The side hall was bustling with activity, while over on the other side, Cheng Jiao-niang and Dan-niang had already walked out of the mountain gate with the children of the Chen family.
A verse that could hardly be called a poem, authored by Chen Dan-niang, had long been left behind. Cheng Jiao-niang, who penned the words, had poured out her feelings and now felt no lingering attachment. The lively scene behind them, so closely related to the two of them, had become something they were oblivious to.
Meanwhile, Young Master Qin and Zhou Liu-lang had also returned from their mountain hunt, making their way back home.
The Qin residence was located in the very heart of the capital. Although Young Master Qin’s grandmother, Princess Fang Ning, had passed away, the Qin family still retained the imperial-granted princess manor. With its pavilions, towers, gardens, and winding paths exquisitely constructed, it remained one of the finest residences in the capital.
However, not many people lived in the manor. It was home only to Young Master Qin’s family. The Qin family’s ancestral home was in Chuan-zhou, and if not for Young Master Qin’s father serving in an official capacity in the capital, the family would not have moved here.
Upon returning home, Young Master Qin, as was his custom, went first to greet his parents, but as luck would have it, neither of them was there.
“The year-end visits keep everyone busy. Have you eaten yet?” a maid asked.
Young Master Qin pointed behind him, where a servant was holding two wild pheasants.
“I hunted these. We’ll cook them later and have a meal,” he said with a smile.
Although Young Master had a physical disability, he was known for his amiable personality.
“Young Master, be careful not to cut yourself,” the maid said hastily.
Young Master Qin chuckled, then seated himself in a soft sedan chair, which the servants carried to his courtyard.
In the courtyard, the maids had already set up knives, scissors, a stove, and a pot as instructed.
After a quick wash, Young Master Qin came to the courtyard and slaughtered and cleaned the wild pheasants.
Two young ladies arrived together but were stopped at the gate by a maid.
“Sixth Lady, Seventh Lady, Young Master is preparing to cook the wild pheasants he caught,” the maid whispered.
The two ladies exchanged glances, faint traces of disdain appearing on their faces.
“What’s with Shi’san-lang*? Why does he always insist on cooking his own food?” one of them remarked. “It’s so filthy.”
“Exactly. Eating, drinking, whatever it is—he insists on doing it himself. It’s not like there’s no one at home to serve him,” the other added.
They glanced toward the courtyard, seeming to catch a whiff of the smell of blood. Covering their noses and mouths, they finally said, “Forget it, we’ll come another day.”
With that, they turned and left, surrounded by their maids.
The maid sighed and glanced back toward the courtyard.
“…Boil the water… it’s better to scald them before plucking the feathers…”
The clear voice of the young man faintly drifted out.
“Indeed, why does he have to be so peculiar?” one of the maids muttered quietly.
“Well, after all…” the other whispered, raising her eyebrows and patting her leg. “People like that tend to be a bit strange…”
The first woman quickly smacked her companion’s hand.
“What are you saying? If this gets to the madam’s ears, do you have a death wish?” she scolded in a low voice, glaring at her.
The other woman immediately mimed zipping her lips and shrank back, though a hint of a smile lingered on her face.
The courtyard lights were lit as Young Master Qin placed a handful of mountain mushrooms into the clay pot.
“All right, serve it to me in half an hour,” he said, letting down his rolled-up sleeves.
The maids responded with a chorus of “Yes, Young Master,” watching as Young Master Qin reached out for his cane.
The cane had been set aside earlier to avoid getting in the way, and it was now just out of his reach. A maid hurried over, picked it up, and handed it to him.
For a moment, the smile on Young Master Qin’s face seemed to freeze, but he quickly returned to his usual expression.
Taking the cane, he allowed the maid to help him to his feet, then slowly limped back into the house.
Inside the room, four maids held clean robes to be changed into, while three others stepped forward to help Young Master Qin remove layer after layer of his clothing. Once he was down to his innermost garments, they assisted him into the washing area.
After he finished washing, two maids knelt behind him, gently drying his hair. Young Master Qin leaned against a small table with his eyes closed, seemingly dozing off.
“Thirteenth Young Master, the soup is ready,” came a maid’s voice from outside.
Young Master Qin suddenly sat upright, catching the maid behind him off guard. She accidentally tugged on his long hair, then panicked and hurriedly knelt to apologize.
“It’s nothing, you may go,” Young Master Qin said with a smile, waving her away. Straightening his posture, he called out, “Quick, bring it in!”
The steaming chicken and mountain mushroom stew was placed on the low table, its fragrance wafting through the room.
“Delicious, absolutely delicious,” Young Master Qin said with a smile, taking a deep breath to savor the aroma before picking up a spoon and chopsticks to eat slowly.
Behind him, the two maids exchanged a glance.
This counts as delicious? Perhaps it would be in a modest household unaccustomed to the taste of meat, but in a family as affluent as the Qin household, what was a mere bowl of chicken soup worth?
They looked again at the young master before them. Clad in flowing white robes, his long hair cascading to the floor, he drank deeply with one hand as the other brushed back his sleeve. Amid the rising steam, his jade-like face took on a faintly dreamlike quality.
“I made this,” Young Master Qin murmured, almost to himself. “I made it. I made it. I made it myself.”
He lowered his head, placed a piece of meat into his mouth, and began to chew slowly, taking large, deliberate bites.
After a refreshing outing, a restful night’s sleep followed.
The next day, Cheng Jiao-niang came to Old Master Chen’s place for the routine acupuncture session, inevitably being asked about the pleasures of her excursion.
“It was fine,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied woodenly.
“It seems the Qieting Temple truly is a place of spiritual beauty,” Old Master Chen said with a smile, studying Cheng Jiao-niang. “You seem much more spirited now.”
The maid instinctively glanced at Cheng Jiao-niang, noting her still-blank and dazed expression. In the eyes of others, she appeared just as unwell as before; there was no visible change.
“You were a bit emotionally stifled before, but it seems you have recovered,” Old Master Chen added.
Emotionally stifled? The maid looked at Cheng Jiao-niang again. Could such an expression really suggest emotional distress?
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a slight nod without speaking, neither refuting nor confirming. She simply picked up the golden needle and prepared to proceed.
Madam Zhou stepped into the room and, looking slightly fatigued, took a seat.
“Mother,” Zhou Liu-lang, who had followed her in, asked, “Did she find another excuse not to see you?”
Madam Zhou accepted the tea handed to her by a maid and replied, “Whether she meets me or not, it’s her choice. I’ve done my part. Whether she accepts it or not is up to her.”
Zhou Liu-lang’s face tightened.
“It’s my fault for causing you this grievance,” he said, bowing deeply in apology.
Madam Zhou quickly reached out to help him up.
“What nonsense. How is it your fault? It’s just a maid, after all. Besides, it’s that girl’s own shamelessness and poor judgment of character. If she wants to blame us for her misfortune, that’s the real breach of decorum,” she said with a sneer.
Leaving his parents’ quarters, Zhou Liu-lang headed to the martial training ground, where he worked up a sweat practicing with a staff. By the time he returned to his own courtyard, it was already time for lunch.
Just as he picked up his bowl of rice, he saw Young Master Qin hurrying in, supported by a servant. Due to his leg condition, Young Master Qin always moved at a slow pace, so it was rare to see him this flustered and rushing.
Zhou Liu-lang straightened up.
“Zhou Liu, it’s all your fault I missed something wonderful!” Young Master Qin began.
“What was it?” Zhou Liu-lang asked, relieved there wasn’t a more serious issue.
“Yesterday, a brilliant poem was composed at Qieting Temple,” Young Master Qin said.
Zhou Liu-lang curled his lips dismissively. Just another pastime for idle people, spending their days writing poems and whatnot.
“What’s so special about it?” he asked indifferently.
“‘Mountain temple awaits the plum blossoms,’” Young Master Qin said.
Zhou Liu-lang picked up his soup bowl and waited for a moment, but Young Master Qin didn’t continue reciting.
“Well, what happened next?” he asked, taking a big sip.
“That’s all,” Young Master Qin replied.
Zhou Liu-lang suddenly spit the soup out, splashing it all over Young Master Qin.
Young Master Qin, unfazed by the mess, simply smiled, as though still lost in the charm of the poem.
“Is this what you call a good poem?” Zhou Liu-lang exclaimed, glaring as he pushed away the maid who hurried over to wipe him, grabbing his handkerchief to wipe his mouth haphazardly. “You’re doing this just to mock me, aren’t you? Though I’m a martial man, my family can still afford to hire a teacher! Here, let me show you a good poem I wrote.”
He said, tossing the handkerchief aside and glaring, then began:
“A bowl of tea soup, good.” He said slowly, emphasizing each word. “Mountain temple awaits the plum blossoms, a bowl of tea soup, good. See, I even made it rhyme.”
Young Master Qin burst into laughter.
“Foolish boy,” he laughed, reaching out to carefully take a piece of paper from the servant beside him and unroll it.
“Mountain temple awaits the plum blossoms,” Zhou Liu-lang recited, “Indeed, a good poem.”
He then called for the ink and brush, eager to add his own continuation to it, to make it even better.
Young Master Qin chuckled and spat.
“Look at the handwriting,” he said, pushing the writing desk closer.
Translator’s Note:
*Shi’san-lang（十三郎）：Shi’san（十三）means ‘thirteen’ in Chinese, so this refers to the thirteenth son from the family.
