Chapter 40: A Lotus Bud Emerges

Ke Ye stood wholly exposed under that appraising gaze. Facing Shen Wen, it seemed any concealment would be gilding the lily.

She curtsied, still with lowered brows and compliant eyes, and answered: “My thanks to the Female Scribe. This humble one is terrified. To run errands for the Female Scribe is my duty; when a task is done well I feel at ease, and when a task goes even one day undone, I cannot sit or stand still, always wishing to give you an accounting as soon as possible. Back in Jiankang, it was your care that preserved my family member’s life. A kindness so great can never be repaid—how would I dare ask for any reward?”

Shen Wen nodded slightly, then asked: “And how is your sister now?”

Jiang Man hadn’t expected her to still remember Ke Zhi’s affair.

Ke Ye also paused: “In reply to the Female Scribe, she has fully recovered, thanks to Physician Xie’s miraculous hands. Fortunately there was no great harm—only some depleted vitality. With a while more of nourishing, she’ll be well.”

“One so clever as you, tucked away in some courtyard doing odd work, is a waste. Since there’s nothing you want,” Shen Wen paced slowly through the room, brushing past Jiang Man—even that single fleeting glance was enough to make one unable to forget—”why not choose a good post for yourself. Have your wages raised too. That is far harder to come by than a reward of a few scattered coins. Think it over carefully.”

“Yes, Female Scribe.”

“Oh, right.” She suddenly turned back. “That courtyard of yours—has the name been decided?”

Jiang Man was briefly taken aback, lowered her eyes: “The ‘Wenqu’ the Female Scribe originally inscribed was already fine. Since Xiaojiu serves in the study, which counts as a refined matter, perhaps one character might be added, making it ‘Inquiry Studio.'”

Shen Wen said nothing.

Jiang Man was silent a moment, then slowly found Shen Wen’s collar in the candlelight, climbed to her collarbone, caught that jaw of hers—smooth and heaven-granted, like spring snow before it melts—and at last met her eyes.

At the moment their gazes met, Jiang Man became certain: she had been waiting for her to raise her head.

Shen Wen’s eyes stirred: “I inscribed ‘Wenqu’—why would it be a studio? Tell me.”

“‘Zhai’—a studio—is a place of secluded dwelling, tucked into a corner, a place for nurturing the heart. Though this humble one lacks such fortune, I do attend at the Female Scribe’s side constantly and have learned a few surface tricks, so I might pass for one who nurtures the heart.” Jiang Man looked at her. “Though unworthy of the name, I wished at least not to disgrace the Female Scribe—it is merely a spur to myself.”

Shen Wen smiled faintly: “What a resounding slap of flattery that was.”

Jiang Man blushed.

But Shen Wen showed no reaction. Why would she give her one? Words spoken by Female Scribe Shen never cared for the listener’s feelings. She only said: “Do you know what it is I ask of the moon?”

Jiang Man pressed her lips together. She was at once ashamed and vexed—the flattery she had finally managed to utter had been exposed to her face by Female Scribe Shen, and yet she could not flare up, so that she didn’t know how to reply even to an ordinary sentence.

But she was Shen Wen’s person. With no accumulated standing, she could not rashly imitate the occasional willfulness Sijiu or Huailou indulged in. That was something only old hands with well-calibrated measure and merit to their names could do. The Jiang Man of today could not afford a single misstep, could not blunder even one step.

Jiang Man lowered her eyes, hiding her expression so Shen Wen could not see it. She answered softly: “The small courtyard lies at the southern corner, and a storied tower rises there—one might chase the moon.”

Shen Wen gave a light laugh: “You read plenty of those unrestrained books in your maiden days, it seems—you can produce Master Donglai’s verses offhand.”

The voice was truly too soft, half laugh, half an involuntary sigh. Jiang Man did not look up; that smile vanished in an instant—she could not catch it, still less distinguish it.

She carefully weighed Shen Wen’s meaning and said in a small voice: “Why call the art of verse ‘unrestrained’? This humble one does not understand.”

Shen Wen came close, eyes narrowed: “You know perfectly well.”

Jiang Man dared not retreat; she raised her head: “This humble one does not know what it is the Young Master asks of the moon.”

Shen Wen sighed: “How did you know it was ‘the Young Master’?”

Jiang Man was taken aback.

True—Master Donglai’s “Treading on Grass” opens with plum blossoms and snow unable to tell each other apart. It was surely not the self-comparison of a singing courtesan, but rather the reminiscence of one who had lived through it.

Pray ask the moon over the South Tower for me…

That was asking the plum and the snow to go and ask.

Jiang Man dwelt in the small tower of the South Courtyard—was she the one who asked, or had she become the stand-in for that stretch of roof-tiles questioned beneath the bath of moonlight?

She suddenly felt her own name had been chosen too presumptuously.

“Ke Ye, when it’s light, have Dong Linyuan make a name-plaque for your Young Lady’s courtyard, and invite the one with the thinner brushwork to write it. I have already inscribed the carving on the moon-gate; these three characters ‘Inquiry Studio’ would inevitably seem repetitive, so I won’t write them again.” Shen Wen stepped back as if wind passing without trace—only in Jiang Man’s heart did ripples surge wave upon wave.

She continued pacing, and at the end of the room said slowly: “What the Inquiry Studio lacks, which hands need changing—take this chance to say it all as well. I must give you something to preside over; otherwise the raise in wages would be unjustified, and people would inevitably think I show favoritism.”

Listening, Jiang Man’s thoughts swayed this way and that; she could not say whether she was glad or troubled.

The name she had proposed for the South Courtyard was not spoken offhand but had gone through deep deliberation. This Hidden Osmanthus Garden was, after all, imperial property, bestowed upon Shen Shu, with Shen Wen now serving as its Household Master—what an immense honor, one ordinary people could only dream of. How could someone of Jiang Man’s standing be permitted to name the buildings of the garden?

Therefore, since Shen Wen had already inscribed characters, her setting aside the fee for writing and merely adding or trimming a little was the most fitting course. Thus, though it cut off any chance to distinguish herself, it would never invite future calamity.

Shen Wen had nodded—this was a good thing.

Yet in her words, she had also clearly preserved the master-servant relationship between Jiang Man and Ke Ye…

Where in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden was there room for a second master?

Ke Ye probably hadn’t smelled the danger in this at all. Delight crossed her face as she answered again and again: “My thanks to the Female Scribe! This humble one will do her utmost to serve well!”

“Female Scribe.” Jiang Man stepped forward two paces. Her posture and words were already as humble as she could make them—yet her stepping forward at all was itself a kind of arrogance.

Her heart rose to her throat; she didn’t know whether her words, as they left her, also trembled with this anxiety: “Forgive this humble one for speaking too much.”

Shen Wen’s footsteps stopped.

She did not turn, and asked: “How do you know I will surely pardon you?”

Jiang Man lowered her eyes: “Xiaojiu has nothing to rely upon.”

“Speak.” That voice came from far away, with the languor of someone at leisure watching puppets perform a play, so certain it seemed she had long since toyed with all things in the palm of her hand.

Jiang Man said: “This humble one and Ke Ye come from the same hometown and were old acquaintances; we naturally look after each other. She has been in the garden only a short time, and though she has gathered a thin layer of toil to her credit, she cannot compare with the old hands long practiced in serving in the Inquiry Studio. To abruptly elevate her to steward of a courtyard—I fear she could not hold it down, and would instead betray the Female Scribe’s expectations: not one part of merit achieved, but ten parts of fault incurred.”

Ke Ye’s face had already calmed, and she had said nothing all along. Jiang Man knew she would not contradict her at this moment—but Huailou was still watching nearby, and beyond the walls, who knew if ears were pressed close.

How would others see the two of them?

Shen Wen returned to the desk, leaning against it without sitting, still wearing that expression of toying with something: “In your view, what should I reward her with? Gold and silver treasures—or shall I reward her with a husband?”

Jiang Man’s face flushed red. This person truly spoke without filter, saying whatever came to mind—and Jiang Man was certain she could say it and do it; there was no way to take it as anything but real.

She gritted her teeth and finally said it: “This humble one would ask for an Accountant’s post for Ke Ye.”

Huailou, who had kept quietly to her corner the whole time, reminded Jiang Man of her existence with a glance. Huailou’s gaze skimmed like a dragonfly over the silent Ke Ye and settled on Jiang Man—neither light nor heavy, its true meaning and direction impossible to read.

Jiang Man knew she had overstepped.

The hard-won opportunity forced her to take this risk.

As if Shen Wen had detected a play she had long grown used to suddenly taking a new turn, a flicker of interest gradually rose in her eyes.

Jiang Man added: “The foot has its shortcomings, the inch its strengths. Ke Ye served in a study before; reckoning accounts is where she has put in bitter effort. The Female Scribe is one who knows people and uses them well—why not grant Ke Ye this? A gentleman is not a vessel, yet to have one’s talents put to full use is where a person earns regard. If Ke Ye has such fortune, then this humble one believes: with her ability to do her modest duty and her heart that is grateful and meticulous in affairs, sharing the Female Scribe’s burdens should be no difficulty at all.”

“To the accounting office?” Shen Wen stroked her lips, thinking, and the more she considered it the more she seemed to find it a clever idea, a strange light in her eyes. “She does have ability. A pity her credentials are shallow—she can’t fill Old He’s post…”

“Female Scribe.” Huailou stepped forward.

Jiang Man’s heart sank.

So it was confirmed, then. In Huailou’s eyes, Jiang Man must have failed to take that earlier admonition to heart, to the point of doubling down today.

Their positions differed; she could not tell Huailou her true thoughts. How was Jiang Man to say it—that she had heard Huailou’s words like a bucket of enlightening water, and had finally decided to occasionally contradict the station of a servant?

Shen Wen held a smile: “Oh? You too wish to say a few extra words today and beg ‘pardon’ of me?”

“This humble one would not dare. The fault of presumption—I leave it to the Female Scribe’s judgment.” Huailou curtsied. Though her brows were lowered and eyes compliant, where on her face was the slightest sign of fear?

Then she said: “Miss Ke Ye has her strengths, and letting those strengths be used is a win for all. This humble one should not meddle. But precisely because we are considering a way forward for her, certain concerns must be raised.

“The accounting office is full of miscellaneous business—it is no place for nurturing the heart. People come and go in crowds. Miss Ke Ye has no official standing; the verification work alone has already been very awkward for her. For the long term, she would need a legitimate position. She is a woman, and no strong farm girl either—unable to lift with her shoulders or carry with her hands. Even running errands, serving tea and pouring water, she would likely be a burden.”

Shen Wen said: “What does working in an accounting office need so much strength for? Even in marching to war there have been women: in commerce there was Lady Fu Hao, in Tang there was Princess Pingyang; and in our dynasty, when we resisted the Jin, did not Lady Liang, wife of the Han Prince of Qi, charge at the front lines? She could even command troops—yet she can’t manage a pen shaft?”

Then, with a smile that was not quite a smile, not waiting for Huailou’s answer, she added: “The Prince of Qi Manor is just across that street. Speak irresponsibly like that, and take care someone comes calling at night to settle accounts.”

“This humble one failed to explain clearly—begging the Female Scribe’s pardon.” Huailou did not take the bait, staying far from the opening of any sophistry, and continued her own point. “If Ke Ye goes there, of low standing and still needing seasoning, she will inevitably run many errands. Even if the seniors don’t deliberately make things hard, hauling those old and new ledgers—ten, twenty catties—back and forth can hardly be avoided.

“And if, because she is a woman, a precedent is opened for Miss Ke Ye, it may invite criticism; if no consideration is given, then with so many gentlemen in the accounting office—old and young, every sort of temperament—what will they think?” Huailou paused, then said, “That is the first point, and not even the most important. The truly important matter is the money vault.”

“How so?”

“In reply to the Female Scribe: by rule, all personnel entering and leaving the money vault must be searched. The rule is not enforced every time nor observed by everyone, but the household law stands there in black and white; a permanent exception cannot be opened for anyone.” Huailou said. “Those who perform the searches are men. Ke Ye, though a servant, must still observe the separation of men and women. If she truly goes to the accounting office, there will inevitably be times she must pass the vault—and then, how is she to conduct herself?”

When she finished, Huailou stood silently before the desk. Her voice was not loud, yet every word seemed to strike the ground with weight.

This concern was one Jiang Man had never thought of—Huailou had thought of it ahead of her.

“That is not a matter for me to decide.” Shen Wen said suddenly.

Her index finger pressed against her lower lip; as she spoke, the skin of her upper lip rubbed now and then against her fingertips—a peculiar intimacy that, to the eye, seemed entirely unintentional.

Her lips parted slightly: “I am one person with two hands; my strength does not reach everywhere, so I ask others to assist. In learning, some come before others; in arts, each has his specialty. Where I need help, if I do not ask the person of special skill, but instead decide in their place—then why ask anyone at all? Would it not save effort to do everything myself?”

Huailou was stunned a moment, then asked: “The Female Scribe means…”

“Your having such concerns shows your care. But what Ke Ye thinks, how she weighs it—that must depend on her wishes.” Shen Wen looked over, still mild. “I do not do the thing of deciding in another’s place. Ke Ye—in this garden of mine, is there a post you fancy?”

Ke Ye bowed: “This humble one wishes to go to the accounting office as an apprentice.”

“It’s all men there.”

“This humble one doesn’t mind.”

“In the work, I’m afraid a full tenth will run right into your weakness.”

“This humble one is not afraid. Practice makes perfect; small difficulties, with effort, can surely be overcome.”

Shen Wen nodded slightly: “And the matter of the body searches?”

“If arrangements can be made and things handled flexibly, so much the better. It is not only accounting people who must come and go at the vault; women will inevitably pass through now and then—it cannot be that men perform the search every single time.” Ke Ye lowered her eyes, yet spoke with great confidence. “If no arrangement can be made, this humble one is willing to adapt. To go to the accounting office and learn practical skills is a fortune I couldn’t beg for. I implore the Female Scribe to grant this.”

Shen Wen’s brow arched, a hint of a smile in it; when she spoke again, it was toward Jiang Man: “Then from the third month she goes to serve in the accounting office. The great and small affairs of the Inquiry Studio remain in your hands. The capable must labor much—manage it as you see fit; your wages won’t be short a single coin.”

Ke Ye performed a full obeisance: “My deepest thanks to the Female Scribe for her trust.”

With all the business concluded, Shen Wen returned to her rooms to rest, and only then did Jiang Man and Ke Ye make their way back to the Inquiry Studio. The two had spoken much intimate talk before the conversation circled at last to the unresolved case of Mr. He.

“Since you say you can find no proof that Accountant He lined his own pockets, then either the books were kept so beautifully as to deceive heaven and cross the sea, or the man was truly innocent, suffering this baseless slander from nothing.” Jiang Man lowered her eyes. “How strange.”

“Those twists and turns can’t be uncovered from inside the accounting office; I’m afraid this humble one can’t help there, and cannot share the Young Miss’s burden.” Ke Ye’s worried look lasted only an instant before she smiled again. “Now that I’ve gained a post that takes me out, I trust everything will go smoothly. I only hope these last ten days of the month pass quickly—once the third month arrives, I’ll find chances to make inquiries.”

“Your proper duties come first.” Jiang Man admonished, with a faint smile.

Though they had finally won a way out, the road ahead was vast and dim; this was no time for rejoicing.

Jiang Man did not wish to dampen Ke Ye’s spirits, but she had her own calculations in her heart and could not help feeling listless. After they had talked, Jiang Man washed and rested. Thinking of tomorrow’s affairs, she felt a weight she couldn’t shake.

The Nominated Jinshi list would post—joy for some households, sorrow for others. Shen Wen had her own designs and would no doubt be run off her feet; and yet this strange affair in the garden still had no resolution. Mr. He had not embezzled—then who, guarding the store, had robbed it?

And why was it that while that person still drew breath, by midday the garden already had word of his death?

Jiang Man forced her eyes shut, as if hoping the busy days might spare her for a while.

Life showed mercy—but dreams did not.

Jiang Man drifted into sleep, and in the haze, saw a familiar figure.

She dreamed of Jiang Ling.

This was not a good omen.