“I was wondering why I’d seen no sign of you—asked at the kitchen, and learned you two were resting in the Water Room!”
Jiang Man started, breaking free from her tangled thoughts, and saw someone lift the curtain and enter—who but Sijiu could the speaker be?
The maids all rose. Sijiu curtsied to Jiang Man. “Lady Jiang.” Then she accepted the maids’ bows, leaned against Huailou’s side, and squeezed in beside her, refusing to take a chair of her own.
Huailou smiled wryly and made room. Sijiu squeezed in, chin propped on both hands. “My lady, did you visit the Supreme Clarity Palace today? Did the Daoist Masters serve you whisked tea?”
Jiang Man shook her head. “I did have a cup of boiled tea—tea cake ground up, with only cinnamon and ginger peel; the strength was just right, unforgettable.”
Sijiu listened and nodded slightly; nodding, her cheeks puffed up because of her hands, lending her a touch of childishness.
Then she said, “The Supreme Clarity Palace may not be the most popular temple in Lin’an, but it has distinguished origins—it was only rebuilt a few years ago, and the Emperor bestowed imperial calligraphy on it. The Daoist Masters in residence are all devoted to their pursuit of the Dao, and the temple is kept immaculate everywhere. That you, my lady, could accompany the Female Scribe on this visit to seek the Dao is a blessing others couldn’t envy enough.”
Jiang Man listened carefully. “You speak wisely, Miss.”
Was this said for her, or for the others in the Water Room?
While she wavered, one of the errand-running maids returned, two bowls of dumplings steady in their box. She had hurried there and back yet wasn’t even panting; she properly took the food out and set it on the table, smiling apologetically to the group. Huailou took out her money pouch, counted off from the string of coins a length of copper about a finger long, and offered a word of thanks for her trouble.
The errand fee had already been given; this extra reward was a bit more than Jiang Man had guessed. That little maid was only twelve or thirteen; hurrying there and back like that, she must have run quite a distance, yet she held her breath and dared not make a sound. Such discipline—the Jiang household had never had it.
Jiang Man quietly took note. Then Sijiu suddenly said, “The three of us sitting in the Water Room isn’t right—people come and go needing water and tea; aren’t we holding them up? Once we’ve eaten the dumplings, let’s head back to the Pavilion of Investigating Things, eat in the corridor, and while the sun is good, get the alum sizing done quickly.”
She had risen, yielded to Huailou, and sat herself on a low stool, still at Huailou’s side.
Huailou said, “You haven’t had your midday meal?”
“How could I? Today I was taking stock of the Pavilion’s expenditures—some forgetful soul borrowed paper and never replaced it. What a joke: barely a thin stack of sized alum xuan paper left. There’s only one mistress in this Hidden Osmanthus Garden—how dare anyone let the Female Scribe’s study run short?” Sijiu sighed. “The bamboo paper knife needs replacing too—cutting paper, preparing materials, tidying everywhere. I’d just thought to send word to the kitchen, and then forgot about the knotted cord tassel—”
“You call others forgetful—what’s your memory like, daring to put such a thing off?” Huailou’s voice wasn’t loud. “The weather’s about to warm; the new fan faces were commissioned long ago. One word and we’re out the door—and you’d weave last year’s old tassel onto them?”
Her voice was naturally soft and delicate; deliberately lowered now, the words were hard to catch without careful attention. Jiang Man quietly picked at her yam dumplings, seemingly deaf to it all.
The maids clustered in the corner who had been chatting all fell silent, eyes lowered as if in self-reflection—nothing but self-deception; every word from Sijiu and Huailou, they probably heard perfectly.
Sijiu glared at her resentfully. “You’ve got it good—nine of ten outings include you, yet I never see you worrying over these matters? I always knew I was easygoing… Fine, eat your dumplings!”
“Shall I give you half of mine?” Huailou exchanged a look with Jiang Man, then looked at Sijiu, helpless.
Sijiu turned half away. “I don’t want your dumplings.”
Jiang Man carefully avoided the syrup and put a yam dumpling in her mouth.
The maids in the Water Room resumed their chatter.
The two ate quickly—after being out and about, who had the leisure to count grains of rice? Jiang Man hadn’t eaten well these days; only last night, basking in Shen Wen’s favor, had she eaten to eighty percent full, which was already remarkable. But Huailou ate with elegant manners—while her mouth was still occupied, she absolutely would not glance at her bowl again—which caught Jiang Man’s attention.
Such habits rooted in the smallest details could be taught for a time but not sustained a lifetime. Everyone in the Water Room was a servant; only Jiang Man hovered in between, not truly a mistress of the house—yet Huailou observed such etiquette, clearly drilled into her from childhood.
She said she was a Returnee from the North; her parents’ generation must have been born and raised in the north. Only a scholar family that had submitted to the Mongols could have raised a daughter of such breeding.
In the current situation, many defected to the Mongols, few returned; even a returnee scholar—how would he let his daughter be hired out to another?
The pastries were bought back too; Huailou rewarded the fruits to the maids to share, and the three returned to the Pavilion of Investigating Things with tea and refreshments. Hot water wasn’t kept ready at all hours in Shen Wen’s study, and with her absent, the attendants wanting a hot drink had to bring their own. Jiang Man was weak; after two failed attempts at carrying the water she gave up, carrying only the oil-paper-wrapped Mirror Cakes. Sijiu carried a half-small-bucket of water, her shoulders not even tilting.
The weather was decent; the three sat by the terrace in the corridor, waiting for the kitchen to send food.
Jiang Man said, “You two are, after all, the Female Scribe’s own people—your food and provisions differ from others’. But this private cooking does rather hold up the work. After toiling away and finally getting a moment’s rest, to eat a hot meal you must still wait an hour or more—quite the hardship.”
Sijiu asked, “Have you been eating what the kitchen prepares, my lady?”
Jiang Man nodded slightly. “Even that shames me before the grain. Since coming to the Hidden Osmanthus Garden I’ve added much trouble for you two, unable to help in return—merely begging two free meals a day.”
“What kind of talk is that? Since you came, the Female Scribe has treated us all more generously. Huailou aside—look at me; don’t I often have idle moments?” Sijiu, half scolding and half laughing, patted Jiang Man’s hand. “The three of us serving at the Female Scribe’s side, able to help one another—nothing could be better.
“If you don’t mind, Lady Jiang, join us for meals from now on. Today was a coincidence—since we occasionally go out with the Female Scribe and never know when we’ll return, the kitchen doesn’t prepare our meals on schedule. On ordinary days, we give advance notice, and after attending the Female Scribe, Huailou and I take turns eating—quite convenient.”
Jiang Man demurred. “How could that be proper?”
“I think Sijiu’s idea is good. You surely can’t eat well in that South Courtyard; the kitchen’s small stove is merely a matter of adding a pair of chopsticks—what’s proper or improper about it?” Huailou chimed in to persuade her. “And besides, if it’s convenient for us, it’s convenient for the Female Scribe. If we had to summon you at mealtimes, you’d have to cross from the front courtyard, wasting no little time.”
Jiang Man considered briefly, then agreed. “Then I’m in your care, both of you.”
“No trouble at all.” Sijiu laughed. “If you’d grace us, no need for such formality in addressing us—just call our names, and I’ll—”
“Sijiu.” Huailou cut her off, almost imperceptibly pressing her lower lip.
Jiang Man remembered what Huailou had said on the way over. She steadied herself, confirmed no one was near, and said to the two, “Sijiu, Miss Huailou—there are a few things I’d like you to hear.”
Huailou paused. “Please speak, Lady Jiang.”
Sijiu naturally nodded.
Jiang Man said, “I entered the Female Scribe’s service to pay my father’s debt. Grateful as I am, living under another’s roof, I can’t help some trepidation. Without your two’s careful care and occasional help, in these few short days I couldn’t count the reprimands I’d have suffered. I know Miss Huailou is a woman of foresight who thinks much further ahead than I. But right now, the three of us serve in the same place, together morning and night—how many occasions for mutual trouble lie ahead?
“If we’re overly rigid about forms of address, inconveniencing you two seniors, the fault is mine. As I see it, whatever the future holds, privately we needn’t be such strangers—we may each keep our own reckoning.” Jiang Man pressed her hands at her waist in a curtsying posture, eyes lowered. “In public, I’ll accept the title of ‘my lady’ in name only; if you think anything of me, then please, privately, call me by my childhood name—it would feel more intimate.”
Sijiu nodded repeatedly at this, looking toward Huailou with expectation.
Huailou was silent a moment, then smiled. “Then I ask Miss Xiaojiu to look kindly on me.”
Jiang Man’s heart eased and she laughed too. Sijiu said, “Don’t mind her stiff exterior—inside she’s been blooming with joy for ages. That’s just how she is.”
Huailou shot her a glance without changing expression. Sijiu, not to be outdone, met her gaze.
Suppressing laughter, Jiang Man asked, “Ordinary Champa rice doesn’t seem to take this long to steam. Is there some special refinement to the rice you usually eat?”
“There’s something you don’t know, Miss. The Pavilion’s small stove uses a rare rice variety from Fujian called ‘Cold Fragrance.'” Huailou had surrendered without a fight, withdrawing from the battlefield, yet showed not a trace of defeat—rather it was Sijiu, the victor, who seemed somewhat annoyed.
She continued explaining, “The Female Scribe’s provisions have always been attended to with the utmost care. Last autumn she rotated the rice, flour, and vegetables through several rounds; the rice was settled last. Only by basking in her favor do we eat this Cold Fragrance rice. Also, when steaming, several drops of sesame oil are added—not drizzled after steaming, but mixed in with the water after washing the rice, so the floral fragrance infuses from the start. To draw out that fragrance, the kitchen sisters say, Cold Fragrance rice must be steamed slowly over a gentle flame—rushed by even a moment, that refreshing texture dissipates.”
Jiang Man thought of the method for steaming sweet mash in the Wine Classic of the Northern Mountain. She and her brewery’s winemakers had both believed that during brewing, flavored wine’s taste could be deliberately adjusted so the first sip and the aftertaste matched—a pity that research into this improvement had been shelved for various reasons.
Hearing Huailou’s explanation, she recalled this matter again. “I wonder what the principle behind it is—suddenly I’m quite curious.”
Huailou said, “That I couldn’t say. Since you’re interested, Miss Xiaojiu, some day when there’s leisure, I’ll take you to ask.”
Jiang Man offered no empty words, and thanked her.
She was genuinely interested in the mechanics; though she didn’t know if the day would come when it proved useful, understanding the reasons could do no harm.
Before long the kitchen sent food: eight side dishes in all, plus a plate of dried meats and fresh fruit—quite lavish. At first glance nothing seemed amiss, but on closer inspection Jiang Man realized several dishes were all vegetables, fish, and shrimp—no chicken, duck, or pork whatsoever.
Though she didn’t know Lin’an’s prices, they couldn’t differ much from Jiankang’s. Vegetables and fruits streamed into the Provisional Imperial Capital from everywhere; feeding the teeming hundreds of thousands stacked in these buildings large and small couldn’t be too expensive. What was precious now was mutton; fish and shrimp weren’t much cheaper than chicken and duck. Not a single fowl or livestock dish to be seen—that was rare indeed.
