Chapter 28: A Private Exchange

Around lamp-lighting time, Steward Dong paid a visit to the study.

With the paper finished, Jiang Man had followed Huailou, listening as she explained the hidden subtleties of attending Shen Wen on outside business, and learning the taboos at tea gatherings and the many details requiring attention—no need to dwell on these.

Huailou spoke at an even pace, and most of these points became clear with a moment’s analysis; explained in such detail, they took little effort to learn. But though Jiang Man summoned her full attention, her heart was burdened; because of this, though nothing showed on the surface, she was in truth absent-minded, and what she gained was shallow.

Only on the return journey today had she located Jade Emperor Mountain, and she had also learned by chance of the vast differences among the various Clear Heart Hall papers. Jiang Man’s heart had hung suspended for a long while—nearly the torment of slow slicing.

If Jiang Ling’s long silence meant he had truly fallen to that villain, and the hand behind the scenes was someone of Shen Wen’s lofty standing…

Her heart felt as if drowning, suddenly clenching tight, then caught in a whirlpool.

“Miss Huailou.” Steward Dong pushed the door open, saw Jiang Man, lowered his eyes, and cupped his hands. “Lady Jiang is here as well.”

Jiang Man and Huailou returned the courtesy together.

“It was presumptuous of me, really. Before the new year, when silver and goods changed hands all around, I had no proof on hand at the moment,” Steward Dong beckoned, and the page behind him set something down on the cleared side table, “so I came to the Pavilion to borrow paper and brush. Today, muddled with busyness, I only remembered it just as I needed my seal—and hearing that Miss Huailou had business with me, I brought the Four Treasures of the Study back with me, returned in full.”

Two tiny fly-head brushes and an ink stick still wrapped in paper pressed atop a stack of paper a good six or seven inches tall. Jiang Man stole a glance without betraying anything: it was precisely the everyday sized alum paper kept in this room.

“I borrowed them from Miss Sijiu, but she happens to be out,” Steward Dong said with a smile, dropping into a half-kneel. “I ask Miss Huailou to apologize on my behalf.”

“What are you saying? A matter of a few sheets, and you made the trip yourself. If Sijiu knew, she’d feel terrible.” Huailou smiled too, not even glancing at the “returned in full” items, and lifted the copper kettle from the stove to pour him a cup of hot water. “Please sit, Steward. As for asking you here today, there’s nothing else really…”

Steward Dong made some polite demurrals but finally sat by the low table, then tilted his chin, and the page who had followed him let himself out, closing the door.

Once the man had gone, Huailou said, “The Female Scribe wants an Ivory Tablet procured for Lady Jiang. Please make a trip when you have time.”

“Gladly.” Steward Dong looked at Jiang Man. “This Credential Warrant—do you have it on you, Lady Jiang?”

“Yes.” Jiang Man curtsied, took out the document, set it on the table, and gave it a light push forward—avoiding a direct hand-to-hand exchange with the Steward.

Steward Dong took it, examined it carefully, thought briefly, and looked up still smiling. “I’ll go before the rest day. The moment the tablet is issued, I’ll deliver it straight to the Pavilion.”

Huailou nodded slightly, neither servile nor proud. “Then we thank you for the trouble, Steward. Nothing else really—warm weather is coming, and the opening and inventory of the storerooms will need your attention. If you have time, why not sit a while longer? Our hospitality today has been poor—we didn’t even manage to serve you tea for your amusement.”

“I’m much obliged.” Steward Dong rose. “I’ve affairs to handle tonight and dare not linger. Where might the Female Scribe be today? It’s growing dark—shall I have a sedan readied to fetch her?”

“The Female Scribe has already given instructions—no carriage needed.” Huailou curtsied. “We appreciate the thought; for such small matters, we servants ought to be the ones calling on you.”

Steward Dong cupped his hands. “Not at all, not at all—it’s my duty. Oh, right—”

Before the words had faded, he drew two palm-sized Carved Red Lacquer Boxes from his sleeve, smiling, and bowed to Jiang Man and Huailou each in turn. “Some days ago in Qiantang, passing Houyang Street, I saw these little carved lacquer boxes—exquisitely shaped. I thought at first the rouge shop had gone into the lacquer business, but they turned out to be seal boxes. Nothing valuable, but with you all at the Pavilion of Investigating Things on my mind, I took such a liking to them that I bought them.”

Jiang Man’s first instinct was to refuse. But mindful of her station, knowing that if anyone should speak it was Huailou, she only stood silently.

To her surprise, Huailou picked up one of the boxes, weighed it briefly in her hand, and said with a smile, “What meticulous thought, Steward—to consider even such small details for the likes of us. For devotion to duty, I fear no one in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden could rival you.”

Only after speaking did Huailou set the Carved Red Lacquer Box back on the table, and when she looked at Steward Dong again, there was a meaningful smile.

Something deeper than his words also lay on Steward Dong’s face. He said, “You flatter me. A few trinkets, out of my own private purse—merely hoping to earn some goodwill. Bought specially for the purpose; not valuable, but a token of regard all the same. I hope you won’t refuse, Miss Huailou.”

Huailou looked at him, her gaze falling to the table. “Very well. Obedience is better than politeness—thank you for your kindness, Steward.”

Steward Dong’s brow relaxed.

Huailou turned her head. “You should accept yours too, my lady.”

“Yes, yes,” Steward Dong said with an ingratiating smile. “A humble thing—consider it a first-meeting gift.”

“This…” Jiang Man frowned slightly. Such labor-intensive lacquerware was not cheap; were it only herself, she would absolutely refuse.

When water is too clear, there are no fish. If Jiang Man paraded her lofty integrity here, where would that leave Huailou?

“My lady.” Huailou turned, made a show of steadying Jiang Man, blinked, and said softly, “Take it.”

Jiang Man paused briefly; though she didn’t understand the meaning, she caught Huailou’s hint.

After a moment’s hesitation, she curtsied to Steward Dong and thanked him. He returned the courtesy, not lacking in respect.

The three exchanged pleasantries—words of no substance whatsoever, yet amid the liveliness they seemed to get along splendidly. That Jiang Man and Huailou saw the guest all the way to the corridor goes without saying; once back in the study, her bellyful of doubts had only deepened.

Huailou lifted the lids of both little boxes at once and gave a soft laugh. “Look, Miss Xiaojiu.”

Inside each box indeed lay a finger-thick elongated piece shaped like a leisure seal. Looking closely—glinting silver; what else could it be but silver?

Jiang Man picked one up and weighed it: a good three or four taels. Exchanged for rice, it would buy roughly two dan—enough to feed a family of four for a month.

Jiang Man hesitated. “Is this hush money?”

Huailou shook her head. “If he wanted to seal our mouths, this wouldn’t come close. These few taels of silver are just face money—the box is rather charming though; keep it for small odds and ends, and consider his favor acknowledged.

“He comes to apologize; we say it’s nothing, yet when it comes to the compensatory gift, we push it away entirely. You can never know another’s heart—were it you, you wouldn’t feel at ease either.”

Thinking of everything in the Water Room today, Jiang Man closed the lacquer box’s lid. “But this was meant for Sijiu.”

“Since Steward Dong gave it to you, take it.” Huailou looked over, very sincere. “Room and board are all within this garden—food and clothing assured, in theory. But you’re in Lin’an, attending at the Female Scribe’s side; everywhere you look, money is spent. There will be no shortage of such occasions ahead. Keeping something in hand is no bad thing.”

Jiang Man had never experienced such maneuvers; for a moment she didn’t even know what words of refusal to say. Then Huailou added, “As for Sijiu, presumably Steward Dong will send along a supplementary gift.”

Her hand tapped the tall stack of paper, and she shook her head gently. “More than what was lent, not less—but what the Steward returned is paper from two years ago. Really, a few taels of silver a person—he got off cheap.”

Huailou looked at Jiang Man and explained, “What was lent out was Juan Paper.”

Jiang Man understood. She had heard of Lin’an’s Juan Paper—a Paper Bureau product, exceedingly precious, yielding nothing to Clear Heart Hall Paper. Juan Paper was pure snow-white; what was returned was faintly yellowed sized alum paper—not even the color matched. How could that pass?

Yet in the Water Room that day, what Sijiu had pointed to was precisely this sort of paper—Jiang Man paused, coming to her senses.

So this was the “face” Sijiu had left Steward Dong.

“There’s something I don’t understand.” Jiang Man looked at the Carved Red Lacquer Box on the table. “However precious Juan Paper is, it can’t be worth this much silver. Acting this way, isn’t Steward Dong losing more than he gains?”

Huailou picked up the box, placed it in Jiang Man’s hands, patted it, and said, lips pressed, “He’s simply a man greedy for petty gains. Consider, Miss: whatever the pretext, in actual fact the Hidden Osmanthus Garden has only one Household Master—the Female Scribe. Steward Dong’s hand has reached even into our Pavilion of Investigating Things—what kind of filthy dealings, do you suppose, go on in places no one sees?”

Jiang Man frowned. “Such things happen daily right under the Female Scribe’s eyes—could someone so shrewd truly not know?”

Huailou smiled. “Guess, Miss Xiaojiu—why would Sijiu and I dare accept this money?”

Jiang Man caught the meaning, somewhat startled. “I thought the Female Scribe governed strictly—a mistress who couldn’t tolerate a grain of sand in her eye. How could she let him run loose? However much Steward Dong is head of the household staff, he’s still merely a servant working for the Female Scribe. With hands this unclean, why not dismiss him?”

Huailou had Jiang Man stow the box away, invited her to sit, sat beside her, and only then said, “Do you know, Miss, how many people the Hidden Osmanthus Garden counts, top to bottom?”

Jiang Man estimated silently and looked up. “Some eighty?”

“Over two hundred and ten.” Huailou looked at her. “Not counting the seasonal laborers hired only in autumn and winter.”

Jiang Man nodded slightly. There were plenty of places in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden she hadn’t set foot in; a garden this size—the labor costs were never something she could calculate from a passing glance. Even so, hearing the exact figure, she was still greatly startled.

Setting everything else aside, every plant and every vista she passed daily must be meticulously maintained by craftsmen; Shen Wen, spending so vastly on this—facing those who stole from within her own walls, what must she feel?

Shen Wen’s daily living was luxurious, even extravagant, but it matched her station. In their brief acquaintance in Jiankang last year, when it came to rice prices, commodity prices, haggling over pennies, Shen Wen was better versed than Jiang Man, who tallied accounts daily—clearly not someone without a grasp of the numbers.

“The Hidden Osmanthus Garden was, after all, bestowed by the Emperor. Many areas sit vacant, but if any spot truly fell to ruin, it would hardly escape being made into an issue by those with agendas.” Huailou said, “Steward Dong naturally has his flaws. That the Female Scribe keeps him on—she has her reasons. Matters like these, we maidservants needn’t know. Knowing whom exactly we serve and for whom we shoulder burdens—that’s quite enough.”

Jiang Man listened intently, softly acknowledging.

By Huailou’s account, Shen Wen seemed to have some scruples about the garden’s staffing. With Shen Wen so prominent, her brother Shen Shu presumably rose swiftly at court as well.

Unrestrained in great matters yet constrained at every turn in small ones—what was the reason?

Then Huailou suddenly asked, “Oh, right—Miss Xiaojiu. That matter of your brother you mentioned before—why didn’t you raise it with Steward Dong just now? He’s the one asking favors of us; it’s the perfect moment to be accommodating.”

Jiang Man lowered her eyes. “I fear I couldn’t repay such a favor.”

“You attend at the Female Scribe’s side; asking Steward Dong for help is only natural—there’s no ‘favor’ about it.” Huailou said, “I know I speak presumptuously. But out in the world ahead, there will be times to speak of humans to humans and of ghosts to ghosts. Playing seven parts humble as three—of that I have no fear for you. But inflating three parts into seven—that, Miss, you still seem to need to learn.”

Jiang Man looked at her with a faint smile and nodded. “You speak wisely. In my apprenticeship under you, who knows how much more I’ll come to see. That I may be taught—I can hardly be grateful enough. Please, no more such formality.”

Her drowning heart twisted over and over.

Jiang Man was alone now; even with ten parts, she could show only one.

Carrying treasure carelessly invites bandits; poor concealment teaches thieves—this was the lesson Shen Wen had taught her.

If Jiang Ling had truly met with calamity, and Jiang Rao had died so suddenly—at that hair’s-breadth moment, Jiang Man, saved by Shen Wen—whom could she trust, entrust herself to, turn to for help?

Shen Wen?

Apart from those who had depended on her as she on them, Jiang Man felt no one was worthy of trust.