Chapter 18: Torn Both Ways

Shen Wen had pressed her to the limit; Jiang Man had no choice but to answer.

But from beginning to end, she had been compelled. Though the situation had overwhelmed her for a moment, given the slightest opening, Jiang Man thought only again of propriety and rank.

She and this woman were, in the end, different.

Jiang Man said, “In my humble view, to command one’s own fate has always been difficult; it is not a matter of wanting or not wanting. If there truly were a choice, Xiaojiu would of course wish to be a man—above, to serve the state and slay its enemies; below, to keep whole to himself. Even stripped of everything, he could still stand on his own feet, beholden to no one.”

Shen Wen was still watching her. “And being a woman won’t do?”

Jiang Man lowered her eyes. “I do not know.”

“High position would be harder.” Shen Wen looked away, turning slightly, tilting her head a little as if studying the ornaments atop the bookshelf. For once she had patience; she spoke more slowly, and her expression was impossible to guess. “Our dynasty has never kept slave registries, and the examinations do not bar anyone by birth. With a little land and a clean record, one may enter office or live self-sufficiently. But for a woman to stand above others at every turn, there is only one road: becoming a Court Lady, within or without the palace. Those of deep fortune enter the palace—an Empress becomes Mother of the State. If that road is barred, one must find a high official for a husband, or raise one. Even when it’s one’s own son in office, a mother could only be enfeoffed if she had been the principal wife. From this you should understand how crucial a good marriage is.”

Jiang Man listened carefully, but thought: Shen Wen was an unmarried woman whom no one dared offend—clearly there was more than one road.

But such a road required heaven-sent advantages; it could hardly be carved out by just anyone.

Even granted such timing and terrain, Jiang Man asked herself whether she could bear the “harmony of men” it required.

“If you don’t covet such power, don’t care for gossip, and seek only to command your own fate, it’s not exactly climbing to heaven.” Shen Wen’s gaze came back from the bookshelf, still turned away. “The government keeps its registers: a daughter of a house with no heir, a widow raising young children—these may be registered as a Female Household Head. When property is divided, so long as a daughter is unwed, a share is always set aside for her protection. Even women who lead in commerce are not rare in Lin’an. If you dare to decide for yourself—then you yourself can be the one who decides.”

Then Shen Wen asked, “Do you dare?”

Her gaze settled on Jiang Man’s face. Jiang Man had listened earnestly and did not look away.

This was never a matter of daring.

A Female Household Head presiding over a family—there were endless unspoken difficulties, secrets upon secrets, things that could not be said aloud. How could it be as easy as Shen Wen made it sound? Raised in the inner chambers though she was, Jiang Man understood the ways of the world well enough. She curtsied. “I will hide nothing from the Female Scribe. Matters concerning my future are indeed important, but I am dull, and have not yet considered them.”

Shen Wen’s response came like lightning. “Because of that sheet of hire contract?”

“Yes.” Jiang Man said, “Eat a lord’s stipend, bear a lord’s burdens. However humble my station, I understand this principle. As for anything else, I would not dare imagine it.”

She was silent a moment, then said, “So you’ve made no plans at all for the future?”

“No.”

“And without that duty of yours?” Shen Wen turned around, giving her a single sidelong glance. “If you were free—what would you do?”

Jiang Man was silent. “I do not know.”

“You don’t know?” Shen Wen smiled. “I say you dare not.”

The words had barely fallen, and Jiang Man kept her head bowed, giving no answer for a long time.

Their natures were worlds apart; their stations now, heaven and earth. However many private calculations she might harbor, how could Jiang Man speak such intimate things to her Household Master?

Moreover, the freedom Shen Wen spoke of was, to Jiang Man, a flower in a mirror, the moon in water—seemingly within arm’s reach, coming and going. Only she herself knew that this freedom was already an inch away and a world apart.

From the moment she signed her name and one sheet of paper made her a servant; from the moment the news of her father’s death arrived; from the first time she laid eyes on Shen Wen—she and this woman had been different, through and through.

Shen Wen watched her a long while, then said abruptly, “Is it that you dare not say it, or dare not think it?”

Jiang Man slowly raised her head.

The frightening things in this woman’s eyes seemed to have vanished all at once, leaving only inquiry—but how much of it was real and how much feigned, perhaps only Shen Wen herself knew.

Jiang Man said only, “I dare not answer.”

Shen Wen closed her eyes, smiling, a trace of coldness at the corner of her mouth. Jiang Man pressed her lips together, not knowing what it was she feared.

“Are you resigned to it, then?”

Jiang Man couldn’t help raising her head.

Shen Wen shook out her sleeves and gave her a sidelong look. “The great way of the sages—I see you believe in it devoutly enough. A thief, a treacherous man—those you’d naturally scorn. But do the so-called gentlemen stir no longing in you at all?”

A faint ache in Jiang Man’s heart. “I only regret my meager fortune, that I was born half a person.”

“How dare you.” Shen Wen’s gaze bore down. “Your parents gave birth to you and raised you, opened your ignorant eyes, fed you well and clothed you well—and in your mouth, they made ‘half a person’? Only men are complete human beings, are they? Then how did these complete human beings all get born and raised by ‘half persons’?”

Jiang Man stepped back without realizing it. Her voice, though smaller, answered squarely: “In Buddhist practice, one must first be reborn in a male body before the Way may be discussed. So the sutras say; in the common world, I imagine it is the same.”

Shen Wen laughed in reply. “Do you believe in Buddha?”

Jiang Man shook her head. “No.”

“Then what were you talking about?” Shen Wen narrowed her eyes.

Jiang Man did not yield. “I spoke of the principles as the world holds them.”

Shen Wen studied her a moment longer and said slowly, “It seems ‘the principles as the world holds them’ matter a great deal to you.”

“Xiaojiu is a drifting duckweed.” Jiang Man curtsied. “At the slightest stir of wind or grass, she can only drift with the current.”

Shen Wen met her eyes and asked suddenly, “If your body is duckweed, why can your heart not turn toward the great Dao?”

Jiang Man said, “A life of grass and dust—even if the heart holds the great Dao, there is no great Dao for it to lean on. To turn toward the Way, one must first take root, accumulate in silence, and burst forth in season.”

“Then be a tree.”

Jiang Man slowly shook her head. “Once, there was something to lean on, and I could wait for my moment.”

“And now?”

Jiang Man was very calm. “The tree in my household has already fallen.”

Shen Wen paused, then sat back down at the desk and tipped her chin toward the narrow desk. “Sit. And now—what are your plans?”

“Thank you, Female Scribe.” Jiang Man bowed with gathered robes and took her seat, saying softly, “I believe that with no direction of my own, keeping to my duty cannot be wrong.”

“And is that enough for you?”

Jiang Man kept her eyes lowered and docile. “I dare not hope for more.”

“Just so.” Shen Wen nodded slightly, said nothing for a time, then propped her cheek and sat at leisure, closing her eyes.

Seeing this, Jiang Man too fell silent.

Just then Sijiu came back and announced from far down the corridor, “Female Scribe, the evening meal is ready.”

“Bring it in.” Shen Wen’s eyes opened in an instant, perfectly clear—she had been awake the whole time.

A gust of wind came in with them from outside, dispersing the incense that had hung there so long. Sijiu led three or four servants from the kitchen into the room, all of whom waited only outside the curtain. Huailou followed behind, lifted the curtain and hooked it up, and together with Sijiu cleared the desk completely, laying out bowls, chopsticks, cups, and dishes one by one.

Jiang Man’s earnest sincerity was all swept up with the rest, reduced to a fragile sheet of paper in another’s hands.

She was about to rise and help when Shen Wen said, “Sit down.”

Jiang Man paused. “Yes.” She sat back on the stool, several degrees more uneasy.

However restless she felt, in the end she dared not cross Shen Wen.

She had crossed her more than enough tonight; now that the dust had settled, she had to secure some good for herself.

Huailou and the others were practiced hands and cleared things quickly. The desk’s implements were all put away, and Sijiu set out several small dishes and a two-eared stew pot no bigger than a fist before Jiang Man.

Jiang Man dared not remain seated. She rose. “My thanks for the Female Scribe’s bounty—but I fear I dare not eat with you.”

“Sit down.” Shen Wen raised her eyes. “Is that what you take your ‘duty’ to be—defying me?”

Jiang Man went rigid. She heard every word distinctly yet could not fathom her meaning. Barely recovering, she could only sit and say in a small voice, “I obey the Female Scribe’s teaching.”

As for the two maids and the several servants, not one so much as glanced sideways—neither fearing the cold in Shen Wen’s words might splash onto them, nor caring in the least about Jiang Man’s plight.

Everything proceeded in perfect order; only Jiang Man, in the corner, sat as if on needles.

“Don’t serve her wine.” Shen Wen had just finished washing her hands when she suddenly stopped Sijiu; after a pause she added, “Take mine away too. Just bring water.”

“Yes.” Sijiu answered, and once Jiang Man had dried her hands, led the others quietly out.

A bustle, then a hush—and in the blink of an eye only the two of them sat again in the study, neither speaking.

Shen Wen did not look at her; she lifted the lid herself and went straight to eating. Jiang Man had not touched a drop of water in hours; to claim she wasn’t hungry would be a lie. But master and servant were separate—even with Shen Wen’s blessing, how could they eat under the same roof?

Shen Wen might be a woman who scorned ritual and law, but everyone around her observed every rule to the letter, and it was hard to believe that wasn’t Shen Wen’s own will. Not to mention anything else: in the days she’d been here, Jiang Man hadn’t seen so much as a servant girl dropping by idly. Only Sijiu dared steal a moment’s leisure under Huailou’s watch, and even that came only after duties were done. From this glimpse one could judge the whole: the household was governed with extreme strictness, a discipline possible only with abundant staff and sharply divided responsibilities.

In such a dragon’s pool and tiger’s den, with a pair of chopsticks laid out for her—did Jiang Man dare touch them?

Just then Huailou came in with the water and set a cup before Jiang Man as well. Before she could thank her, Huailou’s hand darted out and lifted the lid of the stew pot before her.

Jiang Man sat stunned. She looked up to find Huailou perfectly composed; their eyes met briefly, then Huailou curtsied to Shen Wen and to Jiang Man in turn, withdrew, let down the bead curtain, and closed the door.

A faint floral fragrance had already escaped. Jiang Man did not move for a long while.

This steamed rice was so like the kind she’d always had at home.

Though there were many taboos where meat was concerned, when it came to rice, Jiang Man ate like anyone else. Only, when her mother was alive, she’d always had the kitchen add a few drops of fragrant oil pressed from assorted fresh flowers to the rice—at first whiff it was all perfume, and on the tongue the flower-scent deepened, leaving one refreshed. That custom had naturally been kept up for Jiang Man as well.

“If you don’t start eating soon…” Shen Wen’s voice pulled her back from her daze.

Jiang Man started—but the other half of the sentence never came.

Not knowing what ending still waited for her on Shen Wen’s tongue, she had no choice but to take up her chopsticks, head lowered, still not daring to eat.

Shen Wen picked up a bite of food, chewed slowly, rinsed her mouth with water, and said, “Try the white one.”

“Yes.” Jiang Man’s answer came hesitantly.

Every one of these small dishes was exquisite; two of them were meat, and the knife-work alone told of hours of preparation. Shen Wen’s late-night meals were usually simple—a bowl of congee and done. She must have been in rare spirits tonight, and had given the kitchen advance notice.

But no sooner had the thought formed than she set it down, having glimpsed Shen Wen’s loosened strands of hair.

She was already showing fatigue, needing incense just to stay sharp, and had talked for so long—how could she have such an appetite now?

It was Shen Wen’s command; Jiang Man dared not disobey. In the end she picked up the “clam meat” before her and slipped it into her mouth behind her sleeve.

Jiang Man paused.

Was this… mandarin fish?

“Well?” Shen Wen looked over, a thread of laughter in her face.

“To answer the Female Scribe,” Jiang Man savored it carefully, “the fish is fragrant; the outer layer is slightly firm, with exactly the springy bite of clam. There are hints too of Yellow Wine and egg custard, yet not a trace of muddy river taste.”

Shen Wen’s smile did not fade. She picked up a piece of the mandarin fish disguised as clam. “You do know how to eat.”

Jiang Man dared not look at her. “My thanks to the Female Scribe for the food.”

“A dish like this takes real labor—seasonings and auxiliaries, round after round of preparation. Could you taste out every one of them?”

Jiang Man answered softly, “I don’t know the kitchen arts, but if I’ve tasted it before, I could name perhaps eight parts in ten.”

Shen Wen nodded, almost imperceptibly.

She had expected Shen Wen to ask for the detailed steps, and was silently reviewing the fine details of that single bite when she heard: “Is your body light and easy these days?”

Jiang Man, caught off guard by the question, took a moment to understand, and said quietly, “Yes. It should not be that time yet.”

“Good.” Shen Wen picked up the shallow cup of clear water. “Starting tomorrow, rise early and come out of the city with me. Eat up—when you’re done, go back and prepare.”

“Yes.” Jiang Man obediently answered again, and only belatedly caught the meaning beneath Shen Wen’s words.

Her first examination—she had passed.

Because of that one phrase, “keep to my duty”?

Thinking of what her true duty was, Jiang Man felt a hollow open in her chest, and picked up her chopsticks.

Asking whether her body was light, and taking her out of the city…

From tomorrow on, it seemed Jiang Man really would become this Female Scribe Shen’s personal attendant.