Shen Wen’s study was far plainer than Jiang Man had imagined. Entering, one faced a curio shelf, with a screen to the right; looking left, far off stood a writing desk, its brush rack hung with several brushes of a size, ranked from medium script to fine.
Behind that long desk sat the one who had spoken.
Through the bead curtain Jiang Man could not see clearly. The woman propped her chin, a gnat-script brush in her right hand, pausing now and then to think, then writing on—never once sparing this direction a glance.
Wu You entered and stood behind the curtain, saying nothing. Jiang Man copied him, standing quietly in a corner like a vase holding scrolls of painting and calligraphy.
A servant brought tea and withdrew without once lifting his head. Jiang Man marked every detail, preparing for her future service to Shen Wen.
The mistress’s confidential business seemed at last concluded. Shen Wen set down the brush, passed a hand over her brow, folded the papers into a case, and sealed it with wax. The matter done, she said, “Any trouble on the road?”
“All smooth.” Wu You clasped his hands. “Wu You wishes the Scribe a belated happy new year.”
“It’s nearly the second month—what new year?” Shen Wen’s voice was languid. “You’re early by a few days.”
“Yes. We drove day and night; with fair weather, no time was lost.”
“Rest two days. Come back on the third.”
“Yes!” Wu You saluted with folded fists. “Then this humble one takes his leave.”
“One more thing.” Shen Wen spoke unhurried, lifting her tea cup before adding, “Do not call her ‘Young Lady Jiang.’ See it passed down.”
Wu You blinked, assented, nodded slightly to Jiang Man, and went out, drawing the door behind him.
Jiang Man still stood congealed in her corner like porcelain. Hearing the instruction, her heart filled with flavors beyond naming.
A high official’s daughter might bear the word “Young Lady”—could a daughter of the Jiang family not? To think Shen Wen imagined that she, a boudoir girl, might forget even her own station—that a casual form of address from others must be policed, a knock on the mountain to startle the tiger.
So she did have a side that kept propriety, Jiang Man thought. And she would surely never forget the gulf of high and low between them.
“Come here.” Shen Wen spoke again, in that unfathomable tone she used with her alone.
Jiang Man pressed her lips, made herself meek and downcast, lifted the curtain, and moved over.
The woman seemed very tired; though still half-reclined in her chair, her spirits were low, as if the allure and pressure between her brows had all been traded away for moonlight, while she wandered between dreamland and official business.
If she had only just returned from a journey, road-worn, resting early would be the proper thing. For what important matter had she held out until this hour?
Jiang Man felt Shen Wen’s gaze upon her.
Shen Wen said, “Will you not bow to me?”
Jiang Man curtsied. “Your attendant bows to the Scribe.”
A soft laugh at her ear. Shen Wen sipped her tea. “You’ve grown thin. The road too rushed?”
Jiang Man had not expected that to be her opening. She blinked. “It is not that. Lord Wu looked after me all the way; it was not too arduous.”
Shen Wen nodded slightly, then turned the conversation. “Then Old Xie’s medicine is useless?”
Jiang Man heard the note of judgment in it—she did not want a careless word of hers to cost another his punishment. She had not imagined Female Scribe Shen governed so sternly; having no choice, she said a word or two more and told the truth.
Eyes lowered: “These days I am not drowsy. My days are idle and dull; even with my eating mended, my body will not bear it. The Scribe has already cared for me beyond measure. I am deeply grateful, and thank her for her concern.”
“You cannot sleep?”
Shen Wen had asked a third time. Jiang Man could not help over-thinking: was she so ugly in her thinness that this Household Master was displeased with her pledged hostage?
“To answer the Scribe,” Jiang Man chose her words as she spoke, and so spoke slowly, “it comes and goes, of late. I expect once I’m busier it will right itself.”
At this Shen Wen studied her a long while.
As if appraising a price.
“Good. Come over tomorrow after the morning meal.” Shen Wen looked away. “Huailou.”
As if her patience had been spent in an instant.
“Yes.” The lamp-bearing maid called Huailou opened the door, waiting just behind the curtain. Jiang Man curtsied to Shen Wen and withdrew in her wake.
Only then did Jiang Man dare look quietly about the estate.
What an exquisitely noble garden. Shen Wen’s residence was not striking at first glance, but on closer view there was nothing superfluous, nothing lacking; the materials were chosen with care, the scenery shifting with every step—a luxury found nowhere else. Looking up, she saw flying eaves upon the roof; whether such a thing overstepped for one of Shen Wen’s station, Jiang Man could not say—yet she had never seen such construction in another’s home.
Never mind that this was a mansion within Lin’an city walls.
Jiang Rao, the famed merchant magnate of the two Jiangnan circuits, had never bought property in Jiankang city. Lin’an land would only be dearer and scarcer than Jiankang’s; such a garden—how many times fifty-seven thousand strings might it be worth?
“Lady Jiang.” Huailou stopped before a moon gate and curtsied. “This is the courtyard assigned to you.”
“Yes.” Jiang Man answered slowly. “Thank you, Miss Huailou.”
“I dare not.” Huailou kept her head lowered throughout. “This servant withdraws.”
“Walk slowly.” Jiang Man watched the lantern go, then, small oil lamp in hand, felt her way into the courtyard.
It was far better than she had imagined. At a glance, the whole little court was a size or two smaller than the room she’d lived in at home; stone lamps lined the path, lit every other one—and they held candles, no cheap oil-lamps, a considerable expense. In the dark little could be seen of the scenery. Jiang Man walked in, entered the inner court, and found Ke Ye at once.
She had changed her clothes and waited beneath the eaves with a lamp; seeing Jiang Man, she hurried forward.
Jiang Man only nodded lightly, bidding her be at ease. Mistress and maid spoke nothing, entered the room, and dismissed the attendants.
The main room had an inner and outer chamber. Jiang Man sat and saw that the crescent stool before her was made of fragrant camphor wood of superb luster, its legs carved—though half-worn; the seat was covered in a blue-green cloth with a tortoiseshell pattern, looking like fine kudzu cloth, until Jiang Man’s hand found it was silk.
Surveying the room, she saw the walls freshly plastered; on the blank wall before desk and chairs was painted a colored scene of a fair hand gathering lotus, the pigments vivid—especially the jade-colored lotus seeds. Unless freshly painted, even on silk they would have dimmed by several shades.
What extravagance.
“Young Miss, this courtyard faces south and stood empty before. Only days ago did the Scribe have it made new, and had the characters ‘Wenqu’ carved upon the moon gate. By the household’s old custom, the servants still call it the South Courtyard. The sister who keeps this place has asked that the Young Miss propose a name; once the Scribe approves, the household will call it as you wish.” Ke Ye was brisk; plainly she had already learned her new patch of ground.
She went on: “Four servants keep this southern courtyard in all, for water-drawing, laundry, and such. Only one waits within the rooms; no one lodged here before, so it’s a light post. The winter charcoal and summer ice, along with the two daily meals, are all seen to by dedicated hands—the bed was made by me, using only the pillows and coverlet we brought; the mattress and quilts are provided here, sunned and beaten; I inspected them before making the bed.”
“I sleep in this room?” Jiang Man’s brow creased slightly.
“Yes.” Ke Ye said, “Forgive my saying so, but the Young Miss here is more like half a mistress.”
“I signed a maidservant’s hire contract. I merely attach myself to this household’s master—at root, no different from the servants of this courtyard. Be careful. Guard your tongue against calamity.”
“This humble one understands.” Ke Ye leaned close. “Our circumstances now are a hundredfold better than the Young Miss feared. Why so anxious still?”
Jiang Man was silent, then shook her head. “I only miss Father.”
Four servants assigned to one room, and leave to keep Ke Ye at her side—Jiang Man was, it seemed, half a mistress here.
Had she been given the choice, she would rather have served six years as a scullery maid.
This half-a-household-master’s standing—what was it to be bought with? When would Ke Ye ever understand?
But Ke Ye said, “Tomorrow the Young Miss must rise early once more, to address the servants, let them learn her face, and set the rules. I’ll sleep beneath this corridor; it will delay nothing. Once I know the grounds, I’ll be quick about any errand outside, find Uncle Lu soon, and bring word of the Eldest Young Master as fast as I can. When you do meet, you and the Eldest Young Master will have endless words—grieve your heart out now, and what will there be to say then? So this humble one presumes to say: ration your sorrow.”
Jiang Man propped her chin and laughed softly. “Easily said by you. Are the passions ever a thing a person can govern?”
Ke Ye considered seriously. “For those who cultivate the Way, perhaps easier. With the Young Miss’s cleverness—even if she cannot govern it, she can govern it.”
“How so?”
“One may not govern a heart, but how much one labors, and at what—one may arrange.” Ke Ye said, “Jade Emperor Mountain must lie near Lin’an. The departed are departed; why not give the larger share of your heart to where effort can still reach?”
“What a bold girl you are.” Jiang Man made as if to chastise her, and Ke Ye went scampering around the room. After their romp, Jiang Man checked her laughter. “Tonight you’ll attend in the room; the outer couch is yours. Only rise quickly at dawn, roll up your bedding, and let no one see.”
Ke Ye thanked her, then hesitated. “We’re strangers here still…”
“It is not yet the second month, and the nights are too cold. Standing in the corridor just now, two sentences with you, and the draft cut to the bone. Ke Ye—this is not Jiankang. You are all I have to lean on.” Jiang Man said, “If you would honor our mistress-and-maid duty, the first thing is to look after yourself.”
Ke Ye curtsied. “This humble one understands. Thank you for your kindness, Young Miss.”
The next day’s arrangements need no recounting. Jiang Man walked the courtyard and found her lodging was a two-storied house, the stair set outside, upper and lower floors separate and unconnected.
There had been such a small tower at home too, once given to Jiang Ling for his studies. The second floor held only such odds and ends as feared no damp; as a child she would occasionally go exploring there at Ke Ye’s instigation, and Ke Ye took several scoldings for it—Jiang Man remembered well.
But think it through: Ke Ye was two years her senior. Even as a half-grown child, so clever and proper—how would she romp with her own young mistress? Was that not begging for the rod?
Jiang Man stood before the tower a while, and did not climb the steps.
She did not remember ever having been such a playful child.
Before leaving the courtyard, Jiang Man looked back at the two characters carved on the gate: “Wenqu.”
She had thought her first small test would lie in The Great Learning; though she could now recite it backward, she had recited it once more before going out, fearing that if Shen Wen raised it today, nerves would betray her.
Standing outside the door, taking in the whole view, Jiang Man’s puzzle resolved itself.
This courtyard’s “Wenqu”—what it asked after was the South Tower.
