Following the loud crash came, naturally, the sound of commotion. Along the street bordering Qingyuan, flickering firelight could faintly be seen from where they stood. Yun Zhu and Jin’er, who had hurriedly pulled on her shoes and socks, rushed over, and halfway there, one of the young women from Qingyuan came running up to deliver news — a carriage horse at the street corner had bolted, run wild for a while, broken free of its harness, and crashed into a wall, knocking down the courtyard wall beside Qingyuan’s main building.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“A few people were hurt — some street vendors nearby got hit, but nothing serious. Steward Li has already called a doctor to look at them, and asked me to tell you two not to worry.”
Since Bamboo Record’s expansion, the staff across its several establishments skewed heavily female. Li Lan, currently managing Qingyuan, had originally come from a brothel house before being brought over — skilled in social graces and well-versed in literature, and familiar with both Yun Zhu and Jin’er’s temperaments. Hearing now that nothing too serious had happened, Yun Zhu finally relaxed. “As long as no one’s badly hurt, that’s good.”
Jin’er laughed. “Well, at least now there’s something to watch — that should quiet down those arguing fools upstairs too.”
Though Qingyuan was meant to be an elegant, refined place, it was common enough for the scholars and literati there to get into arguments every few days — if anything, it was proof the place had plenty of life to it. Yun Zhu smiled and shook her head. But the young woman who’d brought the news said, “Actually, they’d already stopped arguing before this happened.”
“Oh? They finished arguing already?”
“No, not exactly — it seemed like some very famous scholar went up, and after that they just stopped. Someone went over to greet him… he was quite young, I even asked Sister Xiaoyu who he was, and then the wall came crashing down…”
“Very famous and young? Has he been here before?”
“No… probably not…”
The young woman had come from a poor family herself and had little exposure to matters of poetry and literature, so she naturally couldn’t recognize many people. But hearing her say this, Jin’er’s brow suddenly furrowed, as though something had occurred to her, and she glanced over at Yun Zhu. Yun Zhu’s expression betrayed nothing, though her movements paused slightly. Jin’er turned back to ask, “Was he called Ning-something, or something-Heng?”
It did seem like quite the coincidence, and she wasn’t even sure herself what she was hoping for. The young woman hesitated. “Seems like… no, it wasn’t… but then again maybe it was… Sister Xiaoyu didn’t tell me…”
“What did he look like, then — was he about this tall, and looked really… really composed…” Jin’er gestured as she questioned the young woman, who grew rather flustered. Yun Zhu glanced at her and said, “Let’s go take a look.” Jin’er let the girl go, and the two of them quickened their pace toward the front courtyard. Nearing Qingyuan’s main building at the front, things were already bustling — the wall of the neighboring courtyard had been smashed in by the carriage, and Qingyuan’s servants were busy clearing the debris under Steward Li Lan’s direction, torches blazing everywhere, with scholars and literati upstairs and down pointing and chattering, taking in the spectacle. Yun Zhu and Jin’er looked around the courtyard, then headed up to the main hall on the second floor, but after a quick glance around, they didn’t see the figure they’d hoped to find.
Most of the time, Qingyuan prided itself on its refined atmosphere, but between the argument that had just broken out in the main hall and the courtyard wall being smashed in, more people than usual had gathered. Occasionally someone came over to greet Yun Zhu and Jin’er, offering a bit of flattery here and there. Yun Zhu smiled and responded at times, though rather reluctantly, her effort at going through the motions plain to see. Jin’er noticed and said hesitantly, “Sister Yun Zhu, it can’t be that fast, can it…”
“It’s about time, actually…” Yun Zhu answered absently, her eyes scanning the crowd of figures moving about upstairs and down.
Before long, Li Lan came up and asked about the matter from earlier. Li Lan said, “It really was his first time here — though the two of you have met him before.” It turned out the young man who’d come up earlier was a talented young scholar named Wang Xiangzhen, who’d come from out of town and had only risen to prominence in Jiangning over the past year.
Talented scholars turn over rather quickly, especially here in Jiangning — those with genuine talent tend to head for the capital sooner or later. Li Pin and Cao Guan had gone off to take up official posts; Gu Yanzhen had vanished without a trace after his disappearance; Ning Yi had risen suddenly, only to leave for Hangzhou. His verses could be said to prove their worth through sheer force, but the path by which he’d made his name had been rather unorthodox, leaving Jiangning’s literary circles with mixed feelings about him. These days, the names most celebrated in the city had shifted to a few others. Wang Xiangzhen had produced one fine poem and ci-verse after another over the past six months’ worth of poetry gatherings, and though he’d never been to Qingyuan before, he’d met Jin’er twice at Mingyue Tower, and Yun Zhu once as well — with business to run, such encounters were simply unavoidable.
Having heard all this, Yun Zhu felt a slight pang of disappointment, while Jin’er let out a breath of relief, though she wasn’t quite sure herself whether it was disappointment or relief she felt. Wang Xiangzhen came over soon after, cupping his hands in greeting to Yun Zhu and Jin’er. He was a young man in his early twenties, fair-skinned and handsome, with a refined bearing. The two groups arguing upstairs earlier hadn’t included anyone of particular note, and once he’d arrived, no one had dared keep arguing — an effect Wang Xiangzhen was rather pleased with himself over.
These days in Jiangning, only Ning Yi, praised earlier that year by Kang Xian and others as having left “hardly any verse left worth writing in this world” — meaning that after he wrote his ci-poems, few dared to write their own — stood above the rest. Wang Xiangzhen felt he was actually a cut above even that, though it was a pity that Ning Liheng had likely died amid the chaos in Hangzhou, denying him the chance for a proper contest. And since the man was dead, he now had to show the dead some courtesy — how infuriating, that his rival should have won this way, without even a fair contest.
These days, the fact that Yun Zhu and Jin’er ran several establishments under Bamboo Record, backed by the princess’s household, meant that even though the business itself wasn’t especially large, in most people’s eyes and words, these two beautiful women — once courtesans who had since redeemed themselves — carried a certain untouchable air. They didn’t need to entertain or humor most people, and their habitual air of mystery only made sense given how high their backing truly reached. Among the literary circle Wang Xiangzhen moved in, when discussing the reigning beauties of the pleasure quarters, Bamboo Record inevitably came up, with people saying that to become an intimate guest of these two women would be a true mark of accomplishment.
Some worried about just what kind of powerful figures stood behind the two of them, but since nothing had come of it yet, there was no need to overthink things. Wang Xiangzhen, for his part, held both women in rather high regard. Seeing them now, he approached with great courtesy, hoping to invite them to discuss poetry together. But Yun Zhu, distracted, offered only a few perfunctory words in response, and Jin’er managed a strained smile as well, her mind occupied with comforting Yun Zhu. Wang Xiangzhen, in his early twenties, relied entirely on his own initiative when it came to courting women — as was typical of talented scholars of the age, whose literary gifts usually meant women came to them rather than the other way around. He racked his brains trying to display his talent, but finding the two women indifferent — and not in the coy, deliberately-standoffish way some women played hard to get — he only grew more restless, all the more convinced these two women truly were as captivating as their reputation suggested.
Had he not gotten his hopes up, the disappointment wouldn’t have cut so deep. Now, having failed to find the person she’d hoped to see, the whole evening suddenly felt hollow and dull to Yun Zhu. She had been about to leave, but noticing that the two households running stalls along Qingyuan’s outer street were both in poor circumstances, and remembering her own difficult days once, she asked Li Lan to see to the affected families and handle matters generously, adding a few instructions about repairing the wall.
Someone upstairs was reciting poetry — she looked up to see it was Wang Xiangzhen, fan in hand, standing by the railing holding forth grandly with his friends, apparently having composed something new. In the amber lamplight, he cut a striking, elegant figure, like a peacock displaying its feathers. As Yun Zhu glanced that way, he happened to be looking back toward her, and gave a courteous bow and smile with a nod. Yun Zhu bowed her head slightly in reflexive response, out of habit at the momentary meeting of eyes.
She wondered idly how these people always had so much poetic inspiration, composing verses even at a time like this… The thought passed lightly through her mind, and she found herself thinking of Ning Yi — if he’d been here watching the commotion, he might have tossed off some joking doggerel of his own, probably rather amusing. These people took themselves far too seriously, which struck her as rather strange.
As she was thinking this, up above, Wang Xiangzhen was feeling rather pleased with himself: she saw me, she heard me composing — that look on her face just now, she must have been a little shy… So thinking, he continued holding forth with his companions, fan waving, his voice deliberately raised a notch, his gaze fixed intently below. But Yun Zhu, having finished giving instructions to Li Lan, turned and, speaking with Yuan Jin’er, walked away — and never once looked back, even as her figure disappeared from view.
She really must be quite shy, he thought, watching her retreating figure as she turned slightly to leave — wasn’t that surely a sign she’d been listening closely to everything happening over here? So thinking, and believing he’d seen right through a woman’s heart, and imagining they might yet come back out later, he went on discussing poetry with those around him, staying at Qingyuan late into the night.
Not long after, Yun Zhu and Jin’er left by carriage through the side gate, driven by Jin’er, who liked dressing as a man for such occasions — in her male persona, she typically went by the name Yuan Bao’er. Normally the role of driver and guard fell to the maid Hutao’s husband, Ernu, but Yuan Jin’er enjoyed driving herself, and since Kang Xian had later assigned people to secretly protect the two of them, Ernu was often reassigned to other tasks instead.
By now the night had grown deep, and the carriage rolled through streets hazy with lantern light, following the Qinhuai River out toward the outskirts of the city. Now and then a lit pleasure boat drifted past them on the water, and the road held the occasional passerby, some carrying lanterns, some shouldering loads, scattered points of firefly-like light. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying willow catkins and the scent of flowers, cool and unhurried. The carriage moved slowly, Yun Zhu leaning to one side, her gaze distant and pensive as she thought things over. Jin’er glanced at her from time to time and said, “So we’ll go see Grandpa Prince Consort tomorrow then…”
“You don’t need to keep thinking about him either.”
“You just kissed me…”
Yun Zhu pressed her lips together and smiled at her, then leaned over and hugged her, cheek to cheek. Jin’er giggled, eyes crinkling with delight, then turned and planted a quick peck on Yun Zhu’s cheek. “Got you back,” she said. Yun Zhu frowned and pursed her lips, then reached over to pinch her cheek and tickle her. The two of them, one dressed as a man, tussled playfully in the carriage. As the road grew emptier, and someone appeared ahead, the two settled back down.
The small orange lantern on the carriage swayed gently.
“Now that I’ve kissed you, you’re mine — even if Ning Liheng comes back, he can’t take you away…” Jin’er declared to herself, quite pleased.
Yun Zhu sat at the edge of the carriage, hugging her knees, smiling as she watched her. After a while, she leaned over and said softly, “I’m your older sister. A kiss doesn’t mean anything.”
“You. Are. Mine!” Yuan Jin’er puffed out her cheeks and glared at her.
Yun Zhu only smiled, leaning back against Jin’er’s shoulder, stretching her legs out along the carriage shaft, and said softly, “I’m Liheng’s.”
Jin’er looked at her, exasperated. “How can you be so shameless!”
“There’s nothing shameless about it. Nie Yunzhu belongs to Ning Liheng, and is Yuan Jin’er’s older sister…” She repeated this softly, the gentle words drifting into the warm, wine-scented spring night air, followed by a soft laugh. “And Yuan Bao’er’s older sister too.”
Jin’er sulked for a good while. “Hmph, tonight I, Yuan Bao’er, will teach you a lesson— eh?”
She’d been about to say something fierce, but suddenly froze. By now they were nearing the small tower where they lived, the road ahead dim with little lamplight, the way growing dark. There, by the roadside, a carriage stood parked in the darkness by the river, a single lantern lit upon it, its glow spreading softly. A silhouette stood by the riverbank in the fading light — a scholar, the waters of the Qinhuai flowing off into the night beyond.
The carriage instinctively slowed. On a night like this, it was impossible to tell whether the figure ahead was someone they knew. Nearly a year had passed since they’d last seen him — familiar or strange, it was hard to say. Jin’er looked over that way, and Yun Zhu watched quietly as well; they had already been mistaken once tonight, and couldn’t be certain of anything now. An unspeakable feeling stirred in their hearts — who, on a night like this, would be standing by this roadside? On the lantern, there seemed to be a character that looked like “Su,” but from this distance, it was hard to make out clearly. Another carriage came rolling down the road from the other direction, its light briefly touching the carriage and the figure, blocking their view of each other for a moment, before passing by and drawing away. The figure by the river seemed to glance back once, but mostly kept looking toward the small tower in the distance, then stood by the river again, seemingly lost in his own quiet amusement.
Jin’er instinctively brought the carriage to a stop and glanced at Yun Zhu, who glanced back at her. After a moment, the two of them climbed down, carrying a small lantern, and walked toward him. As the distance closed, they could see the man, dressed in scholar’s robes, had broken off a willow branch and dangled it in the water, as if fishing, glancing occasionally toward the distant tower, humming some tune under his breath.
The night breeze carried the melody faintly across to them. Standing on the road, Yun Zhu could just make out the mumbled words. Since he was humming idly, the lyrics came out a little jumbled.
“The sound of splendor fades into the empty gate, tormenting the world; dreams turn cold, dang dang dang dang, debts of love still owed, several volumes more; as if you silently agreed, waiting through life and death, hm hm hm, another ring added to the years… The pagoda’s tiers crumble, breaking whose soul, pain rushing straight for a lone dying lamp, the collapsing mountain gate… As if you followed me, through a past life’s door, stained with worldly dust, following me… hm hm, for one whole life…”
As if sensing the mountain gate before him, he turned around, saw the carriage stopped in the distance, then turned further and saw the two women standing across the road, small lantern in hand. Ning Yi smiled. “I’m back.”
An indescribable warmth spread through her from within, and Yun Zhu began to laugh, though for a moment she couldn’t find the words to say. Jin’er, meanwhile, had gone still for a long moment, a shivering, tingling sensation rising up from the base of her spine, spreading through her entire body — for a long while afterward, she would find it hard to put a name to that feeling. But in that instant, finding it suddenly hard to breathe, the girl reached out, as if possessed, and grabbed Yun Zhu’s hand. With no one else around, she blurted out without thinking.
“I… Sister Yun Zhu… Sister Yun Zhu kissed me today!”
Well — having weighed two possible subjects for her sentence, this was what came out in the end. And a moment later, she startled even herself.