Purely by Accident – Chapter 23
***
‘It’s you?’ Truly a question capable of encapsulating a multitude of emotions.
It can be uttered in anger, as when one has sprung a painstakingly-crafted trap for catching one’s wife in flagrante delicto with her lover, and dragged the hapless paramour under the light by his hair to reveal that it is ugly old pock-marked Wang Er from next door. ‘It’s you?’
It can be uttered in joy, as when one is kneeling before the headsman’s block, the official in charge has flung his token of authority to the ground to signal the commencement of the proceedings, the executioner has raised his blade, and one hears a sudden cry of ‘Spare him!’, and looks up to see one’s old comrade smiling in the same way as he did on the day you both swore allegiance to a common cause. ‘It’s you?’
It can even be uttered with a mixture of delight and trepidation, as when a romantic young woman, having pledged herself to a penniless scholar without her parents’ permission, has been confined to her room with instructions to reflect on her wrongdoing, and her foolhardy suitor breaks in through her window in the middle of the night. ‘It’s you?’
All of these hypothetical scenarios, however, shared a presumption in common — namely some familiar, even intimate, perhaps even hopelessly inextricable[1] relationship between the utterer and the object of the utterance. And so her question left me momentarily dumbfounded. While there was certainly something familiar about the woman standing over me, we hardly knew each other well enough to make her to blurt out ‘It’s you?’ in such a rush of emotion. To tell the truth, I couldn’t even remember where I’d seen her before. This was exacerbated by the fact that I was looking up at her from a fairly low angle, and the light was behind her, so I couldn’t make out her expression clearly enough to get a sense of what she might be feeling. After a few moments of deliberation, therefore, I gave her what I thought was the safest reply.
‘It’s me.’
I was still lying on the ground. Once I’d responded, I felt it was incumbent upon me to get back to my feet and try to retrieve whatever shreds that might be left of my dashing jianghu adventurer’s persona. At that very moment, the woman in front of me stretched out a benevolent hand. As I took it, my eyes fell on something that stuck out of her sleeve. It was a handkerchief of piercingly bright red silk.
My heart flipped over in my chest, my foot slipped, and I fell heavily back onto the ground from my half-rising position. As stars danced before my eyes, I suddenly realised where I’d seen her before. Wasn’t she the mystery woman I’d run into at Chunyi House?
I had no time to wonder what she might be doing here. Through the profusion of twinkle twinkle little stars that still filled my vision, I searched anxiously for the princess. Good, good, I thought when my eyes finally fell on her. At least she doesn’t look angry.
A crisp peal of laughter rang out just next to my ear. The woman from Chunyi House had dropped into a half-crouch in front of me and was studying me with interest, her chin propped up in her hands. ‘What a curious person you are,’ she said. ‘I can understand how you came to lose your balance the first time, but how did you manage to lose it a second time, especially when you had someone to help you up?’
There was nowhere for me to go and nowhere to hide. I felt utterly mortified as I lay there, sprawled clumsily on the ground.
Then the princess stepped forward and held out a hand. For a moment she seemed to glare at me, but so briefly that I couldn’t be sure if she had actually done so or not. ‘Please rise, young master,’ she said. ‘Why did you feel the need to perform such a deep obeisance, and not just once, but twice?’
Now she was pretending that we didn’t know each other. Oh, what a consummate actress she was.
Hastily, I grabbed hold of her hand like a woman clutching at a lifeline, pulling myself up. As I dusted myself off, I said with an awkward chuckle, ‘What a wonderful sense of humour you have, miss.’
The woman from Chunyi House looked affronted. She straightened as well, and pointed an accusing finger at me. ‘Is that why you fell over again when I tried to help you up? You were waiting for my dajie[2] to come and give you a hand, weren’t you?’
This time, I was quick-witted enough to seize upon the crucial word in what she’d just said. Dajie? So… this other woman in front of me is a princess as well?
My brain felt as if it had turned into some sort of gluey mush. With her next words, the princess ignited the mush into gushing red-hot lava, so searing that it felt as if it were on the verge of an explosion.
What she said was, ‘Stop teasing the poor young man, sanmei.[3] He’s already blushing.’
San… mei? Sanmei! So this other woman must be the Third Princess whom I’d heard so much about. The most beautiful woman in the whole of the Yan Empire, wife of Zhao Yishu — he whose name was linked with Chu Feichen’s in popular gossip. I recalled what my father’s steward had said about ‘brothers quarrelling, and sisters falling out’,[4] and finally understood why the princess had lost her temper so thoroughly over the sight of a mere handkerchief.
But — and here I observed the two of them carefully — they appeared to be on perfectly friendly terms; one could hardly describe them as being at daggers drawn.[5] Oh, what a place the imperial palace must be! Schemes around every corner, and no way of telling whether you really knew someone’s true nature.[6]
Just as I was sighing inwardly over this, the woman from Chunyi House — no, the Third Princess — waved a hand in front of my eyes. ‘Why are you staring into space? Your face keeps turning white, then green, then white again — are you putting on some kind of show?’
What show could be quite as spectacular as this? I wiped the sweat from my temple, quietly increased the distance between myself and the Third Princess, and inched closer to her older sister. ‘Not really,’ I said with a placating smile, glancing at the latter as I did. ‘Your humble servant was simply wondering which family could be so fortunate as to have produced two such peerlessly lovely young ladies?’
The princess’s expression remained neutral, but her younger sister gave me a smile as sweet and bright as a fully ripened peach. ‘At least you have a good eye,’ she said. She paused for a moment, her eyes dancing, and went on, ‘Tell me, which of us do you think is more beautiful, my sister or me?’
Ah, the eternal conundrum. ‘Which of us is more beautiful?’, like ‘If your mother and I fell into a river at the same time, who would you save first?’, was indeed a universal dilemma.
I also couldn’t help feeling that it was rather odd of the Third Princess to ask me such a question. Public opinion had already awarded her the title of ‘most beautiful woman in the Yan Empire’, so what need did she have to pester me for further affirmation?
I studied the Third Princess carefully again. While her features were very similar to her sister’s, the latter’s were more elegantly understated. The Eldest Princess’ smile was more subtle, like a gentle spring breeze brushing lightly against one’s temples. Every movement she made had the ethereal grace of a goddess. The Third Princess’ beauty was of a different kind. In just the last little while, she’d already smiled twice — brilliant, vivacious smiles that reminded one of a flower bursting instantly into full bloom. She was a lovely sight indeed; a perfect feast for the eyes. Yet despite their beauty, flowers are easy enough to obtain; the spring breeze is ever-elusive, and all the more precious for that. The tastes of the public, I felt, were distinctly middling.
Inwardly, I patted myself on the back for my extraordinary refinement of taste. I glanced over at the princess, who was acting as if none of this had anything to do with her, and felt compelled to make my position clear beyond all doubt. So I bowed to her younger sister, cupping my hands respectfully before me, and said, ‘Forgive me if this appears uncouth, my lady, but in a contest of your beauty, it is my view that your sister would be the victor.’
The corner of the princess’ mouth curved up ever so slightly, and I found myself smiling as well. I felt suddenly as if I were galloping astride some glorious steed, shooting down a majestic eagle with a great bow; I felt as if I held the world in the palm of my hand.
The Third Princess, meanwhile, seemed completely undismayed by my response. There was a faint look of surprise in her eyes, and traces of a smile had gathered about the corners of her lips. I had no idea what she might be thinking.
A cough came from somewhere close at hand.
I looked in the direction of the sound. The cough had come from a sprightly old woman with very bright eyes. Her grey hair was coiled up into a bun, with not a single strand out of a place. In the light of the setting sun, it shone like a massive silver ingot.[7] Its brilliance left me momentarily dazzled. Suddenly, I was reminded of why I had come to Luoxia Hill in the first place — the old woman had to be the Empress Dowager herself! How could I have forgotten about her? Had I hit my head too hard when I landed on the ground?
Hastily I straightened my robes, twitched the corners of my mouth into the semblance of a smile, and reached for the fan I’d stuck through my belt — wait, where was my fan? How was I supposed to strike an elegant pose without my fan?
Luckily the old lady was already watching the proceedings — and me — with relish; the elegance or otherwise of my pose didn’t seem to come into it at all. Probably because I’d caught her looking, she gave another little cough, covering her mouth with her right hand as she did. Then, putting on a somewhat severe expression, she turned to the Third Princess and said, ‘My dear girl, you’re a married woman. How could you ask such a question of a strange man? This is highly improper.’
The Third Princess stuck out her tongue.
The old lady turned to her other granddaughter. ‘And you. As an unmarried woman, how could you take a strange man’s hand like that? Don’t you know that virtuous men and women must maintain an appropriate distance from each other?[8] This is highly improper.’
Having uttered ‘this is highly improper’ twice, the old lady shook her head regretfully, as if lamenting her failure to educate her granddaughters any better. Inside, I broke into a cold sweat.
A married woman had to be careful in how she spoke and behaved around other men; an unmarried woman had to be circumspect even in her most fleeting interactions with the other sex. From this, one could only conclude that widows must be the most liberated women in the world — yet becoming one was a matter of chance rather than of choice. Oh, what rare good fortune it was, to be an emancipated widow!
Just as these thoughts were tumbling in wild confusion through my mind, the Empress Dowager took a few steps closer to me and looked me up and down. ‘From what my third granddaughter has said, the two of you appear to know each other.’
Beside me, the air around the princess seemed to grow noticeably colder.
I gave a hollow laugh as I looked back at the old lady. Oh, how I suffer. There was simply no way I could tell her the truth. The mere sight of me holding her granddaughter’s hand, however briefly, had been enough to draw a ‘This is highly improper!’ from her. If I were to reveal that I’d encountered the Third Princess at a brothel, she was liable to wring her wrists in despair, beat her chest in anguish, and plead for a merciful death to carry her off that she might finally atone for her abject failure to safeguard the legacy of her late husband the former emperor on the spot. While the old lady had thus far survived the many years of grief caused to her by Chu Feichen’s persistent maidenhood, the tale of Chunyi House might well be enough to finish her off, and I would bear the full blame for that. But on the other hand, how did you expect an honest child like myself — why, I fretted for days even over telling a tiny white lie — to conjure up an alternative version events out of thin air at such short notice?
To be a good, honest, kind-hearted youth, I reflected, was no easy thing.
The Third Princess came over to her grandmother and put the old lady’s arm through hers. ‘Yes,’ she said, looking completely unperturbed. ‘We’ve met before.’
‘Oh?’ said the Empress Dowager. Beside me, the princess raised an eyebrow. The corner of my mouth twitched; it was becoming almost impossible for me to contain my laughter.
‘Mm,’ said the Third Princess, brandishing a handful of wild grasses she’d plucked from somewhere. ‘To be precise, this young gentleman saved my life. It was a few years ago, when I was still quite young. I’d gone with Mother to pay a visit to her parents, and one day I sneaked out of the house alone. It was the Shangyuan Festival that day.[9] Every corner of the city was festooned with lanterns, and masses of people thronged the streets. I followed the crowd, looking around at all the sights as I wandered along. I ended up by the moat outside the city, and spent some time watching people float brightly-lit lanterns on the water. Satisfied with my adventure, I was about to make my way home when someone accidentally jostled me, and I fell straight into the moat. It was pitch dark, and the water chilled me to the bone.’
The Third Princess shuddered as if reliving a memory. Inwardly I gave a murmur of admiration. She and the princess were truly sisters — both of them accomplished actresses, masters of improvisation.
The princess smiled, her gaze sweeping over me. ‘And then this gentleman saved you?’
As Heaven is my witness, not only had I spent the last few years in my stronghold devoting my undivided attention to the task of leading the Heiyun Brotherhood, I also — despite all my brilliance and wisdom in other respects — did not know how to swim. If I fell into the water, I was much more likely to drag the closest person down with me rather than save them.
But the Third Princess nodded, her eyes seeming to look through me. ‘Mm. I still remember how he carried me in his arms as he raced at breakneck speed to the doctor’s. The light from all those lanterns fell across his face, flickering and flaring…’ She smiled again, suddenly, tilting her head to one side. There was a sly look in her eyes. ‘In fact, he was the reason I started learning qinggong. But it’s been so many years,’ she went on, looking at me. ‘You probably don’t recognise me.’
She’d made her tale sound more vivid and convincing than any storyteller could; it was as if she was recounting something that had really happened to her. If I hadn’t known perfectly well that it was a story invented to smooth the situation over, I would have broken into applause on the spot.
The tale had clearly filled the Empress Dowager with emotion. She patted the Third Princess on the head, then looked at me, then at her older granddaughter. A warm, practically maternal smile spread across her face. ‘Where are you from, young master? And how old are you? Are you married? Betrothed? And are both your parents living?’
The last rays of the setting sun fell on her kind, wrinkled face under that massive ingot of silver hair. I fancied I could smell the approach of happiness.
***
Later that evening, I sat at the dining table in my residence, staring at the profusion of dishes that covered it. I was on tenterhooks.[10] After interrogating me closely on the details of my family and birth, the Empress Dowager had bidden me farewell and left with both granddaughters in tow. I had no idea how things might be progressing at the princess’ end. Was it time for me to climb over the walls of her manor again under the cover of night, and slip into her rooms to ask her where things stood?
‘Young m-master,’ said Zheng Hao nervously. ‘If the food r-really is that t-terrible, we can try someone else as ch-chef tomorrow.’
I was just about to reply when Silly Girl’s voice sounded in the darkness just beyond the threshold of the dining room, echoing through the pillars that lined the corridor outside. ‘Poor thing. Moping over your meals again?’
Oh, my saviour. Oh, my friend.
I rushed out of the room to find Silly Girl standing in the corridor, a smile on her face.
‘I’ve come with orders from the princess,’ she said. ‘Wei Zisong is hereby commanded to reflect seriously on his actions today, and to produce a written explanation on the matter of “It’s you?” “It’s me.”‘
I was baffled. ‘What does that mean?’
Silly Girl looked equally puzzled. ‘I have no idea. But from what Her Highness said, it’s something like this.’
She took a step forward and leaned over; on her face was a look of surprise mingled with delight. ‘It’s you?’ she said.
Then suddenly she turned around and flung herself onto the floor. Looking up, she arranged her features into that familiar expression of guileless, childlike innocence that was her strong suit. ‘It’s me,’ she said.
With that, she stood up and spread out her hands. ‘Exactly like that.’
A crow flew past, cawing.[11] Its cries echoed in time with the drip, drip of sweat running down my forehead.
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 剪不断理还乱, literally ‘it cannot be cut nor can it be made orderly’. This is a line from a ci poem set to the tune of ‘Joy Upon Meeting’ (相见欢) by Li Yu (李煜), the third ruler of the Southern Tang kingdom during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period. His kingdom was subsequently annexed by the Song Dynasty armies and he was captured. He lived as a prisoner for two years before being poisoned on the orders of the second emperor of the Song Dynasty. The line describes complicated emotions which the speaker can neither rid themselves of or extricate themselves from. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 大姐, literally ‘big elder sister’. In this context, it means ‘oldest sister’. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 三妹, literally ‘third younger sister’. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 兄弟阋墙, 姐妹反目. See footnote 4 to Chapter 5. [return to text]
- In the original text, the chengyu 箭拔弩张, literally ‘arrows drawn and bows bent’. This describes a very tense situation. [return to text]
- In the original text, 知人知面不知心, literally ‘know a person, know their face, do not know their heart’. The proverb describes a situation where one has known another person for a long time but may still have no understanding of what their true nature is. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 元宝. In the popular imagination, these are commonly boat-shaped. [return to text]
- In the original text, 男女授受不亲. The saying originates from the Mencius (孟子), a collection of conversations, anecdotes, and series of genuine and imagined interviews by the Confucian philosopher of the same name, who lived during the Warring States period and was one of Confucius’ fourth generation of disciples. In its original, literal sense, it means that men and women who are unrelated by blood or marriage should not even give items to (or receive items from) each other directly without an intermediary. In its later, more abstract sense, it means that men and women who are unrelated should be careful not to be overly familiar with each other. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 上元节, also known as the Yuanxiao Festival (元宵节), sometimes referred to in English as the Lantern Festival. This is a festival celebrated on the fifteenth day of the first month of the traditional Chinese calendar, and marks the final day of the traditional new year celebrations. During the festival, streets and houses are decorated with lanterns. There are also romantic connotations, as the festival is said to have provided unmarried upper-class women in historical times with the rare opportunity to come out in public and participate in the celebrations (chaperoned, of course), giving them the chance to meet potential partners. [return to text]
- In the original text, the chengyu 坐立不安, literally ‘uneasy standing, uneasy sitting’. It describes someone who is restless and fidgety from nervousness. [return to text]
- A trope often seen in Japanese animation. See footnote 9 to Chapter 12. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 