They all say it was for this canal that Sui fell, yet a thousand miles still rely on its flow today. Had there been no dragon-boat pleasure barges, its builder’s achievements would rival even Yu the Great’s.
As the longest artificial canal in the world, the Grand Canal linking the capital and Hangzhou ran from Zhuo Commandery in the north down to Hangzhou in the south, cutting across both the Yangtze and the Yellow River. South of the Yangtze, the stretch of the canal beginning at Zhenjiang was known as the Jiangnan Canal.
The Jiangnan region was prosperous, and from Zhenjiang southward, boats came and went along the waterway without end, making the Jiangnan Canal live up to its name as one of the busiest stretches of the entire Grand Canal. The current along this stretch ran gentle and calm, and the surrounding hills, while lacking the dramatic grandeur of those along the Yangtze’s banks, still showed a rolling green that wasn’t without its own quiet depth. Here and there stood a weathered dock, a small village, a stretch of farmland, or a road running alongside the canal, with the occasional pedestrian or passing ox cart visible along it — all of it, set against the boats coming and going on the water, gave off a genuine sense of the Jiangnan region’s tranquil ease.
The Jiangnan Canal was some twenty-odd meters wide, though not especially deep — generally only around two meters. Here and there along its banks, low-lying stretches formed dense thickets of reeds, where local fishermen occasionally poled their boats past, along with the odd cormorant or other waterbird swooping down with a cry to snatch fish from the water. In the sunlight, the scenes on the water unfolded one after another, quiet yet pleasant — the very picture of a landscape painting come to life.
This long waterway carried the grain shipments of the Tai Lake and Yangtze region, as well as the daily lives of the people who had lived along its banks for nearly a thousand miles. It was now afternoon, and a painted pleasure boat was making its way along the waterway near Changzhou. Though called a “painted pleasure boat,” its fittings couldn’t compare to the ornate splendor of the boats along the Qinhuai River — it had two decks, and was considerably more comfortable than the ordinary merchant or passenger vessels that typically traveled this route, clearly the kind of boat only a well-off family could afford to charter. The boat was gliding slowly along the water now, and in the summer sunlight, voices could be heard talking in a room on the second floor.
“…Dark clouds gathered, and floodwaters surged, when suddenly Fahai rose into the sky and roared out: ‘Great and Powerful Heavenly Dragon, World-Honored Earth Treasury, Prajna Baama Hum!’ His monk’s robe unfurled, blotting out sky and sun, and lifted the whole of Jinshan Temple up into the heavens… And there! To find out what happens next, listen to the next installment.”
From the sound of it, someone inside the cabin was telling a story, and just as it reached its most tense and dramatic point, this line rang out abruptly. The listeners seemed stunned for a moment, and then a chorus of protests erupted.
“No stopping there!”
“Brother-in-law, come on!”
“Brother-in-law, you can’t do this.”
“So what happened with Fahai and Bai Suzhen?”
“Jinshan Temple’s so big, how’d it fly up into the sky? How, how…”
The voices, both male and female, rose in a chaotic jumble. The storyteller apparently took a sip of water. “Hey, you lot are pushing it — I’ve been at this all afternoon… How did Jinshan Temple fly up? You all saw Jinshan Temple yourselves yesterday — fly it however you like, use your imagination…”
“But what kind of Buddhist chant is ‘Great and Powerful Heavenly Dragon, World-Honored Earth Treasury, Prajna Baama Hum’ supposed to be? Brother-in-law, that’s not how Buddhist chants go…”
“Sounds pretty impressive though, doesn’t it — and since when do you know anything about this, missy…”
“Juan’er’s read the sutras before — Juan’er, you tell them…”
“Master Fahai is really something.”
“Tsk, that’s it, Juan’er’s gone starry-eyed — someone go smack her…”
“I have not, Brother-in-law.”
“Brother-in-law, does Buddhism really have powers like that?”
“You actually believe it?”
Amid all the noisy chatter, a woman stood leaning against the railing along the corridor on the lower deck, gazing at the flowing river with an air of idle ease. She wore a robe of goose-yellow and moon-white, with a white sleeveless overlay, and held a small fan in one hand. Still young, her hair was nonetheless done up in a married woman’s bun — a mix of youthful innocence and mature composure that marked her at a glance as a well-bred young lady who had already married.
This boatload of travelers was, of course, none other than Ning Yi and his party, making their way south.
This trip to Hangzhou was, admittedly, half about travel for pleasure, but there was also the matter that Su Tan’er intended to expand her business presence around Hangzhou, in part to distinguish her own influence within the main household from her father’s. Traveling with her, besides Ning Yi and her maid Chan’er, was a trusted household accountant, two shop managers along with their families, servants, and guards, and also her two cousins, Su Wending and Su Wenfang, who had grown fairly close to the main household and were tagging along as well, coming to Hangzhou to gain some experience under their older cousin Su Tan’er.
All told, the group numbered around thirty people, and Su Tan’er had chartered this relatively comfortable two-story pleasure boat for the journey. They had stopped in Zhenjiang for a few days of sightseeing earlier, and had of course visited Jinshan Temple there. In fact, by this point Jinshan Temple in Zhenjiang had already changed its name twice — first to Longyou Temple, and now it was called Shenxiao Yuqing Wanshou Palace — though everyone still remembered its earlier name, and when the subject came up, Ning Yi had told the story of the Legend of the White Snake to entertain everyone, using the version from Tsui Hark’s film Green Snake. Before he’d even finished the story, Chan’er and the others already seemed quite taken with the version of Fahai that Ning Yi had painted as dashing and heroic, while Wending, Wenfang, and the others couldn’t help letting their imaginations run a little wild over the two alluring snake spirits.
After lunch, gathered upstairs to listen to the story were not only the three maids and the two younger cousins, but even the families of several accountants and shop managers had joined in, along with attendants and guards traveling with them, such as Dongzhu and Steward Geng, all listening with rapt attention from the second-floor corridor. Over these past few days of sightseeing in Zhenjiang, everyone had already come to see how easygoing and good-humored their master’s husband was, and had shed most of their earlier reserve around him. Su Tan’er had originally been interested in the story too, but once the crowd gathered, seeing how packed it was upstairs, she hadn’t gone back up. Standing here instead, enjoying the breeze and the view, she found she could still hear the story clearly enough from where she stood.
If it had been some time ago, though Su Tan’er had dressed as a married woman since her wedding and always carried the poise that came from her years in business, the air of an actual married woman had, in truth, still sat a little stiffly on her. By now, though, that stiffness had entirely melted away. Standing here now, not bothering to go up, listening instead to the lively atmosphere above, she felt the quiet pride of a wife whose husband held the whole room in the palm of his hand and was loved for it.
Before her marriage, she would never have imagined caring about things like this. In the world of business, she had always had the poise to work a room, to hold everyone’s attention, to draw a few words out of others without letting the conversation go cold — but warmth and humor of this kind had never been her particular strength. As a woman, she naturally had to maintain a certain reserve, keep a certain distance from others; though she’d always treated people with a gentle, gracious manner, she was occasionally described as carrying herself like Empress Wu Zetian — a comparison that, given the circumstances, was probably unavoidable.
If she’d ever hoped for anything in a husband, it was only that he not turn out too withdrawn after marriage — that he’d manage basic pleasantries, not offend people too badly, and that would have been enough. She’d never imagined a husband who could command any gathering, in any setting, with such effortless ease. Take the matter of Ning Yi settling accounts with Wu Qilong, which she’d once asked him about — the speed with which the Wu family had accepted their fate was probably because her husband had, in just a few words, thoroughly demolished Wu Qilong’s confidence. And now here he was, getting Wending, Wenfang, and the rest of them on such easy, harmonious terms as if they were ordinary family — she could manage the former herself, but the latter, drawing family in like that, was probably beyond her.
Feeling this quiet happiness settle over her, there was, quite naturally, a certain allure woven into her smile now — not unlike the soft, sweet charm of Bai Suzhen herself, from Green Snake.
Upstairs, though the chatter and noise continued, since Ning Yi had said he was stopping there for now, no one could really keep pestering him into finishing the story. To Chan’er, Juan’er, and Xing’er, however friendly he might be, he was still their master; to Wending, Wenfang, and the others, however warm Ning Yi might seem, the presence he carried was still a formidable one — to some degree, perhaps only old Master Su himself commanded a more imposing presence within the Su family — so no one was about to insist he finish the story either. After a few more joking remarks, everyone went back to discussing the plot and speculating about what would happen next.
Before long, Ning Yi came down to the deck, laughing and chatting with Su Wending and Su Wenfang. Seeing Su Tan’er there, the two cousins exchanged a few more words with her before heading off. Ning Yi took a teacup, looked over at his wife gently fanning herself, and walked over smiling. Su Tan’er narrowed her eyes at him. “How mean of you — I wanted to hear more too…”
“You weren’t even listening just now.”
“The white snake, out of gratitude, fell in love with a mortal man. Acting purely out of good intentions, and Fahai, subduing demons and banishing evil, was only doing his duty. So tell me, husband — whose fault was it, really?”
“If I were Xu Xian, then Fahai was clearly in the wrong. If I were Fahai, then Xu Xian was clearly in the wrong.”
“Huh? Why would it be Xu Xian’s fault?”
“If I were Fahai, and I’d already gotten married myself, obviously I’d resent Xu Xian for it — so of course I’d break them up. And as for why I’d want to break them up, well, obviously it’s because I’d taken a liking to Bai Suzhen myself…”
“Hee…” Tan’er couldn’t help bursting into laughter, then composed herself into mock sternness. “Husband, don’t joke like that — there’s Buddhist teaching in that story.”
Ning Yi shrugged, offering no defense. Just then the boat rounded a bend through a stretch thick with reeds, the sunlight shifting the shadow along the boat’s rail as it turned. In the distance, the riverbank rose and fell in gentle hills, the trees stirred by a warm breeze, countless leaves rustling as a few birds took flight together with a swirl of dust. The couple stood there watching the scenery. Ning Yi took a sip of tea; Tan’er, apparently thirsty too, took the cup from his hand and drank as well, then held it in her own hands. Somewhere behind them in the cabin, the children of two of the shop managers came running down the corridor, shouting, “Great and powerful heavenly dragon, world honored… um, treasury… la la la la la…” — evidently unable to remember the exact line, which drew a laugh from everyone who heard it.
Though the Jiangnan Canal was artificial, its riverbed wasn’t especially deep, but after so many years since it had been dug, the water quality was actually quite good. Looking out from the boat, the river ran clear and blue-green. Su Wending and Su Wenfang stood at the bow, apparently chatting and laughing about something as they looked down at the water below; when they glanced this way, Ning Yi called out with a smile, “What, have you two worked it out?”
Su Wending pursed his lips. “Brother-in-law, that’s beneath our dignity as scholars.”
Ning Yi laughed at that. Su Tan’er, not knowing what they were talking about, asked, and once Ning Yi explained, she learned that Wending and Wenfang had been pestering him earlier to keep telling the story, and he’d told them he’d finish it once they’d swum across the river and back. In truth, though he still retained some skill at swimming, he’d had few chances to get in the water since arriving in this world, and probably wasn’t much good at it anymore — but Wending and Wenfang, priding themselves on being scholars, naturally weren’t willing to do anything so undignified.
Hearing this, Su Tan’er gave Ning Yi a sidelong glance and a laugh, telling him it was beneath his own dignity too. She leaned over to look down at the water — the Jiangnan Canal averaged only about two meters deep, and even now during the flood season, it hadn’t risen much higher than that; anyone who could swim wouldn’t drown in it. Ning Yi looked down at the water alongside her and asked, “Can you swim?”
Su Tan’er smiled. “A little. Haven’t swum in ages, though.”
“We should try it sometime, if the chance comes up…”
Ning Yi murmured this half to himself. Su Tan’er pouted slightly, feigning annoyance, and gave him a sidelong look. “Husband, always talking nonsense. If I went in there and someone saw, where would the glory be for you, husband…”
“Ha, just talking. We could always build our own pool sometime, later on…”
The two of them joked about this for a while longer. This stretch of the Jiangnan Canal, from Danyang to Wuxi, ran nearly two hundred miles in an almost perfectly straight line, with hardly a bend the whole way except around the occasional silted marsh — following the current the entire distance. After a while longer, though, the wind began blowing against them, and Ning Yi and Su Tan’er, looking toward the southeast, saw thick rain clouds already piling up in the sky over the canal ahead, the edge of the cloud bank cutting what looked like a black line across the heavens, the sky beyond pressed low and heavy under its weight.
By now everyone on the boat had noticed the storm clouds. Su Tan’er tilted her head up to look for a while; Chan’er came running out of the cabin carrying a basin and joined her side. “Master’s husband, this isn’t heavenly soldiers coming to capture Lady Bai, is it?”
Su Tan’er put an arm around her maid’s shoulders, pulling her close with a laugh. “Could well be.”
The old boat captain had by now come up on deck as well, frowning up at the clouds — this old captain’s surname was Gu. Ning Yi said with a smile, “Uncle Gu, I’ve picked up a bit of weather-reading myself these past few days — looking at those clouds today, I’d say we’re in for a heavy rain.”
The old captain had spent the past few days teaching everyone his tricks for reading the weather from the clouds, and Ning Yi was now putting the knowledge to use.
The old captain laughed heartily. “You’ve got it right, young master. Looking at the shape of those clouds, that’ll be a real thunderstorm coming. No matter, though — this stretch is fine, and riding out wind and rain like this on the water actually has its own charm. This part, that stretch of the Yangtze, now, in weather like this, that counts as a real storm — but even that’s manageable. The open sea, that’s where you get real storms. The hills around here are low, so the wind can pick up plenty, but the water’s not deep, so you’ll never get real big waves no matter what. Some folks actually like coming out on deck in a big wind, say it’s thrilling. Oh, and there’s a poem about this stretch — how did it go? Seven hundred li of level river, fertile land through two or three prefectures. Sitting, one enjoys the charm of lakes and hills; traveling, one need not fear the wind and waves. That’s about this Jiangnan Canal, that is.”
That the old man could recite poetry too left everyone rather astonished. Ning Yi laughed. “Uncle Gu’s quite the man of letters, it turns out. Wending, Wenfang — let’s test you two. Who wrote that poem?”
Su Wending thought it over, but Su Wenfang immediately laughed and waved a hand. “Brother-in-law, you underestimate us far too much — that’s Bai Letian of the Tang Dynasty.”
Bai Letian was, of course, Bai Juyi. Ning Yi nodded, smiling. “I confess, I actually forgot.” He was telling the truth — he’d never come across this particular poem before. Everyone else burst out laughing too, not believing him for a second.
The old captain directed two of his crewmen, who were already lowering the sail; out on the horizon, the storm clouds churned, driving the rain toward them…