Spring gave way to the start of summer; as April’s weather warmed further, the countryside outside Jiangning entered its busy farming season. To stand amid it all was to feel the whole world brimming with vitality — for people of this age, summer and autumn were probably the easiest seasons to get through, free of spring’s damp softness, free of winter’s cold, the sun strong, the clouds like cotton, everything so bright it lifted the spirits.
The Su household was busy too — the first batch of spring silk had already come out, this being the heaviest shipment of the year, and the Su family’s small workshops scattered across various locales were already running at full tilt. Even though ordinary people had no particular preferences, matters like stocking new goods and moving out the old still had to be seen to. Su Tan’er carried on with the busyness that had begun with the start of spring, often working late into the night; every so often, when she felt a little freer, she’d glance across and see Ning Yi upstairs on the second floor opposite, and would quietly go over to chat, nibble on some fruit or snacks — things she otherwise never ate. Sometimes, when she wanted to talk and found Ning Yi not there, a faint sense of disappointment would settle over her.
Since the New Year had passed, she’d noticed a few things. Some nights, mulling over the next steps based on reports coming in from various locales, or sorting through account books, dealing with issues reported from different places, she’d stay busy until quite late — Xing’er would come in to pour her a fresh cup of tea, Chan’er and Juan’er would play a round of gomoku outside, sometimes dozing off. But no matter how late it got, her own bedroom and sitting room stayed lit — and across the way, in the little building, one particular window always stayed lit too, where Liheng would be reading or writing. Only once things wound down on her side, once Xiao Chan went off to sleep too, would that light across the way quietly go dark.
At first she’d assumed it was coincidence. Later, taking special note, she confirmed it — a few nights, once she’d finished her work, she deliberately stayed up later than usual before blowing out her own lamp, and not long after, his silhouette would appear at the window opposite, extinguishing his oil lamp too.
She never mentioned this discovery, nor did she dwell on why he might be doing it — some things simply didn’t need to be spoken of or asked about. From then on, whenever she was about to turn in, she’d make a habit of glancing across, and only once she saw that light across the way go dark in the darkness would she finally climb into bed. It made her feel warm inside.
To Ning Yi, it was perhaps nothing more than an idle habit. He had no intention now of getting entangled in troublesome affairs, no great ambitions to speak of — aside, of course, from becoming the greatest martial artist in the realm — but given his nature, living as they did under the same roof, watching a girl who carried something of his own former self work late into the night while he himself slept whenever he pleased left him feeling, in the end, a little helpless about it. Waiting until the light across the way went out before turning in himself was really only something he did for his own peace of mind; as for whatever Su Tan’er made of it, that was her own business, and he had no intention of trying to talk her out of anything.
With summer’s arrival, Old Qin had already begun setting up his chess stall again, playing against this person and that — most of them older than Ning Yi, whose current body was only twenty-one this year. A few of them had some name for themselves, though of course most were simply ordinary chess enthusiasts without much reputation. Ning Yi had already gotten to know several of them last year; this year, when people came up asking whether he was that talented scholar who’d written the Water Tune Prelude and Green Jade Cup, Ning Yi would simply smile and nod.
His relationship with Li Pin had grown noticeably closer. At noon after class they’d occasionally go get a bite to eat together at a restaurant — mainly because, when it came to the preserved-egg affair, Ning Yi still felt he owed the man a favor, even though the Gu Yanzhen business had followed afterward, through no fault of Li Pin’s own.
Li Pin had an excellent sense of proportion, and over these past months Ning Yi had come to understand the man’s character and history fairly well. A few years back Li Pin had gone up to the capital for the imperial examinations and passed as a jinshi scholar, but his policy essay had been too radical and offended a senior official in the Ministry of Personnel, so he never received an actual appointment and returned to Jiangning instead. Outwardly modest and mild-mannered, he’d probably have counted, a thousand years later, as something of an idealistic young firebrand — he never said as much in casual talk, but when the subject turned to real scholarship, certain convictions of his were impossible to hide, plain for anyone to see.
In short, this fellow came from a well-off family, was well versed in Confucian learning and mathematics, had some skill in archery and charioteering too — mastery of all six gentlemanly arts, which by the standards of this era was already quite impressive. He conducted himself with proper manners in dealing with others. But because he thought too much, he despised pedantic, hollow scholars on principle, favored people who got things done without straying from the true path, and wanted, in the grand old phrase, to establish the mind for Heaven and Earth, secure a livelihood for the people, carry forward lost teachings for past sages, and bring lasting peace for all generations to come — only to find his path suddenly blocked. An ordinary Confucian scholar who’d offended a high official and lost his chance at advancement might well have spent the rest of his life in gloom over it; he too had gone through a period of real distress, but had since picked himself back up, turning his mind to Confucian learning, to the Wu Dynasty, to the road ahead — someone who knew how to pick things up and how to set them down. He was still young, after all.
Give it a few more decades, and he might well turn into another Qin Siyuan. Ning Yi had a taste for clever people and no interest in mixing idly with the general crowd of scholars and talents, but with Li Pin, at least, there was real conversation to be had. Of course, in matters of friendship, one should be wary of speaking too deeply on too shallow an acquaintance, and Li Pin, too, kept a proper sense of distance — for now the two of them counted as reasonably good colleagues at the academy; calling them close friends or true confidants was still a stretch.
Of course, as it happened, the two of them were currently the only somewhat younger teachers at Yushan Academy, and because Li Pin had come to teach there, even without much active promotion, the academy had taken on more than a dozen additional students in the first half of this year… but that’s beside the point.
Time passed steadily on, and Ning Yi’s stay in Jiangning had now reached a full year. Looking back on it, not all that much had actually happened in that year — he’d casually plagiarized two lyrics, gained some renown from it, gotten to know a few people, grown familiar with them, and settled, more or less, into this era. His days remained just as unhurried as ever. Occasionally he’d hear talk of friction between the Jin and Liao states to the north, occasionally hear merchants and armed escorts mention unrest on roads elsewhere, bandits holding mountain strongholds here and there, word of a few larger groups the court was now moving to suppress. Talk of rebellion didn’t circulate very widely, and here in prosperous Jiangning, it all felt somewhat unreal.
By the end of April, with the rice seedlings all transplanted, a festive mood had quietly begun rising both within and outside the city of Jiangning — not quite like New Year’s, mainly because the Dragon Boat Festival was approaching. Besides the dragon boat race on the Qinhuai on the fifth of May, there was also a grand six-day celebration set to run alongside the festival. The pleasure quarters across Jiangning would use this stretch of time to hold a competition of their own, deciding rankings and choosing a Reigning Beauty.
…
If Jiangning’s yearly festival poetry gatherings — Mid-Autumn, the Lantern Festival — belonged largely to the revelry of talented scholars, then this early-May contest for Reigning Beauty belonged to the grand celebration of its beauties. Of course, most proper young ladies of good family, or the truly “accomplished beauties” who were already married, tended not to be especially pleased about these few days — perhaps something worth reflecting on. But there was no need for judgment either; in this era, such was simply the prevailing custom — stories touching on the world of the pleasure quarters were, more often than not, regarded merely as elegant rather than sordid.
Being one of the most refined events of the year, much like the revelry of Mid-Autumn and the Lantern Festival, this celebration too had official backing behind the scenes. Since poetic talent admitted no strict ranking, the rivalry among scholars carried little real hostility, more a matter of free, subjective judgment where “no one is truly first in letters” — so the authorities needed only to maintain basic order. But this contest, with its genuine competitive stakes — determining the Four Ranking Beauties, and from among them, the Reigning Beauty — required as impartial a judge as possible, and this relatively neutral role fell, in practice, to the government, in order to prevent cheating and endless disputes.
The rules of the whole contest were, in fact, fairly simple when it came down to it — a Reigning Beauty, after all, was still there to earn money, so it came down to who could draw in the most patrons willing to spend. But looked at more closely, there was a more intricate side to it too. Over the six days, the pleasure houses of Jiangning threw their doors wide open to guests, waiving all manner of drink fees, or having their own girls perform on prepared terraces; anyone who took a liking to one could buy flowers and send them up — these flowers serving as proof of popularity. Throughout, there was no shortage of promotional tricks — how to stir up the mood of the audience below, how to build up the fervor of the beauty-selection atmosphere, how to weave in a touch of refinement to raise the girls’ standing, such as having favored scholars write poems in their praise… in short, it all came down to the skill of each individual establishment.
Along Jiangning’s ten miles of Qinhuai River, there were somewhere between sixty and seventy pleasure houses of various sizes within the city. The first three days were really just the opening act, meant to build the mood. During this stretch, every house would coordinate, without needing to say so, on continuous promotion, though the ones performing hardest on the stages tended to be the women without much of a name to begin with. Some offered only performance, some offered both performance and their bodies; with or without an existing following, they could generally build up a fair amount of popularity through these few days of performance.
Whichever patrons had supported her these few days, she’d remember them; men who felt they had neither much literary flair nor much money knew they had no chance of catching the eye of the more famous women, and so naturally gravitated toward these lesser-known ones instead — the Su family cousins being a case in point. Though they liked to think of themselves as men of romantic, literary flair, forever murmuring the names of famous beauties, their actual sweethearts in the pleasure quarters were, naturally, women of rather lesser renown. These past days, they’d been rather diligent about wheedling money out of Su Tan’er — largely, no doubt, so they could come these few days to cheer on and show face for the women they favored.
It was only in the final three days that the real spectacle would begin. The daytime remained much the same as the first three days, but at night, a grand gathering would be held near Egret Islet, attended by the prefect and a great many local notables, all joining in this refined celebration together. Based on the results of the first three days, each pleasure house would generally have one or two slots; on the night of the third, over a hundred women would perform there, from which sixteen would be chosen. On the night of the fourth, four Ranking Beauties would be selected from among those sixteen. And on the night of the fifth, the Reigning Beauty would finally be crowned — these three nights drawing mostly wealthy attendees, and it was on their support that the Reigning Beauty would ultimately be decided.
“…This business of choosing the Reigning Beauty is handled by the Jiangning government every year — even the flower bouquets themselves are all prepared by the authorities. This so-called ‘sending flowers’ is really just for show — a few years back someone even claimed to have sent ten thousand blooms at once, ha, as if anyone actually delivers ten thousand flowers to a single person… Still, it’s a rather clever arrangement — the pleasure houses alone could never pull off something on this scale. Only through the government does it become this grand a spectacle. The silver spent on flowers is taxed twenty percent by the authorities, on top of the usual monthly levies still being collected as normal — that twenty percent comes essentially free, and it adds up to no small sum each year…”
Along the Qinhuai riverside, at midday, Ning Yi and Li Pin were coming down from a restaurant, Li Pin chatting away with a smile about the Reigning Beauty contest that had everyone talking these days. Today was the thirtieth of April, and the first day of the contest had already begun; pleasure houses across Jiangning had gone all out, the sound of strings and flutes drifting from a distance, a painted pleasure barge slowly making its way along the river, colorful silks fluttering. A small boat poled its way along the riverbank, and aboard it, besides the boatman, sat a beautifully dressed woman, who suddenly waved and called out, “Master Li! Master Li…” — she’d recognized Li Pin.
“It’s hot at midday — if the two gentlemen have nothing pressing, would you care to come aboard for a cup of tea, rest a while?”
Ning Yi glanced at Li Pin, a little puzzled, but Li Pin, seeing his expression, only smiled, cupped his hands toward the woman on the boat, and declined. She said a few more words, then finally didn’t press the matter further. Once they’d walked on a little further, Ning Yi laughed. “Ha, Brother Li certainly keeps a wide circle of acquaintances.”
“Been there once before, so she remembered.” Li Pin’s smile carried a touch of pride. “If Liheng had felt like it just now, we could have gone up and sat a while — they’d have welcomed us respectfully, no need to spend a coin. If we’d written a poem praising one of the girls, they’d even offer payment for the piece. For a scholar with enough name recognition, the girls offer themselves up quite willingly too…”
“With Brother Li’s reputation, I imagine plenty have offered themselves, haven’t they?”
“There have been, indeed. But if Liheng were willing to give his name, walking right in would be simple enough — heh heh, I doubt there are many women who could refuse you. Since the Lantern Festival, I’ve run into that Miss Qilan a few times myself — she thinks of Liheng constantly, you know. If Liheng were willing to write her a poem, I’d wager an intimate encounter wouldn’t be out of the question either, ha ha.”
In the past, Li Pin and Ning Yi hadn’t often discussed such things, but now that the topic had been opened, they went on chatting and laughing about it. A talented scholar’s verse gained fame through beautiful women, just as those women depended on the backing of talented scholars — every year’s Reigning Beauty contest was naturally no exception, full of poems written in their honor. With someone of Li Pin’s standing, a poem of praise for any given woman could instantly raise her status. Last year’s Four Ranking Beauties had been Qilan, Lu Caicai, Yuan Jin’er, and the eventual Reigning Beauty, Feng Xiaojing — word had it Li Pin had stood on Feng Xiaojing’s side, one of the talented scholars cheering her on.
“Come to think of it, it was really more a matter of pride at stake,” Li Pin said, shaking his head with a smile. “The year before last and last year’s Lantern Festival, the Zhishui and Lichuan poetry circles were neck and neck, and things got a bit heated between the two sides. Cao Guan really stole the show that time, becoming the leading talent of the Zhishui circle — he wrote two lyrics for Yuan Jin’er, and the rest of the Zhishui crowd threw their weight behind her too, so… heh heh, the Lichuan side picked Feng Xiaojing in response. The Wu family had actually been backing Qilan, who was truly the strongest contender at the time, but being merchants, they wanted to keep a low profile and didn’t throw money around, and in the end, Xiaojing somehow came out on top. It really was rather strange… This year won’t likely play out the same way, mainly because Liheng came out of nowhere, and now everyone feels a bit deflated, probably without much appetite for that kind of rivalry. Though who knows — if Liheng happens to have someone he fancies, ha ha, everyone might just gang up against you…”
Ning Yi didn’t usually frequent the pleasure quarters and kept his social engagements light, which Li Pin knew perfectly well; having said his piece, he laughed. “Does Liheng have any plans for these next few days?”
“Thinking of going to Egret Islet on the night of the third to watch the performances.”
“Will your wife allow it? You’d better plan carefully, then…” Li Pin said mischievously. In truth, teaching now at Yushan Academy, he essentially counted as something of a guest scholar attached to the Su household — the Su family had invited him to dinner a few times, and he’d met Old Master Su and Su Tan’er both, with Su Tan’er occasionally stopping by the academy herself, so he knew well enough that she was no shrew of a wife. It was only that, at times, a woman was still a woman, and what he meant by “planning carefully” was really about which beauty’s banquet to attend afterward — customarily, whichever woman you’d supported would hold a celebration that evening, coming out to offer thanks and give an extra performance, at which the assembled scholars, well satisfied, would produce more poems, spreading her fame — and their own along with it.
Hearing all this from Li Pin, Ning Yi only laughed and shook his head. “I’m going with Tan’er.”
Li Pin blinked, then caught himself. “Ah, of course — the performances these few days, everyone will be pulling out all the stops. Just watching alone would be quite something.”
This could be considered the finest display of talent Jiangning had to offer all year. A few days earlier, chatting with Su Tan’er by the second-floor railing, Ning Yi had heard her say she’d clear time to go watch it with him — she knew perfectly well, after all, that he enjoyed this kind of lively spectacle too. Li Pin felt a bit of a shame about it — he had a wife and concubines at home, but had no intention of bringing them along, mainly because the banquets afterward weren’t really just about getting close to a beauty — making connections, broadening his social circle, building up his own reputation, that was his main purpose.
The two of them walked on a while, then parted ways at a crossroads, each heading in a different direction. Ning Yi had nothing pressing, so he headed straight home; Su Tan’er and a few of the maids had already returned, with Chan’er and Juan’er chattering away about the performances and gossip they’d seen and heard on the road, full of anticipation for the spectacle of the third, fourth, and fifth. But toward evening, a letter arrived, and shortly after two managers hurried into the estate, spending a long while discussing something with Su Tan’er in the neighboring courtyard. By dinnertime, Su Tan’er finally said, somewhat apologetically, that she wouldn’t be able to go watch the performances after all.
“Something urgent’s come up all of a sudden, I’m afraid I won’t be able to go with you, husband. You go with Xiao Chan.” Not long after, she added, lowering her voice as though speaking privately upstairs: “Wenddig and Wenfang and the rest have a hundred taels or so between them — I’ll give Xiao Chan my private savings. If husband sees a girl performing well, feel free to buy flowers and send them up — send enough and there’ll be a thank-you banquet to attend afterward too… just don’t go telling anyone I’m stingy once you’ve won some girl’s favor, husband.”
“Cunning merchant…” Catching on to her little scheme, Ning Yi sighed and laughed.
Su Tan’er wrinkled her nose with a smile. “Hmph!”
She’d put on a confident face in front of Ning Yi, but some things she couldn’t help mulling over regardless. On this last evening of April, back in her own room, Su Tan’er felt a touch of wistfulness after all; she looked across at the lit window opposite and sat quietly thinking for a while. With her girl’s figure and girl’s face still intact, she usually carried a distinct maturity to her thoughts, her brow furrowing with the poise and steadiness she’d cultivated over several years. But this time was different — though she was thinking, considering, her expression carried none of that usual weight, only the look of a girl mulling over girlish worries, sitting at her table now and then, chin in hand, idly flipping through a book’s pages, the lamplight catching nothing more than a young woman’s ordinary troubles.
She called Xiao Chan in afterward, and as usual, told her with a smile about going to watch the performances on the third, and set aside some silver notes for her. Juan’er and Xing’er, unable to go watch the performances, looked rather dejected — though of course glad she herself could go — and after struggling with herself for a good while, she finally spoke up. “Miss, let me… let Juan’er go with the young master instead. Xing’er and I will go with you, Miss, to handle the workshop matters… Juan’er’s wanted to see this for so long.”
“Once we finish up on the fourth, we can all go together on the fifth,” Su Tan’er said with a smile, then reached out to gently touch Chan’er’s cheek, studying the girl’s pretty face for a moment before turning back toward the window facing the courtyard. After thinking it over a while longer, she drew a deep breath and made up her mind about something.
“Xiao Chan, you like the young master, don’t you?”
There was no answer from the other side; Xiao Chan’s body froze on the spot, her eyes darting about in a flustered, endearing way, her whole face flushing red. For a moment, her entire frame seemed to shrink a size smaller…