It was midday; the crowds of gentry and commoners passing through Fengyu Gate were so thick that they had to queue to enter the city.
Jiang Man’s household registration was still in Jiankang. She was taking out her Credential Warrant for the runners to inspect when Huailou drew a finely carved waist tablet from her sash and handed it over. “Lady Jiang, use this tablet. As for the Credential Warrant—do not bring it out again hereafter. Documents are precious; keep it stored safely, and give it to Steward Dong when we return. An Ivory Tablet will surely be made up for you soon enough.”
Jiang Man nodded and did as she was told. An Ivory Tablet was a rare thing; she had never seen one. She examined it carefully. “Does everyone in the garden have one?”
Huailou smiled. “That would be asking a great deal of our Household Master. To answer Lady Jiang: in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden, of the maidservants only the three of us can hold tablets—Sijiu and this servant share one. Your tablet, Lady Jiang, was ordered made by the Household Master herself. As for the men, when they go out they generally use Steward Dong’s tablet; if they must travel far on business, of course they apply to the yamen for a Credential Warrant.
“Lin’an is full of merchants and travelers coming and going; they are not usually inspected one by one. The tablet is only against the unlikely chance. I expect you’ll soon pick up the official speech of the Provisional Imperial Capital—once your accent changes, forgetting your tablet now and then won’t much matter.”
Jiang Man felt she had learned something, and something of embarrassment besides; she answered low that she understood.
At the gate the soldiers indeed made little inspection—a glance, and through. The several people before and after them carried great back-baskets, and no one checked those either; the control was looser even than Jiankang’s.
Jiankang, though not the equal of Lin’an with its claimed million souls, had several great Wazi entertainment quarters of its own, roaring with life, no fewer than two hundred thousand living within and without its walls. It was, after all, the shadow of the Son of Heaven: with the two great garrisons of Jiankang and Xiangyang standing watch north and Hezhou’s fortress city guarding west, for the people’s livelihood the gates had been thrown wide, and for the moment there was no great danger.
Jiang Man returned the tablet to Huailou, and the two of them divided the books between them, passing the Prefectural School and Shixi Ward and the rest, giving the Meat Market a wide berth, and—without mounting the bridge—stepping two streets south. Jiang Man’s instinct said the Hidden Osmanthus Garden lay to the northeast, and that something important must stand here; she paid the closer attention.
Sure enough, before long Huailou stopped and pointed far off at a two-story building with vividly painted pillars and a gardenia lantern hanging at its door. “That is the Five-Bay Tower. Remember it well, Lady Jiang.”
Jiang Man assented and looked long. The Five-Bay Tower’s name was enormous—though not the equal of Fengle Tower’s fame in the west of the city, she had heard of it long since. Her family’s wine house in Lin’an had stood precisely in the Middle Wazi Quarter of South Market Ward, behind the Five-Bay Tower, beside the Imperial Street—the liveliest spot in all Lin’an, and nothing more than this.
If Lin’an’s wine houses looked to the Middle Wazi Quarter, then within the Middle Wazi, the finest privately run establishment, the best situated, had been her own family’s Jiang Kitchen.
But of the Jiang Kitchen’s glory she knew only from Jiang Rao’s and Jiang Ling’s telling; she had never seen it with her own eyes. The shop was shut now; those days, she feared, would not come again.
Past Jianqiao Bridge, Huailou slowed further, reminding Jiang Man to mark the way. “Look, Lady Jiang: this is the East Treasury under the Wine Inspection Bureau, and the wine house here is called Great Harmony. Great Harmony Tower’s trade is poor these days; it cannot compare with the Five-Bay Tower.”
Jiang Man looked up and couldn’t help saying, “I’ve heard Great Harmony Tower brews a Yellow Wine by a cold-spring method, of wonderful flavor, called ‘Clear Dew.'”
Huailou blinked, then smiled. “How it’s brewed, this servant couldn’t say—but the Clear Dew Wine there certainly is. When your health is better, Lady Jiang, I’ll send someone to buy you some to taste.”
Warmth rose in Jiang Man’s chest, with a touch of embarrassment, and for a moment she forgot to decline. “My thanks for Miss Huailou’s kindness. I am still in mourning, and though as a servant I cannot wear the mourning garb, wine I fear I must not drink. I take the thought to heart. If there is a chance someday, I will drink with Miss Huailou properly.”
Huailou nodded and pointed ahead again. “What we see now is Chongxin Gate—called Jianqiao Gate as well, for lying near Jianqiao Bridge. The quarter is lively enough, but beyond this gate is open country; apart from the Eastern Imperial Garden there’s nothing of consequence, and it wouldn’t be worth mentioning—only that sometimes…”
Huailou gave a soft sigh, half sigh and half laugh, and said in a low voice, “The Emperor has a pearl in his palm, born of Consort Zhen. After Consort Zhen died, she was given into the care of Noble Consort Song. That Noble Consort Song—” she paused, glancing at Jiang Man, “—is a gentle soul. And the Emperor has always doted on the Princess; whatever the Princess wants, there is nothing she cannot have.
“The Princess and the Female Scribe are very close, and often come to the Hidden Osmanthus Garden. To keep things low-key, she generally leaves the Imperial Palace and goes straight out of the city. East of the garden there is indeed a gate, but outside it lies the vegetable market, crowded and mixed; the Princess usually enters the city by this Chongxin Gate instead, then goes north along Fenghe Ward to reach the garden. What we’re standing in now is the Newly Opened South Lane; turn here, and that is Fenghe Ward.”
Jiang Man listened carefully, murmuring with Huailou as they went: “I had only heard the Female Scribe was permitted to walk within the Imperial Palace—I never knew she came and went so constantly.”
“At every festival, the clan women and the Court Ladies of Lin’an and its surroundings, invited by the Empress, must enter the palace. And the Female Scribe is one degree closer to the Empress than most; on ordinary days she goes in as well.”
Jiang Man nodded slightly. “And Consort Zhen…”
“Is the sister of Bureau Director Zhen, who invited the Female Scribe to tea today.” Huailou said low. “The Zhen clan and the Shen clan both come from Tiantai in Taizhou; the two families have always visited back and forth.”
Jiang Man understood at last—and her sense of Shen Wen’s exalted standing and the Shen family’s power deepened by another layer.
They walked a while further and stopped before a great compound. Huailou said suddenly, “We’ve been walking some time now, Lady Jiang—do you still bear up? If you’re tired, we’ll go in and beg a cup of tea.”
She turned her head to look: the compound was magnificent beyond anything they had passed; even glimpsed through a tube, the swallowing presence of a great mansion pressed upon one, not to be offended by ordinary people.
Jiang Man looked up at the plaque and recognized the Empress’s Household, and wondered: the Empress lived deep in the Imperial Palace—why keep a residence outside as well? Then it came to her: for visits home, no doubt—and it must be the Shen people who managed it now.
She had walked long and worked up a sweat; to stop now would only invite a chill. Tired as she was, Jiang Man could still bear it—and seeing Huailou still fresh, full of wind in her lungs, she only shook her head. “I am quite all right. Thank you for your concern, Miss Huailou. If you have business, I can well walk this round with you.”
Huailou only smiled. “As it happens I’ve grown hungry; I’d like to get back for our meal early.”
Jiang Man’s cheeks went faintly pink, and she followed with, “Then let’s hurry, by all means.”
She was too embarrassed to say it aloud, but she had eaten only half a bowl of plain congee and a few small dishes that morning, and walked all this way—her stomach had long been empty. Delay much longer, and it would likely crow like a rooster.
“This great avenue runs straight to the Hidden Osmanthus Garden; the road is easy to know, and the Imperial City Bureau and the Personal Guard Camp of the Bureau of Military Affairs are both near. Even with the light failing, a woman walking alone need not fear. This location of the Empress’s Household you must remember well,” Huailou said, instructing Jiang Man as they walked. “By rights, the Female Scribe would live here, managing the residence for the Empress. In name, it is here that we serve.
“But the Female Scribe’s visitors are, after all, many, and it would be unseemly for officials to come and go here; so the Female Scribe still rests more often in the garden. Those who call at the garden are rich or noble without exception, and closely connected besides. Many officials never come to the door; if there is urgent business, a card is passed in through the back courtyard.
“Errands of that kind are the most wearing. We have nothing so pressing—but the Female Scribe’s mind is taxed heavily, and on the road home she rarely cares to talk. If you attend her, remember to keep away from passersby; let no one see the Female Scribe.” Here Huailou’s manner grew grave. “Even a few words of courtesy cost the Female Scribe a great deal. Eat a lord’s rice, be loyal to a lord’s trust. Serving at the Female Scribe’s side as we do, you and I must think ahead in all things, and spare our Household Master what trouble we can.”
Jiang Man listened carefully to her guidance, nodding, then asked with a slight frown, “The Female Scribe doesn’t ride a sedan when she goes out?”
Huailou didn’t answer at once, waiting until they reached a quiet stretch. “There is something you don’t know, Lady Jiang. By day the officials are all at their posts; urgent business mostly happens at night. Public or private, when the Female Scribe goes out at night, her retinue is always light—at most two household men. Carriages and horses draw the eyes of the Imperial City Bureau; fortunately, at night the farthest she goes is Jianqiao Bridge, within easy walking distance. The Female Scribe nearly always goes on foot, both ways.”
The implications of this were rich indeed. Jiang Man, thoughtful, thanked Huailou and turned it over in silence.
Between learning the roads and Huailou’s teaching, Jiang Man had slowly begun to grasp Shen Wen’s singular position in Lin’an.
Her standing went without saying—others could only climb toward her, never she toward them; and being a woman, Shen Wen could come and go in the Imperial Palace at will. Here in the shadow of the Son of Heaven, there was perhaps no door closed to her.
Though she didn’t know what place Shen Wen occupied in it all, she dealt with officials of every stripe—she looked less like a principal guest than like the middleman.
The Liquor Monopoly was the key of the state’s finances; the cost of war, the buying and forging of weapons, all rested on the wine tax. The Shen men all held office at court; Lin’an’s position was critical, yet every matter of it was managed by Shen Wen. If she truly was a middleman, what flowed in through one hand and out through the other was not for the likes of Jiang Man to say.
Since the crossing south, the wine tax had been squeezed ever harder; by now, private wine merchants scraping by like the Jiang family were few, and the greater part of the revenue was carried by government houses. Beyond those under the Ministry of Revenue, the army-provisioning wine depots were the most numerous, and generals in the provinces swallowing the wine tax happened constantly. Thinking of this, Jiang Man could not help thinking further.
Even the Vice Minister of the Left Cao Bureau was surnamed Shen. If the whole Shen family stood “united as one heart,” lining their own pockets—with Shen Wen’s brazen air and her hand that reached everywhere—it was not impossible.
Walking on in silence, she found herself before the memorial archway without noticing.
Past Changle Ward, the Hidden Osmanthus Garden was close at hand.
This was the first time Jiang Man had truly looked at the entrance of this garden.
Look at any single detail—one stretch of wall, one row of tiles—and a viewer might find nothing remarkable in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden: elegant and antique, with many places already half-weathered; unless one had worked deep in such things, its subtleties were hard to read. Yet standing before the gate, the flanking walls ran on past the reach of a single glance—white walls, blue-green tiles—carrying a quiet seclusion utterly apart from the bustling streets. Everywhere a painting, everywhere one entered the painting; push open the gate, and one became a figure inside it.
Jiang Man looked, and the sigh that filled her was not for Shen Wen’s heaven-topping wealth. She passed through the side gate with Huailou, and felt her steps grow heavier and heavier—as if, with her last breath still in her, her strength were being drawn out through the soles of her feet; as if she were some weightless gnat, fallen into an abyss, unable to move, swept along by the river’s current—and without knowing it become someone’s accomplice, abetting tyranny at the bottom of a pool about to collapse.
As if she were only the fish and meat on the block, her great dream not yet broken, already caught in the spider’s web, waiting only for the day she would be swallowed.
The web of Female Scribe Shen.
