They could not hold each other’s gaze for long.
With so many people present, and the difference of rank between them, simply staring at each other like this was against all propriety. Jiang Man forced herself to look away—she didn’t know why, the moment she saw that flickering, unfathomable pain in Shen Wen’s eyes, she had lost her soul like this, forgetting even basic courtesy.
She had only wanted to look back at her, read her mood, and soothe her from the side.
Perhaps the low spirits of one usually so imperious always drew extra attention. Jiang Man had merely been bewitched by this uncharacteristic appearance, by that fragility in Shen Wen’s expression—perhaps misread—and had nearly cast aside her own station.
What right did she have to pity her?
The Household Master had merely glanced at her and asked a couple more questions. That was all.
Seeing a parrot, one teases it a little; coming upon a cricket of fierce temperament, one pauses a moment. Such is how people treat things: the joys and sorrows that seem to arise from the object are in truth only the heart’s own mirror.
All things are mirrors.
Jiang Man should not have mistaken for her own a specialness that did not belong to her.
“In reply to the Female Scribe,” she lowered her eyes, her voice very flat, like well-water sealed in a vat, never having been fresh to begin with, “it sounds inauspicious, but this humble one dreamed of her dead family. Fearing I would defile your tranquility, I was slow to answer.”
Shen Wen glanced at her briefly and looked away: “What’s inauspicious about that? These ears of mine can hear false words and true words alike, insults and praise alike. To this day, I have truly never heard a word I could not bear.”
Jiang Man paused. Shen Wen’s words were veiled—part instruction, part feeling spoken aloud. She only said: “Yes. Xiaojiu thought wrongly.”
Shen Wen did not dwell on it with her, but walked slowly back to the desk, sparing Jiang Man not one extra expression. She only said: “Continue.”
“Yes.” Physician Xie laid one hand on the back of the other. “Lady Jiang has just been through fresh bereavement; grief that cannot be restrained is only human. Though this humble one counsels you to accept the change and moderate your sorrow—and the principle is sound—were our positions reversed, I fear I could not govern my own emotions either. Suppressing it wholesale, on the contrary, easily harms the liver and lungs.”
Jiang Man nodded slightly: “Physician Xie speaks rightly; this humble one will remember.”
“During this period, do you dream often?”
She said slowly: “Because I sleep lightly, dreams come now and then. A nightmare like today’s is the first. Presumably it has something to do with the quilt being too heavy; I’ve already had it taken away this morning.”
Physician Xie listened carefully and said: “Your pulse is no longer as floating as at first. Moderate walking and some work will do your body no harm, only good, and will open your appetite. Of your usual two meals, you should eat somewhat more.”
“Yes.”
“Blocking is not as good as channeling. Moderately easing your grief and dispersing your sorrow remains what you must attend to now.” When Physician Xie finished, he sighed very softly, was silent a moment, then said, “For now, however, you must above all take care and continue to rest quietly; you should not overexert yourself. This humble one hears you brought a maidservant with you to Lin’an?”
“Shall we have her come over?” It was Shen Wen who took up the words. Her brow arched as she spoke, plainly deciding on Jiang Man’s behalf.
Seeing this, Jiang Man felt an inexplicable warmth in her heart. She gently bit her lip, hoping she would soon rein in this groundless illusion.
“In reply to the Female Scribe, that would be best.”
Shen Wen lifted her chin.
Huailou went to the door and dispatched a maid on an errand; returning, she hesitated a moment, then still said in a low voice: “Female Scribe.”
Only then did Jiang Man remember that today was the day the Nominated Jinshi list posted. In Lin’an this matter was taken most seriously; the Examination Scholars who had sat the Metropolitan Examination—none would fail to join the crowds on this day, as if fearing that one day late, a name already on the list might be stared back off it.
Because the crowds viewing the list were so great, she had heard them say, one or two people were trampled to death every year—joyous occasions turning to funerals.
Once the list posted, the banquet circuit entered a new round; given Shen Wen’s standing, she could hardly fail to offer congratulations to those at the top. Who knew how much business there would be today.
Jiang Man awkwardly stepped aside and curtsied: “Thank you, Female Scribe, for summoning a Physician to examine this humble one. This humble body of mine is lowly; spending anything on it is not worthwhile. I would never dare delay your important affairs for it. Please—”
Her words failed her again.
Shen Wen’s vivid, unrestrained eyes bore down on her: “I have said it already, Jiang Xiaojiu. Whether it is worthwhile—that is not for you to decide.”
Jiang Man’s heart tightened.
“Go put today’s prepared clothes and Head Ornament Set in the carriage; I’ll change later. You go ahead to the Examination Hall first and cover Wu You’s post for a while; tell him to come wait at the garden. Meet me at the Five-Bay Tower at noon.” Shen Wen’s eyes moved. “Sijiu goes; Huailou stays.”
Both women were taken aback.
The words had scarcely fallen when Sijiu was first to react—yet she stood there motionless. Huailou assented, standing with lowered head, expressionless.
Shen Wen’s voice dropped a degree, clearly displeased: “What?”
“Female Scribe,” Sijiu rubbed her hands together, producing an extremely ingratiating smile, “you only gave me two days. If you go out today, that painting…”
Shen Wen pressed her lips together—and astonishingly, did not erupt: “One extra day of grace is no trouble. Satisfied now?”
“Satisfied, satisfied!” Sijiu curtsied with a smile, not forgetting to bow to Jiang Man and Physician Xie. “Then this humble one is off! Once I’m through at noon, I’ll go receive the Female Scribe!”
With that, Sijiu pulled the door to and left the study with remarkably light steps.
Shen Wen closed her eyes, rubbing the space between her brows, yet a smile tugged at her mouth. She shook her head slightly; opening her eyes again and seeing Jiang Man, the smile faded.
She had known she shouldn’t flatter herself—Jiang Man wrung her sleeve and lowered her eyes, pretending not to have been secretly watching her.
That Flower Mirror Botanical Treatise, having overwintered, had still managed to earn Shen Wen a few thin profits; she herself ate idle bread, only adding expense, worth less than that little insect.
A February mosquito that couldn’t compare even to a cricket—how could it ever win a smile from Shen Wen?
She truly didn’t know why her heart had tangled itself into such a state. Presumably that dream had been too dreadful, too terrifying; Jiang Man had mistaken Shen Wen’s casual effort for deliberate care, had seen her as someone with a heart who might take pity on her.
Thinking of that dream, Jiang Man had no mind left to sort the true from the false in such trifles.
She ought, of course, to be grateful to that net.
And yet she hated that net—hated it for being sturdy, hated it for being fragile, hated it for being born at the wrong time, hated it for the twist of fate that blocked her path at the beginning and buried her abandon at the end.
She hated it as if it were the original culprit.
Shen Wen said: “Keep a close eye on her these days; don’t let her do any work. The lessons can be taught slowly, no matter.”
She was silent a moment, then added, her voice so soft that without careful listening one would think it an illusion: “Consider it a pastime.”
Huailou assented.
“Get the money vault matter thoroughly investigated for me.” Shen Wen glanced at her. “Just those two things. Can you manage?”
Huailou’s tone was as ever; lowering her eyes, she said: “I will not fail your command.”
“Good.” Shen Wen nodded slightly. “Go eat.”
Not to mention Huailou—even Physician Xie and Jiang Man were baffled by these words.
Shen Wen lifted her chin slightly, eyes narrowed, saying nothing. Huailou started, clearly having come back to her senses, and curtsied to Jiang Man: “Lady Jiang, having risen so early today on account of illness, why not come with me? Let’s have breakfast.”
Jiang Man was startled, could only assent, bowed to Shen Wen, nodded briefly to Physician Xie, and withdrew. On the way she crossed paths with the arriving Ke Ye. Jiang Man and Huailou waited on the terrace they usually used.
Today the meal came faster—still eight small dishes. The two urged each other to eat; Huailou also had Jiang Man eat more red dates, but no need to dwell on that.
Earlier, because of recommending Ke Ye for the accounting office, Jiang Man knew she had failed Huailou’s teaching and had wanted to apologize. Huailou remained her old self, teaching according to the student: she did not interfere much with Jiang Man’s temperament, only revisited the talk of what a Household Master was, what duty was. Jiang Man listened to it all without perfunctoriness, and at the key points argued back a sentence or two.
Huailou was by no means arrogant; hearing Jiang Man’s views, she pondered them and honestly shared her own thoughts.
After breakfast, the two talked for a while about the masterworks of the Jiangxi Poetry School. Huailou often had differing opinions, and listening, Jiang Man felt she benefited greatly. Blown by a little of that late-February wind, warm yet not quite warm, her mood brightened considerably. She and Huailou talked so pleasantly that she didn’t even notice when Shen Wen left the Hidden Osmanthus Garden.
Lunch added a dish of Hundred-Herb Safflower Decoction, said to have remarkable effect on chest pain and heart ailments. Jiang Man, accustomed to medicines and having managed the Jiang household’s kitchens for years, knew well how many precious ingredients such a soup contained; one small cup was already a great expense.
Physician Xie had only been summoned that morning; by noon the medicinal meal was ready—Shen Wen’s instruction clearly lay behind it. Perhaps because she ate too slowly, Huailou urged her several times, coaxing and persuading, until Jiang Man finally drank it to the bottom, then picked out the several ingredients still palatable and chewed them thoroughly.
And looking at those small dishes: the plating was a bit rustic, but the cooking was very refined—there was bone broth stewed for many hours until the marrow melted, and chicken stock with fresh vegetables, prepared by some method she couldn’t guess, leaving only the fragrance of meat without any gaminess.
Jiang Man had already found it strange. That Sijiu and Huailou had their own private kitchen could be explained as the garden’s people currying favor while Shen Wen turned a blind eye. But this food was so lavish—even though they followed Shen Wen and benefited from her standard of living, it was still presumptuous. Even if Shen Wen didn’t care, how could someone as proper as Huailou have accepted such favor so openly from the start?
Her thoughts split in two: half laughing at her own self-importance, half feeling it must be true.
Whatever the origins of this food…
That she now ate it together with Huailou and the others—the one presiding behind it all had to be Shen Wen, the Household Master.
When night fell, Female Scribe Shen had not returned. Sijiu, however, came back early, listless, eyelids drooping—yet when she spoke of the day’s sights, she was animated and glowing.
Only, while talking she was full of zest, and the moment she finished she drooped like an ox that had pulled a millstone all day. The contrast was too extreme, unavoidably comical.
Jiang Man naturally held back her laughter; Huailou made not the slightest attempt to hide hers, making a joke of Sijiu. Sijiu, annoyed, didn’t tussle with Huailou but leaned against Jiang Man, demanding she render a fair judgment. Where was Jiang Man to find such fairness? The two traded jibes until they collapsed laughing together, and Jiang Man laughed along, her spirits lifting without her noticing.
It happened that Huailou went to the accounting office to ask questions. Sijiu tugged Jiang Man’s arm, and the two squeezed onto the low couch. “Oh right, Miss Xiaojiu—Lord Wu asked me to pass you a message.”
Jiang Man paused and nodded: “Go ahead.”
“That person you had him look into before—one of them, an Imperial Academy Student named Ge Yuquan, does exist. He’s said to still be at the Imperial Academy, but his age differs from what you described by a full round of the zodiac—this Ge is already past thirty.” Though Sijiu spoke as if in passing, her report to Jiang Man was very thorough. “Because the age differs so much, Lord Wu isn’t sure he’s the one you’re looking for. If it’s convenient for you, Miss, he’ll make the trip himself to confirm.”
Having been close with Jiang Ling, Jiang Man had naturally assumed the friends mentioned in the letters were all promising young talents of twenty or so. An Imperial Academy Student past thirty did seem rather old—but Jiang Man had only been guessing about ages in the first place; how could her idle speculation be the standard?
She hesitated a little: “Would it take too much of Lord Wu’s time?”
“He’s a straight shooter. If he didn’t have the time, he wouldn’t even have offered that courtesy. Since he said he’s willing to help, then he’s willing. Miss Xiaojiu can rest assured.” Sijiu smiled faintly.
“In that case,” Jiang Man looked at Sijiu, feeling rather embarrassed, and ventured, “then please send word for me—trouble Lord Wu to make the trip?”
Sijiu nodded.
She added: “Also, there was a pair of Yu brothers from Jizhou. Lord Wu couldn’t find definite news, and asked me to apologize to you.”
Jiang Man shook her head: “What are you saying? It was this humble one’s presumptuous request to begin with.”
“On today’s list of Nominated Jinshi from the Ministry of Rites, there are indeed two named Yu, both from Jizhou. Only, the names don’t match what you gave.” Sijiu thought a moment, her speech slowing. “Those two Nominated Jinshi—one is called Yu Xi, the other is Yu Wenshan. The one you’re looking for is Yu—Yu Tao’an, is it?”
“‘Tao’an’ may be a courtesy name. Miss Sijiu, to be honest with you, these people are all my brother’s old friends. I only know where they’re from and what surname they bear; as for the courtesy names and the men themselves, I truly can’t match them up.” Jiang Man pressed her lips together. “Jizhou may be a stronghold of the examinations, but people of the same surname making it onto the list can’t be too many. Presumably, since those two are named Yu, even if they aren’t the ones I seek, they may be kin to those Yu brothers.”
Sijiu listened attentively, then said: “That’s easy to handle, then—no need to trouble Lord Wu; this humble one can build you a bridge.”
Jiang Man was startled: “What clever plan does Miss Sijiu have?”
“Not really a ‘clever plan,’ ah… I spoke too big. Sorry to raise your hopes for nothing.” Sijiu stuck out her tongue. “This Yu Xi and Yu Wenshan are extremely young—the elder is said to be not yet twenty. For people like that, the Female Scribe will surely host them specially. When the time comes, we curry a little favor with the Female Scribe and tag along—won’t we see them then?”
With that, Sijiu blinked at Jiang Man.
Jiang Man gave no definite answer, only looked at her with a smile.
