Xu Sigen stepped through the courtyard gate. A young woman, tears in her eyes, came to greet him, holding a baby in her arms.
“You’re here,” she choked out.
“Is Brother still the same?” Xu Sigen asked.
The woman raised her hand to wipe her tears.
Xu Sigen’s gaze dropped to the infant in her arms.
“Seventh Sister-in-law is bedridden and can’t get up, so I’ve been looking after the child for now,” the young woman explained.
“Has her family come?” Xu Sigen asked.
A flicker of guilt crossed the young woman’s face.
“They’re helping make arrangements,” she murmured.
Whether they were truly helping or trying to persuade her to remarry was another matter.
Such things weren’t uncommon. Xu Sigen turned his eyes toward the courtyard gate.
“You make the decision,” the young woman said softly. “By rights, Seventh Sister-in-law should observe three years of mourning…”
At those words, Xu Sigen’s nose stung with grief.
When had it ever been his place to make decisions among the brothers? Of the seven of them, it had always been Xu Maoxiu who decided things, and Fan Jianglin who nodded and called the shots. The rest of them only needed to follow – sharing hardship together, shouldering burdens together, and enjoying good fortune together…
But now…
“No need for three years of mourning,” he said, drawing a deep breath and lifting his head slightly. “She’s still young and strong, why make her suffer? Let her take her dowry with her, and don’t ask for the bride price back. Keep it by her side so she won’t have a hard life in the future. Bangchui would surely be glad too…”
He couldn’t go on.
The young woman was already in tears, while the infant in her arms, oblivious, burst into giggles instead, reaching out to clutch at her arm.
The woman only wept harder.
“This child I’ll trouble you with, Sister-in-law,” Xu Sigen said hoarsely. “At least there’s still a root left behind…”
But as for the others –
Xu Sigen could say no more. He lifted his foot and stepped into the house.
The air inside was heavy with the scent of medicine, undercut by a faint odor of decay. On the bed lay Fan Jianglin, turned to face the wall. Whether he was asleep or awake was unclear. A bowl of decoction sat untouched beside him.
“Brother, even calling you ‘Brother’ feels shameful!”
Xu Sigen pulled his robe aside and sat down, his voice choking.
“Do you call this being an big brother?”
Fan Jianglin did not stir.
“Haven’t you lain there long enough?” Xu Sigen said. “Isn’t it time you got up and did what you’re supposed to do?”
“What I’m supposed to do is die,” Fan Jianglin answered dully. “Die with them.”
Xu Sigen snatched up the medicine bowl by the bed and smashed it to the ground.
“So you mean I should go die too, is that it?” he shouted. “The seven of us swore we didn’t need to be born in the same year, month, or day, but we asked only to die in the same year, month, and day. So now – is this the time we should fulfill that oath and all die together?”
“Sigen, you know that’s not what I mean. Why waste yourself just to press me like this?” Fan Jianglin’s voice was still flat, lifeless.
“Then who are you wasting?” Xu Sigen roared. “Who are you trying to show this to? They can’t see it anymore. Do you want me to see? Sister-in-law to see? The world to see? Or – our sister to see?”
At the mention of their sister, Fan Jianglin’s body gave a slight tremor, but then he turned his face more firmly to the wall.
“Fourth Brother, Fourth Brother!” A woman’s voice called from the courtyard. “Someone has come from Sister’s household in Jiang-zhou.”
At those words, Xu Sigen immediately stopped paying attention to Fan Jianglin and strode out. On the bed, Fan Jianglin also pushed himself up, listening to the voices outside.
“…My lord, please accept our condolences. I bring, on behalf of my lady, offerings for the funeral…”
Through the window, he could see the arrivals in mourning garb, performing the formal servant’s courtesies.
Fan Jianglin’s face twisted with grief, and he lay back down, curling in on himself.
What face did he have left – what face to meet her again…
The voices outside blurred, indistinct. After a long while – or perhaps only a short time -Xu Sigen returned. He sat down again and read aloud, one by one, the items listed on the condolence gift slip that Cheng Jiao-niang had sent.
Fan Jianglin did not stir.
When Xu Sigen had finished, he set the list aside and looked at him.
“Sister also sent a letter,” he said. “It contains only one line. I know what my own answer would be, but I don’t know yours.”
Fan Jianglin still did not move.
The room was silent for a moment.
“Do you regret it?” Xu Sigen suddenly asked.
Fan Jianglin’s body stiffened slightly.
“Those three words were all that was written in Sister’s letter – ‘Do you regret it?’” Xu Sigen repeated.
Do you regret it?
“We were deserters. Deserters are all beheaded. To have lived was already sheer luck. Our grievances had been washed away, our crime of desertion pardoned, and we were soldiers again. Since we were soldiers, we still had to return.”
“No… in truth, you didn’t have to return. I had prepared three great gifts for you – this was the first of them.”
“I didn’t ask you, but decided for you on my own. I don’t know if it was to your liking.”
“You had grown used to storms that hardened the body, used to gripping blade and spear, always ready for battle. Even when lying in a land of song and dance, your ears were still pricked, listening for the drums of attack…”
“A tiger is only a beast when it roams the mountains. A dragon only finds its spirit when it hides in deep waters. Your bows and arrows – only on the battlefield, only when driven into the enemy’s chest – are worth their weight in gold.”
“…A tiger would rather starve in the wild than eat its fill in a cage. That is why I wanted to give you a gift – not of mountains of gold and a lifetime of peaceful obscurity, but the chance to win merit and wash away shame. To climb back up where you once fell, to slap the filth from your bodies where it first stained you.”
“This gift I gave – do you like it still?”
Now, with no merits won and your lives lost instead – do you regret it? Should I regret it?
If we had known the outcome would be like this… would you have preferred to sit atop gold and spend your lives as peaceful old men? Would you have preferred, at this very moment, to walk the bustling streets of the capital in fine silks, drinking exquisite wine? Would you have preferred it all to be nothing more than a dream?
Was it a mistake from the start…?
“Fan Jianglin!” Xu Sigen suddenly raised his voice in a sharp cry. “Do you regret it?”
“I do not regret it!” Fan Jianglin shouted, forcing himself upright. His voice was hoarse as he roared, “I do not regret it! They would not regret it either! None of us regret it!”
A tiger would rather starve in the mountains, and their bows were only truly bows on the battlefield – whether loosing arrows into the enemy’s chest, or into their own.
Xu Sigen fixed his gaze on him, and Fan Jianglin met his eyes.
“Since you don’t regret it, then get well quickly,” Xu Sigen said, each word heavy and deliberate. “Go earn merit and honor. Go wash away the shame. Go avenge the blood debt.”
“Ali, Ali!” Fan Jianglin called out toward the door.
The young woman who had been waiting outside came in at once, carrying the child in her arms.
“Da-lang,” she choked, her voice thick with tears.
“Go call for Doctor Wang…” Fan Jianglin said.
The young woman wept and smiled at the same time, wiping her tears as she answered and hurriedly ran out.
“Sigen, you should go back,” Fan Jianglin said. “I’ll stay here. You’ve been tied up here long enough these days.”
Xu Sigen answered softly, “Yes.”
“Brother, the petition for merits and rewards has already been submitted. This time it’s a great merit – surely the approval will come soon,” Xu Sigen said.
“Then we can console their spirits in heaven,” Fan Jianglin replied.
The room fell into silence.
“As for Seventh Sister-in-law, I think it’s best not to have her observe mourning,” Xu Sigen said, laying out his plan.
Fan Jianglin nodded.
“You did right. Let it be as you say,” he replied.
Xu Sigen looked at him.
“Brother,” he called.
Fan Jianglin met his gaze, waiting for a question, but Xu Sigen didn’t ask – he just called again.
“What is it?” Fan Jianglin asked.
Xu Sigen smiled, though the smile was streaked with tears.
“Brother, it’s so good to have you back,” he said.
Fan Jianglin gave a sharp snort.
“Write Sister a reply,” he said. “I can’t write.”
Xu Sigen nodded.
“There’s nothing else that needs to be said – before Maoxiu died, he left her a message,” Fan Jianglin said slowly, enunciating each word.
He left words behind? At that fleeting moment before death, he left her a message?
Xu Sigen was taken aback, though what filled him more was a deep ache.
Third Brother…
“I’m telling you, Matchmaker Liu, stop sending all those vulgar women to my third brother. He wouldn’t look twice at them…”
“Then what sort of woman does Third Young Master like? I don’t believe I can’t find one…”
“You can’t find one. A woman like our little sister…”
“…Bangchui, shut your mouth…”
Xu Sigen’s nose burned, his eyes stung hot, and he forced himself to blink.
“Brother, tell me what he said. I’ll write it down right now,” he said.
At the end of May, the gates of Jiang-zhou were once again thrown into commotion by the galloping arrival of a courier soldier.
“Here we go again, here we go again… it’s still news from the Northwest army…”
“The Cheng family – straight from here, then right at the end of the street, along the river…”
Even before the rider could ask, the gate guards shouted out directions on their own accord.
The courier shot him a glance, sure enough said nothing, and without pausing for an instant sped off.
“A letter from the young master.”
Steward Cao hurried in and spoke to Ban Qin.
Ban Qin was overjoyed. She quickly reached out to take the letter and rushed off toward the back courtyard.
In the shaded courtyard, beneath the trees, Cheng Jiao-niang gripped the bowstring with her arm braced against the cord. Facing the straw target thirty paces away, she drew, loosed with a sharp twang, and the arrow struck dead center.
The two maids attending her instantly cried out in delight.
“Miss, you’re amazing!”
Hearing Ban Qin’s words, Cheng Jiao-niang handed the bow to one of the girls and reached out to take the letter. She broke the seal and unfolded it.
Ban Qin stood to the side, glimpsing from behind that there was only a single line written on the page. She couldn’t help feeling puzzled.
So far, so urgently, and from that distance – all for one sentence?
What kind of words could it be?
Yet just that one line, Miss was staring at it for such a long time…
In the height of summer, even the wind in the back courtyard seemed to stand still. Dappled sunlight fell across the woman holding the letter. With a soft rustle, Cheng Jiao-niang folded the paper and handed it back to Ban Qin, giving only a quiet “mm,” before turning and extending her hand.
Ban Qin stepped back, watching as one of the maids placed the bow and arrows into Cheng Jiao-niang’s hands again. Cheng Jiao-niang gripped the bow, but then paused.
“Go and have Steward Cao bring me a stone-weight bow,” she said.
When the maid relayed the order, Steward Cao was taken aback.
“A stone bow?” he repeated. “Can Miss even draw it?”
Though he voiced his doubt, he nonetheless went straight to the storeroom, fetched one himself, and delivered it in person. He watched as the lady took the bow, planted her stance, and prepared to draw.
Can she really manage it…?
Steward Cao frowned slightly, his eyes resting on the girl’s slender wrists and arms.
“Put your strength here – come, draw the string.”
It felt as though someone’s hands were guiding her bow.
Cheng Jiao-niang exerted herself, the hemp-wound bowstring trembling as the bow bent. She pulled the string back; the feathered arrow held firm in its notch.
With a sharp twang, the arrow flew, striking the straw target squarely. It didn’t hit the bull’s-eye, but it did not miss the mark either.
The little maids, knowing nothing of bows, thought it was worse than before since it hadn’t hit the center. But Steward Cao, watching from the side, couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming praise.
“Take your time. If in the future you can draw a five- or six-dou bow, that will already be remarkable.” [1]
See? Not just five or six dou – I can already draw a one-stone bow now.
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered the bow in her hands, gazed at the distant target for a moment, then dropped her eyes and turned away.
Translator’s Notes:
[1] The terms dou (斗) and stone (石) are traditional Chinese units used for archery draw weight. Roughly, one dou equates to about 11 pounds (5 kg) of draw, and one stone (10 dou) to about 110 pounds (50 kg).
