Chapter 9: The Forked Road

On the day of departure, under Ke Ye’s repeated urging, Jiang Man managed a little food.

She had rarely traveled far. In childhood, accompanying her mother to temples and rites, they would sometimes lodge a night or two in the devotees’ quarters; the carts and boats going and coming—perhaps it was a child’s nature—left only freshness in her memory. After her mother died, such journeys grew rare; even when she went out for cause, she returned within the day.

A thousand li lay ahead; half a bowl of Seven-Treasure Five-Flavor Congee would hardly reverse heaven’s decree.

Ke Ye would go with Jiang Man to Lin’an. That she bring a maid was Shen Wen’s instruction. Jiang Man’s first thought was Ke Zhi—but the road ahead was uncertain, and if the maid she brought must do rough work, sweeping and scrubbing, Ke Zhi, only just recovered her strength, would hardly serve. Bringing Ke Ye was a wrong to her too, but Jiang Yun’s persuasion won out in the end.

Six years in Lin’an, fraught with peril—the person at her side must bring more than loyalty; she must be able to help.

In these days they had made quiet inquiries of their family’s acquaintances in Lin’an, and of Shen Wen’s true weight, Jiang Man still could not claim to know seven or eight parts in ten.

But that woman was of a different kind from herself, beyond doubt.

Shen Wen: born of a pure and exalted house, moving through the Imperial Palace, presiding over affairs in her youth, vowed never to marry, defying the classics and the age—

And free to come and go as she pleased.

Just like every man in this world.

Jiang Man thought of her one meeting with her, and paused a moment, startled.

An unaccountable doubt rose in her. Shen Wen’s brilliant clothes, her unrestrained bearing—which point of her resembled a man?

Men might have hair as black as hers, skin as white as snow—but they could never compare.

It was not that Shen Wen resembled a man. It was that men resembled her.

How free she was.

In the bitter cold, the snow-laden wind filled out Jiang Man’s Beizi Jacket like the sail of a ship about to put far out to sea.

She had heard that foreign merchant ships often came to Lin’an—the nearer from Mayi, the farther reaching even the lands of Arabia.

Jiang Man did not know what manner of world that was, only that it was very, very far—like the homeland of strange folk beyond the mountains and seas. Jiang Ling would sometimes tell her such things: to see the ships from Arabia, Quanzhou or Guangzhou was best; Quanzhou, he said, had many Arabian merchants settled besides. Jiang Ling told it vividly: by his account, a cargo ship’s round trip between the Great Song and Arabia took four years.

The Jiang Man of that time could not imagine herself adrift four years at sea. A person would surely turn dark and thin—but did sea-farers grow taller than the natives of those lands? What did they eat, what water did they drink?

Jiang Man had wanted to ask how the Arabian men differed from the people of the Central Plains, but never managed to ask.

She had no chance to see for herself.

“Young Miss, the wind is too fierce today—shall we wait by the corner gate?” It was Ke Ye’s second attempt at persuasion, her hands chafed, her nose blown red.

Jiang Man was about to shake her head, but seeing her state, could not help pressing her lips together. Suddenly she touched her own nose-tip: surely hers wasn’t red too?

“Are you chilled? Let this humble one put your wind-hood up for you—one wrap of that fur collar and the wind is turned aside. It’s in the outermost layer of the chest, no trouble at all.”

Jiang Man only shook her head. “Go sit by the corner gate. I’ll stand a while.”

“This…”

“Sit a while.” Jiang Man pressed again, and found her an errand. “Fetch another bowl of ginger soup, blow it cool, and bring it to me. Cool it yourself. Go on.”

“Yes.” Ke Ye curtsied and, as if loath to leave, slowly withdrew to the corner gate.

The Shen family had sent the blue-robed man—surname Wu, the single character You; whether name or courtesy name, none could say. His party arrived before noon; Jiang Man hosted the midday meal and took a cup of tea with Wu You.

Uncertain of his standing, she did not seat Jiang Yun with them, only stationed servants nearby to await Wu You’s orders, and took her own meal alone in her room.

This subordinate of Shen Wen’s was far more punctilious than his mistress, observing every propriety—yet with a manner all his own. Jiang Man half felt that Wu You was more master than servant; but a well-born man in his prime trailing after Shen Wen was strange, however one looked at it.

If he moved in Lin’an’s circles, then he had no wish for office; running some trade of his own would serve. Why must he take orders from a mere woman?

“Young Lady Jiang’s luggage is less than this humble scholar expected.” Wu You shook his head, smiling. “We prepared three carriages for nothing.”

“I am only a maidservant. I thought two chests already presumptuous—to put the Shen family to further expense, I am truly abashed.”

“No matter at all. Extra carriages have their use: if the weather holds and we travel day and night, should we drive past dark with no village before or behind, we rest in the carriages.” Wu You paused. “Only I don’t know whether Young Lady Jiang can endure such hardship of the road—the sooner we reach Lin’an, the better. When I set out, the Scribe was still in Taizhou; by my reckoning she should be at the capital by now.”

Jiang Man listened attentively and answered at once, “I will follow Lord Wu’s lead in all things.”

“Don’t—” Wu You said. “Young Lady Jiang, I’ve declined twice today, and it was no feigned modesty. That ‘Lord Wu’ of yours—I truly cannot bear it. I am a mere Military Graduate, and hold no post at present. In Lin’an, one may not shout such titles about. Do you understand?”

Hearing this, Jiang Man kept her head down. “Yes.”

She dared not lift it half an inch. Her heart was pounding with astonishment—were she to meet his eyes, all of it would be written on her face.

In this dynasty the military examinations weighed both pen and sword; even a Military Graduate could not be lightly slighted.

He did not take office—so why serve Shen Wen?

“If Young Lady Jiang does not object, you may call me by name. Wu You will do.” Wu You clasped his hands.

Jiang Man returned the courtesy. “That I would never dare. May—may I ask what Brother Wu does in the Scribe’s service?”

“Odds and ends of business; nothing you could put a name to.” Wu You paused, folding his arms, a certain pride in his bearing. “Though I suppose I count among the Scribe’s Personal Attendants.”

Jiang Man felt as if thunderstruck, her head sinking low, her voice a mosquito’s whine. “I see.”

So she did keep many Personal Attendants.

In these marquis’ gates, when a noblewoman kept male favorites, there was precedent—shameful, but nothing new. Since the crossing south, such things had grown rare.

News from outside, good or bad—whatever Jiang Ling found interesting—he would mention to Jiang Man, in person or by letter.

But that beneath the Son of Heaven’s own feet there lived such an exalted woman, who held honor as nothing and knew no shame, she had never once heard.

“Brother Wu, staying at the Scribe’s side—will you still sit for the examinations?” Jiang Man asked softly.

With Shen Wen’s backing, enduring a season of humiliation for a soaring rise—perhaps he had his own bitterness.

“Sichuan is the front against the Mongols. If the day comes that this Wu is needed for the realm, I will furnish my own horses and men and go to Mount Diaoyu. But as for examinations—” Wu You shook his head, “no. My abilities fall short; at the Scribe’s side I feel myself of some use.”

Jiang Man’s face went red.

Useful in what way?

She had thought Wu You managed everything so properly—she had not taken him for a man with such an unguarded tongue.

Jiang Man stole a glance at Ke Ye. Thank goodness for one considerate soul at her side; she would not be alone and helpless. If ever she lost her way, someone would pull her back and remind her what was woman’s virtue, what was human duty.

Then it was time to depart. Most of the servants came to the gate to see them off. Jiang Man stood a while, then nodded slightly. “All matters great and small, within and without the Jiang household, I entrust to you, Uncle Yun. You have labored hard these days—look after your health.”

Jiang Yun stood at the very front, clasped his hands, and said through tears, “A thousand li lie before you. I beg the Young Miss to take care.”

Jiang Man nodded, and with Ke Ye’s support, boarded the carriage.

Home fell behind her, and she journeyed on, without even a direction to call her own.

The carriage was luxuriously appointed—even the humblest cushioned stool was upholstered in the finest silk. The charcoal basin was full, all fresh, and sitting a while she found it truly too hot; she had Ke Ye loop half the curtain up on its cord before she felt easier.

The journey to Lin’an would take ten days at least. Wu You’s arrangements were meticulous: not only rice and meat, but salt, oil, and every seasoning traveled with the carts; a cook and a prep-board met them at Jiankang. They lodged at inns or post stations along the way, their meals prepared by dedicated hands.

Hearing at the outset that they would drive day and night, Jiang Man had expected to arrive half-frozen and starving, in and out of dreams, with perhaps half a breath left. This comfort was beyond all reckoning—and with Wu You so amiable, yet scrupulous about the bounds between men and women, Jiang Man kept her guard up, yet inevitably grew familiar with him.

The rice Wu You brought was of some unknown variety. Of the meat and vegetables Jiang Man ate little, but she took more rice than usual—or perhaps it was the working of Physician Xie’s medicine.

Jiang Man had her own suspicion.

Had Shen Wen arranged it?

“Passing through your residence the other day, I noticed your household’s servants much thinned.” Wu You sat in the neighboring seat over his tea. “Did the year’s hiring contracts lapse, and you sent them all back?”

Jiang Man smiled faintly and shook her head. “The house is empty; a little quiet does no harm.”

Those dismissed were the servants who, on the day of the funeral, had given their hearts to the clan elders. Jiang Man had always been reasonably generous to her people, but she was not so saintly as to keep a pack of fence-sitters about who would not obey, just to gall her.

The sight of that day remained vivid. That there had been three or five traitors within, Jiang Man absolutely believed; she had Jiang Yun use the occasion to root them out, and dismissed the lot.

With no proper master left in the Jiankang Jiang Residence, there was no hurry to hire again; the place would look a little run-down.

No bad thing, really.

Wu You looked thoughtful, then said, “Forgive my presumption—but it’s not only the Jiang household that seems diminished to me.”

Jiang Man started. Had she grown thin?

Of late, thanks to Physician Xie’s treatment, Jiang Man no longer counted grains of rice as she ate—her spirits dimmed at once.

By now, surely, no one would say she counted her rice anymore.

“Is Old Xie’s prescription not working?” Wu You stroked his chin, brow furrowed.

“Physician Xie’s decoctions and pills have all worked excellently.” Jiang Man pressed her lips together. “Perhaps I have overexerted myself. Once I accustom, it will improve.”

“Oh!” Wu You saw the light. “Of course. And no fear—Old Xie is in that residence every day. Once Young Lady Jiang has rested and rebuilt a while, you’ll surely mend.”

Jiang Man nodded slightly at this, but did not take up his words.

She lived now under another’s roof—where was there room for her to rest and convalesce?

Yet a person endures far better than a tree. Land a tree cannot adapt to, a person can. A century past, whole clans of gentry and the wealthy had crossed south with the Son of Heaven; unaccustomed to rice, they sent wheat prices soaring. Now wheat fields were everywhere to be seen, and Northerners took rice as a matter of course.

What the people of that day could do, Jiang Man told herself she could do as well.

Only—through the years ahead, would she be the broken reed drifting in the Jin Army’s camp, or the bright-voiced songbird fleeing south with some great merchant?