Chapter 30: Maiden Family Name

In the days that followed, Wu Wei and the others stuck to her plan: hawking Spring Festival couplets door-to-door by day and writing them by night. There was just one hitch—everyone but Wu Wei found the white funeral candles far too ill-omened, especially with Old Man Liu’s health being none too sturdy.

Wu Wei had no choice but to grit her teeth and buy some dye. She melted down the white candles and remolded them into red ones… The dye ran short, so the finished candles weren’t a true crimson, but they were still worlds better than stark white.

The couplet-selling venture started off swimmingly. Maybe it was the quirks of the era, or maybe word just didn’t travel fast—either way, the cutthroat scenario Wu Wei had feared, with some big-shot landlord muscling in on their turf, never materialized. Still, other troubles cropped up. Ten days in, their sales took a noticeable dip. They dragged home later each evening, and sometimes they even had leftover couplets weighing down their backs.

The reason was plain as day: manpower was limited.

Wu Wei, Zhang Shuisheng, and Zhang Cheng could only cover so much ground on foot. At the outset, they stuck to nearby villages, wasting little time on the road. Folks there knew people from Zhang Family Village, at least a little, and everyone got along well enough.

But soon they had to venture farther afield each day. With the New Year drawing near, villagers in distant hamlets grew wary of outsiders. Sales plummeted.

Wu Wei suggested calling it quits. Zhang Shuisheng held out for two more days, but on the last one they sold barely thirty couplets. By the time the three trudged home, night had fallen thick and heavy. Exhausted, starving, and chilled to the bone, Zhang Shuisheng made the call on the spot—shut it down!

They pooled all their copper coins. Second Lady Liu and Embroider Maiden had already strung them neatly into sets of a hundred wen apiece, with Zhang Cheng keeping the books. After subtracting costs, their couplet business had netted a grand total of eleven strings and three hundred eighty wen. By prior agreement, that left two thousand two hundred seventy-six wen for Embroider Maiden and Wu Wei. Add in the thirty-five wen they’d scrimped together before, and their household savings now stood at two thousand three hundred eleven wen!

They counted it out right there. Second Lady Liu found them a sturdy jar to hold the coins. When Wu Wei handed it to Embroider Maiden with a grin, the latter felt like she was dreaming.

“Embroider Maiden! Easy now—it’s heavy.”

Embroider Maiden took the jar from Wu Wei, her heart hammering in her throat. She could scarcely get the words out.

“Th-this… all ours?”

“You bet—all ours. Later at the market, I’ll swap the round sum for silver to stash away. We’ll use the change to buy you some nice ready-made clothes!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Embroider Maiden, Second Lady Liu, and even Old Madam Liu spoke up in unison: “Who needs ready-made clothes?”

Embroider Maiden flushed red and pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Second Lady Liu chuckled. Old Madam Liu chimed in, “Wu Family Lady, Third Sister’s such a fine needlewoman—why buy off the rack? Those things cost a fortune and never fit right anyway. They’re for rich folks. Just get some fabric and make your own!”

Wu Wei felt a touch helpless. She’d corrected the old lady several times already—Weiwei would do just fine—but the elder stuck to “Wu Family Lady.” It grated on Wu Wei’s ears, but what could she do? The woman was getting on in years; she couldn’t very well force the issue.

As for making her own clothes, Wu Wei just smiled without replying. Deep down, she’d already made up her mind: this New Year, Embroider Maiden was getting a beautiful ready-made outfit!

What sort of ritual was there in a homemade dress?

Zhang Cheng pocketed his share and stepped quietly aside. The remaining six thousand-odd coins belonged to Zhang Shuisheng’s family. Old Lady Zhang beamed from ear to ear, her mouth refusing to close as she fondled the coins. “Now your father and I have money for our coffins—and plenty left over for our grandson.”

Zhang Shuisheng laughed. “Mother, don’t bother with the coins. In a few days at market, I’ll take them to the money house and exchange for silver to bring over. They can sit tight in my room till then.”

“Good, good. I’ll head back now. You come soon.”

“Mm.”

Old Lady Zhang departed. That left one outsider in the west room: Zhang Cheng.

Second Lady Liu had softened a bit toward him over these past days, but she still didn’t take to him. In her book, it didn’t matter if you’d been a scholar once upon a time. Fail the exams, and you ought to settle down to honest farming. Clearly, Zhang Cheng had no such plans.

From a spot where Zhang Cheng couldn’t see, Second Lady Liu shot urgent glances at Zhang Shuisheng, who pretended not to notice. A moment later, Zhang Cheng drew a book from inside his robe and presented it to Wu Wei with both hands cupped respectfully. “Miss Wu, these dozen days together have shown me your gracious speech and broad learning. Our occasional chats have taught me much. This is a rare copy my old master gave me to sharpen the mind and widen horizons—a miscellany recording local customs, folk tales, and curious anecdotes. If you would not disdain it, please accept.”

His words flowed with scholarly flourish, but Wu Wei followed without a hitch. By now, Zhang Cheng had shed his early prejudice and come to genuinely admire her.

In a place like Zhang Family Village, he cut a lonely figure. Books had broadened his vision and filled his inner world, but they had also set him apart from his fellow villagers for good.

Wu Wei gazed at the book Zhang Cheng offered and accepted it reverently with both hands. Books were precious rarities in this era; even a plain one cost hundreds of wen. She’d been longing for one to nourish her parched spirit.

“Thank you,” Wu Wei said sincerely.

Zhang Cheng smiled and bowed to Zhang Shuisheng and Second Lady Liu. “Then I’ll take my leave.”

“Hold on,” Wu Wei called.

“Does Miss Wu have more to say?”

Wu Wei paused, then spoke. “I have a saying I’d like to share with you.”

“Please, do.”

“Back home, we have a wise man who once said: ‘When Heaven is about to confer a great responsibility on a man, it first tests his resolve, toils his sinews and bones, hungers his body, impoverishes him, disrupts his plans—so as to stir his heart, toughen his nature, and improve his failings.’ I offer it to you today in hopes it may help.”

Zhang Cheng murmured the words after her, his eyes going distant. He stood frozen in place for a long, long moment.

Wu Wei knew the old sage Mencius’s words had struck home. She pressed on earnestly. “Frustration dogs many in this world, but no one can call a life finished until the coffin is nailed shut. Even panning for gold requires washing the sand over and over before the true nugget shines—how much more so with a human life?”

Light kindled in Zhang Cheng’s vacant eyes. He drew himself up straight, bowed deeply to Wu Wei, and said, “I am enlightened.” Then he turned and strode away without a backward glance.

Second Lady Liu and Embroider Maiden hadn’t understood a word of Wu Wei’s speech. Zhang Shuisheng pieced together a bit from her closing line and found himself admiring her all the more.

Embroider Maiden gazed at Wu Wei’s profile and suddenly felt worlds apart from her. They were close enough to touch, yet an invisible heavenly river stretched between them, forever out of reach.

She’d never learned to read or write, didn’t even have a proper name. So many of Wu Wei’s words sailed right over her head. Watching Wu Wei shine with fervor, watching the haughty Zhang Cheng bend in honest awe—Embroider Maiden felt diminished, lost in a fog of self-doubt and confusion.

Wu Wei clutched her new book and, unable to put it down, lit a candle and propped it on the kang table to read. True to Zhang Cheng’s word, it brimmed with delights. She soon lost herself in its pages.

The room fell utterly still. To the others, Wu Wei adrift in her sea of knowledge seemed solemn, untouchable. No one dared draw breath. Zhang Shuisheng pointed toward the east room and slipped out without a sound.

Second Lady Liu tugged Embroider Maiden to the far end of the kang, behind Wu Wei’s back.

Embroider Maiden stared at that silhouette. Candlelight bathed Wu Wei’s form in a warm orange glow, and the swallow embroidered there soared free and wild—just like Wu Wei in that moment.

Embroider Maiden realized she’d never truly known her, not even after all these days together.

Both were literate, yet Zhang Cheng came off as lofty and aloof, his arrogance on full display. Embroider Maiden always steered clear of him, but she’d seen how he looked down on their family—on Wu Wei at first, too. Later it changed, but not because of him. Wu Wei’s deeds had forced his hand.

Wu Wei was different. She knew their peasant lives inside out: carpentry, fishing, hunting, basket-weaving, cooking. She read and wrote too, yet never let a trace of superiority show.

Every day with Wu Wei felt like a spring breeze caressing her skin—her wisdom, her thoughtfulness, the witty quips that set everyone laughing. No wonder they all adored her.

Back at her natal home, Embroider Maiden used to hear her mother say, “Worn shoes scream poverty from halfway down,” and “Fine clothes make the man, fine saddles the horse.” She’d thought then that only dressing sharp let you live sharp…

However, Wu Wei’s indigo cotton jacket was worn threadbare in many places, turned white from use, and her shoes were so old they had lost their shape. She was hardly “presentable,” yet even Zhang Cheng treated her with utmost courtesy.

…

That night, the Embroider Maiden could not sleep. She stared at the ceiling for a while, then turned to gaze at Wu Wei, who lay so close in the darkness, until faint light began to seep into the sky. At last, she simply rose and dressed.

She pushed open the door. Everywhere she looked stretched a vast white expanse. It had snowed.

The Embroider Maiden stepped into the courtyard and squatted down. She traced three horizontal lines in the dirt with her finger—one of the few characters she knew how to write. She wanted to add more beneath them, but her finger hovered in the air, unable to come down.

A faint crunch crunch came from behind her. The Embroider Maiden whipped her head around to see Wu Wei smiling at her. “What are you playing at?” Wu Wei asked as she squatted down beside her.

The Embroider Maiden panicked and tried to wipe away the “three” she had drawn, but Wu Wei smoothly caught her hand.

Using the Embroider Maiden’s finger, Wu Wei added the character for “niang” after the three strokes, completing the name. Then she read it softly: “Third Sister~.”

It was the first time Wu Wei had called the Embroider Maiden by the name from her family home, as if a feather had brushed across the Embroider Maiden’s heart.