When the master’s family moved into their new residence, naturally there had to be a grand celebration. Since tomorrow was the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth, Xing Muzheng decided to host a banquet and invite Xie Zhang and the others to celebrate together at the estate. Tonight, however, was only a small gathering at home.
But Xing Pingchun and Granny Zhou both sensed a strange atmosphere in the household. From Xing Pingchun’s words, Granny Zhou gathered that the couple must have quarreled. Seeing Xing Muzheng hadn’t yet arrived, she quietly offered Qian Jiaoniang a few words of advice: “What couple doesn’t have their bumps and scrapes? Your husband is not like ordinary men—he’s a great lord. To marry him is your good fortune. A husband is the sky—endure what you can.”
Qian Jiaoniang gave a bitter smile in her heart, but outwardly said: “We didn’t quarrel. Chou’er is just talking nonsense.”
No sooner had she spoken than Xing Muzheng stepped through the door. His face, as always, gave no hint of emotion. Qian Jiaoniang rose with a smiling face to greet him: “Why has Lord Marquis only just come? Everyone has been waiting for you to eat.”
Xing Muzheng, brooding as he was, was taken aback. He had thought that after their quarrel she wouldn’t give him a pleasant face, yet here she was all smiles. Was this her softening? At the sight of her smile, his heart loosened, and the gloom in his chest dissipated.
But when he sat at the head seat and raised his eyes, he noticed Xing Pingchun and Granny Zhou both sighing with relief, the maids patting their chests quietly, and when he looked back, Qian Jiaoniang’s lips were still curved in that fixed smile. Xing Muzheng’s expression darkened, and his good mood was gone.
Even though it was still the New Year, after dinner Xing Pingchun still had to practice his horse stance for an hour in the snow. Xing Muzheng dismissed Wang Yong and supervised personally. Xing Pingchun’s heart thudded nervously—he didn’t know what mistake he’d made to deserve punishment again.
He obediently set his stance, squatting in place, stealing glances at Xing Muzheng beside him, who stood gazing off toward the courtyard as if lost in thought.
So Xing Pingchun held his stance for half an hour, while Xing Muzheng practiced his sword nearby. At some point, snow began falling again. Xing Pingchun sneezed, and Xing Muzheng stopped his movements. He asked: “Are you cold?”
Xing Pingchun shook his head. “Not cold.”
Xing Muzheng said: “Know your limits. Don’t faint again.”
Youthful pride rose in Xing Pingchun. His face flushed red. “I won’t faint! That time it was only because I hadn’t eaten!”
Xing Muzheng pulled at his lips. “In martial training, endurance and perseverance are what matter. Only through them can you make breakthroughs. A man should bear hardship without complaint. Even if you do faint, you’re not to tell your mother.”
Xing Pingchun nodded solemnly. “I understand.”
Snow drifted down slowly, and before long a thin layer piled up on Xing Pingchun’s shoulders. His face was stiff from the cold wind. He puffed out his cheeks and blew hard at the snowflakes in front of him.
“You tell me—when you usually anger your mother, how do you go about admitting your fault to her?” XIng Muzheng suddenly asked without reason.
Xing Pingchun didn’t react at first. After a while he said, “I’ll tell you, but Father, you mustn’t laugh at me.”
Xing Muzheng frowned and tapped his slightly hunched back with the sword. “Say it first.”
Xing Pingchun quickly straightened his spine. “By wheedling and acting shameless! My mother has soft ears—if I just say a few good words, she loses her temper.”
Wheedling and acting shameless! What nonsense was that! Was he supposed to roll around in front of Jiaoniang like a child? Xing Muzheng shot him a glare. “How old are you, and still talking about wheedling and acting shameless? And you even say it out loud without shame! Try again!”
Feeling wronged, Xing Pingchun sniffled. How old could he be? He thought to himself that he really wasn’t that old, yet his father made him sound like some seventy- or eighty-year-old man.
“Try again… then, it’s giving gifts!” Xing Pingchun remembered. “I recall one year, I didn’t listen to Mother and went out to play in the snow. Mother lost her temper badly. Later, when I recovered from being sick, I made a little snowman and gave it to her, and she smiled at me.”
Xing Muzheng narrowed his eyes. Just a snowman—and she smiled?
While they were speaking, Qian Jiaoniang came in through the side door. She wore a hooded cloak and carried a bamboo basket. Two maids held lanterns ahead, and Suier followed behind with an umbrella for her. In the basket was ginger soup, freshly boiled for Xing Pingchun. Jiaoniang didn’t say much—since he was still practicing, she just kept the soup warm by the fire. When the hour was up, she poured out a bowl for each, father and son.
Xing Pingchun drank his bowl and felt warmth through his whole body, but Jiaoniang immediately shooed him off to bathe. Tilting her head toward Xing Muzheng, she asked, “Would the Marquis like to bathe? I’ve already ordered water prepared.”
Xing Muzheng fixed his gaze on her and nodded. Jiaoniang’s smile did not change. “Then the Marquis, please go. I’ll return to my room first.”
Jiaoniang turned back toward her courtyard. The new residence was spacious, with fine furnishings—her dressing table was said to be made of golden nanmu, worth a fortune. Yet she felt little joy. Sitting on the heated kang, she embroidered for a while, then listlessly went to bed. Sliding beneath the one quilt, she let out a soft sigh and slowly closed her eyes.
For a long time Jiaoniang did not sleep, not knowing what thoughts filled her mind. Xing Muzheng still hadn’t come. No doubt he had gone to some beauty’s chambers. Jiaoniang curled her lips, rolled onto her side, and at last fell asleep.
That night was bitter cold. Even the warming pot at her feet grew cold. With icy hands and feet, Jiaoniang was frozen awake. Something seemed missing beside her. She reached out at the edge of the bed—cold, empty. Xing Muzheng had not returned. She opened her eyes into the darkness, silent for a moment, then curled up and drifted off again.
At the crow of roosters, after a sleepless night, Jiaoniang drowsily thought of rising. Suddenly the quilt was lifted, a rush of cold air rushed in, and she sneezed, shivering.
“Cold?” Xing Muzheng’s low voice entered her ears. At once her hands were wrapped in his large palms—only, his hands were even colder than hers.
Hadn’t his hands always been warm? What had he been doing? Half awake, the thought flashed by, but then her hands were pressed to his warm chest. Jiaoniang started slightly, opened her eyes, and pulled her hands back.
In the dimness, Xing Muzheng’s black eyes glimmered. “I woke you,” he rasped.
Jiaoniang glanced toward the still-dark sky. “I ought to get up anyway.”
“It’s only the hour of Mao —you can sleep a while longer.”
“I’m already awake. The Marquis should sleep.”
Xing Muzheng did not stop her. He drew his legs back to let her rise from the bed. Jiaoniang dressed quietly and went out. Shanzha, who had kept watch through the night, quickly came from the side room to prepare her wash basin, grinning ear to ear. Jiaoniang was amused. “So early in the morning, what makes you so happy? Did you have a fine dream in the night?”
Shanzha laughed. “Madam, this servant had no dreams—I didn’t sleep at all last night! And there’s another who didn’t sleep either!”
Jiaoniang paused. “Who else didn’t sleep?”
“The Marquis!” Shanzha answered right away. “The Marquis didn’t sleep either!”
Master and maid both awake through the night—inevitably, others might think too much. But Jiaoniang knew Shanzha still had a child’s heart, without such improper notions, and would not be boasting to her. So she asked instead: “Why didn’t the Marquis sleep? What did you see?”
Shanzha said, “The Marquis stayed in the courtyard the whole night. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Jiaoniang grew all the more curious. “What was the Marquis doing in the courtyard?” She truly could not understand.
Shanzha opened her mouth, then stopped herself. “This servant won’t say. Madam, wash your face quickly—if you go out, you’ll see.”
Her curiosity piqued, Jiaoniang washed her face, dried her hands, and stepped out. Shanzha lifted the curtain, and as soon as Jiaoniang looked up, she saw in the courtyard a snow-white figure. Looking closely, it was a snowman. Jiaoniang’s eyes widened in surprise. She walked out to it—it was as tall as she was, and one could even make out the form of a woman. Looking carefully, it bore a faint resemblance to her.
“The Marquis worked at it all night, building this snowman in Madam’s likeness—for Madam to see.” Shanzha covered her smile at the side. “The Marquis is truly good to Madam!”
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