Purely by Accident – Chapter 26
***
With Rahul around, the month I’d thought I could never survive passed in the blink of an eye. Both Silly Girl and I remained more or less unscathed; there had been no major altercations or particularly acrimonious tussles between us. Rahul was the one who bore the brunt of the situation, his once-bright eyes becoming duller with every passing day. As he waited on me during the long hours I spent in the study — making sure I was well-supplied with freshly-ground ink and hot cups of tea — I would often catch him staring sadly at me, with a look in his eyes that suggested he was on the verge of weeping on my shoulder and pouring out his woes at any moment. That expression of his made my skin prickle uneasily, and every now and then I found myself wondering whether I had gone too far in deploying him as the lynchpin of my scheme. After all, to make someone the bait in a honey trap while completely disregarding their feelings on the matter smacked more than a little of forcing a virtuous woman into a life of sin. Then my gaze would fall on my books once more, and I would harden my heart. Rahul, oh Rahul, if I do not consign you to hell, then I’d be consigning myself to hell, I told my long-suffering servant silently. Just bear with it for the time being, and on the day you marry Silly Girl, I’ll present you with a handsome red packet as a token of my gratitude.
One evening, Rahul waylaid me as I was returning to my room for the night. I was startled by his sudden appearance, but still greeted him amiably. ‘Ah, it’s Rahul. Out here taking advantage of the cool night air? Enjoy, enjoy. I’ll be going now.’
Rahul said nothing, but as I made to go around him, he took a step forward, blocking my path once more. His lowered his eyes; those long eyelashes trembled like a tiny skiff tossed hither and thither amid the waves of a stormy sea.
I wondered whether the poor boy was having a nervous breakdown due to some recent shock, and decided to offer a little kindly advice. ‘Rahul, it’s getting late,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go back to your room and turn in for the night? You still need to keep me company while I study tomorrow.’
I had not anticipated the effect these words would have on him. Rahul’s eyelashes trembled even more violently, and the tremor began to spread to the rest of his body. Hesitantly, I reached out and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He fell to his knees with an audible thud, flung his arms around my calves, and gave vent to a full-throated wail, heedless of who might be watching.
One, two, multiple chefs emerged from the kitchens and began congregating in the shade of some nearby trees. They muttered among themselves as they watched us, their eyes gleaming avidly.
I tried to extricate my legs from Rahul’s grasp, failed completely, and resigned myself to remaining frozen awkwardly to the spot.
Rahul was sobbing loudly. ‘I don’t want to go back to the study tomorrow, young master! You can beat me however much you like, but even if you beat me to death, I’m never going back there!’
What on earth was going on here? ‘Please stand up, Rahul, and don’t cry,’ I told him patiently. ‘Let us talk properly about this. A grown man like you crying in public like this — how do you think it looks?’
Rahul only shook his head and tightened his grip around my legs, wiping his eyes and nose on the hems of my under-trousers as he did. His dogged determination reminded me of Wei Sheng in the fable, clinging onto that bridge pillar as the waters rose, stubbornly waiting until his last breath for the lady love who never came.[1]
Bending over slightly, I asked, ‘Why don’t you want to attend on me while I’m studying?’
Rahul’s arms tightened even more; pure terror spread across his face. ‘That woman who’s always in your study,’ he sobbed. ‘That woman… she’s too frightening.’
Just as I feared. I groaned inwardly. After a few moments’ thought, I asked, careful to make my voice sympathetic, ‘What makes her so frightening? Don’t you think she’s a pretty girl?’
Rahul stared at me in blank incomprehension. A single tear clung to his eyelashes; he blinked, and it rolled gracefully down his cheek. There was something rather poetic about the sight. I was in the midst of admiring it when the moment ended: Rahul’s mouth twisted, and he began bawling again. ‘She is pretty, she’s prettier than any woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. But she’s so scary.’
I wiped away the sweat that had beaded on my forehead. ‘And what makes her so scary? I think she’s quite a nice girl — innocent and simple-natured, lovable and bright…’
My voice began to waver at the last few words. Still sobbing, Rahul clutched at the hems of my trousers and poured out his fears. ‘Her eyes are scary. She keeps glaring at me as if she wants to eat me up. I don’t want to be eaten, young master!’
I thought of the expression that appeared on Silly Girl’s face each time her eyes fell on Rahul — which she no doubt considered irresistibly tender — and gave an involuntary shudder. Then I imagined how she would look if she could hear what Rahul had just said, and felt rather amused.
But at the end of the day, I was determined to bring this budding romance to its fruition, like the helpful, upstanding youth I was. And so, ignoring the loss of sensation that was spreading gradually up my legs, I rapped Rahul lightly on the head with the end of my fan and proceeded to give him some much-needed guidance. ‘Are you really that foolish? The girl isn’t glaring at you — she’s stealing looks at you! She fancies you, you silly boy! You don’t know how lucky you are!’
Once again, Rahul stared blankly at me. Then he reached into his pocket with trembling hands and fished out a piece of paper. ‘B-but she sent me this death threat,’ he wept. ‘She wants to carve my heart out of my chest and drink my blood.’
Sweat was beginning to form on my forehead again. I took the paper from Rahul and saw that a red heart, dripping blood, had been drawn on it, with something that looked like a dagger protruding from the top. It did rather resemble an assassin’s calling card.
I was taken aback. I recalled that Silly Girl had come up to me a few days ago and asked in a would-be enigmatic fashion what someone ought to do if they wanted to express their affections towards another person. I happened to be in quite a good mood that day, so I’d told her how ‘a red heart shot through by the love god’s arrow’ was a romantic symbol in some foreign lands — a tale I thought suited Rahul’s background. Satisfied, she’d left, and I’d thought nothing more of it.
But now this piece of paper and the bloody drawing it bore had found its way into my hand. Was this gory image really what Silly Girl understood ‘shot through the heart by love’s arrow’ to mean?
I wanted to cry.
Rahul took one look at my face and sank further into dejection. He clung on to my legs as if for dear life. ‘You can tell that she wants to kill me too, can’t you, young master?’ he sobbed. ‘Save me, young master, I don’t want to die!’
With great difficulty, I managed to force out some semblance of an explanation. ‘That’s not going to happen. She’s not threatening to kill you, she’s confessing her love to you! Look at this heart here, and this, er, arrow. She’s telling you that her heart has been conquered by your arrow of love. That’s a good thing, a very good thing indeed.’
Rahul gave me a wary look and sniffled. He eyes were still red, but at least his grip was beginning to loosen.
I took advantage of this to free my legs from his grasp, then bolted straight for my room, calling over my shoulder as I did, ‘Don’t be afraid! Tomorrow, when you catch her looking at you, just look straight back, and remember to do it with a loving expression. You’ll definitely make her blush, just you wait and see!’
The following day, when Rahul appeared in the doorway of the study — his eyes still swollen — and stammered a greeting, Silly Girl’s eyes lit up once again. Rahul shuddered and glanced over at me doubtfully; I gave him an encouraging look. Then tender rays of love began to shoot from his eyes, every single one of them aimed at Silly Girl. With an almost audible swish, Silly Girl’s face turned bright red.
Who is it that gazes at me so longingly from a distance? I sighed inwardly. Oh, my beloved, let me take you into my arms.
Your lovelorn bandit chief sighed inwardly, snapped open her fan and waved it a few times, and found herself missing the princess very, very much.
After I was done with my studies for the day, I was once again waylaid by Rahul on my way back to my room. This time he looked utterly delighted. Tears welled up in his eyes as he bowed deeply to me in gratitude.
This resolution, I felt, was a win-win for both of us; there was hardly anything he needed to thank me for. I clapped him briefly on the shoulder and started to walk away. Then something he’d said the day before came back to me, and I paused. ‘The prettiest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on is the princess,’ I told him very seriously. I stopped, thought the matter over, and corrected myself, ‘No, that’s not quite right either. This is how it should go. Of all the women in the world, whether you’ve laid eyes on them before or not, the prettiest one is and always will be the princess.’
In a salutary lesson as to why one should never speak of the devil,[2] the princess chose this very moment to appear behind me. I could just see her out of the corner of my eye.
I watched as Rahul knelt and made an obeisance to her before taking his leave. I should have been pleased to see the princess, but for some reason, I felt rather awkward instead.
The princess said gently, ‘Turn around, Zisong.’
I went on standing there, staring at nothing in particular, kneading a fold of my robe between my fingers. Behind me, the princess sighed. Then her warm body pressed against my back; her arms reached out and lightly encircled my waist.
My heart melted.
She laid her face against my back. It was summer, so the robes I was wearing were thin enough that I could almost feel her breath on my skin.
Hesitantly, I reached out and covered her hands with mine. ‘Princess,’ I said, my voice soft.
‘Mm?’ she said.
The wind rose; the cicadas chirped. In that moment, my heart was completely at peace.
Then the princess said slowly, ‘Wei Zisong, you silly girl. Everybody knows that the most beautiful woman in the world is my sanmei. You’ve seen her before.’
This was the least confident I’d ever heard the princess sound. I’d always thought of the princess as bold, spirited, self-assured; there seemed to be nothing she couldn’t do. To hear her say something that made her seem so vulnerable — even weak — made a lump come into my throat unbidden. I tried to turn around so I could take her into my arms and comfort her, but found that I couldn’t move; she was clutching me in what felt like a death grip. I patted her hand lightly, trying to hint she should loosen her hold, then brought it to my lips for a kiss.
‘Princess, do you remember that day at my father’s manor?’ I asked. ‘When I said, “With her looks, and her bearing, I don’t believe the Eldest Princess could be outshone by some so-called most beautiful woman in the world?” I still hold to those words. To me, you’ll always be the loveliest, most elegant woman, and… and the one I love most of all.’
This was the first time I’d ever told the princess how I felt about her, in so many words. I’d held her in my arms before, I’d kissed her before, I’d even shared a bed with her before, but I’d never before told her I loved her. Embraces, kisses — all these could be explained away as displays of intimacy between bosom friends, but once the word ‘love’ had been spoken out loud, there was no turning back. It meant that what I felt for her was not friendship, but romantic passion — the passion of one woman for another.
I did not know if the princess would look favourably upon this.
Then I felt her arms slipping slowly from my waist. My heart filled with a bitter, stinging sensation; more than that, it was filled with self-mockery at how ridiculous I was, to aspire so high above my station. Who did I think the princess was? She was used to the company of the great and the good; she stood high above even the scions of the most noble families. And who do you think you are, Wei Zisong? I asked myself. Even leaving aside the fact that I was a woman — leaving aside the absurdity of my having conceived a passion for someone of the same sex — neither my looks, my birth nor my character made me anything near a fit match for her. Was there even a single thing about me that could allow the princess to esteem me, to respect me, to come to love me?
All this while, I had been deluding myself.
Before this, I’d tried to comfort myself with the thought that it didn’t matter whether the princess returned my feelings, that it was enough if I could just remain at her side, to bear quiet witness to her joys and sorrows, to do everything in my power to protect her from injustice and pain. As long as I could make sure her days were spent in happiness and without care, I told myself, that would be enough. But then greed for something more would arise in my heart, and I would console myself further with the thought that, as long as I managed to become prince consort, as long as I gave the princess enough time, she would one day come to understand my feelings for her. And if Heaven was kind, she would find it in herself to return something of what I felt, even if it was only the slightest trace.
But the moment the princess’ arms slipped from me, all these nebulous hopes went the way of a precious porcelain vessel that had fallen from my grasp — they shattered into thousands of pieces, the shards raining down in chaotic confusion.
The corners of my mouth twitched in a wry smile. Slowly I turned around, and looked into the princess’ face for a long moment. ‘Princess—’ I began uncertainly.
She reached out and pressed two fingers against my lips. Her expression was calm, her gaze steady. ‘Wei Zisong,’ she said, enunciating every word with perfect clarity, ‘just now, when you said you loved me, what did you mean?’
I paused, momentarily disconcerted, then reached up and took her hand in mine. ‘Princess, when I said I love you, I mean I want to grow old hand in hand with you;[3] I mean I want us to share the same bed in life, and the same grave in death.’[4]
She did not respond immediately.
The night breeze was cool against my skin, but fine beads of sweat were beginning to dot my forehead and the palms of my hands.
Then the princess reached out and stroked my brow gently, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. ‘Then you need to work hard, Wei Zisong. See if you can remain prince consort not just for the three years we agreed on, but forever.’
Rosy clouds wreathed themselves around the setting sun; her smile bloomed in my eyes. How could a single word — ‘forever’ — tug so sweetly at my heartstrings?
***
Footnotes:
- This is a reference to a tale documented in the Zhuangzhi (see footnote 5 to Chapter 14). In it, a young man named Wei Sheng (尾生) falls in love with a young woman. The two decide to elope, and arrange to rendezvous by the river at a specific bridge. On the appointed day, Wei Sheng turns up at the bridge as agreed, but the young woman does not show up. It begins to rain, and the waters of the river rise rapidly. Wei Sheng, unwilling to abandon his promise, refuses to leave. He clings on to one of the pillars of the bridge and eventually drowns. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 青天白日莫论人, which can be rendered more or less literally as ‘don’t speak of others in broad daylight’. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 执子之手, 与子偕老, which can be rendered more or less literally as ‘I take your hand; together with you I grow old’. This line originates from the Book of Odes (诗经, also known as the Classic of Poetry), the oldest existing collection of Chinese poetry. It is one of the ‘Five Classics’ of Chinese literature said to have been compiled by Confucius. In the present day, the line is often used as a romantic promise. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 生当同眠, 死当同穴. This may be a variant on the line 生同衾, 死同穴, which can be rendered more or less literally as ‘in life the same blanket, in death the same grave’, and originates the vernacular tale Romance at Ruixian Pavilion (风月瑞仙亭) by the Ming Dynasty scholar and book collector Hong Pian (洪楩). It was published as part of Tales of Mount Qingping, an anthology of vernacular tales by the same author. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 