Pursuit of Jade
Chapter 31
Fan Changyu finally endured that bout of smoke. She blinked, squeezing out the tears the smoke had brought to her eyes, and only then felt a little better. When she looked up and saw Xie Zheng staring at her with an unreadable expression, she patted the top of her head, “Do I have ashes in my hair?”
The wind was strong just then, and there really were quite a few flecks of ash from the spirit paper scattered across her hair and shoulders.
Xie Zheng withdrew his gaze, lowered his eyes, and nodded.
Fan Changyu gave her head a vigorous, haphazard pat, but instead of getting rid of the ash, she only spread it around, leaving a smudgy layer over herself.
Changning noticed and came running over on her little legs, puffing out her cheeks, “Ningniang will blow it off for you.”
Fan Changyu lowered her head and let her little sister blow the ash from the top of her hair. Unfortunately, Changning was still too small and did not have enough strength to blow it clean. She tugged at Xie Zheng’s sleeve, looked up, and said, “Jiefu, blow it off.”
Xie Zheng looked toward Fan Changyu.
She was half-crouching on the ground, letting her little sister help clear the ash from her hair. From where he stood, he happened to have a clear view of the pale nape of her neck and half of her lovely profile. As she spoke with her sister, there was still a faint, serene smile at the corners of her lips.
The moment Fan Changyu heard Changning ask Xie Zheng to help blow the ash from her hair, she lifted her head, “It’s already mostly off. Let’s go ba—”
The final word caught in her throat.
Xie Zheng raised a hand and gently brushed the smoke and ash from the top of her head, little by little. His touch was so light that his fingers barely skimmed her hair, yet the faint ticklish sensation caused by the movement of her strands still made Fan Changyu go slightly rigid for a moment.
The sensation was completely different from when she did it herself, but she could not quite say how.
After plucking away the last trace of ash from her hair, Xie Zheng withdrew his hand, “There. All done.”
Fan Changyu met his dark, unreadable eyes and managed a stiff, “Thank you.”
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
By the time they returned home from Jizu, it was nearly noon. Fan Changyu stewed a pig’s trotter, sliced up a plate of cured sausage, reheated some braised pork she had steamed earlier, and finally stir-fried a plate of dried greens to cut through the richness. That made a passable lunch for the three of them.
The dried greens had been made during the harvest season, when fresh greens were boiled and then dried for storage. Every household in town knew how to make them. It was said that the method had been devised during years of famine, as a way to preserve as much food as possible.
Compared with fresh greens, dried greens had a deeper, more mellow fragrance. Once soaked and rehydrated, they were cut into thin strips, then stir-fried in oil with ginger and garlic. They were even more fragrant than meat.
By the end of the meal, nearly half the meat was still left, while the entire plate of dried greens had been eaten clean.
Even the large bowl of minced fresh meat mixed with offal beside the Gyrfalcon’s cage had been licked clean. It was now squinting its beady little eyes as it preened its feathers with its beak, its plumage turned dingy with ash from being kept beside the fire pit.
After clearing away the dishes, Fan Changyu brought out the red paper for the New Year couplets and the lanterns she had bought that morning and began fussing over them.
Putting up New Year couplets and hanging large red lanterns on New Year’s Eve were indispensable customs.
The brush, ink, paper, and inkstone were all in Xie Zheng’s room, so Fan Changyu carried a stack of couplet paper over and knocked on his door.
Paper was already spread across the writing desk, and the ink in the chipped inkstone had been ground and prepared. Just as she had expected, he was once again seated at the crippled-legged desk, writing something.
When his cool gaze swept over her, Fan Changyu scratched her head and shamelessly asked, “Um… do you know how to write New Year couplets?”
Changning, like a little tail following behind her, also poked half her head around the doorway. Her eyes curved into two crescent moons as she grinned, “Jiefu writes the New Year couplets!”
Xie Zheng moved the paper he had been writing on halfway aside, clearing some space on the desk, “Bring them here.”
Fan Changyu squeezed into the room with the New Year couplet paper, with little Changning—the ever-present little tail—in tow.
After spreading the couplet paper across the desk, Xie Zheng dipped his brush generously into the thick ink. There was not much ink left in the inkstone afterward, so he turned his head slightly toward Fan Changyu, “Grind some more ink for me.”
Fan Changyu looked as though she wanted to say something, but seeing that he had already lowered his brush and written the first vigorous, elegant character on the red paper, she decided not to disturb him. She glanced at the block of solid ink, picked it up, and began grinding it vigorously against the inkstone.
When the ink on Xie Zheng’s brush ran low and he went to dip it again, he caught sight of the inky black heap in the inkstone. He fell silent for a moment before saying, “That’s too much.”
Too much was putting it mildly. For the sake of writing a single set of New Year couplets, she had nearly ground down half a stick of ink.
He could not help glancing at her hands.
Remembering just how much strength she had in them, he found himself rather unsurprised.
Fan Changyu said sheepishly, “I was going to ask how much I should grind before I started…”
She could read, and after her mother had forced her to learn with a rattan switch, she had barely managed to learn how to write as well. But her handwriting was truly dreadful. Ink, paper, brushes, and inkstones were expensive, so she rarely ground ink herself. Back when her mother had forced her to practice calligraphy, it had always been her mother who prepared the ink and watched over her writing. Fan Changyu genuinely had no idea how much ink she was supposed to grind.
Xie Zheng seemed to have grown accustomed to such situations by now. “Grinding too much isn’t a problem. It’s just a little wasteful if we can’t use it all.”
Fan Changyu stared at the stick of ink she had ground down by more than half and immediately felt a pang at the waste.
Then she thought of Auntie Zhao’s house. They probably had not bought any New Year couplets either.
“Then let’s write a set for Zhao Daniang’s family too! And with the ink we have left, we can write a few more. We can put a set on each of the doors around the house—it’ll make everything look festive!”
Xie Zheng had never heard of anyone putting up New Year couplets this way before. His handsome brows drew together, but then he found himself somewhat amused, and a bright, inexplicable feeling surfaced in his heart.
When they had first met, he had thought this woman crude and uncouth. But now, he felt that beneath that roughness was a vigorous, upward-striving vitality.
Like wild grass growing in an untended field, with no one to nurture it, relying solely on its own stubborn force to grow upward. It could break through frozen earth and split stone, endure the bitterest winter and survive the sweltering heat. Whether the tender shoot emerging from the earth was met with wind and frost or battered by rain, the roots beneath would only continue burrowing deep into the heavy soil, ceaselessly supplying the young shoot with the nourishment it needed to grow upward.
He glanced at the woman sitting beside the writing desk, chin propped in her hands as she watched him write. He dipped his brush into the thick ink and continued writing the second line of the New Year couplets.
Snowflakes drifted in through the half-open lattice window. The wind stirred his broad sleeves and blew Fan Changyu’s long hair about as well. When he lifted his brush from the paper, Fan Changyu leaned closer to look at the couplets he had written, and a strand of her long hair happened to brush across the back of his hand.
His hand paused mid-motion, and a drop of ink fell from the tip of his brush onto the paper beneath the couplets.
Fan Changyu let out a soft “Oh!”, sounding a little vexed with herself. “Did I distract you?”
Xie Zheng withdrew his gaze, “No. I had too much ink on my brush.”
Fan Changyu looked at the couplets with some heartache, “What a shame. The characters were so beautiful, too. But it’s fine—we can just put them on my and Changning’s door!”
Xie Zheng lifted his eyes, “You like them?”
Fan Changyu nodded. She studied the couplets, then read the words aloud: “‘When ice melts, the springs begin to stir; when snow fades, the grass sprouts anew.’ I like what it means. The ice and snow melt, and the spring grass grows.”
As she spoke, she smiled at Xie Zheng, “My mother didn’t like writing the kind of New Year couplets they sell at the market either, the ones filled with nothing but auspicious wishes.”
Xie Zheng was momentarily dazzled by that smile of hers. He did not answer, merely lowered his eyes and picked up his brush. With a few spare strokes, he turned the spot where the drop of ink had fallen into a sketch of wild grass, transforming the blot that had ruined the entire couplet into a remarkably evocative little painting.
Fan Changyu and her sister both let out a soft “Eh?” their eyes unable to hide their delight.
Fan Changyu picked up the couplet and examined it again and again. “You can paint, too?”
Xie Zheng said, “I know a little of the basics.”
Fan Changyu stared at the cluster of lush, vibrant wild grass beneath the New Year couplets. “That’s more than enough.”
She looked at Xie Zheng several more times before saying, “If you went to the street and sold paintings and calligraphy, I think you could make a lot of money!”
With that face of his and his meticulous brushwork, surely there would be plenty of young ladies willing to buy his paintings!
The corners of Xie Zheng’s mouth had lifted slightly at her praise, but at those last two sentences, they flattened again.
He said, “I don’t paint things that don’t suit my fancy.”
Fan Changyu knew this man had always had a foul temper, so she was not surprised by that answer. She simply watched him continue writing the horizontal scroll.
He wrote four characters: “Endure, and spring will come.”
The strokes were square, vigorous, and powerful, seeming to carry the same vitality and tenacity as wild grass breaking through the earth.
Fan Changyu had already been extremely fond of the couplet, and she was even more pleased when she saw the horizontal inscription.
To make it look more harmonious, Xie Zheng also added a few strokes of wild grass to the paper bearing the horizontal scroll and the first line of the couplet.
Fan Changyu happily placed the completed couplet on the nearby cabinet to dry.
Since the couplet was no longer marred by the ink blot, and the paper she had bought was only enough for three sets, Fan Changyu still wanted to make a set for Auntie Zhao and the others. She immediately decided to put this couplet on the main gate.
The couplet Xie Zheng wrote for the two elderly people was a pair of auspicious lines wishing them blessings, longevity, and good health.
When they began writing the final couplet, Changning planted both hands on the writing desk, rose onto her tiptoes, and craned her neck, “Ningniang wants to write, too.”
Fan Changyu thought that since this couplet was only going to be put up inside their own home for them to look at, it did not matter much. She found a sheet of paper for the horizontal scroll and had Xie Zheng come up with a couplet for them. Once he had written it down, she guided her little sister’s hand and taught her to copy it.
She helped Changning finish the horizontal scroll, then used her own chicken-scratch handwriting to write the first line.
The characters were a little ugly, but Fan Changyu was rather pleased with them.
She stuffed the brush back into Xie Zheng’s hand. “You write the second line.”
Xie Zheng stared at the characters, which were so large they were practically spilling off the entire sheet of New Year couplet paper. After a moment of silence, he wrote the second line in wild cursive, making the two styles look somewhat less jarring together.
Everything he wrote was deliberately done in a style different from his usual handwriting, so that anyone familiar with his script would not recognize it.
Fan Changyu had intended to call it a day, but at some point Changning slipped out of the room and came back carrying the gyrfalcon from the chicken coop in the main room. Her eyes shone as she looked at Fan Changyu, “Put Sunsun’s footprints on it, too!”
She was holding it with great care: one chubby hand wrapped around the gyrfalcon’s belly, while the other gripped its neck, very much giving the impression that if the bird refused to cooperate, she would simply haul it up by the neck.
Xie Zheng met the Gyrfalcon’s terrified, helpless gaze, and his feelings became rather complicated.
These two sisters really had to be blood-related.
Fan Changyu stroked the feathers on the Gyrfalcon’s forehead and thought for a moment, “All right!”
She brought over the inkstone, lifted one of the gyrfalcon’s feet, dipped it into the ink, and pressed a single talon print onto the paper behind the horizontal inscription Changning had written.
The shadow of having its forehead smacked was apparently still fresh in the gyrfalcon’s mind. It kept its wings tucked close and did not dare move an inch throughout the entire process, leaving only its beady little eyes staring out, bewildered and pitiful.
Once the talon print was done, Fan Changyu wiped the ink from the gyrfalcon’s foot with a damp cloth before saying to Changning, “Take it back.”
Changning happily carried the Gyrfalcon back to the main room and returned it to the chicken coop.
Fan Changyu, meanwhile, went to the kitchen and found the leftover rice gruel from lunch. She first put up the New Year couplet the three of them and the gyrfalcon had made together on the doorframe of the main room, then carried the rice gruel outside to put up the couplet bearing the words “忍得春生” (Endure, and spring will come).
When the elderly Zhao couple heard that Xie Zheng had written a couplet for them as well, they came out to see the new couplet Fan Changyu had put up for them, grinning from ear to ear.
Other neighbors passing through the alley caught sight of it and exclaimed in surprise, “Changyu, your husband can write couplets, too?”
Auntie Zhao had never wanted Fan Changyu to be looked down upon because of what had happened with Song Yan. Hearing the question, she immediately said, “Of course he can! That young man is literate, too. Just look at those characters—better than the ones on the New Year couplets they sell in the street!”
In a small town like this, simply knowing how to read and write a few characters was enough to earn someone a reputation as a capable man. Never mind passing the county examination and becoming a Xiucai—even merely becoming a tongsheng could give a man a considerably higher standing when it came to arranging a marriage.
The woman nodded repeatedly after looking at the couplets. “No worse than the ones Song Yan wrote for everyone in years past. Changyu really did pick herself a good husband!”
Then she smiled at Fan Changyu. “Could your husband write a pair for Shenzi, too?”
Every New Year in the past, Song Yan would set up a stall at the market to write New Year couplets for people and earn a little extra money for the household. If the neighbors in the alley came to him, he never charged them anything. They only had to bring their own red couplet paper. Still, most people who asked him to write for them would give him something afterward as a token of appreciation.
This year, with the Song family having moved away, getting someone to write New Year couplets meant spending a dozen or so copper coins, and even buying ready-made ones was not cheap. Most households in the alley had not prepared any couplets at all.
Fan Changyu thought of Xie Zheng’s foul temper and politely declined. “I’m sorry, Shenzi, but we didn’t buy enough extra couplet paper.”
The woman immediately said, “Shenzi still has some paper left over from the ones I bought in previous years!”
Xie Zheng appeared at the main gate at some point. Seeing him, the woman asked with a smile, “Changyu’s husband, would you have the time to write a pair for Shenzi?”
Changyu’s husband?
What kind of ridiculous form of address was that?
Afraid that his sharp tongue might say something cutting, Fan Changyu was just about to refuse on his behalf again when she heard him say, “Bring the paper over.”
Fan Changyu stared at him in surprise. The woman was delighted by Xie Zheng’s answer and immediately turned around to head home. “Wait here! Shenzi will go get the paper right now!”
She looked almost afraid that Xie Zheng might change his mind the very next moment.
Fan Changyu figured that he had agreed mostly out of consideration for her. Once they were back in the courtyard, she could not help saying, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to force yourself to agree.”
Xie Zheng raised his eyes indifferently, “When did I say I didn’t want to?”
Fan Changyu: “……”
Who was it earlier who said he wouldn’t paint anything that didn’t suit his fancy?
Fine. That was painting. Writing a few characters was no big deal. She had simply been overthinking it.
Before long, that auntie came to their door carrying red paper. But she was not alone. Several other women and older madams had come along as well, each carrying red paper in their hands.
The moment they saw Fan Changyu, every one of them greeted her with a broad smile. “We heard your husband was writing New Year couplets for people. My family hasn’t had ours written this year either, so I figured I’d shamelessly tag along.”
They all knew that ink, brushes, paper, and inkstones were precious, so naturally none of them had come empty-handed. Those who had made tofu at home brought over a bowl of it. Those who had made rice-flower candy wrapped up several pieces and, as soon as they entered, handed them to Changning for a snack.
Fan Changyu looked at all the women arriving with gifts. She could neither refuse them nor agree on Xie Zheng’s behalf, so in the end, she could only look toward Xie Zheng.
He had already brought the brush, ink, and inkstone from the south room into the main room. Catching Fan Changyu’s look, he said calmly, “Have a seat first, Shenzis.”
That was clearly his way of agreeing, so Fan Changyu invited everyone to sit by the fire pit and warm themselves.
Xie Zheng did not simply start writing the New Year couplets. He would first ask one or two questions about what sort of meaning the person wanted their couplet to convey, and only then put brush to paper.
Amid drifting snow and swirling wind, he held his brush with an easy, composed stillness.
An elderly woman who lived at the end of the alley came to ask him to write a couplet. She was probably unsure how to describe what she wanted, so her words came haltingly, thick with the local accent, and wandered through all sorts of little details.
Yet there was not the slightest trace of impatience on Xie Zheng’s face. To hear the old woman clearly, he would even lower his head slightly and tilt his ear toward her as he listened.
Fan Changyu sat beside the fire pit and watched this scene, somewhat surprised. In her impression, he had always had a rather bad temper and an arrogant streak. She had not expected him to have such a gentle and refined side.
After finishing the couplet, he read it aloud to the old woman and explained its meaning. The old woman nodded repeatedly, her face crinkling into a smile so broad that every wrinkle seemed to bloom.
Fan Changyu rested her chin on one hand as she watched them, and somehow, she found herself smiling along.
Xie Zheng suddenly raised his eyes and looked over, catching her smiling eyes head-on.
Fan Changyu’s heart gave an abrupt little leap, and the smile on her face stiffened. She silently turned her head back toward the fire.
Word spread quickly that Xie Zheng was helping people write their couplets, and before long, it had traveled from one person to ten, then from ten to a hundred. More than half the households in the alley came looking for his help. It was nearly dusk before no one came knocking at their door anymore, and the various snacks and foodstuffs people had given them in return for the couplets had piled up across an entire table.
When Fan Changyu saw Xie Zheng sit down beside the fire pit, she noticed that he had been quietly rubbing his wrist the whole time, “Hand got sore?” she teased.
Xie Zheng merely replied, “It’s fine.”
Fan Changyu gave a quiet little snort inwardly. This man was simply too stubborn for his own good.
Seeing that it was almost dark, she lit the large red lanterns as well, intending to hang them in the courtyard.
In previous years, it had always been her father who hung the lanterns. Fan Changyu had little experience with the task, and the bamboo pole she found was too short, so she could not get the lantern up. She called to Changning, “Ningniang, help me bring out a stool.”
Changning was sitting at the doorway eating a piece of puffed rice candy. She would take a bite, then break off another little piece and scatter it by her feet for the gyrfalcon to peck at as well.
Hearing Fan Changyu, she turned her head and called into the house, “Jiefu, help Ah Jie bring out a stool so she can hang the lantern!”
Fan Changyu was just about to complain that this child was getting better and better at ordering people around when Xie Zheng had already come out of the house.
He was not carrying a stool. Instead, as naturally as could be, he stepped forward and took the bamboo pole from Fan Changyu’s hands. His palm brushed lightly across the back of her hand, just as it had when he taught her how to counter moves in the pine forest before. Only this time, amid his fresh, cool scent, there was also the faint fragrance of tangerine-peel candy.
“It’s up.” After hanging the lantern beneath the eaves, he stepped back, and the scent of tangerine-peel candy receded with him.
Fan Changyu felt awkward all over and managed to squeeze out a dry, “Thank you.”
For dinner, they had the stewed pig’s feet left over from lunch, along with several homemade New Year dishes that the neighbors had given them in return for the couplets. Fan Changyu picked out a few dishes to heat up, then set a small pot over the fire pit. She sliced up some fresh meat and tofu with winter bamboo shoots, arranged a plate of braised offal, and cracked an egg over the sliced tender pork liver, whisking it all together before swishing everything in the pot as they ate.
It was a type of hot pot she had often seen diners order during the few days she had helped make braised meats at Yixiang Restaurant.
Curious, she had once asked what it was, and Chef Li had told her that it was a dish invented by Proprietor Yu. Other restaurants had something similar, but none could compare with Yixiang Restaurant’s flavor.
Yixiang Restaurant also closed for business on Lunar New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Proprietor Yu had given her several blocks of the solidified red-oil seasoning used for the hot pot, telling her to take them home and enjoy over the New Year.
Fan Changyu had no idea how those solidified blocks of red oil were made. They contained Sichuan peppercorns, bay leaves, star anise, and all sorts of other spices. Once boiled in water, they melted into a pot of glossy red broth, and the meat cooked in it tasted even better than the maoxuewang she had made the last time.
The only trouble was that it was rather spicy. Changning was greedy for it despite being afraid of the heat, and by the end, her lips were swollen all the way around.
Fan Changyu also found the broth almost unbearably fiery. The heat was so intense that she went to fetch a jar of clear rice wine. She had already poured Xie Zheng a cup when she suddenly remembered that he was injured.
Fan Changyu took the cup back from in front of him and set it in front of herself instead. “I forgot. You’re injured. You can’t drink.”
Xie Zheng could tell from the smell that the wine was mild. “A little clear rice wine won’t hurt.”
Fan Changyu ignored him and poured him a cup of warm tea instead, “The physician said you can’t touch alcohol until your injuries have healed.”
Changning gazed longingly at the cup in front of Fan Changyu, “Ningniang wants some, too.”
Fan Changyu poured her a cup of warm tea as well, “Children can’t drink alcohol. Have tea with your Jiefu.”
Xie Zheng: “……”
The hot pot was truly fiery, yet maddeningly addictive. By the time Fan Changyu reached the end of the meal, she was practically drinking the clear rice wine like water.
Her lips were burning painfully, and when she reached for the wine jar again, she realized that, without noticing, she had already drunk more than half of it.
Fan Changyu stared blankly, “How did I drink so much…?”
Then she consoled herself, “It’s fine. This wine probably isn’t the sort that gets you drunk.”
Her face was already beginning to flush, but Xie Zheng and Changning had also eaten enough of the hot pot to leave their faces red from the spice.
Xie Zheng had no idea how much alcohol Fan Changyu could hold. Seeing how boldly she drank, he had assumed she had a good tolerance. Even now, he could not tell whether the flush in her face was from the heat, the wine, or both.
He pushed the teapot toward her, “Drink some tea to sober up.”
Fan Changyu’s mind was a little sluggish by now. After thinking about it for quite some time, she finally came to the conclusion that he seemed to be making fun of how little she could drink.
She stubbornly poured herself another cup of clear rice wine and put on a fierce expression, “My tolerance is excellent! My father could drink an entire jar of shaodao liquor, and I can drink half a jar. What’s a little clear rice wine to me?”
Xie Zheng watched helplessly as she tipped back the cup and drained it in one go. Her almond-shaped eyes grew smaller and smaller, until at last her head drooped onto the low table and she fell asleep.
Xie Zheng: “……”
The little one was the sort who grew sleepy as soon as she had eaten her fill, too. Clutching the red New Year money envelope her sister had given her, Changning had already settled into deep, even breathing.
On this Lunar New Year’s Eve, with everyone observing the tradition of staying up for the New Year, Xie Zheng was unexpectedly the only one still awake.
The lanterns beneath the eaves cast a warm glow over the snow falling thickly from the sky, while the sound of firecrackers being set off drifted from a distant street.
Xie Zheng looked toward the woman sleeping soundly with her head on the low table. Half her face, illuminated by the firelight, was flushed a rosy red. Just looking at her made him imagine that the skin beneath his fingertips would feel wonderfully warm and impossibly soft.
He watched her quietly for a while, then looked away. He picked up the wine jar on the table and poured himself a cup. With one leg bent and a hand resting loosely on his knee, he sat in a relaxed posture, took a small sip, and gazed out at the snowy scene beyond the door.
Perhaps it was because he was sitting close to the fire pit. Perhaps it was the soft warmth of the lantern light beneath the eaves. Whatever the reason, at this moment, a profound tranquility settled over his heart—one he had never known before.
Sixteen years after the Battle of Jinzhou, he finally came to understand that this was what celebrating the New Year was like.
He drank down the half-jar of wine one unhurried sip at a time, yet not the slightest trace of drunkenness appeared in his eyes.
At midnight, fireworks exploded over the town. He looked toward the other end of the low table, where the woman, disturbed by the noise, let out a sleepy murmur before sinking back into deep sleep.
In a quiet voice, he said, “Happy New Year.”
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