Time passed.
In the blink of an eye, three months had gone by since arriving in this ancient world, and the season had gradually shifted from spring toward high summer. Gardens, rockeries, pavilions, courtyards, streets, pleasure boats — Ning Yi had gradually grown familiar with this ancient world, though often enough, he still found himself bored.
Probably from being so used to staying busy before — now with no computer, no work, nothing to occupy him, his hands always itched for something to do. The Su family was more than happy to see him bored; after all, the whole reason they’d brought him in as a live-in son-in-law in the first place was to give Su Tan’er a reason to stay in her own family rather than marry out, and ideally, that reason came with as little restlessness as possible. Of course, on the whole, he was still enjoying all this idleness — walking around every day, taking in the sights and customs of ancient life, watching the ladies of the era, his mind wandering through all sorts of things, most often thinking, upon seeing some object or trade, how many times over he could multiply the profit if he ran it himself, how he’d make money from it.
Been a boss too long, gone a bit mad with it… he laughed at himself over this, and so these thoughts stayed just thoughts, sinking back down into the depths of his mind.
Compared to his idleness, his nominal wife Su Tan’er was clearly quite busy. Still, no matter how busy, she generally made it home in time for meals — in that sense, ancient times had their own advantages. A woman could never carry on so freely as a man could; and besides, the pace of work in this era didn’t wear people down the way it did in the modern world — no laptops slung over the shoulder, no flying from place to place, no need to process endless streams of information at all hours. In an age where information didn’t travel quickly, that kind of workaholic simply couldn’t exist. You could always find time to rest, because by the time you’d given an order, the other end hadn’t even had time to respond yet.
Apparently taking him for a genuinely honest, plain sort of man, she was always the one to start conversation whenever they sat down to eat together, exchanging news, livening the mood. Ning Yi would toss back a few offhand replies — after all those years navigating the business world, he’d long since mastered the art of saying things casually without ever sounding like he was brushing someone off, a skill far beyond Su Tan’er’s current level. So every time they ate together, Ning Yi found himself thinking of the couple from the movie Mr. & Mrs. Smith.
After meals, if it was raining, they generally each retreated to their own rooms — Su Tan’er would read, occasionally pluck at the zither, do a bit of embroidery; he would simply read, practice calligraphy, or just space out, occasionally taking out paper to run through old business projections out of habit, hypothesizing about the stock market and the like, before losing interest — unless something urgent came up, in which case Su Tan’er would take the carriage out. If the weather was fine, Ning Yi generally went out wandering, and Su Tan’er would go check on the shops and workshops around the city — the two of them going their separate ways.
The maid named Xiao Chan had stuck with him the whole time, and over the months had effectively become his personal attendant — an arrangement of Su Tan’er’s doing. It was clear Xiao Chan meant to build a good relationship with him; while tidying his room she’d chatter away about all sorts of little things, family gossip, or where the young lady had gone that day and what she’d done. It was obvious she admired and adored her mistress a great deal, and Su Tan’er was indeed very good to her servants. Ning Yi’s usual response was to nod and smile. Whenever he went out, the little maid always trailed behind him; sometimes, feeling a bit guilty about it, if he got tired from walking he’d stop at a nearby teahouse for a rest and a snack, and the little girl would fish out bits of loose silver from her dainty little purse to pay — making him feel that the idle young playboys of ancient times must have lived something like this.
Not so different in the modern world, really — he never had to swipe his own card when he went shopping either… though, come to think of it, it had been years since he’d actually gone shopping in person for anything.
Lately he’d taken a liking to watching people play weiqi by the Qinhuai River.
There was a stretch of street by the river that wasn’t especially lively, out on the edge of the city, somewhat off the beaten path — no large shops, mostly peddlers passing through with shoulder poles, not many pedestrians. Under a tree by the river, an old man regularly set up a chessboard, occasionally watched by a few other old men, and sometimes visited by scholars passing through. There was a tea stall nearby. The first time, he and Xiao Chan had stopped there to rest after walking too much, and sipping tea, he’d idly watched the two old men playing — both quite skilled — and thought, no wonder, ancient times indeed, even two random old fellows playing this well. After that he came back often. One of the old men was a fixture there; his opponents changed, though after a while he recognized most of them as regulars, and their skill was generally quite high.
This sort of mental exercise was, in fact, about the only entertainment he could really find here. In truth, the Qinhuai River was widely recognized as the most prosperous and extravagant district of the time, packed with pleasure boats and brothels; come nightfall it became a city that never slept. Walking through it daily, he often heard talk of various romantic affairs, but there was a limit to everything — having married into the Su family as a live-in son-in-law, that kind of entertainment was essentially off-limits to him. In any case, he’d already seen every extravagance life had to offer in his previous life, so naturally none of it held much interest for him now.
One day after that, the sky was somewhat overcast, though it looked like rain was still a ways off. He and Xiao Chan went to the tea stall; the same two old men were playing. After a while, a servant-looking man approached and spoke a few words to one of the old men, who nodded: “Master Qin, urgent matter at home — this game…”
“No clear winner yet — shall we call it a draw?”
“That would be best…”
The two exchanged a few more polite, literary phrases, and one of the old men left. The one running the chess stand began putting away the pieces. Ning Yi finished his tea in one gulp and stood up: “Nothing left to watch. Xiao Chan, settle the bill.”
Xiao Chan was just taking out her purse when the old man behind them spoke up: “This young master’s come to watch the games often of late — must have some insight into the art. Care to try a hand with this old fellow?” No opponent left, so he’d grab whoever was on hand.
“Uh…” Ning Yi paused, glanced at the sky. “I’m alright, I suppose… sure, why not.”
He sat down across from the old man. As he helped clear the board, the usual “where are you from, young master” sort of small talk came up, which Ning Yi answered offhandedly. Once the board was cleared and stones drawn for color, Ning Yi took white and played first, placing his stone down without ceremony.
“Hm, this opening…” The old man glanced at him, then simply frowned and continued playing.
They traded moves back and forth for a dozen or so exchanges, the old man’s frown deepening further, until he finally asked, puzzled: “May I ask who taught the young master’s style of play?”
“Studied game records on my own and worked it out.”
“Ah, that explains it…”
After that, the old man said nothing more, and the two played on in silence under the tree by the river. Xiao Chan sat off to the side, occasionally glancing up at the sky — she understood nothing of weiqi, only noticing that the longer they played, the longer the old man took to think, his frown deepening further, glancing up at Ning Yi now and then, sometimes shaking his head. On the board, the white stones surged forward in overwhelming force, the black stones gradually scattered and cut to pieces.
About an hour and a half later, the old man conceded, resigning the stones, and looked Ning Yi over carefully for a moment. Ning Yi kept the same faint expression, as if he found the whole thing rather amusing. “Your skill at chess, young master, is exceptional — though your methods of play, are they perhaps somewhat…” The old man chose his words carefully. Ning Yi, gathering up the stones, simply smiled. “In chess, you play to win — it’s like two armies facing off. What’s this talk of proper methods?”
“Chess is a scholar’s art, a gentleman’s pursuit…”
“You believe a man’s character can be read through his chess, sir?” Ning Yi said idly, picking the stones up one by one and returning them to their bowls. “Accurate, is it?”
The old man paused, considered for a moment, then shook his head with a laugh, reaching to gather the pieces himself: “Not especially accurate, as it turns out.”
Once the board was packed away, with rain looking imminent, Ning Yi and Xiao Chan headed back toward the Su residence. Along the way, Xiao Chan kept glancing at him with some surprise, finally unable to resist asking: “Did the young master win?”
“Ah, I probably shouldn’t go watch the games there again.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t you see? He thinks I’m a bad person now.”
“He thinks the young master’s a bad person just because you won a game of chess?” The little girl glanced back over her shoulder. “Must be because you beat him, and he got upset… what a petty old man.”
That was, of course, just idle talk — the old man was a man of considerable cultivation and certainly wouldn’t take offense over something like that. It was simply that weiqi in this era placed great importance on decorum; games between friends were meant to be played openly and honorably, restrained, with none of the aggressive, relentless tactics that would be considered a loss of grace. But to Ning Yi, a game of chess was nothing more than a pure contest of intellect, and combined with the imbalance of information between the two sides, even with the old man’s considerable skill, he’d been overwhelmed time and again by Ning Yi’s minor tactics — bringing Ning Yi a small satisfaction, the modern man’s little triumph over the ancients.
That day, returning home, Su Tan’er was also just back from outside. The little maid Xing’er was busy directing several people carrying bolts of fabric toward the young lady’s room — new stock, by the looks of the bright colors. Seeing them return, Juan’er came down from upstairs carrying a large wooden box: “Young Master, Young Master, the young lady heard you love playing chess, and when she saw this in the shops today, she bought it specially for you.” In truth it had been a gift someone else had given Su Tan’er, one she had no use for and simply brought back — a box containing a weiqi set. Ning Yi was rather taken aback: “Well then — thank your mistress for me.”
“Thank her yourself, young master.” The little girl giggled and ran back upstairs. Ning Yi shook his head and carried the weiqi set back to his room — there was no one else here he knew, so who was he supposed to play against?
Back in her room, Juan’er, after the porters had left the courtyard, imitated Ning Yi’s voice: “My lady, the young master said, ‘thank your mistress for me.'” Su Tan’er, looking over her account books, promptly rapped her on the forehead for it. Mistress and servants had grown up together since childhood, and despite the formalities of rank, shared an affection almost like sisters — though when Su Tan’er was busy with work, she wasn’t one for too much joking around. Having finished with the ledgers, she examined the bolts of fabric carefully; by then Chan’er and Xing’er had come in as well. Seeing Chan’er, she smiled: “Out watching chess with the young master again today?”
“Mm.” Xiao Chan shook her little head. “Couldn’t understand a thing.”
“I don’t care for weiqi either.” Su Tan’er shook her head, having spent the whole morning running errands in and out of the house — only now did she have a moment to rest. She idly picked up a sheet of rice paper lying on the table and frowned, asking Chan’er: “Is this really a poem the young master wrote?”
Chan’er had grabbed the paper that morning in passing; she leaned over now to check, then confirmed: “Yes, I saw the young master writing it — said he was practicing his calligraphy.”
Su Tan’er frowned over it a while longer before setting it down. Chan’er had grabbed the paper hastily that morning, and Su Tan’er had then gone out, busy running about all morning, only getting a chance to look at it now that she was back. Xing’er, downstairs, hadn’t seen it yet either, and seeing her mistress’s expression shift through so many emotions, came over curiously to look. All three maids had studied some poetry and arithmetic in their upbringing, but even so, scrunched their little faces up like steamed buns trying to make sense of it.
“Three lotus roots float on the jade pool… rafts hold longing thoughts… dewdrops… wet the sand wall, dusk quiet, dawn still…” what does this even mean?
In the other room, Ning Yi stood at his desk sorting through sheets of rice paper, about to throw them out or burn them — he’d practiced calligraphy for ten pages yesterday, and now realized one sheet was missing. He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head with a laugh: “It’d be strange if you could actually understand it…”
Then, a thunderstorm rolled in.
Summer downpours came on fierce and sudden; amid the roar filling the sky, the light dimmed as if evening had already fallen. Still, opening the window in such weather to look out at the gardens and estate soaked in the rain had a certain leisurely charm to it. From here, he could occasionally glimpse Su Tan’er and her maids moving about in the room across the way. Before long, Chan’er came over carrying some colored fabric while Ning Yi sat at his desk, opening the box of weiqi stones to look through them. “Young Master, my lady says this is newly arrived silk — she wants the servant to take your measurements, to make you a new outfit. Have a look and see which color you like, young master.”
“Whatever’s fine.”
“Can’t just say ‘whatever’ for a new outfit.” The little girl muttered as she took out a soft measuring tape and measured his height and build. Ning Yi looked out at the heavy rain, then glanced at the little girl beside him.
“Anything to do this afternoon?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“Come play chess, then.”
“This servant doesn’t know weiqi.”
“Not weiqi — I’ll teach you gomoku.”
“Gomoku?” The little girl looked up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes — she’d never heard of such a game…
And so, in that usually quiet little courtyard, by afternoon one could often hear a little girl’s cheers ringing out. Though ordinarily composed and calm, Su Tan’er was, after all, only eighteen, and the three maids around her only fourteen or fifteen — when something genuinely fun came along, it was hard for them not to get a little carried away. In the room across the way, Su Tan’er sat by the window reading, while Xing’er and Juan’er sat in a row on little stools, embroidering. Occasionally, faint through the sound of rain from across the way, came cries of “I won, I won!” — prompting curious glances upward each time. After this happened a few times, Xing’er pricked her finger with her needle and, sucking on the tip, peered curiously in that direction.
“What’s gotten into that girl Chan’er…”