The relationship between Tan’er and Yun Zhu had always been fairly good, but the two had truly grown close during that stretch of time when Ning Yi was away from the capital, off at Mount Lüliang.
Both were relatively level-headed women, and ever since Yun Zhu had saved Ning Xi, the two of them had already been inclined to grow closer. Before leaving Bian Liang, Ning Yi had formally married both Yun Zhu and Jin’er into the household, and during that period, Yun Zhu had thrown herself happily into organizing a small gomoku tournament within Bamboo Records, while Tan’er handled the whole of Bamboo Records’ business in and around the capital—leaving the two of them more time together.
Even so, in a society still steeped in ideas of male superiority and female inferiority, shaped by a feudal background, with one as wife and one as concubine, both orbiting the same man, without much shared history between them, it would of course be too much to claim their bond was one of deep sincerity from the start. Most of their closeness could still be traced back to level-headed calculation. Still, it did at least give rise to many opportunities for them to come to understand one another.
Once summer arrived, the capital’s weather turned hot, and the two women would often sit together at home, working out the many details of the gomoku tournament. Such scenes often played out in the courtyard where Yun Zhu lived—on scorching noons under the blazing sun, or on rainy afternoons with pouring rain outside, the two would sit on the cool bed in the room, eating chilled fruit and snacks, chatting idly.
At first, it was naturally about brainstorming plans for Yun Zhu’s affairs, sharing bits of amusing gossip and household small talk. But as time went on, Yun Zhu came to see the burdens Tan’er carried on her shoulders. Though Tan’er had always presented herself as fully capable of managing everything around her, rarely admitting exhaustion in front of others, all manner of pressures had nonetheless wrapped themselves around this woman, only twenty-two years old, like a web—wearing down her spirit and strength even as they drove her ever forward.
In a later age, twenty-two would be nothing more than the awkward age at which a woman had just graduated from school and stepped into the workforce. Even in this era, where people held somewhat earlier notions of adulthood, twenty-two was still, given all that weighed on her, far too young a number.
Career, family, children—the responsibilities and obligations bound up in Su Tan’er were complex enough on their own, and it was only in certain quiet moments spent together that Yun Zhu could catch glimpses of them. This woman, slightly younger than herself, worried over the affairs her husband had left in her hands, over disciplining the children, and, amid all her busyness, over her relationships with Yun Zhu herself and even with Jin’er—behind what looked like casual ease, there was, perhaps, also a conscious awareness of her role as mistress of the household.
With her husband away, she had to look after what he’d left behind, raise the children well, and, moreover, actively make an effort to get along with the other women who shared the same man with her. What she strove for, perhaps, was not merely appearances, but a genuine desire, from the heart, to lessen the worries of the man far away—it wasn’t a matter that could be spelled out so neatly, but that was, without doubt, at least part of the reason.
Yun Zhu, from her days in the pleasure quarters, had always had a keen eye for such things. As a fellow woman, once she noticed this, she felt something of guilt and pity toward Tan’er. There wasn’t much she herself was capable of doing for Ning Yi, nor could she hold up a household—if there was anything she could do, it was simply to keep Tan’er company, chatting to ease her mind, and preparing some refreshments to help her relax. On sweltering summer afternoons, Yun Zhu would sit with her, talking softly, playing a gentle tune, and sometimes, in the midst of their conversation, Tan’er would fall asleep in that atmosphere, and upon waking would find herself in the most peaceful moment of the afternoon.
If their initial exchanges with Yun Zhu had been born partly out of “necessity,” then after spending time together, it gradually became a matter of mutual recognition and genuine warmth. Tan’er certainly had ability, but as time passed, she also came to sense Yun Zhu’s concern for her, and the deeper reasons behind that concern. In a sense, coming as she did from a merchant family, Tan’er found herself genuinely drawn to many of the qualities and talents Yun Zhu possessed.
But the greatest foundation for the closeness between the two of them could only be described as a shared devotion to, and cherishing of, this family. Xiao Chan’s closeness with Tan’er stemmed from a lifelong bond of mistress and servant that had grown into sisterly affection; her feelings toward Ning Yi belonged to an entirely different matter. Jin’er, for her part, simply felt a sense of recognition and belonging toward both Yun Zhu and Ning Yi. But Tan’er and Yun Zhu, over the course of a few months, had swiftly become close friends—precisely because of their shared devotion to this family.
Even Ning Yi, upon his return, found this development a little unexpected. Yun Zhu would tell him about the burdens Tan’er carried, and Tan’er would occasionally speak to him with admiration about Yun Zhu’s many talents, her elegant and serene bearing. The two women would sometimes sleep together—if Ning Yi himself had proposed such an improper arrangement, he would most likely have been refused, but once the two of them had already taken to sleeping together, he could at least go join them for the fun of it, the three of them lying together, chatting softly, drifting quietly off to sleep.
Over the course of nearly half a year, Jin’er and Tan’er had, for the most part, reached a kind of reconciliation, though they still couldn’t be called close. Jin’er’s relationship with Yun Zhu and Xiao Chan was fine, but Ning Yi did feel he owed her something. Right after their wedding and wedding night, Ning Yi had set off for Mount Lüliang, and whatever the reasons behind it, Jin’er’s mood had grown somewhat downcast over that half a year.
For this reason, upon returning, Ning Yi’s first order of business was to seek her out and spend time with her. When the two of them were alone together, the woman who was normally so lively and cheerful simply stared at him, tears streaming down, utterly unable to stop. Whether Ning Yi held her and apologized, or spoke softly to her, it only seemed to make things worse. Jin’er only cried in his arms, occasionally managing to say, “I don’t want to cry… I—I’m happy…”
This went on until night fell, and after Ning Yi undressed her, her lips still trembled with unspent sobs. In their second time together after nearly half a year apart, her body trembled as though she were a virgin once more, her hands clutching tightly at Ning Yi’s body, until at last both of them fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Over the following days, her mood gradually recovered, though it took nearly half a month before she returned to that carefree, lighthearted girl she’d once been.
As September arrived and the weather turned colder, toward the end of the month, the young Prince Zhou Junwu came up to the capital and had a long talk with Ning Yi, covering everything from the scale of the “Investigation of Things” faction he’d established in Jiangning, to its current state; he also toured the results of Ning Yi’s own work here. The astonishment in the heart of this sixteen-year-old needs no elaboration—during that first stretch of time, he all but forgot he was supposed to be going around meeting prospective matches, staying holed up in the Bamboo Records compound outside the city, refusing to come out. Only after he’d meticulously recorded a great many things and finished discussing them thoroughly with Ning Yi did he finally agree to go meet young women from prominent families, or attend various social obligations.
That the young prince, once so simple and well-behaved, now regarded matters between men and women with such utter nonchalance rather took Ning Yi by surprise. But what surprised him most of all was what Jun Wu later told him regarding the state of affairs between his sister and brother-in-law—something that Zhou Pei herself had never mentioned in any of the letters she’d sent him.
Ning Yi still faintly remembered the deep bow Zhou Pei had given him when they parted before she left the capital. Whether or not a woman found happiness in this age was, in the end, purely a matter of chance. When he had first met this brother and sister, Zhou Pei had been nothing more than a girl of thirteen or fourteen; now, here she was, already facing the question of whether her marriage was a happy one. Thinking of it this way left him with a certain wistful sorrow, but this was the kind of problem that even he had no way to solve—all he could do was sigh. To lament the tragedies of the old society would be too affected a sentiment, but all the same, his feelings on the matter were somewhat complicated.
In October, Xiao Chan became pregnant, and the weather began turning toward winter. The family often huddled together in rooms warmed with fox fur and blankets, chatting and playing games, while Ning Xi, undaunted by the cold, often ran around outside. Whenever people like Wenren Buer came by, they’d often remark that Ning Yi lived in such excess and comfort that he was already thinking of hibernating before the first snow had even fallen.
The Chancellor’s work in the north was proceeding steadily as time went on—winning over genuinely useful members of the mountain strongholds, and making sure that every bit of military supplies sent out was put to the best possible use. There was constant wrangling and mutual sniping with people like Tan Zhen at court; sometimes for every two steps forward, one step had to be taken back. On the surface, everything seemed to move slowly, yet changes were happening with extraordinary speed—in certain respects, even Ning Yi and the others weren’t entirely sure whether the overall situation was improving or worsening.
Tendrils reached beyond Yanmen Pass, and every faction at court was doing its utmost to win over Guo Yaoshi; the Chancellor’s residence had no choice but to get involved as well, extending frequent overtures of goodwill. As for the Jin state, court envoys and representatives of the great merchant houses were all working to promote trade between the two sides, hoping to turn such exchanges into a normal, mutually beneficial arrangement—though heavy snow had already begun falling in the north.
Beyond the court and the state, in the martial world: because of Sikong Nan’s death, Lin Echan, Wang Nantuo, and the others were enraged, and the Great Radiance Sect surged south with everything it had, hunting down Chen Fan and his wife. Meanwhile, the Miao stronghold that housed the Overlord Blade had seized the opportunity to build up its influence, linking up with various figures from the wilderness with whom it had once had dealings. By this point, the entire southern wilderness had already erupted into a tangled, crisscrossing conflict, and with the involvement of the Six Doors as well, it had become a genuinely bloody affair. But since the court’s attention had already shifted north, no large-scale forces would be committed to the wilderness in the near term, and with the blow Sikong Nan’s death had dealt to the Great Radiance Sect, the Overlord Blade faction, operating from the shadows in this southern conflict, was by no means at a disadvantage—so there was no need for Ning Yi to rush to get involved.
When Ning Yi went out occasionally, he would sometimes invite people to discuss business at the Alum Tower, and at other times, Shishi would come calling. For Shishi, the matter of her future marriage had become an increasingly pressing concern, but Ning Yi also knew that lately, whenever she had free time, she would often go outside the city to hand out porridge and steamed buns to beggars there—and once, having nearly been attacked doing so, she still showed no sign of tiring of it.
In the past, Shishi had often done charitable deeds as well, which was why most people said she had a Buddha-like nature, speaking highly of her compassion. But now that her charitable impulses had grown so much more intense, one could only conclude she was trying to escape from something. Ning Yi had nothing to say about it—not marrying no longer seemed like an option for her, but even if she did marry, it would be hard to avoid ending up as unhappy as little Pei had. It was none of his business either way, so he didn’t say much on the matter; after all, this kind of thing could go wrong no matter what one said.
And in her dealings with Ning Yi, the thing that puzzled Shishi most, in truth, was: what exactly he’d been doing with himself lately. She’d asked outright a couple of times, but Ning Yi likewise found himself unable to explain. How was he supposed to put it? That the Jin might eventually invade? That to guard against that possibility, he’d sent out a great many storytellers? However he tried to phrase it, it would sound thoroughly strange.
Time passed in this kind of atmosphere, and snow began falling over Bian Liang. Cheng Zhouhai returned once for a visit to the Chancellor’s residence, while the Qin brothers, Wang Shanyue, Li Pin, and the others Ning Yi knew well mostly stayed at their own posts, busy with their own affairs. At the end of the twelfth year of the Jinghan era, it was a fairly quiet winter, and within the Ning household, only its warmth was worth remarking on—though occasionally, during trips outside the city to hand out porridge, among the crowds of beggars gathered there, large numbers were also freezing and starving to death.
Heavy snow sealed off the mountains.
Along the ragged roads, only in a few spots around the cities did carts and horses brave the wind and snow to pass through. Within the cities, the pleasure houses and courtesan halls remained warm as ever, and there were still passersby on the streets; in the few shops that stayed open, there was often a steaming great pot, drawing in passing customers. In the inns, travelers who had run out of money for their journey scuffled or argued with the innkeepers. Every few days, scholars would gather for poetry meetings, where refined courtesans sang soft, delicate verses, the atmosphere warm and fragrant. Vegetable vendors rubbed their hands together in the morning markets, breathing out warm mist, while charcoal sellers trudged past the city gates at dawn.
On the surface, it still seemed like a winter no different from any other year, and in the blink of an eye, it would be over…