The days passed uneventfully — leisurely, to put it kindly. Through the stretch of continuous rain, playing gomoku with the little maids, occasionally practicing calligraphy, reading old texts — though nowhere near as entertaining as modern novels, he’d always been someone who could tolerate this kind of monotony well enough. Having come to ancient times, spending half a day poring over a punctuation-less book, working out its meaning phrase by phrase, wasn’t, to him, any great hardship.
Of course, plenty of other odds and ends had come up over these months as well.
A new son-in-law marrying in — and a live-in one at that — held essentially no standing in this era. The Su family’s situation, in fact, was rather complicated on top of that. The true power behind the Su family these days was Su Tan’er’s grandfather, still alive, generally addressed as the Old Patriarch. The Old Patriarch had three sons of his own, splitting the family into the eldest, second, and third branches. Public authority rested with the eldest branch — that is, Su Tan’er’s father, Su Boyong — who had only Su Tan’er as his one child, and it so happened that Su Tan’er possessed considerable business acumen, far surpassing the male heirs of the other two branches — which was the root of the whole tangled situation. The men of the other two branches had always hoped Su Tan’er would eventually marry out and become “spilled water,” giving them a shot at inheriting the Su family estate in the future. Now, with a live-in son-in-law brought in, those hopes were dashed; even when they restrained themselves from open mockery when they crossed paths with him, a cold glance was never in short supply.
Beyond these three main branches, the Old Patriarch also had siblings of his own, and the extended Su clan had by now branched out into a considerable size — cousins and second cousins who could claim some kinship with Su Tan’er numbered no fewer than thirty or forty. Regardless of how close or distant, how good or bad the relations, none of them were particularly warm toward him, the live-in son-in-law — though if they had been warm, that would have troubled him even more. In a large clan like this, sitting down to dinner together every evening was already awkward enough; he mostly just sat off to the side, counting sheep in his head. Aside from his father-in-law, mother-in-law, the two secondary wives, and Su Tan’er, hardly anyone spoke to him at all — rather dull — and what these few did say wasn’t especially substantial either, making things even more tedious. Why bother with a shared meal at all… better to just eat in his room.
He wasn’t, of course, afraid of this sort of isolated boredom — his past experience made it easy enough to face any situation with composure. But no one, admittedly, enjoyed or sought out that feeling either. These days, he found himself thoroughly absorbed watching games of weiqi, but given the choice, he’d naturally still prefer the livelier fun of a group playing mahjong together.
Tangled interests, scheming and infighting — none of it had touched him directly yet, at least for now. Of course, staying here long enough, some trouble was bound to come eventually, though the scale of it wouldn’t be large — old Patriarch Su and Su Boyong were both still alive and well, and the petty squabbles of a single clan could only go so far. That said, having settled in with the Su family, the most immediate issue facing him now was, in fact, employment.
When he’d first woken up — having supposedly been struck on the head with a brick and left with some memory loss — many matters had been set aside for the time being. As he gradually recovered, the Su family hadn’t expected much of him, but leaving him with absolutely nothing to do wasn’t ideal either. Recently, the question of what he might want to do had finally come up. He himself had no clear idea — going into business, becoming a shopkeeper or accountant at some branch store (more likely, in truth, some kind of overseer position) — none of that held any real appeal, and he couldn’t be bothered engaging with it. Judging by his father-in-law’s attitude, it seemed the family meant to have him take up a teaching post at the Su family’s private school, letting him pursue scholarship of his own — after all, the image he’d presented before was that of a poor, bookish scholar.
When this idea had first been raised, old Patriarch Su had tabled it for the time being, saying to give it a while longer, let him figure out for himself what he wanted to do. But as far as Ning Yi could tell, the matter of eventually becoming a teacher was more or less already settled. He’d had several conversations with old Patriarch Su, mostly the old man reminiscing about the family’s past ties, chatting about ordinary matters — but a man who could hold together a clan this large was naturally shrewd, and had likely noticed that his temperament these days differed somewhat from the bookish fool of before, which was probably why he was giving it more time.
Ning Yi, for his part, hadn’t gone out of his way to disguise things further, forcing himself to appear the perfect bookish fool — the days ahead were long, and disguise wasn’t a permanent solution. He’d been approaching all of this with the mindset of a tourist all along. Of course, temperament and bearing could reveal something of a person’s character, but to draw firm conclusions from that alone — whether someone was suited to business or teaching, whether they were good or bad — was as impossible as judging character from a game of chess. So long as he did nothing outrageous, and kept this up a while longer, the Old Patriarch would likely grow bored of observing and simply send him off to teach.
Fine by him.
Though he hadn’t exactly been a model student in his previous life, classical texts were still within his grasp here, and his former identity wasn’t that of any great scholar, so no one should expect too much of him. If he were to teach, at a bare minimum he could have the students rock their heads back and forth memorizing texts every day — that alone would pass muster — and on good days, tossing in a bit of modern knowledge to dazzle them wouldn’t hurt either. Living with the Su family this way was, at least, a legitimate enough arrangement. As for leaving — in a place where he knew not a single soul, that wasn’t even worth considering; even in the modern world, getting ahead required real connections, and ancient times were no different, if not more so. Even having once built an empire of that scale, he had no illusions that showing up in ancient times with a few taels of silver would let him “go wherever he pleased under heaven.” Whatever the case, the Su family remained, for now, his best safe harbor.
The rain fell continuously for several days, keeping him at home. Occasionally he’d see the three mistress-and-maids across the way hurrying out under oiled-paper umbrellas, and later see their figures returning through the rain — corridors, courtyards, pavilions, gardens, a fine drizzle washing the white stone and grey tiles into striking clarity. They’d come through from over there, in skirts of lake green, or pale white, or soft pink — the ladies of this era carried a genuine elegance quite unlike the manufactured women of the modern world; however much the latter performed the part, there always lingered some trace of worldliness or commercialism about them. Watching this scene now, it truly felt like something out of an ink-wash painting — the women hurrying in from outside, ducking under dripping eaves, patting down their damp clothes by the stairs before heading up… By dusk, lanterns would light up one by one across the sprawling courtyards, deep red and dim red halos, some fixed, some drifting — giving the night a distinctly ancient, deep-manor atmosphere.
Of course, this was, after all, an ancient deep manor to begin with.
Gomoku was easy to pick up, and not hard to master either — Xiao Chan learned it quickly and became something of an expert. In the days that followed, whenever Ning Yi played against her, he found himself losing more often than winning, and this pastime spread with remarkable speed to the small building across the way. Three days later, one evening, Ning Yi lit an oil lamp to read; Xiao Chan came to check on him several times, and once satisfied he had no further instructions, took her leave. When Ning Yi closed his book and walked out onto the veranda, he spotted, in the courtyard corridor below, the young lady carrying a gomoku board over toward the building across the way, entering the ground-floor room there with Xing’er and Juan’er. Lamplight came on inside, and he could make out the silhouettes of the three of them playing, occasionally gesturing animatedly, jumping with excitement — Xiao Chan, it seemed, chattering away teaching her two “sisters” the finer points, which he couldn’t help but find amusing.
The heavy rains persisted for several more days before finally clearing. Though he’d jokingly told Xiao Chan he probably shouldn’t go back to watch chess by the Qinhuai River, it was, of course, just a passing remark — sure enough, on his next visit, the old man surnamed Qin who ran the chess stand noticed him and gave a greeting.
Not long after, once the old man finished a game with a friend, he waved with a smile toward Ning Yi, who’d been watching from the side, first introducing him to his opponent, and then the two of them exchanged the usual pleasantries. After the basic courtesies, the old man asked him to share his thoughts on the game just finished — not that it needed to be taken too seriously, but after any given match, if there’d been a particularly clever move, some post-game review or mild showing-off between fellow players was more or less expected, much like saying “if I’d only played differently there, I wouldn’t have lost…” Since the old man had invited him to weigh in, that was, in effect, an acknowledgment of his skill at the game, and an invitation naturally followed.
“Would young master Ning be interested in another match?”
Ning Yi smiled and nodded his agreement, gathering up the stones as the old man spoke on with a smile.
“These rainy days at home, I found myself reminiscing with a few old friends about that game of ours — young master Ning played more than a few remarkable moves, quite thought-provoking. It’s had this old fellow itching for days now. The rain finally cleared today, and lo, young master’s here after all — ha ha…”
Though that day he’d rather thought Ning Yi’s style of play wasn’t quite “gentlemanly,” the old man hadn’t taken it too much to heart. If anything, as a fellow player, seeing such a novel approach had only grown more compelling the more he mulled it over, replayed it in his mind — he’d found himself unable to quite let it go. So they chatted idly while playing a game, and the old man lost again. Ning Yi went over a few of the key sequences with him, they played another round, and finally, seeing the hour grow late, headed home.
He returned the next day, and it wasn’t long after that his future “employment” was finally settled.
On the first day of the seventh month, the whole family gathered for a meal, and old Patriarch Su asked after Ning Yi’s recovery, then brought up that one of the teachers at the family academy was soon to travel away, asking whether Ning Yi would be willing to take up a teaching post there. The old man’s manner was gentle, but given his standing within the family, the matter was essentially settled the moment he spoke. Ning Yi had already prepared himself mentally for this and naturally nodded his agreement. The Old Patriarch then summoned Su Zhongkan, the second son who managed the family’s academy, instructing him to arrange things once the current teacher departed.
There was still some time before that teacher’s departure, and Ning Yi mostly whiled it away playing weiqi, along with reading, practicing calligraphy, and playing gomoku with Xiao Chan. Another month or so passed this way; his relationship with the Su family showed no particular development, though he’d grown quite familiar with some of the regulars along that street by the Qinhuai River.
The scenery along that stretch of street was decent enough, shaded with green trees, though somewhat off the beaten path — no major shops, aside from the tea stall that stayed put; a few vendors selling breakfast items or vegetables would pass through in the mornings. The surrounding houses were sparse, some built along the riverbank extending out over the water like stilt houses, and occasionally he’d see people going down to the water’s edge to wash clothes or fetch water.
The old man surnamed Qin seemed to be reasonably well-off, a man of considerable learning and broad experience — people said scholars of the old school tended toward the pedantic, but this old man was nothing of the sort. He never spouted classical phrases or invoked the sages at every turn; his speech and judgment were flexible and practical, yet at their core, when examined closely, never strayed from the teachings of Confucius and Mencius — the mark of someone who truly understood them.
Stripped of the trappings added for the sake of governance, the core of Confucian and Mencian teaching was really just accumulated human wisdom passed down by the ancients — much of it, on a philosophical level, held true universally. Ning Yi found he could actually talk with this old man, and their casual conversations needed little caution. The old man had apparently once held some official post, and now in his old age, passed his idle days running a chess stand for want of anything better to do. He lived nearby, had a wife in her fifties, and also kept a rather attractive concubine in her thirties, who would occasionally come out to bring him lunch — Ning Yi had crossed paths with her once or twice.
The old man had a fixed circle of chess companions, mostly other learned old men — some well-off, some who appeared to own little more than the clothes on their backs. At first Ning Yi mostly sat and watched, but gradually came to join in during the post-game discussions, offering a comment here and there. Naturally, some, mindful of their own standing, took issue with a junior offering opinions — one old man surnamed Dong, for instance, had criticized his underhanded little tactics rather haughtily. Ning Yi found the man’s attitude tiresome and simply didn’t bother engaging — arguing principle with that sort of old man was the least interesting thing imaginable.
Sitting daily at that tea stall, he naturally ate and drank there regularly, and grew familiar with the stall owner’s family as a result. Bored, Xiao Chan would sometimes sit chattering with the stall owner’s daughter. In the early days, the girl had apparently asked, a little shyly, about Ning Yi’s background, and upon learning he was the Su family’s live-in son-in-law, had shown a flash of disappointment. He seemed, after all, a well-off young gentleman by appearance — bringing a maid along wherever he went was proof enough of that — and being able to converse with Old Qin, occasionally dropping remarks no one else understood, proved he was a man of learning. If only she could have married him… a pity he was a live-in son-in-law.
Conversation over chess had, at first, naturally stayed within a friendly, harmonious tone; after two weeks or so, the two had grown familiar enough that the old man might find some of Ning Yi’s offhand remarks thought-provoking, though other times he found them rather heretical — simply a difference in custom. Ning Yi wasn’t one to stand on ceremony, and the two would chat and debate freely over their games. After a month, the old man finally brought up, more seriously, the question of his background.
Ning Yi hadn’t tried especially hard to conceal his own background, and had mentioned it before in passing; the old man had simply given an “oh” and nodded at the time, treating him then merely as a newly met chess companion. Now that they could actually talk, having become something like unlikely friends across the generational gap, the old man’s meaning in bringing it up again was naturally different.
“You’re a man of real substance without much formal schooling to show for it, aren’t you — a real pity about the marriage…”
Ning Yi hadn’t studied the classics and histories in any depth, and his rote memorization wasn’t good — he wasn’t the product of a proper formal education. Old Qin, a considerable scholar in that regard, had picked up on this after their long acquaintance, hence the assessment of “substance without schooling” — in fact, already quite high praise. Ning Yi merely smiled at it.
“There’s nothing so bad about marrying in. Look at me — out drinking tea, playing chess every day, money provided by Xiao Chan, room and board more than comfortable. In a while I’ll go teach — a bunch of students, no real burden to it. I’m a lazy sort by nature, so honestly, this suits me rather well.”
He said as much, but in truth, the status of a live-in son-in-law in this era ranked lower than even that of an ordinary household’s primary wife — a wife, upon marrying in, could have her spirit tablet placed in the ancestral hall after death, while a live-in son-in-law wasn’t even qualified for that, no different in status from a concubine. Whatever he did, he’d always be looked down upon somewhat, and essentially cut off from any path to fame or advancement — reduced to nothing more than an appendage of the Su family, working for its benefit alone. Ning Yi, having seen every extravagance and disillusion life had to offer in his previous existence, held no such youthful sentiments — but an ordinary young man in his position wouldn’t have that kind of composure, and Old Qin, seeing some genuine talent in him, couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret on his behalf.
“…Besides, the Su family is a merchant house. Merchants chase profit, and while they may also crave reputation, even if you truly had both talent and learning, the path to office and honor would likely never fall to you in the end.”
The old man said this because he saw things clearly. Setting aside, for the moment, the world’s general attitude toward a live-in son-in-law — even if Ning Yi genuinely had scholarly talent, the Su family would hardly want him running off to sit the imperial examinations and win office. The whole reason they’d brought him in as a live-in son-in-law in the first place was because he’d seemed a bookish fool — old Patriarch Su was a man who valued loyalty and old ties, and had honored the pact made with Ning Yi’s forebears; and while Ning Yi carried a certain scholarly air, he wasn’t truly all that learned, easily kept in check by Su Tan’er once married in. Even from Ning Yi’s own perspective, the old bookish fool he’d inherited this body from had, in fact, benefited handsomely from the arrangement, and he bore the Su family no ill will over it — he simply let the remark pass with a smile. Still, overhearing the old man’s commentary on the Su family’s affairs, Xiao Chan, sitting off to the side, flushed red and couldn’t help leaning in.
“O-old sir, the young lady has never treated the young master poorly since he came to the Su family! The young lady is a very good person, and she’ll never treat the young master poorly in the future either!”
The little maid’s expression was tense, painfully earnest. She’d grown up alongside Su Tan’er since childhood, close as sisters, and likely couldn’t fully grasp the deeper implications behind the old man’s words — only sensing, roughly, that he was criticizing something about the Su family. Ordinarily, a maid had no business interjecting into a conversation between her masters and outsiders, but given the peculiar status of a live-in son-in-law, some households gave him plenty of face, while some maids wouldn’t even deign to acknowledge him — but Xiao Chan, having grown up at Su Tan’er’s side with excellent upbringing, was certainly not the latter sort; she was simply anxious for her mistress’s and the Su family’s reputation, and it had clearly taken no small amount of courage to speak up with such an implicit rebuttal — her small fists clenched tightly in front of her, visibly nervous.
Xiao Chan had always been the quiet, well-behaved sort standing off to the side, and Old Qin had grown used to her presence; he blinked in mild surprise at this. Ning Yi glanced over at her a few times, then broke into laughter, setting down a stone.
“Ha ha, you old fool, worrying over nothing — now you’ve gone and offended Xiao Chan. If word of this got back to the Su household, I’d be the one paying for it.”
The old man laughed as well. “Ha ha, a slip of the tongue, a slip of the tongue — let it be known to young miss Xiao Chan that this old fellow meant no criticism of the Su family whatsoever. Still, gossiping idly about another family’s affairs was indeed careless of me — my apologies, my apologies…”
He apologized to Xiao Chan with good grace, and she, for her part, didn’t seem particularly angry, just deeply earnest — that tense, serious expression of hers hadn’t faded by the time she and Ning Yi left, if anything it had deepened. She walked behind him the whole way home, head lowered, her already small frame seeming to shrink further in the silence. Ning Yi, at a loss, pursed his lips and turned back to comfort her: “What’s wrong? Still upset?”
Before he could finish, he saw Xiao Chan’s shoulders hunch, her lips press into a pout, and tears come streaming down like a string of broken pearls.
Seems rather serious… Ning Yi paused, then softened his voice. “What’s really the matter?”
“Chan’er…” the little maid choked out, looking up at him, “Chan’er may be just a maid who doesn’t understand much, but she’d never go around gossiping about something like that. If you say word might get out, young master, that would mean Chan’er’s — Chan’er’s not… not proper…”
Her shoulders shook, her sobs deepening. Ning Yi stared at her for a long moment — he’d assumed she’d been sulking the whole way over the old man’s remarks, only to realize she was actually upset over his own joke, and couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
“Young master… you’re still—glub—”
The little maid’s tearful protest cut off mid-sentence as Ning Yi suddenly reached out with both hands, pinching her cheeks and stretching her face into something resembling a flatbread. This left the little maid frozen in place, eyes wide as lanterns, blinking twice. Ning Yi let go of her face and patted her shoulder gently: “Let’s go.” He turned and walked off.
A moment later the little maid caught up with him, looking thoroughly startled, her whole face flushed crimson: “Young master, young master, you—” She meant to protest his behavior just now. In truth, this sort of thing could be taken lightly or seriously depending on how one looked at it — over the past few months, the two of them had spent nearly every waking moment together; Xiao Chan often helped him with measurements, and more often, with dressing — there had been physical contact, though always the incidental, unintentional kind.
The history of the world Ning Yi had arrived in had gone thoroughly off its rails by this point, but the Wu dynasty closely resembled the Song in most respects — even without the exact emergence of Neo-Confucian orthodoxy, by this era there were already considerable strictures around the separation of the sexes. Xiao Chan, as a maid, had to attend closely to the person she served, and couldn’t be held to the same standards as an ordinary woman — if Su Tan’er had properly married Ning Yi, then as one of her three maids, it was all but certain she’d eventually become one of Ning Yi’s bedchamber concubines, and there’d be no issue at all. But as things stood, with Ning Yi having married in as a live-in son-in-law, everything ultimately rested on Su Tan’er’s say-so.
A live-in son-in-law, after all, held a low status; among common folk, it was generally believed that any man with a shred of pride or backbone wouldn’t agree to marry in this way — largely because in most households, a live-in son-in-law’s standing was, in practice, hardly different from that of a servant, kept on much like hired help. Of course, circumstances varied from family to family — where husband and wife got along well, or where the son-in-law genuinely had some ability, he could naturally carve out his own place within the household; that wasn’t unheard of either. In the Su family, old Patriarch Su, mindful of the ties between their forebears, actually treated Ning Yi rather well, and the rest of the family didn’t openly look down on him because of it. Though Su Tan’er had once resisted the match, her attitude toward Ning Yi these days was, by now, fairly even-keeled. But even so — even if their relationship developed further down the road, becoming a genuine husband and wife — the odds of her ever permitting Ning Yi any intimacy with Chan’er remained slim. Though all three maids had grown up alongside Su Tan’er since childhood, and she would likely never fully let them go for the rest of her life, the more probable outcome was that she’d eventually marry them off to some loyal, promising servants, while keeping them within the Su household for good.
Of course, this had only been a bit of idle mischief on Ning Yi’s part — he likely hadn’t thought that far ahead, and the little maid certainly couldn’t have either. But even without being genuinely angry, she was still more than a little embarrassed, and now, red-faced and flustered, she struggled to come up with words befitting Ning Yi’s rakish conduct, finally managing only: “Young master, you — you’re bullying me!”
“Mm.” Ning Yi nodded, shrugging. “Bullying you, that’s right. What are you gonna do about it?”
“Gonna do about it…” Chan’er blinked, then grew cross again. “Talking in ways Chan’er can’t understand again…”
“Ha ha.” Out on the street, Ning Yi laughed, rather pleased with himself.
When he’d first arrived here, his mood had genuinely been rather bleak, but after so long being bored out of his mind, that gloom had gradually lifted — it seemed ancient times were, in fact, for bullying people: bullying an old scholar over a game of chess, now bullying a little maid — actually rather fun.
They continued on toward home this way, Xiao Chan bouncing along behind him chattering — shy at first, then rambling on about other trivial matters. As they reached the relatively bustling street not far from the Su residence, a man suddenly stepped forward and hailed them, blocking their path. The Su family had many members, and on the walk back this way, he often ran into some of them — some willing to greet him, some who wouldn’t deign to speak to him at all. Occasionally he’d cross paths with Su Tan’er coming back this way too, since there was a Su family fabric shop right on this street. This time, the man had just come out of the Su fabric shop — early twenties, holding a folding fan, every bit the dashing young scholar type — and from a distance he cupped his hands in greeting with a hearty laugh: “Brother Ning, what a coincidence.” Two young attendants trailed behind him as he approached.
Presumably someone the original owner of this body had known, though Ning Yi didn’t recognize him at all now. Glancing around in confusion, he spotted Su Tan’er’s carriage parked not far off along the road; inside the fabric shop, a small head bobbed into view for a moment, glanced over this way, then darted back inside — that was Xing’er, who’d been accompanying Su Tan’er; having spotted Ning Yi and Xiao Chan, she’d run off to fetch her mistress.
The man approached with a smile. Ning Yi didn’t know his name, but handling this sort of situation was simple enough — he was just about to return the greeting with a smile when Xiao Chan, behind him, tugged at his sleeve: “Young master, that’s Young Master Xue of the Dachuan fabric shop.” There was a hint of unease in her voice.
It came back to Ning Yi then — though he’d never met the man, he had heard the name before.
Having come to this era and played dumb about having lost his memory, he’d asked around a little about his own past — a fairly simple life, all told — but whenever people like Xiao Chan or Xing’er brought certain things up, there was always some hesitation, some avoidance — like the matter of Su Tan’er fleeing on their wedding night, or the business of him getting clubbed with a brick.
But even with that avoidance, over these past few months, Ning Yi had gathered by now most of what he needed to know. Whoever had sneaked up and clubbed him with that brick was almost certainly this very man in front of him now — Xue Jin of the Dachuan fabric shop. Xiao Chan’s current unease was likely out of fear that Ning Yi might grow angry and do something rash, only to come out the worse for it.
But Ning Yi was hardly the type to let anything complicated show on his face — he simply smiled and nodded. “Ah, Young Master Xue, is it? Hello.”
His smile was natural, his manner easygoing. Xue Jin, across from him, blinked in mild surprise, glanced at the two attendants beside him, then laughed again. “I heard Brother Ning was injured on your wedding day, and lost his memory as a result. This humble one was actually there that day too — had to leave early on some business, and never found the time afterward to come pay a visit. So… is it really true, this business of memory loss? Surely Brother Ning hasn’t truly forgotten this humble one?”
Across from him, Ning Yi looked somewhat abashed, his expression carrying a sincere, heavy note of apology. “As for what happened before… ha, my apologies, Brother Xue, truly my apologies…”
Xue Jin eyed him with a complicated, suspicious look. Just then, across the way, at the shop entrance, Su Tan’er came hurrying out with a furrowed brow.