To Embers We Return — Chapter 11
***
Bian Jin woke briefly at some point in the depths of the night. Exhaustion lay unusually heavily upon her. For some unknown reason, her body hurt all over. And the even stranger thing was, she was lying in someone’s arms.
Effortfully she prised open her eyelids just a sliver. In the mirror by the bed, she could see that it was Shen Ni embracing her from behind.
Bian Jin did not know why Shen Ni had climbed into bed with her. Her gaze travelled downwards, and she realised that she was clutching Shen Ni’s arm. Slowly she loosened her stiffened fingers, and saw that there were fearful red marks around Shen Ni’s wrist.
Bian Jin, still dazed by the aftershocks of her nightmare, did not have the strength to try and work out what had happened in the night. Exhaustion swept over her again, and she soon fell into a nearly comatose slumber.
By the time she woke up again, it was already morning. Shen Ni had retreated to her nest of blankets on the floor as if nothing had happened. She had her back turned to Bian Jin, and was just beginning to stir.
‘Good morning,’ said Shen Ni nonchalantly as she sat up. Dark shadows stood out beneath her eyes, and she looked a little weary, but her smile was as bright as ever.
Bian Jin wanted to say something in reply, but Shen Ni had already thrown on her outer robes and left the room to wash up.
Unusually for the two of them, however, they had breakfast together that morning. As Bian Jin sat down opposite her at the table, Shen Ni asked, ‘Is this all right for you?’
‘What is?’ asked Bian Jin. She had the same dark shadows under her eyes as Shen Ni.
‘Eating with someone else. Does that make you uncomfortable?’
Bian Jin, picking quietly at the crisp seasonal vegetables in her plate with her chopsticks, said slowly, ‘Not if it’s you.’
Instead of the floral scent she’d used before, the fragrance that Shen Ni now wore had the familiar smell of temple tea. The shadow of the big tree that stood outside the window happened to fall across the breakfast table. One end of it touched Shen Ni’s gloved hands, the other Bian Jin’s fingertips. In that moment, there was a sense of familial cosiness in the room; it could have been breakfast time in any ordinary household. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the tree, scattering bits of gold across the table.
Bian Jin noticed that Shen Ni was wearing a wide-sleeved robe, which was unusual for her. The sleeves covered her hands up to her fingers, concealing her wrists completely. That, taken together with the way Shen Ni had left the bedchamber without a single word earlier, and the fact that she hadn’t yet mentioned why she’d been holding Bian Jin in her arms last night, Bian Jin was fairly sure that her shimei didn’t intend to say anything about what had happened the night before.
Bian Jin knew her own strength. Although it was a far cry from what it had been at the peak of her powers — her injuries were grave, and the temporary spine Shen Ni had installed could only bear the weight of the most mundane, everyday activities — she was still capable of crushing a block of wood into pieces with her bare hands.
Bian Jin wasn’t sure how much force she’d used when she’d been clinging to Shen Ni for dear life last night. She put down her chopsticks, and her gaze went to Shen Ni’s wrist. ‘Can I see?’ she asked.
Shen Ni blinked slowly. If Bian Jin was saying that, it meant she must know something of what had happened last night. Did she remember the way she’d held Shen Ni down?
Shen Ni didn’t show Bian Jin her wrist, however. Instead, she continued munching leisurely at her breakfast. Auntie Wan, being fully aware of Bian Jin’s aversions, had portioned out their food into two separate plates.
‘There’s no need,’ said Shen Ni. ‘After all these years on the battlefield, I can survive a pinch from you every now and then. I’m fine.’ She swallowed a piece of grilled beef, then went on, ‘What were you dreaming of last night? It seemed very disturbing.’
‘It must have been a nightmare.’ Bian Jin’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall what had happened. ‘I don’t remember much of it — only that I felt very tired.’
‘What was the nightmare about? Can’t you remember any part of it at all?’
Bian Jin searched her memory, concentrating fiercely, but still drew a blank. ‘All I can recall is that I felt a bit sick.’
‘Lots of people can’t remember their dreams,’ said Shen Ni. ‘Or perhaps this has something to do with your loss of memory.’
Bian Jin was silent.
‘Has anything like this ever happened before?’
‘Yes, once, three days ago — but it wasn’t anywhere as serious as this.’
‘You were in danger of overloading your cybernetic circuits last night,’ said Shen Ni. ‘But luckily that was suppressed, in the end.’
Bian Jin knew what Shen Ni was talking about. Being in Shen Ni’s arms had made her feel safe — safe enough to break free of the nightmare. Bian Jin wasn’t quite sure what she thought about that.
‘Thank you,’ she told Shen Ni. Regardless of how she felt about the matter, she still owed Shen Ni her gratitude. ‘If it wasn’t for you, my circuits would have burned out, and I’d need even more repairs.’
Shen Ni smiled brilliantly at her in the winter sunshine. ‘You’re too polite, shijie. That almost sounds as if we were strangers. Remember when I was little? I used to be so terrified of ghosts that I could only fall asleep if you were next to me.’
That had been Shen Ni’s greatest fear as a child. Her liushixiong, who loved telling ghost stories, had delighted in terrorising her with those tales. On top of that, Shuangji Hall sat right in the middle of the mountains, and every night, when the trees swayed in the wind, they looked exactly like the shadows of cavorting phantoms.
Whenever Shen Ni’s terrors got the better of her, she would run to find Bian Jin. It was only in her shijie’s arms that she dared to fall asleep.
Bian Jin would tease her gently. ‘Do you still need your shijie to cuddle you to sleep? A big girl like you?’
‘I’m here to protect you,’ Shen Ni would say. ‘I’ll stop the ghosts from eating you up. I’m not scared of them at all!’
And Bian Jin wouldn’t call her bluff. Instead, she would simply make room for the little girl in her narrow bed, then scour her brain for cosy stories suitable for a child’s ears. It was only after she’d lulled Shen Ni to slumber that Bian Jin would allow herself to drift off.
The little girl who’d often nestled in her arms had changed so much in the blink of an eye. The passing years had left a visible mark on her. She’d grown into those exquisite features; her face was now that of a woman, no longer a child. Those finely-drawn eyes with their long, upswept corners looked out at the world with complete self-possession, and more than a touch of beguiling charm.
Shen Ni had endured bitter winters, but the frost had not chilled her. She was as sharp as a blade, but kept her steel well-hidden until it was needed. She knew exactly how far she could push to get what she wanted while remaining scrupulously within the bounds of propriety. Those strong arms were now more than capable of crafting a safe haven for those she cared about.
She truly was all grown up now.
Both of them were briefly lost in the warm glow of their old days together at Shuangji Hall. The memory of how they’d been with each other — what they’d been to each other — gave them a momentary sense that their current married state was somehow a transgression of some old boundary.
Bian Jin said nothing more, and resumed eating her breakfast.
Shen Ni drew her thoughts back from her memories of Shuangji Hall. What came to mind next was the spousal module she and Bian Jin had received that invitation from the Civil Affairs Bureau about. She recalled then that one of its functions was to allow a married couple to enter each other’s dreams. She’d looked into it when she first received the invitation. That particular function, she’d learned, was widely used in emotion-focused therapy. Through it, one could send their consciousness into their spouse’s disturbed dreams. Once there, they could apply various calming techniques as instructed by their doctors, which were usually effective in alleviating the symptoms of certain mental disorders, including insomnia.
‘Do you still remember the spousal module?’ Shen Ni suggested. ‘One of the things it does is allow a married couple to share each other’s dreams. Using that, I would be able enter your nightmare, and see exactly what it is that’s troubling you. Then I could help get rid of whatever fears are haunting you, and change the landscape of your dreams for the better. I’m not sure whether this might also help you recover your memories, but at the very least, it could provide some relief for your nightmares.’
Bian Jin looked up at her.
Shen Ni felt it was a proposal worth discussing further. Perhaps Bian Jin would ask her more questions about the spousal module, she thought.
To her surprise, however, Bian Jin said flatly, ‘No.’
Her tone held a curt finality that brooked no further argument. It was in exactly the same way that she’d hissed, ‘Don’t touch me,’ the night before.
Shen Ni made no attempt to change Bian Jin’s mind. She only flashed her shijie a smile that was even more enchanting than usual and said, ‘Apologies, I overstepped.’
Shen Ni left the house immediately after breakfast. Through the dining room’s bright windows, Bian Jin saw her hovercraft soaring straight up into the air, leaving a livid trail through the dark clouds that were beginning to gather over the city.
Bian Jin let her gaze fall back to her plate, and closed her dry, aching eyes.
She’d been much too categorical in her rejection of Shen Ni’s suggestion earlier; she hadn’t shown sufficient appreciation for her shimei’s good intentions. But if she did allow Shen Ni into her sleeping mind, she couldn’t be sure that Shen Ni wouldn’t stumble across… that dream. She feared the possibility, even though it had been many years since she’d had such a dream.
That had been the most preposterous fantasy. A manifestation of her darker desires, which could never be allowed to rear their head again.
No one could ever find out about it, especially not Shen Ni.
And as for why she should feel so compelled to keep that dream safely locked away, she only had a vague notion at present, but already its promise shone bright enough to shackle her whole soul in its light. That was the future she was making her way towards.
***
It was the seventh day of the first month of the new year, which made it Renri.[1] Li Ruoyuan was holding a banquet for her ministers at the palace. The music from the sizhu[2] ensemble travelled all the way to the Ministry of Works. Across the entrance of one of its buildings, which stood in the most comfortable corner of the Ministry of Works’ compound, hung a sign that read ‘Directorate for the Construction of the City Fortifications’.
Shen Ni was, of course, one of Li Ruoyuan’s ministers; by right, she should have been attending the imperial banquet. However, at the thought of having to play at pretended cordiality with the old-sticks-in-the-mud who were likely to be present, she’d made the excuse of needing to work urgently on the construction project to retreat to the relative tranquility of the Ministry of Works.
As Shen Ni approached the directorate, Zeng Qingluo came out to give her a report on the progress of the works. Shen Ni stood listening to her under a snow-covered tree just by the entrance. She didn’t notice the two pairs of eyes staring at her from inside the building.
‘She really isn’t wearing one.’
‘It might be on the other side.’
The voices belonged to two young officials who were sitting by the window. Just before Shen Ni arrived, the two of them had made a bet on whether Director Shen would be wearing a rensheng[3] on her belt when she came in.
‘Rensheng’ had begun as decorations in the shape of little human figures, cut out of coloured paper. On Renri, these would be pasted on windows and worn as hair ornaments, and were believed to bring good luck. This was one of the customs that had been recorded in the historical texts tucked away in the mysterious capsule Li Ruoyuan’s ancestor had found. The people of TangPro were fanatical about the customs and festivals of the future, and the fervour with which they participated in them was likely greater even than that shown by the true originators. Often, they would put their own twist on the customs as recorded.
In this new age, ‘rensheng’ were not only cut-out decorations. The people of TangPro would also braid little dolls out of coloured ribbons and present them to their lovers. Married couples went to great lengths to ensure that the rensheng they created for their spouses were as exquisite and eye-catching as possible.
Every Renri was an occasion for mass declarations of love. By hanging a rensheng on their belt, one was proclaiming that their heart belonged to the person who’d given it to them. Married women and men would subtly show off the rensheng they’d received from their spouses as a token of how deeply they were cared for, and the competitive display of rensheng had become a thriving Renri custom in present-day TangPro.
Shen Ni and her mysterious marriage had been the talk of Chang’an society in the days leading up to Renri. Almost everyone had their own speculations as to what kind of rensheng she would sport — or if she would sport one at all.
The two officials watching Shen Ni were both new to the civil service, having passed the imperial examination just last year. The man was named Fan Zhi, and the woman was named Cui Ning. Both of them could see that Shen Ni wore nothing on her belt except the golden pouch holding her ministerial seal and a couple of small objects. There was no sign of a rensheng at all.
Fan Zhi, tapping lightly on the desk in front of him, said excitedly, ‘Look, I did say their marriage was for appearances’ sake only — there’s no affection between them. That Bian Jin is a cold-blooded killer, so I’ve heard. She’d probably sooner chop a hundred heads off than sit down and make a rensheng for Director Shen!’
Tilting his head to one side, he extended his hand towards Cui Ning, his palm outstretched. ‘One tael of silver, please.’
Unhurriedly, Cui Ning pressed a tael of silver into his hand; she seemed completely unvexed. When she saw Shen Ni approaching, she reached into one of the desk’s drawers and pulled out a box.
Since their marriage was only for show, Cui Ning decided, there was nothing wrong in her trying to win Shen Ni’s favour for herself.
‘What’s that?’ asked Fan Zhi quizzically.
‘It’s not for you, that’s what,’ returned Cui Ning.
Shen Ni and Zeng Qingluo came into the room at that moment. Zeng Qingluo was brushing snow off her shoulders, and looked decidedly gloomy.
‘I didn’t expect the project’s accounts to be in such a mess. The more I go through them, the worse they seem.’
‘Have a guess,’ said Shen Ni. ‘Which do you think will happen first: you putting the accounts into order, or me finally gaining access to the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation?’
‘The accounts, of course,’ said Zeng Qingluo. ‘After all, the Director of the Supreme Bureau is the famous Prince Yong. The day she lets you wander in and out of her territory as you please is the day I cut my own head off and present it to you as a stool.’
Li Shan, titled Prince Yong, was another oft-discussed personage in Chang’an. Her mother had been a maidservant of the previous emperor, and no Talent had been detected in her by the time she came of age.[4] This lack, coupled with her mother’s low birth, meant that she was disfavoured by the late emperor. Her older sister Li Ruoyuan, however, had always treated her with great kindness and generosity. It was thanks to Li Ruoyuan that Li Shan had been able to devote herself to her studies and eventually gain a post in the empire’s Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation. When Li Ruoyuan took the throne, she had granted Li Shan the title of Prince Yong, and the two of them were as close as sisters could be.
Several years after she came of age, Li Shan was unexpectedly found to have a Talent after all. She was a machinist, and a rare S-tier one at that. This came as joyful news to the royal family. After that, Li Shan had been elevated swiftly to the directorship of the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation, and her fame and standing now eclipsed that of her six other princely siblings.
Shen Ni had never met Li Shan, but she’d heard much of Prince Yong’s arrogance and stubbornness. Li Shan was highly resistant to the counsel of others, it was said, and even Li Ruoyuan was compelled to let her have her way most of the time.
One might be tempted to call Li Ruoyuan weak, but behind her was the formidable Li Shan and the ruthless Lijing Bureau. Li Shan’s objections were almost certainly the reason why Shen Ni was still locked out of the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation.
Shen Ni herself was in no hurry; she could afford to take her time. Li Ruoyuan was probably more anxious for her to be granted access than she was.
Shen Ni was just about to say something more when she saw Zeng Qingluo peering over her shoulder. She knew then that there must be someone approaching her from behind.
The two of them broke off their conversation. Shen Ni turned and found a young female official standing right in front of her. The young woman’s little round face was flushed. She held out the dainty box she was carrying in both hands and said sweetly, ‘Director Shen, I made a few too many cakes, and couldn’t finish them all myself. Would you like to try some? I’m an excellent baker — anyone who’s tried my cakes always tells me they can’t stop thinking about them!’
Cui Ning was young and pretty, with cheeks as adorably plump as a ripened peach. Her soft, lilting voice fell pleasantly on the ear. Without waiting for Shen Ni’s reply, she opened the box. Inside lay six exquisite persimmon cakes in a neat row. Each was perfectly plump and fluffy, and one look at them was tempting enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
It was clear, too, that each of these cakes had been carefully and painstakingly made. They certainly weren’t just leftovers.
Shen Ni, however, did not even look into the box. ‘I don’t eat sweets,’ she said simply.
That took Cui Ning aback. She hadn’t expected Shen Ni to turn down her offering in front of everyone in the directorate, and she certainly hadn’t expected Shen Ni to do it so bluntly, leaving her no room to try and put a better face on things! Struggling to keep the smile on her lips, Cui Ning was about to say something more when Shen Ni turned, walked across the room into her private office, and shut the door coolly.
Cui Ning stared speechlessly after her for several long moments. Then she closed the box, and was just about to return to her desk when Zeng Qingluo called out to her. ‘Oh, don’t let those cakes go to waste. Why don’t you give them to me? I love sweets.’
‘Take them,’ said Cui Ning, shoving the box into Zeng Qingluo’s arms. Then she walked away without a backward glance.
Zeng Qingluo was left clutching the box to her chest. ‘Why did she seem so unwilling?’ she wondered.
She bit into one of the cakes. It was so sweet that it left her momentarily dizzy.
***
Ever since Shen Ni’s visit to Lantai, the meals the refectory served up to Bian Jin had become palatable again. Not that she needed to depend on the goodwill of the cooks today. Shen Ni’s little foray into the kitchens had reminded Auntie Wan that there was another service she could render her new mistress. That afternoon, she’d stopped by the archive to bring Bian Jin a packed lunch she’d prepared herself.
In the southwestern corner of Lantai’s rear courtyard lay a small, quiet garden. No one else was there on such a blustery day, but Bian Jin did not fear the cold. She sat out there by herself, eating the lunch Auntie Wan had brought her. Since there was no one around to bother her, it was a good opportunity to go through some mental exercises that might help restore her memory.
As she bit into her food, the soreness in her jaw became even more pronounced. That morning when she woke up, she’d discovered that her lower lip was torn. She’d probably done that herself while in the throes of the nightmare, she thought.
The ache in her jaw, however, had persisted throughout the day; even now, it still lingered. It felt much more serious than could be accounted for by her gnawing on her own lip without meaning to. What else had she bitten last night?
The weather had been grim almost all morning, and now thunder was rumbling in the distance. Seeing that it was about to rain, Bian Jin packed up her lunchbox, intending to return to the building. On her way back, she passed a stand of bamboo, and overheard two of her colleagues gossiping on the other side.
‘…Did you see the rensheng Hu Er’s wife made him?’ said one. ‘I nearly died of laughter! Rensheng are supposed to be human figures, but that one looked exactly like a bear!’
The two of them burst out laughing. After a while, the other man said, ‘At least Hu Er’s wife remembered! Poor old Du Liu, on the other hand — he might as well not have married at all. His wife seems to care nothing for him. She didn’t even make him the simplest rensheng for today, the poor man.’
At the mention of Du Liu, both men sighed, then continued their idle chatter as they walked away.
Bian Jin stood motionless on the spot.
No wonder there was an air of festivity all through the city today. It was Renri.
Ever since she’d led her first campaign to the north, Bian Jin had fallen out of the habit of marking the festivals. Renri had always been celebrated exuberantly by the people of Chang’an, and now, so many years later, the festival was even more popular than ever. If a married woman or man were to step out without a rensheng hanging from their belt, they would inevitably draw pitying sighs from their friends and acquaintances.
And today, Shen Ni had gone rensheng-less to the Ministry of Works. She must have been the target of her colleagues’ japes.
Shen Ni had rescued her from prison, repaired her battered body, and taken her under her protection. And just this morning, she’d repaid Shen Ni by rejecting her well-meant suggestion in the harshest possible terms. On top of that, Shen Ni had only been recently appointed director-general of the project for constructing Chang’an’s fortifications, and she needed to be able to inspire confidence in her subordinates — the more the better.
She mustn’t be a hindrance to Shen Ni, Bian Jin decided.
Rain was beginning to fall in great big drops, and the whole city was shrouded in a chill mist. Bian Jin hurried out in the rain to buy the coloured ribbons used for making rensheng. When she returned, she loaded up an instructional video and, ribbons in hand, began painstakingly braiding.
***
Shen Ni’s subordinates had been due to attend the site of the fortifications that afternoon. The sudden storm, however, had put paid to any construction work for the rest of the day, leaving them at something of a loose end.
Officially, they were all still on duty, but as Shen Ni was young and seemed amiable enough, none of them felt the strain of having a superior looking over their shoulder. They tapped idly away at their keyboards and bantered with each other, going through the motions of work as they waited for the end of their shifts.
Now that they had time to kill, these officials became even more voluble than before. Soon they were busy comparing the rensheng they’d each received from their spouses, competing to see whose was the best. The prettier their rensheng was, the more it betokened the high regard in which they were held by their spouse. As their contest became heated, they grew less and less discreet.
One male official had at first believed the rensheng he’d received from his wife to be the most exquisite specimen possible, but it was easily outshone by the rensheng another colleague was sporting. Unable to accept defeat gracefully, he cast about for someone who might be able to out-compete his opponent. When he spotted Shen Ni coming out from her private office, his eyes lit up. ‘Director Shen,’ he called out loudly, ‘why don’t you show us your rensheng, so that all of us can admire it? It must be a thing of beauty indeed!’
Just as he finished saying this, he heard Fan Zhi give a pointed cough from a corner. He paused, and it was then that he realised that there was no rensheng hanging from Shen Ni’s belt.
The official stared at her in confusion. Wasn’t Director Shen married? Why didn’t she have a rensheng? What kind of wife would be so neglectful?
Cui Ning, who happened to be walking past him at that very moment, hissed in a low voice, ‘You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?’
That left him at a complete loss for words.
‘My wife is still recovering from her injuries,’ said Shen Ni. ‘She doesn’t have the strength to spare for such meticulous handiwork, unfortunately.’
The official offered her an awkward smile. ‘Of course. Her ladyship’s health must come first. Apologies, my lord. I misspoke.’
An embarrassed silence fell over the room — and was shattered a few moments later by a loud crack of thunder.
It was as if the sky had split open. In the next instant, torrents of rain came pouring down, and the wind lashed fiercely at the trees outside, bending them almost double.
Zeng Qingluo called up the weather forecast. ‘This is going to last for the next two hours.’
The assembled officials realised that they were trapped here at the directorate while the storm lasted. Two whole hours — how late would it be by the time they managed to get home?
Shen Ni’s digital watch buzzed. She glanced at it, and a faint look of surprise crossed her face. She went over to the door and pushed it open. An icy gust of wind swirled into the room.
Through the heavy curtain of the downpour, a coach could be seen just outside the door. A woman stepped down from it. She was holding a black umbrella, and her grip absolutely steady. As she came walking through the rain — which was falling so densely that it glowed white with reflected light — her features grew clearer and clearer.
‘Dashijie?’ said Zeng Qingluo, startled.
Everyone in the directorate knew that Zeng Qingluo was Shen Ni’s shimei. So if she was addressing this woman as ‘dashijie’, that could only mean—
As Bian Jin stepped through the door, Shen Ni went up to her, surprise written all over her face. ‘What are you doing here?’
Bian Jin closed the umbrella. Water cascaded down it, dripping steadily from its tip onto the floor. ‘It’s raining, so I came to take you home.’
Moisture had beaded in Bian Jin’s hair, and the chill from the wintry air outside clung to her. Her face was haloed in a wreath of fine mist from the rain. She looked like a celestial goddess making a sudden visit to the mortal realm.
As the two of them stood there side by side, the assembled onlookers could see that they were wearing cloaks in the same style. They looked to all outward appearances like a perfectly matched couple.
Of all the officials who’d been showing off their rensheng earlier, none of their spouses had come to see them home. They fell silent, gazing enviously at the loving wives before them.
Bian Jin’s eyes went to Shen Ni’s belt. She produced a small object from the folds of her robes.
‘I’d like to hang something there.’
Shen Ni lifted both arms, as if to tell Bian Jin, ‘Do with me as you please.’
Bian Jin stepped closer to Shen Ni, something she rarely did of her own accord. Their breaths entwined for a single moment, then a rensheng made from red and black ribbons was dangling from the most prominent spot on Shen Ni’s belt. Shen Ni’s gaze dropped quietly to the rensheng.
Everyone else in the directorate was staring stealthily at the pair of them. This was the first time most of them had seen Bian Jin in person. Her infamy had led them to believe she must be some fearsome warrior. It was only now that they saw she was a beautiful woman — so much so that they could barely bring themselves to look away.
The little doll she’d made was no fit match for Shen Ni, Bian Jin decided. She let out a faint sigh. ‘I practised for a good long while, but the result is still somewhat lacking. Since this is just for appearances’ sake, I’ll have to ask you to bear with it for the moment. Once we’re out of here, you can simply throw it away.’
Shen Ni tilted up the rensheng’s crooked little face. ‘It’s perfectly adorable.’
Bian Jin knew that Shen Ni was only comforting her, but the fact that she hadn’t rejected the rensheng out of hand was enough of a relief. Although—
Bian Jin had just caught sight of the bite mark on Shen Ni’s finger and the bruise on the back of her hand, which was shaped like a ring of teeth. Coupled with the fact that her own jaw had been aching all day, could it be…?
As Bian Jin stood there, lost in thought, Shen Ni suddenly drew closer to her and whispered in her ear, ‘People are always spreading rumours about the two of us not get along. Since you’re already here, shijie, we can put up a good show, the better to stop them from carrying tales to Her Majesty. Here, I’ll hold the umbrella.’
And so saying, Shen Ni took the umbrella from Bian Jin and opened it. Then, putting an arm around Bian Jin’s shoulder, she got into the coach with her.
As she lifted her arm, Shen Ni realised that she had, in her hurry to leave, forgotten to put on her gloves. Yet Bian Jin let her arm stay where it was, and showed no sign of wanting to extricate herself.
***
Footnotes:
- In Chinese, 人日, literally ‘human’s day’. In traditional Chinese mythology, the goddess Nüwa created human beings on the seventh day after the creation of the world. Accordingly, Renri is viewed as the ‘birthday’ of all human beings’. In the present day, it is celebrated as part of Chinese New Year. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 丝竹, literally ‘silk and bamboo’. This refers to traditional string and wind musical instruments, the strings of the former being traditionally made from silk and the latter being traditionally made from bamboo. Instruments typically used in such a musical ensemble include the dizi (笛子, transverse flute), the xiao (箫, end-blown flute), the erhu (二胡, two-string vertical fiddle), the pipa (琵琶, four-string lute with a pear-shaped body), the yangqin (洋琴, hammered dulcimer) and the sheng (笙, free-reed mouth organ). [return to text]
- In Chinese, 人胜. See the main text for a description. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 及笄 (pinyin: jiji), literally ‘attain the hairpin’. Historically, this refers to a girl’s transition from childhood to adulthood, which is usually marked by a ceremony in which the girl’s hair is put up in a bun and fastened with a hairpin. This traditionally takes place when the girl is fifteen years of age. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 