“Change into your robes!”
On the sixteenth day of March, the imperial avenue outside the palace gates was packed with a dense, expectant crowd. At the master of ceremonies’ cry, the newly appointed jinshi – who had already received their official robes – hurriedly donned green court garments, pulled on their boots, and took the ivory tablets into their hands. When they straightened their backs and lifted their heads, they were no longer poor scholars who had studied by dim lamplight, nor farmers toiling with faces turned to the earth, nor merchants forever on the road. From this moment forth, they were officials – the highest among the four classes of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants.
Not only they alone – their wives, their sons and grandsons, and all registered under their household name – would now be entered into the rolls of official families. Their clan would bask in the glory, their younger kin might be lifted and promoted, their taxes and corvée reduced or remitted. In a single leap, they had crossed the dragon gate – lifting even their chickens and dogs to heaven.
“Give thanks for the imperial grace!”
At the master of ceremonies’ next call, the newly made subjects of the Son of Heaven bowed low in unison toward the Emperor who stood above the city gate.
“Adorn with flowers!”
Golden silk blossoms from the palace were brought forth; and whether gray-haired elders or bright-eyed youths, all pinned them proudly to their temples without hesitation.
“Strike up the music!”
The court musicians, who had long been waiting, began at once to drum, pipe, and play. Young eunuchs set off strings of firecrackers – and in an instant, the whole imperial avenue erupted in jubilant noise and splendor.
“Honored officials, please mount your horses!”
The finest steeds – glossy-coated, strong, and adorned with red ribbons and silk – were led out. The officials, themselves dressed in fresh new livery, bowed deeply and called out loudly in invitation.
At last, they had truly become officials!
Many were so overwhelmed with emotion that they trembled, some even burst into tears.
But the celebration did not end there. Led by the top-ranked zhuangyuan, the grand procession of more than four hundred new officials set out slowly along the avenue, moving toward the gates outside the imperial city.
Imperial guards cleared the way; drums and music followed close behind; banners streamed and fluttered in the wind – until the whole capital was stirred into a joyous uproar.
“Look! Look! They’re coming, they’re coming!”
Compared with the solemn pageantry within the imperial city, where the Son of Heaven himself was present, the streets outside were scenes of unrestrained jubilation.
Though imperial guards patrolled the route and the soldiers and constables of the City Guards stood along the roadside with staves to maintain order, they could not contain the people’s excitement. Some ladies of noble families, who had claimed good spots half a month in advance, now threw down handkerchiefs and flowers from their windows – the air filled with fluttering silks and petals like a shower from heavenly maidens.
Because of the dense crowds – and because everyone wished to let the jinshi savor this moment – the procession moved slowly forward.
One scholar walking at the front had his vision momentarily blocked by a drifting ribbon of silk. He quickly raised a hand to remove it, and in that instant, when he happened to lift his head slightly, the shrieks from both sides of the street grew even louder.
He was about thirty-five years old, a man who had devoted his life to study. Emboldened by the cheers, he dared to glance upward – and saw before him a row of women at the upper windows, radiant as blossoms, smiling down at him. Their laughter and cries exploded like strings of firecrackers, echoing in his ears.
The jinshi, torn between excitement and embarrassment, thought to himself that even if he were to die this very day, having lived through this one moment, he would have no regrets.
“Why are we moving so slowly?”
Amid the noisy bustle, a voice drifted to his ears.
Slowly? Someone was actually complaining that they were walking too slowly?
The jinshi couldn’t help turning around – and saw that one of the candidates who was supposed to be a good distance behind had somehow caught up, nearly bumping into his horse.
It was a young man, dressed in the same green robe, but his features were so fine and luminous that the color only made him appear more like carved jade. The golden blossom pinned at his temple, which looked comical on so many others, somehow suited him perfectly – or perhaps it was simply that his beauty outshone the flower itself.
Looking at this nineteen-year-old youth, the thirty-five-year-old jinshi couldn’t suppress a pang of envy – envy for his youth, his looks, and his family’s good fortune.
“Brother Fang Jin.”
The young jinshi gave him a slight smile, cupped his hands in a gesture of apology, and reined in his horse.
That single smile sent another wave of shrieks from the watching women around them.
Fang Jin’s horse nearly startled, but the groom held it firmly in check.
“Junior Qin, it’s the ones ahead who are moving slowly – no need to rush,” Fang Jin said, pointing toward the front of the procession.
Then he gestured toward the rear.
“The ones behind aren’t in any hurry either,” he added with a laugh.
The man riding behind Qin Shi’san-lang truly wasn’t in any hurry – he drifted along at an easy pace, keeping a comfortable distance.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled faintly, offered another polite nod of “please,” and let his gaze pass over Fang Jin toward the front, as though searching for something.
Searching for what? In such a rush for what purpose?
Fang Jin wondered, but this was not the time for questions – nor did he have the leisure to ponder others’ affairs. Right now, he meant to savor his own moment of glory.
The procession moved forward amid the cheers and thronging of the crowd, when suddenly another swell of excitement rose ahead.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s Lady Zhu from Desheng Pavilion – she’s performing a dance for the jinshi!”
The voices rippled through the crowd, and the excitement swelled even greater as people craned their necks to look in that direction. The procession of new officials advanced slowly, step by step, toward the commotion.
Before Desheng Pavilion, bright banners fluttered, but no stage had been set up – only a single great drum stood beneath the building.
“Lady Zhu is dancing the drum dance!”
“Look! Lady Zhu is dancing the drum dance!”
“She only performs before an audience during the Lantern Festival – seeing it today is worth a fortune!”
The imperial musicians had gone ahead, and as the procession of newly appointed jinshi drew near, they began to hear the rhythm of Lady Zhu’s dance upon the drum – sometimes swift, sometimes slow, at times deep and resonant, at times clear and high.
Upon the great drum she swayed with graceful poise, her winter robes shimmering with every turn, tracing out the elegant lines of her figure. A tall headdress crowned her head, and the strings of pearls hanging from it caught the sunlight, glittering as she spun.
Those at the front of the line were reluctant to move forward; those behind strained to see. Even the grooms leading the horses were struck dumb by the sight, and for a moment the entire procession came to a standstill.
Fortunately, the imperial guards noticed in time and called them to order, preventing chaos.
Lady Zhu’s gaze fell upon the young jinshi – she smiled, nodded slightly, her eyes filled with admiration. Yet unlike the others, she did not linger in fascination; her glance passed swiftly over him, then turned straight ahead as she continued her dance, moving farther and farther away without so much as a backward look.
He never knew – her performance was not meant for everyone, but for him alone.
“What an unforgettable day,” Fang Jin murmured, glancing back over his shoulder.
That young jinshi had somehow caught up again, riding just behind him.
“Yes, it truly is,” Qin Shi’san-lang replied with a faint smile. Then, looking ahead, he suddenly lifted a hand. “Look.”
“Look at what?”
Fang Jin quickly followed his gaze. The street ahead and the windows along both sides were filled with cheering, waving crowds, but nothing particularly remarkable – no dancers like Lady Zhu performing to delight the procession.
“Immortal’s Abode,” Qin Shi’san said with a smile.
Fang Jin looked and saw a tavern ahead, its colorful flags fluttering in the wind.
Of course he knew it. Though he had shut himself away to study since arriving in the capital, a few days earlier, after the provincial examination, his relatives had invited him there for a small celebratory feast.
In early spring, to enjoy a hot pot of “Passing Immortal” stew was indeed a rare pleasure.
But…
“If you wish to eat there again, you’ll have to wait until after the Qionglin Banquet,” Fang Jin said softly with a smile.
Qin Shi’san-lang looked ahead as his horse slowly drew nearer to Immortal’s Abode.
“Not necessarily,” he said with a faint smile.
Not necessarily?
Fang Jin was puzzled again. He lifted his head just in time to see several people stepping out in front of Immortal’s Abode. As the procession approached, the manager at their head clasped his hands high and bowed deeply.
“Immortal’s Abode offers wine to honor the new officials!” he called out in a ringing voice.
Offers wine?
The jinshi looked at one another in surprise – what was so special about wine?
But the thought had scarcely crossed their minds when, all at once, a great roar rose up. The crowd surged like rolling waves, sweeping toward them from both sides of the street.
“Was it personally brewed by your owner?”
The crowd shouted as one, their voices booming.
The manager smiled and bowed deeply.
“Yes.”
At that, the people surged even more excitedly.
“Is it Maoyuan Mountain wine?” someone called out.
The manager laughed heartily.
“Of course not – Maoyuan Mountain stands as Maoyuan Mountain, and Officials’ Wine is brewed solely for our honored officials!”
The tide of people swelled; the imperial guards at the front and the constables on either side were nearly shoved off their feet by the pressing crowd.
“What’s going on?” people asked from every direction.
“That damned Immortal’s Abode – they’re offering wine again,” someone said, glancing up at the sky. “Let’s hope these newly appointed officials don’t end up drunk all along the street and miss the Emperor’s Qionglin Banquet. That’d make a fine story for the ages.”
Rows of shallow golden cups were lined up on the tables, gleaming blindingly under the sunlight, the liquor within shining all the more enticingly.
“This won’t actually get us drunk, will it?” asked the zhuangyuan, the top-ranked scholar, as he took the first cup. After all, one mustn’t lose composure at the Qionglin Banquet.
And was the wine really that good?
Noticing his hesitation, the onlookers’ gazes turned upon him – sharp and eager as wolves’.
“If you won’t drink it, give it to me!”
The roar was deafening.
Startled, the zhuangyuan’s hand trembled slightly. Those eyes that had moments ago looked upon him with admiration were now all fixed hungrily upon the cup in his hand.
Could the wine truly be that good?
“This Officials’ Brew is made to celebrate our honored scholars’ ascent to the Immortal Terrace,” the manager said with a hearty laugh. “It is offered only to enliven the occasion – never to disturb the dignified steps of our new immortals.”
Surrounded by the ravenous gazes of the crowd – eyes that looked as if they could devour him – the zhuangyuan could hold out no longer. He tipped his head back and drained the cup in one gulp. His eyes flew wide open, and he gave two low grunts of astonishment.
“Excellent wine!”
He hardly needed to say more. Seeing his expression, the people around erupted in cheers, shouting as if by watching him drink they themselves had tasted the wine.
What fine wine – what glorious wine! If only it were not brewed solely for the officials.
“Is it true you won’t sell it to outsiders?” the onlookers shouted.
The manager laughed heartily.
“Our shop does not privately brew or sell wine,” he said. “This is merely a token of our owner’s goodwill.”
A chorus of groans and sighs rose from the crowd. They watched longingly as the jinshi stepped forward one by one to receive their golden cups.
“Then I’ll just have to pass the jinshi exam myself!”
Many people clapped their thighs and shouted their resolve in frustration.
The manager, holding a golden cup in both hands, turned toward the young scholar.
“Our congratulations to Young Master Qin,” he said.
At his words, the attendants of Immortal’s Abode all bent low together and shouted in unison.
That girl!
Qin Shi’san-lang couldn’t help but laugh aloud. He reached out, took the golden cup, and drained it in one smooth motion.
As he rode forward, he heard the cheers behind him praising the wine’s excellence. He couldn’t resist turning back – seeing the envious eyes lining the street, the other jinshi stepping up one by one to receive their cups – his smile grew ever brighter.
They did not know: this was not meant for everyone, but for him alone.
When the Qionglin Banquet finally ended, Qin Shi’san-lang returned home beneath the glow of newly lit lanterns. Slightly tipsy, he stepped through his doorway.
“Congratulations to the Thirteenth Young Master!”
The assembled servants, men and women alike, bowed in unison and called out their greeting.
“Reward them,” Qin Shi’san-lang said with a laugh, raising his hand.
A large bamboo basket was brought forward, and handfuls of coins were scattered into the air.
“Congratulations to the Young Official Qin!”
Again the servants chorused their blessing.
Qin Shi’san-lang laughed even louder and raised his hand once more.
“Reward them!”
From “the Thirteenth Young Master” to “Young Official Qin” – this was a crossing over, a rebirth.
The hall was brightly lit. Master Qin and Madam Qin sat in solemn dignity as Qin Shi’san-lang entered, surrounded by attendants.
“Many thanks to Father and Mother,” Qin Shi’san-lang said respectfully. He straightened his robes, knelt, and bowed his head to the floor in formal homage.
Under the lamplight, Madam Qin’s eyes shimmered with tears as she watched her son bow.
She had never dared to imagine a day like this. Of course, she had never hoped for him to become a grand minister or general – she only wished that her son might live freely and happily, to laugh and to be at ease like any ordinary man.
And now, that wish had finally come true.
“Shi’san,” Madam Qin called softly as she stepped forward, beckoning to her son who followed behind her.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled.
“Mother, I’m not drunk. You don’t need to see me back,” he said with a laugh.
“I’m not sending you back – I want you to come see the gifts,” Madam Qin replied, smiling.
Qin Shi’san-lang shook his head with a grin.
“What’s the hurry? I can look at them tomorrow.”
“No,” Madam Qin said, turning back with a teasing smile. “Others’ gifts can wait – but I want to see what Lady Cheng has sent.”
Qin Shi’san-lang froze for a moment.
Lady Cheng?
“Didn’t she already send her gift?” he asked.
Could it be that more of that wine had been specially delivered to his home?
“Come quickly,” Madam Qin said as she entered his courtyard. She looked toward the tightly closed door of his room and, smiling, pointed at it. “Ban Qin gave strict instructions – it can only be opened once you’re here.”
There really was more? Besides the Officials’ Brew on the street – there was something else?
A smile spread across Qin Shi’san-lang’s face, and his steps quickened.
“Young Master.”
The maids standing before the door bowed respectfully.
Qin Shi’san-lang stopped at the threshold and pushed the door open.
No lamps were lit inside; only two or three lanterns hung dimly under the eaves, casting a faint glow that left the room’s interior shrouded in shadow.
“Please,” the maids said, stepping in one after another, raising their lamps.
One lamp, two lamps, three lamps – light bloomed little by little within the room. And as it brightened, the expression on Qin Shi’san-lang’s face slowly shifted to astonishment.
Heaven above – what was he seeing?
Brilliant, sumptuous, lavish blossoms unfurling one by one…
“Peonies!”
Madam Qin exclaimed joyfully from the doorway.
“So many peonies!”
Peonies in full bloom, half-opened, and still in tender bud – every stage of beauty gathered in a single dazzling room.
Qin Shi’san-lang slowly stepped into the hall.
It was March, when the peonies of Luo-zhou were in full bloom. People often said that in daylight their splendor was resplendent and noble, but under the lamplight at night, they appeared ethereal and otherworldly.
He had once visited Luo-zhou as a child and had been utterly enchanted. Yet later, because of his crippled leg and the discouragement it brought, though he had longed to return, he had never managed to go.
He never expected that now, at this very moment, he would see them again – to wander through a garden of peonies at night, right within his own hall.
As more lanterns were lit, Madam Qin, too, could finally see clearly. Her face was filled with astonishment.
Unfolded in the center of the room was a painting nearly six feet long, held open by four maids. Around them, others stood with lanterns raised, their soft light playing across the silk – revealing, through the shifting glow, a hundred peonies in bloom and in bud, half-real, half-dreamlike.
“Oh, my heavens…”
Madam Qin pressed a hand to her chest, murmuring softly. Her heart surged with emotion – so full she could hardly speak – while her eyes grew hot and misty.
Qin Shi’san-lang burst out laughing. With a sweep of his sleeve, he turned in a circle, then sat cross-legged on the floor before the painting.
“Bring wine! Bring wine!”
He called loudly, clapping his hands and laughing as he read aloud the inscription on the scroll:
“Once, my petty days were nothing to boast of;
Now, my carefree thoughts have no bounds.
Riding high on the spring breeze, my horse’s hooves fly –
In one day, I behold all the flowers of Chang’an.”
Riding high on the spring breeze, in one day behold all the flowers of Chang’an!
For this day alone – for this single day in his life – he thought, it was enough.
No one knew how long had passed when the young man, drunk with joy, simply lay back on the floor. Gazing at the scroll beside him, he tilted his wine jug and let the last drops fall, smiling blissfully as he drifted into a half-drunken sleep.
Madam Qin, still sitting under the eaves, couldn’t bring herself to leave. She stared in a daze at the peony painting glowing under the lamplight and let out a soft sigh.
“All my life I thought only men would dote on women – raise wars and light beacon fires just to win a beauty’s smile,” she murmured. “But today I’ve learned… a woman, too, can cherish and spoil a man so tenderly.”
