The New Year’s Eve banquet was held in Zhilan Hall at the front of the residence. In front of the hall stood two ten-zhang-tall “lantern trees,” covered entirely in lamps; from a distance they looked like two blazing trees of fire. Xing Pingchun and Li Ding wore bright red clothes like two cheerful little boys, carrying lanterns and running around the lantern trees. The front of the hall was draped in red silk, bat-shaped lanterns hung beneath the eaves, their candlelight as bright as day, and the air was filled with fragrance. Inside the hall were nine banquet tables where men and women sat together. After Xing Muzheng had made offerings to the ancestors, he took Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Pingchun to sit in the seat of honor. Qian Jiaoniang helped Granny Zhou to her seat. Xing Muzheng invited Xing Pingchun’s teacher, Mr. Cao, and his wife to join them. Though Mr. Cao politely declined at first, Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang pressed him warmly, so he and his wife sat down together.
Mr. Cao’s granddaughter, along with Zhao Yaoqian and other unmarried young ladies, were seated at a separate table behind a screen. Qian Jiaoniang told Yanluo, Yuluo, and Zhou Cuilian to sit there as well. Yuluo and Zhou Cuilian went, but Yanluo refused, standing behind Qian Jiaoniang to serve. Qian Jiaoniang then nudged her to sit with Hongjuan.
Ah Da, Wang Yong, Li Qingquan, and others shared one table. The rest — stewards, managers, guards, servants — all sat according to order, celebrating New Year’s Eve together with the master of the house.
When the hour of You had passed, Xing Muzheng announced the start of the feast. Music filled the air, answering the crackle of firecrackers in the courtyard; the atmosphere was lively in the extreme. The kitchen sent out delicacies without pause — chicken, duck, fish, and meat in abundance. Each time a new exquisite dish appeared, Xing Pingchun would let out a cry of wonder, drawing laughter from the whole hall.
Li Qingquan said with a smile, “Chou’er, the food is fine enough, but it’s a pity we’re not in Yuzhou. If we were back in Yuzhou, then the New Year would be perfect.”
Xing Pingchun replied, “Uncle Qingquan, that’s not right. My mother says that as long as you’re with family, it’s New Year wherever you are. Today our whole family is gathered here for the New Year — that’s already the best thing of all.”
Everyone laughed and agreed with Xing Pingchun’s words. Xing Muzheng looked at Qian Jiaoniang; Qian Jiaoniang gazed at Xing Pingchun, smiling but saying nothing.
Where there are people, there is family; where there is family, there is New Year. Only with family can one truly feel the passing of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, of day and night. Xing Muzheng understood that now.
Madam Cao studied Xing Pingchun in secret. Though he was her husband’s last disciple, she had never seen him before. She had only heard that this boy was different from the others, and her husband’s teaching of him was also unusual. Seeing him today proved it true. Mr. Cao had always taught his students with strict emphasis on propriety; never would they be allowed to behave so noisily and openly in public. Yet he had told her privately that the rarest thing about Xing Pingchun was his pure and genuine heart. If worldly rules were to bind that heart, it would be his fault. What surprised Madam Cao even more was that Xing Pingchun showed not the slightest fear before his father, and that Xing Muzheng was so tolerant toward his son — truly rare.
Ding Zhang proved capable as ever. Even in unfamiliar Zhangzhou, he had found local courtesans to sing and dance, making the banquet lively indeed. Yanluo and Yuluo also performed a few songs to add to the merriment. It was the first time Granny Zhou had heard the twin beauties sing so melodiously, and she praised them unstintingly. Many single young men at the banquet called out in admiration, hoping the beauties would glance their way. But the ladies were unmoved — Yuluo returned behind the screen after singing, while Yanluo came to stand behind Qian Jiaoniang to take over from Suier in serving.
Granny Zhou couldn’t help sneaking a look at Xing Muzheng. She had assumed these two beauties were concubines, but today learned they had not been taken into his household. The great Marquis’s rear court had only Jiaoniang alone. Granny Zhou couldn’t understand — with such a good family and fine man, why would Jiaoniang want to run away?
After three rounds of alcohol, Xing Pingchun kowtowed to Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang. Qian Jiaoniang gave him an embroidered peace talisman pouch for the New Year, with a golden ruyi from Xing Muzheng inside. Xing Pingchun grinned, stuffed the pouch into his chest, and even patted it.
Ding Zhang and Ah Da led the servants to kowtow to the Marquis and his wife. Qian Jiaoniang handed out rewards — each servant received a pouch containing at least three little silver fish! Back when Suier had been a first-class palace maid, she had received no more than one silver ruyi the weight of a single silver fish; now, with the Marquis’s wife’s generosity, she had five little silver fish — and earlier, a whole new set of clothes! Suier, Hongjuan, and the other maids clutched their pouches with joy, bowing once more to thank their masters.
Granny Zhou, Mr. Cao, Zhao Yaoqian, and others also received New Year gifts, but that is not worth detailing here.
Xing Muzheng did not know how much Qian Jiaoniang had given, nor did he ask. When all the subordinates had come to toast them, Mr. Cao claimed drunkenness and left with his wife. Xing Muzheng, beneath the table, hooked a finger at Qian Jiaoniang and gave her a look. He rose and left first; thinking he had something to tell her, Qian Jiaoniang also set down her chopsticks and followed.
Xing Muzheng stood under the eaves of the back door, wearing a dark patterned ochre cloak, head tilted up to gaze at the silver moon, hands clasped behind his back. Qian Jiaoniang stopped without speaking. But hearing her footsteps, Xing Muzheng turned his head to look at her, and told her to wait a moment. He stepped into a side room and emerged with her cloak draped over his arm. Spreading it open, he wrapped it around her shoulders.
Qian Jiaoniang looked up at him in puzzlement. Xing Muzheng said, “It’s time, we’re going.”
“Where are we going?” Qian Jiaoniang asked.
“Just follow me. If we stay here, the folks inside won’t enjoy themselves as much.”
Only then did Qian Jiaoniang understand. She nodded, lifted her skirts, and followed Xing Muzheng down the steps. Hongjuan was nowhere to be seen, though Qian Jiaoniang had been looking for her along the way. Xing Muzheng turned back first, giving instructions to Hongjuan: “You don’t need to follow. Let Chou’er play for another half hour before going to bed, and don’t disturb us unless it’s necessary.”
Qian Jiaoniang also said, “Have someone keep an eye on Granny Zhou. If she gets tired, help her back to rest. Elderly people can’t stand late nights.”
Hongjuan gave a bow and watched the two leave Lanzhi Hall.
Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Muzheng walked together along the path back toward the rear courtyard. The noise of the front yard faded into the distance, and the back was so quiet they could hear their own footsteps clearly. Two rows of lanterns hung over the pebblestone path; two shadows, one long, one short, walked side by side. Neither spoke a word, yet there was an unspoken, hard-to-define atmosphere drifting in the cold night air.
As they were about to reach the main residence, Qian Jiaoniang gave a small yawn. “I’m tired today—I’m afraid the marquis will have to keep the New Year’s watch alone.” In Xie Dynasty custom, on New Year’s Eve, every household stayed up late to welcome the new year.
Xing Muzheng turned to look at her and smiled. “You’re the lady of the house. At least make it past midnight. I knew you’d be sleepy, so I had something special prepared.”
“What special thing?”
Xing Muzheng only smiled without answering, leading her into the courtyard—not toward the main room, but to Tingyue Pavilion. The previous owner had used it as the perfect spot to admire the night, compose poetry, and exchange couplets. Before the half-moon arch at the front stood a rockery over a spring; wintersweet bloomed proudly, and the bright moon above seemed to hang from the branches.
Inside the arch, on a small table, sat a bronze five-tier hotpot, steam curling into the air. There were no maids or servants in sight, so it was impossible to tell who had set it up. Beside the hotpot were dumplings Qian Jiaoniang and her people had wrapped earlier, along with a few fresh dishes and several mud-sealed jars of alcohol.
Xing Muzheng sat cross-legged and opened a jar. “This is red mulberry alcohol. I had someone fetch it specially from the Sang family, who brew it with red yeast rice. The flavor is rich and mellow, but the process is extremely complicated. The Sangs used to supply alcohol to the royal merchants, but they feared the inner court would demand it as tribute, so they hid it among their common stock. This alcohol is good for you.”
“I’m not good at drinking,” Qian Jiaoniang said.
Xing Muzheng’s lips curved—there was more in his smile than met the eye. He poured two cups, and the heady fragrance filled the air. Qian Jiaoniang inhaled, and it was as if a alcohol worm had stirred in her belly. Xing Muzheng patted the spot beside him. “It’s New Year—just share a drink with me.”
Perhaps it was the holiday, perhaps the moonlight was bewitching; Qian Jiaoniang gave a small cough and slowly sat down next to him. Xing Muzheng raised his cup, his dark eyes locked deeply on her, as if holding back countless words, yet only saying, “Jiaoniang—Happy New Year.”
Qian Jiaoniang held her cup in both hands, tapped it lightly against his with a clear clink. “Marquis, Happy New Year to you as well.”
They each tilted their heads back and drained the cup.
The two of them sat in Tingyue Pavilion, leisurely eating the delicacies in the hotpot and drinking cup after cup. The alcohol loosened the tongue; Qian Jiaoniang gazed at the courtyard scene and slowly spoke of many things, even telling of how she used to sit and drink with her mother-in-law during New Year. Xing Muzheng didn’t interrupt, only listening quietly, sometimes echoing her words. Only today did he learn that his own mother had also loved to drink.
Their slow talk and drinking carried them close to midnight. Xing Muzheng had boiled some dumplings earlier; now he picked one up to check if it was done, only to bite in and taste an unexpected sweetness—it was filled with brown sugar. Qian Jiaoniang, chin propped in hand, swirled her cup and gave him a half-smile. “Congratulations, Marquis—may the coming year be sweet and full of joy.”
Xing Muzheng’s lips twitched; he placed another dumpling in her bowl. “They’re done.” Qian Jiaoniang thanked him, bit into it, and a crisp sound followed. She paused, then calmly popped the rest into her mouth. But Xing Muzheng had heard it clearly. “You got the peanut filling?”
Qian Jiaoniang murmured assent. Xing Muzheng gave a deep laugh. “Then congratulations to you—may you have many sons and great blessings in the coming year.”
Qian Jiaoniang looked up, ready to glare at him, but before she could see clearly, her red lips were covered—warmly, lingeringly kissed. The sweetness flowed from her tongue. Xing Muzheng pulled back slightly, brushed her flushed cheek, and gazed into her slightly drunken eyes. His voice was low and hoarse: “Next year, let’s be sweet and blessed together—with many sons. How about it?”
Qian Jiaoniang froze, but before she could answer, he suddenly pulled her into his arms, burying her face in his neck. Out of her sight, his own cheeks were faintly red. They stayed locked in that embrace for a long time, until the courtyard filled with the delicate patter of fresh snow. The silver flakes fell with a chill, so beautiful it felt unreal.
Xing Muzheng murmured at her ear, “It’s cold—let’s go back inside.” Then he lifted her in his arms, planting hot kisses on her face as he walked into the inner room. Qian Jiaoniang’s drunken eyes were hazy, her slender hands looped around his neck.
Xing Muzheng kicked open the carved door and gently laid her on the bed. He leaned over her, gazing at her for a long moment, his eyes like a night sky scattered with stars. Qian Jiaoniang stared back, dazed, as though pulled into those eyes. At last, Xing Muzheng’s throat bobbed; he bent down and kissed her deeply.
The red bed curtains fell, and the shadows inside slowly intertwined.
