On the fourth day of the fifth month, the day before the Dragon Boat Festival, the streets and alleys of Bianliang were already filled with the scent of rice dumplings. Every household had hung up calamus and mugwort; even the city gates were draped in them. Amid the crowds coming and going, a festive atmosphere of the approaching holiday filled the air.
The carriage rolled out through the city gate, heading toward the bank of the Yellow River.
Cotton-white clouds drifted across the sky. Once outside Bianliang, the land stretched flat and open as far as the eye could see. Trees lined the official road, with the occasional village, field, chickens, dogs, and pedestrians; tributary streams wound past the villages. After traveling a while, the carriage arrived at its destination — an estate nestled among green trees, built along a nearby river, with several other manors of various sizes nearby. Clearly, these were all vacation properties belonging to wealthy families.
Ning Yi had come out from Bianliang today to keep the appointment Li Shishi had proposed earlier. With the Dragon Boat Festival approaching, this reigning beauty of the capital had hardly had an idle day herself. She had previously traveled out to visit friends and teachers, and on her way back had followed the birthday-gift convoy north, which had delayed her schedule. With a major occasion like the Dragon Boat Festival coming up, aside from a few guests she couldn’t turn away, she had spent most of her recent days rehearsing the performance she needed to give for the festival. This estate belonged to Fan Tower; today was the last day of rehearsal, so she had told Madam Li Yun that she wanted to find some peace and quiet to train here, and had taken the opportunity to invite a few friends over for a private gathering.
Since the people meeting up today were, after all, women, and since Xiao Chan was no longer his maid, Ning Yi hadn’t brought anyone else along this time — only Dongzhu, the manservant who had accompanied him north, drove the carriage, while he went alone. After giving his name, a maid led him in. Before reaching the inner courtyard, he already heard the sound of strings and flutes, and a woman singing a ci poem.
“…Sparse plum rains fall in scattered drops, once more we meet the Double Fifth in a foreign land. Rice dumplings wrapped in gold, calamus floating like jade, the customs of Jing-Chu remain unchanged…”
“The young lady is practicing a new ci poem that Master Zhou Bangyan just wrote.”
The maid explained as she led the way, evidently aware of the impact Zhou Bangyan’s poetry had on ordinary scholars.
Turning past a small gate ahead, they arrived at a hall open on all four sides, hung with curtains, pleasantly cool. Miss Shishi was dancing there in a flowing skirt, her long sleeves trailing, singing the newly written poem to the accompaniment of a group of musicians. The best seats in the hall, offering the finest view, were already occupied by two men — one was Yu Hezhong, and the other, also in his early twenties, appeared somewhat more composed than Yu Hezhong. Just as Ning Yi entered, Shishi happened to turn her head, and her eyes lit up with a smile toward him — a clear, bright smile carrying the joy of reuniting with an old friend, nothing at all like the seductive allure attributed to the capital’s reigning beauty in rumor. Even Ning Yi couldn’t help but be affected by it.
In terms of sheer effect, that smile was even more captivating than any expression Yun Zhu or Jin’er ever showed to others. Perhaps for Yun Zhu and Jin’er, that early life had been a struggle to stay afloat in turbulent waters, striving to find direction, while for her, it might simply be effortless grace, dancing on ripples with ease.
Smiling to acknowledge Ning Yi, Shishi didn’t stop; she continued singing the new ci poem said to be written by Zhou Bangyan, moving slowly through her dance. She danced neither quickly nor showily, but every gesture carried an air that delighted the eye — elegant, dignified. Ning Yi walked around, nodded to Yu Hezhong and the other man, and sat down, listening to the song.
“…Robes cut with tiger charms of mugwort. Hairpins shaped like ducks, red talismans, red thread wound round the arm. Powder scented, silk fan waved against the noonday breeze in a small window. The exiled soul of the Xiang River has long since departed, I urge you, stop pouring wine, and dwell not on melancholy remembrance of the past…”
“…Softly the oriole’s throat trills, lightly the ivory clapper taps, surpassing even a recitation of the Li Sao’s verses. The lotus fragrance drifts, gradually drawing one into a deep, hazy drunken realm. Lying and listening to the riverside, painted boats echo with layered drumbeats…”
Ning Yi had listened to Yun Zhu sing for so long now that, while he still couldn’t call himself a connoisseur of poetry and song, he had at least gotten his foot in the door. If it came to it, Yun Zhu’s musical skill had returned to simplicity itself — especially when she sang for Ning Yi and Jin’er, rarely embellishing, letting the pure sound alone draw the listener in, as if washing the spirit clean, as though the whole body, head to toe, were being wrapped and massaged by that gentle voice. And even when Ning Yi occasionally played some mischievous modern song for her, she always managed to find the feeling he wanted — cheerful, sorrowful, or wistfully lingering, whatever the case might be.
In that sense, though the skill of Li Shishi’s musicians, and the singing she displayed while dancing, were both impressive, they still fell a notch short of Yun Zhu. But what appeared in her was not a single, extreme purity — the girl’s singing, her expression, every movement of her dance, all seemed to form a perfect suggestion, blending together into a single tableau.
Though the dance was unhurried, in her singing she seemed to embody countless different scenes almost single-handedly — the festivity of the Dragon Boat Festival season, the quiet of falling rain, a young maiden, a married woman, a woman secluded in her chamber gently waving a round fan, a gentleman drinking wine, a scholar reading. These impressions flowed through her eyes, her body, her singing voice, vivid one moment and then blurring the next, dissolving into the complexity of the human world.
The ci poem itself had been written by Zhou Bangyan. For a Dragon Boat Festival poem written at this time, one either described the customs and scenery of the season, or wrote about Qu Yuan, lamenting the passage of time. Zhou Bangyan’s poem touched on both, yet never fell into cliché — his style was inherently delicate and understated, and this was his usual strength: the upper stanza describing the festival scene, written in a rich, flourishing style; the lower stanza turning to remembrance of the past and the Li Sao, but in the latter part of the lower stanza, at “gradually drawing one into a deep, hazy drunken realm,” all things blurred into a distant view, fading everything described, leaving only the complexity of the world behind.
As Li Shishi sang to this point, her voice and the music gradually softened, ending at “Lying and listening to the riverside, painted boats echo with layered drumbeats,” her voice fading almost to inaudibility, her movements gradually coming to a stop. Yet, oddly enough, the surrounding sounds seemed amplified because of it — the rustle of wind, the light stirring of leaves — the entire hall seeming to become more vivid. In that hall, the woman had perfectly extended her suggestion out into the whole world.
She lowered her hands and stood there motionless, closing her eyes, letting the breeze stir her hair. After a moment, she suddenly opened her eyes, her mouth opening wide as if to shout “Ah—” though no sound came out. She bowed to the musicians beside her before walking over, her manner casual: “How was it? How was it?”
“Good.”
All three men clapped honestly, and Li Shishi laughed. “Actually, it’s already mostly rehearsed — I just came here to slack off. I wonder if Mama will scold me…” She then introduced the three of them — besides Yu Hezhong and Ning Yi, the other man was Chen Sifeng, whom she had mentioned so many times before.
Encountering childhood friends in the capital, honestly speaking, none of the three men present had much enthusiasm for this kind of scene. If they had truly played together as close childhood friends, that would be one thing, but in reality, they had merely lived on the same street, not particularly close. Perhaps the only one who genuinely cared about this reunion was Li Shishi herself, but since there was no bad blood between them either, and they had all gathered here anyway, getting to know each other wasn’t a problem.
In the time that followed, the group chatted casually, guided along by Li Shishi. Though both Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng likely had some fondness for her, neither made much of a deliberate effort to treat Ning Yi or each other in any particular way at this point — it was, after all, just a gathering of friends. Yu Hezhong had met Ning Yi before, and Chen Sifeng had heard Li Shishi mention him several times, knowing of his status as a matrilocal son-in-law, and that he might have talent but could no longer sit for the imperial examinations. In the time that followed, though there was the occasional mention of family matters, most of the conversation turned to Zhou Bangyan’s new poem, the current grand gatherings of the capital, Shishi’s performance, and the like — all pleasant and harmonious.
Since Ning Yi had never been to the capital before, he naturally had no clear idea of just how much Li Shishi was adored in the capital. Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng explained at length, with Shishi occasionally laughing or adding details, responding sincerely and skillfully. For her, being able to spend time so easily with a few people she considered “childhood friends” was, perhaps, a kind of relaxation.
Afterward, the four of them made their way to the riverside part of the estate — a tributary near the Yellow River, its waters reasonably clear. On this side of the estate, there was a pavilion built out over the riverbank; clouds covered the sun overhead, keeping the pavilion pleasantly cool. Shishi had the servants bring out wine and pastries, and while they nibbled and chatted, there was a small painted pleasure boat by the riverside — the group agreed to row out onto the river later for fun.
Never forgetting his business, Ning Yi took the opportunity to probe the others’ views on why restaurants and brothels were profitable. Before long, Shishi called the musicians over again, rehearsing once more on the grass by the pavilion — essentially performing for the three of them. By now, they’d all grown somewhat familiar with one another, and while chatting, they wandered around the grounds. Ning Yi noticed a nearby embroidery-tower room hung with many paper flowers folded into four petals, seemingly with writing on them, and asked what they were.
In this era, paper was, after all, still a fairly precious commodity — especially the paper folded into flowers, which looked quite beautiful and was much sturdier than ordinary paper. In another life this would have been nothing special, but here, each sheet probably went through considerable processing to achieve such an effect. Hearing his question, Shishi explained with a smile that this paper was indeed rather expensive, but sold in many places around the city, especially in brothels. Many scholars and talented young men would buy it to write their own poems on, then fold it into flowers to give to women they admired. Though most of it ended up in the hands of courtesans, quite a few marriages had come of it as a result — so the paper was also called “marriage-fate paper.”
“Actually, marriage-fate is often just like paper, isn’t it…”
Speaking of this, Shishi sighed, then smiled again, telling Ning Yi some amusing anecdotes about romance between men and women in the brothel world. At this point Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng seemed to have some business elsewhere, or perhaps something to discuss between themselves, and stepped away for a while. As Li Shishi explained, Ning Yi furrowed his brow, thinking of something — recalling the trouble he was currently having with Yuan Jin’er, and thinking that because of Jin’er’s situation, Yun Zhu and Xiao Chan might well be feeling some emotions of their own too. Since girls liked receiving gifts, why not write them love letters and give them out for the Dragon Boat Festival? Xiao Chan loved poetry most of all, and while Yun Zhu’s temperament was calmer, she’d surely be pleased too.
With this thought, he asked Li Shishi how the flowers were made, and she grew curious. Ning Yi laid it all out — he could give flowers to the women at home. He was already married, with a wife, concubines, and children, and there was no need to hide this, so he told Li Shishi that it had been a long time since he’d given his family any gifts. Shishi’s expression softened with warmth, and she fetched paper to teach Ning Yi how to fold the flowers.
“But… when Elder Brother Ning writes a poem inside, could you let Shishi have a look?”
“Ah…” Ning Yi was briefly startled.
“Shishi promises not to perform it.” She raised a finger and solemnly made the vow. In truth, what surprised Ning Yi more was how small a request this was, and that not performing it wouldn’t mean much to her anyway. He smiled and nodded in agreement.
Just then, during this folding session, on that side of view — the neighboring estate next door — suddenly grew lively. Servants were bustling about, apparently preparing for some gathering. The lawn along the riverside connected the two properties, and Ning Yi looked over, asking, “What’s going on over there?”
Shishi glanced over, then went back to folding paper as if nothing were amiss. “Over there, that’s a viscount’s estate — it hasn’t been used in a long time. Might be some gathering… We’d better not get involved.”
It wasn’t clear why she’d mention getting involved at that moment, but at the very same time, a voice rang out from the courtyard next door: “Come on, everyone, don’t do this — I’ve checked, and it’s Miss Shishi who’s here today… I really can’t afford to get involved.”
“It’s just a courtesan, what’s there to be afraid of, and it’s not like we’re targeting Li Shishi specifically. We’re just borrowing your place — why are you being so fussy about it?”
“That’s not how it is, everyone… You’re clearly here looking for trouble, no need to be so jealous of her. If we offend Miss Shishi, how am I supposed to show my face at Fan Tower afterward, how am I supposed to keep mixing in Bianliang’s romantic circles? Come on, let’s talk this over properly…”
“What’s there to talk over? We’re just borrowing your place to hold a poetry gathering — we’re not doing anything, you’re overthinking this. We’re all scholars here; don’t be so petty.”
“What scholars — isn’t it just that Miss Shishi came back this time and saw others before seeing you all, and you’re saying it’s not aimed at her? This isn’t the first time either. You’re just jealous over a woman. Hey, did you even find out who’s staying next door before coming here? Don’t push too far and end up hitting a rock instead of a soft persimmon — this isn’t the first time this has happened, it’s not a good look, and doing it at my place, no less…”
Amid the viscount’s helpless wailing, his companions filed in one group after another, sweeping the courtyard, clearing the dust, arranging furnishings, beginning to set up the gathering venue with a great deal of banging and clattering…