man throwing everything away for a woman before achieving anything was simply too much for people to stomach.
And so, over the past several days, most of the speculation surrounding Ning Yi had leaned negative—marrying in as a live-in son-in-law was, in the eyes of many, practically an original sin. Of course, no firm conclusion had been reached yet, and amid all the speculation, people were still waiting curiously for more reliable news to emerge. On the other hand, when it came purely to the quality of “Prelude to the Water Melody” and the talent of whoever had written it, people remained genuinely astonished—and that astonishment, if anything, was still growing. Over the past several days, the praise heaped upon it had only kept mounting. In this year’s Mid-Autumn poetry competition, its acclaim and notoriety had already far outstripped every other piece produced that night—a situation that hadn’t occurred in several years.
The liveliest part of the Qin Huai River was the area around the Confucius Temple and the imperial examination hall, with the district of pleasure houses situated just across the water. It was only just past noon, and these establishments hadn’t yet opened for the day, though those who needed to rise had already done so. Walking along the street below, one could still catch glimpses of women sitting alone by upstairs railings or chatting and laughing idly, while the faint strains of string and wind instruments drifted out from within the courtyard walls.
Some of this music came from already-accomplished women practicing in their rooms; some came from young girls learning to play under teachers hired by the pleasure house. At this moment, in the inner courtyard of Jinfeng House, a lesson in qin music was drawing to a close. Several younger girls were still earnestly playing through their assigned piece, while a female teacher, dressed plainly in cloth robes and a simple thorn hairpin, sat at a small table in front of them, chin resting on her hand, listening to the music.
The woman was only about twenty years old. Though her dress was plain, far less colorful than the finery worn within the pleasure house, her looks were exceptional—a fine, delicate oval face, eyebrows like painted ink, and a bearing that stood out sharply from those around her. Sitting there quietly listening to the music, her presence carried the understated elegance of an ink-wash painting. Compared to the girls practicing below her, she was, in truth, far more striking.
Following the usual routine, once the piece was finished and the woman had offered a few corrections, that would normally be the end of the day’s lesson. But just as she was preparing to gather her things, a few of the girls exchanged glances below, and one of them spoke up with a smile. “Sister Yunzhu, Sister Yunzhu, could you teach us to sing ‘Prelude to the Water Melody’?”
“Hm? ‘Prelude to the Water Melody’…” The woman, addressed as Yunzhu, paused for a moment, then looked at them, blinking, apparently not understanding why they wanted to learn that particular piece. The girls below had already begun explaining.
“All the guests who’ve come by these past few days love hearing it…”
“It’s the one from that Mid-Autumn night…”
“We really like it too.”
Hearing this, the woman finally understood. “Mid-Autumn? Is this one of the fine pieces that came out of the Mid-Autumn gatherings?”
“Huh? Sister Yunzhu, you didn’t know?”
“I’ve had some things on my mind these past few days, so I hadn’t really paid attention to the Mid-Autumn festivities…” The woman smiled, though beneath that smile lay a certain weariness—one the girls before her likely couldn’t detect.
The girls immediately began chattering excitedly and produced a small booklet with “Prelude to the Water Melody” copied out. The woman sat there, reading it line by line, her lips moving slightly. She truly understood the merit of good poetry, and before long her expression had turned serious. Amid all this, the girls filled her in on the story behind the poem from that Mid-Autumn night.
“…it’s such a shame, that man married into another family as a live-in husband.”
“Yes, a live-in son-in-law…”
“Everyone’s saying now that the poem was bought…”
“But it really is such a good poem… ‘When will the moon be full and bright, cup in hand I ask the clear sky…'”
The girls kept chattering away, one after another, filling in the background of the poem, and then they even sang it aloud. Their command of the melody was still developing, but since the older girls at Jinfeng House sang it every day, they’d picked it up well enough. In fact, the house already had the score for the tune “Prelude to the Water Melody,” and the girls had learned various fingerings and could play it on their own—but it was always better to have proper instruction.
“A live-in son-in-law, hm…” Yunzhu studied the verse, and after hearing everyone’s account, finally smiled. “In that case, you younger sisters should more or less already know the tune for ‘Prelude to the Water Melody,’ shouldn’t you?”
“We’ve tried playing along, but there are some parts we can’t quite manage…”
“Mm, learning the melody is one thing—this particular tune has a few especially distinctive fingerings, and the lyrics can be adjusted slightly here and there too. Let me play through it with you all once, and then I’ll explain it properly…”
With that, the girls returned to their seats before the instruments. Yunzhu’s gaze swept across them, and she placed her fingers on the strings of the zither. With a light, graceful smile like mist and ink, her fingertips lifted and began to play.
“When will the moon be full and bright…”
A soft, lingering melody rose from within the room. With so many playing together, most of them still unfamiliar with the piece, it should have sounded chaotic—but amid all that sound, one clear, beautiful strand of music held the melody steady and true. Though every note was of the same volume, that one thread of sound somehow absorbed and unified all the rest in spirit. Soon after, a soft, lovely voice rose too, carrying everyone’s singing along with it. Had some connoisseur happened to be visiting at that moment, they would surely have noticed that this voice and this playing far surpassed most of the women at Jinfeng House—even matching, without the slightest inferiority, the house’s current top courtesan, Yuan Jin’er.
Yuan Jin’er’s voice carried a lively, delicate quality; this voice, by contrast, flowed like running water or the chime of small bells, settling the heart into quiet ease. As the music rose, several nearby girls drifted over to listen from a distance. Once the piece was finished, someone finally said, “That’s Sister Yunzhu, isn’t it…”
“Sister Yunzhu’s singing is still as wonderful as ever…”
Some admired her, some envied her. Before long, the lesson inside had come to an end, leaving the girls to their own practice. The plainly dressed woman in her cloth robe and thorn hairpin emerged from the room carrying a small bundle, walked through the long corridor, exchanged greetings with a few women she knew, then went to the madam’s room to collect her teaching fee. On her way out, she ran into Yuan Jin’er in the corridor outside.
“Sister Yunzhu.”
“Sister Jin’er.”
“I heard you singing just now. This ‘Prelude to the Water Melody’ really is best sung by you, Sister Yunzhu. I always feel like I can’t find quite the right mood for it—it just doesn’t sound as good when I sing it.”
Yuan Jin’er was seventeen this year, with a livelier temperament. After a few pleasantries, her bright smile faded, and she asked softly, “Sister Yunzhu, how is Little Hutao doing?”
“She’s been doing well these past few days. In another few days, she should be fully recovered.”
“That’s good to hear…” Yuan Jin’er nodded, then, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, produced a small bundle from her clothes. “Sister Yunzhu, I know your usual temperament, but since Hutao’s been sick, you must need something for emergencies. There’s a bit of money and some things here—please take it. You looked after me back then, and I’ve always kept that in my heart…”
She tried to press the small pouch of silver into the other woman’s hand, but Yunzhu, though clearly moved, refused it after some back and forth.
“Hutao really is recovering. If she weren’t, I wouldn’t be putting on a brave face about it. Sister Jin’er, better to save that money for yourself—so that one day, if you can, you might buy back your own freedom. That’s the only way to truly be free…”
“I don’t have that kind of resolve, Sister Yunzhu.” The two of them had exchanged some heartfelt words, and both their eyes had reddened slightly. Yuan Jin’er wiped at the corner of her eye with a finger, then laughed. “Given where I stand now, I plan to marry some man eventually anyway. Keeping the money on me isn’t really much use—besides, it’s not that much. I still have more…”
“If you should meet a talented young man you’re fond of…”
“I won’t marry some penniless man who’s all sweet words and no substance. Flattery doesn’t put food on the table. I was born to be a concubine or a maid, in the end—I’ll have to find someone with money and standing to marry. It’s a good thing I’ve built up a bit of a reputation now; it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone…”
Different people, different paths, perhaps. The two of them walked on together for a while, exchanging a few more warm words, before finally parting ways at the side gate of Jinfeng House. Yuan Jin’er waved with a smile, only lowering her hand once the other woman’s figure had disappeared from sight.
There was a touch of envy there, and a touch of a sigh too—a feeling even she herself couldn’t quite name.
The woman they called Sister Yunzhu was named Nie Yunzhu. A few years back, she had been one of the most popular women at Jinfeng House, unmatched in her mastery of the qin, singing, poetry, calligraphy, and painting. But her temperament had always leaned toward indifference to fame, and she had never been the most celebrated of the house’s women. She’d never been willing to enter the annual competition to select the “Queen of Flowers” along the Qin Huai River, and so her reputation had never quite reached the very top. Two years ago, once she’d saved up enough silver, she bought back her own freedom, along with that of her maid Hutao, and found a place to settle down. Even now, people occasionally still asked after her when they visited Jinfeng House.
Most other courtesans, even after buying their freedom, tended to keep up relationships with many of their former patrons, still attending poetry and literary gatherings with men of talent. Sister Yunzhu was different—she had cut off contact with nearly everyone from that world. Life in the pleasure quarters was, after all, nothing but a constant stream of arrivals and departures; having vanished from it for two years, she had faded from that world almost entirely, though she still took on work teaching qin and music, enough to cover her living expenses.
Teaching music, however, never brought in much money, and even if she stopped, the house had plenty of others who could take her place. When she and Hutao had bought their freedom two years earlier, she’d still had some silver left over, but by now, it seemed, things weren’t going so well. The two of them, mistress and maid, had spent their whole lives in the pleasure quarters; Hutao, though skilled at attending to others, likely wasn’t so skilled at managing an ordinary household. Over these two years, their savings had largely run out, and they’d had no choice but to keep taking on odd jobs from the pleasure house. Word had it that Hutao had recently fallen ill, and that the two of them weren’t doing especially well. Yuan Jin’er, grateful for the care Yunzhu had shown her in the past, had wanted to offer some money to help—not a large sum, but even so, in the end, the other woman still wouldn’t take it.
Women, in this world—was there really such a thing as true freedom for them? The pleasure houses might look glamorous from outside, with wealthy young men vying for a courtesan’s favor and showering her with silk and gifts beyond counting, but in the end, it always came down to the fate of a concubine or a maid. Who would ever treat a woman from the pleasure quarters as a proper wife? Sister Yunzhu had a strong, resilient spirit, but even having bought her own freedom, a lone woman in this world, with no one to rely on—how long could she really hold out? In the end, she might well find herself forced back into the pleasure quarters after all.
She let out a soft sigh and turned to head back…
…
Leaving the apothecary, Nie Yunzhu counted what money remained on her, tucking it into the innermost pocket of her clothes.
Together with what she’d gotten from pawning her hairpin, it would tide them over for a while longer. What put her mind most at ease was that Hutao’s illness was finally on the mend—that alone was enough.
When the two of them had left the pleasure house two years earlier, neither had much experience living independently. Hutao had known hardship as a child, but that was so long ago now, and after all those years in the pleasure quarters, being able to cook a simple meal was already something of an accomplishment. Without much of a plan, mistress and maid had spent a fair stretch of time simply muddling along. They’d done some work here and there—Yunzhu teaching qin at Jinfeng House, for instance—but their expenses had consistently outpaced their income. Even now, with little silver left, so long as Hutao recovered, the two of them working together could probably manage to balance things out again.
Carrying a small cloth bundle of odds and ends in one hand and the wrapped medicine in the other, she made her way home, head down, her attention half-fixed on the small pouch tucked against her body—ever since she and Hutao had started living on their own, her purse had been stolen twice in crowded places, and thinking back on it now still stung a little. As she left Zhuque Avenue behind, the crowds began to thin, and her guard relaxed somewhat. Shops selling various wares still lined the street around her. Just as she was about to turn a corner, a figure suddenly flashed past at the edge of her vision.
Huh…
She looked up, peering curiously, but the figure had already vanished around the corner not far ahead. Curious, she quickened her pace, and by the time she reached that corner, she finally got a clear look at the person.
It really was him…
Not far down the street, a slender, scholarly-looking man stood in front of several shops, a large wooden board tucked under one arm, examining the goods on display while idly swinging the board back and forth out of boredom. After a moment he nodded to himself and walked into one of the shops.
It looked like he was there to buy charcoal.
Nie Yunzhu thought it over for a moment, then followed after him…