Granny Zhou had never seen an official higher than a county magistrate. Ever since she learned that Xing Muzheng was a great general and a marquis, she had been inwardly uneasy, her calves going weak whenever she saw him.
Xing Muzheng turned to Qian Jiaoniang. “Chou’er asked me to come see the dough figures you’ve made.”
Qian Jiaoniang pointed to the row of Twelve Zodiac dough figures lined up neatly on the table. “Not us—Cuilian made them all herself. She’s very skillful with her hands.”
Xing Muzheng glanced over the lively, lifelike animal buns without much surprise—he’d eaten delicacies from mountains and seas; what fine handiwork had he not seen before? His gaze fell to Qian Jiaoniang’s palm, where there was a plump ball of dough. “You’ve made a pig? Looks quite good.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a tiger.”
“…” Was this what they called flattering the horse but hitting the horse’s hoof instead? Xing Muzheng gave a dry cough, looked twice more at the pig-like tiger in her hand, and said, “Your tiger looks as if it just swallowed a pig.”
The maids stifled their laughter, while Xing Pingchun burst out laughing. Qian Jiaoniang said, “In times like these, being able to eat well is a blessing.”
Suier added, “Madam is right. Whoever eats the tiger bun Madam has made will surely have good fortune at the table next year!”
Everyone echoed in agreement. Qian Jiaoniang laughed. “I’ve eaten quite well this year, lots of good things—maybe it’s a sign of luck to come.”
Setting down the dough tiger, Xing Muzheng’s gaze swept to another table where dumplings were lined up neatly but wrapped in varying styles. He asked her, “Which dumplings did you wrap?” Before she could answer, he pointed to the round, plump ones. “These, aren’t they?”
Qian Jiaoniang shot him a sideways look. Xing Muzheng smiled. “One glance and I knew they were yours.”
So she liked them plump and cute—what of it? Grinding her teeth, Qian Jiaoniang ignored him and sat down to keep wrapping. Xing Muzheng, oddly, didn’t leave. He sat right beside her, watching her work. Xing Pingchun also leaned over, chin propped on the table, head tilted to watch her. The other womenfolk, sensibly not intruding, all gathered around Zhou Cuilian’s table, pretending to be busy making buns and bread.
Qian Jiaoniang found Xing Muzheng unusually odd today—perhaps because it was a festival and he was unusually idle—but she ignored him, focusing on her dumplings.
“Father, look how good Mother’s dumplings are! I can swallow one in a single bite!” Xing Pingchun said. Ever since Xing Muzheng punished him that day, Xing Pingchun had been less afraid of his father, and strangely felt closer to him—though he couldn’t say why, only that he faintly sensed they were cut from the same cloth.
Xing Muzheng said, “Your mother’s way of wrapping indeed puts in more filling. I’ve wrapped dumplings before—at most I could fit half as much.”
“Father has wrapped dumplings before?”
“When you’re at war, what haven’t you done?” Xing Muzheng gave a flick of his sleeve. Ever alert to this table’s happenings, Suier promptly brought over a basin of water. Xing Muzheng washed his hands, took a lump of dough, and pressed it down hard—it was nearly a thin round already. Without rolling it further, he scooped some filling, folded the skin over, pressed the edges, and it was done.
The technique was so rough Qian Jiaoniang could hardly bear to watch. “You really eat them just wrapped like that?”
“Just like that,” Xing Muzheng replied.
Granny Zhou’s brows furrowed into a 川 shape. She was the softest-hearted of people. “Great Sir, you really did suffer in the army. Tonight, you must eat more of the dumplings your wife makes, to make up for it.”
Xing Muzheng brushed the flour from his hands, smiled, and looked at Qian Jiaoniang. “I should indeed make up for it.”
Seeing him in good spirits, Suier dared to speak up. “Master, Madam, in my hometown there’s a custom of putting coins in dumplings for good luck—shall we put in a couple?”
“Yes—” Zhou Cuilian began, but stopped short. Everyone turned to look at her. Zhou Cuilian lowered her head, and Granny Zhou quickly took over. “We have that too, not just coins—also peanuts and brown sugar.”
“What are peanuts and brown sugar for?” asked Li Qing’s wife.
Granny Zhou smiled. “Brown sugar is for wishing sweetness to whoever eats it. Peanuts are for many children and much blessing.”
Xing Muzheng raised a brow. “Wash three coins, and also bring peanuts and brown sugar to wrap.”
Hongjuan hurried to obey, but as she was leaving, Xing Muzheng added, “Bring more peanuts.”
At that, the whole room burst out laughing—except Xing Pingchun, who didn’t understand why. A suspicious flush crept up Qian Jiaoniang’s cheeks.
When Zhao Yaoqian came in, she walked right into this cheerful scene. She hadn’t expected Xing Muzheng to be there; startled, she quickly paid her respects.
Qian Jiaoniang hastened to seat Zhao Yaoqian. It turned out Zhao Yaoqian had come to deliver New Year’s gifts: a painting she had done herself of plum blossoms in the snow, for Qian Jiaoniang. Qian Jiaoniang wanted Xing Muzheng to appraise it, but when she turned, he was already gone.
Before long, Ding Zhang came in to announce another visitor—someone sent by Di Qingya to deliver New Year’s gifts. Besides the usual holiday goods, there was also a copybook by a calligrapher from the former dynasty, for Qian Jiaoniang to practice her writing. A letter from Di Qingya said that she and Hang Zhi were now in Shazhou, far from his parents and clan, spending the New Year alone.
After reading it, Qian Jiaoniang felt a weight lift from her heart, and she gained a touch of goodwill toward Hang Zhi. In a great family like the Hang clan—and even in ordinary households—the New Year was a time for the whole family to gather together. Hang Zhi’s willingness to give Qingya this peace and quiet upon her return showed true thoughtfulness.
Qian Jiaoniang took the letter and was about to leave, but Ding Zhang still had other matters for her to decide on. It was nothing else but the festival rewards for the servants tonight. Without thinking, Qian Jiaoniang said, “Go ask the Marquis about that.”
Ding Zhang said, “But the Marquis told me to ask you.” He paused, then added, “The Marquis said that if I ask him about this sort of thing again, he’ll give me a beating.” Having said that, Ding Zhang looked at Qian Jiaoniang with such a pitiful expression that it could hardly be more pitiful.
Qian Jiaoniang: “…”
She realized it now — she lost because she wasn’t ruthless enough.
After settling the festival bonuses with Ding Zhang, Qian Jiaoniang had just lifted her seat when several maidservants came in, each carrying a large golden nanmu box. Ding Zhang smiled and said, “These are the new clothes and hair ornaments the Marquis had made for Madam for the festival — they made it just in time.” Ding Zhang jerked his chin, and the maid immediately opened the first large box. Inside sat a golden crown in the shape of a flowering tree, decorated with kingfisher feathers and inlaid with pearls, with several rubies and countless pearls of varying sizes set within.
Ding Zhang bowed and said, “Before the Marquis left for Yongan, he ordered me to find someone to make this. But the crown was so intricate that it wasn’t completed until yesterday, and we sent it here at full gallop.”
Qian Jiaoniang gazed at the luxurious crown. “The Marquis started having this crown made before he went to Yongan?”
“Of course — he also ordered me to find the best craftsman,” Ding Zhang replied with a broad smile, bowing deeply to Qian Jiaoniang. “I wish Madam that your hardships end and that in the future you and the Marquis live in harmony and grow old together.”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled, glanced toward the study, but said nothing more.
