Xing Muzheng fully understood, and even proposed to establish an academy in Yuzhou for Mr. Cao. Mr. Cao gladly accepted.
Not long after returning to Yuzhou, it was Qian Jiaoniang’s birthday. That morning, when Xing Pingchun came to kneel and offer his respects, Qian Jiaoniang only then remembered the day. She remembered her mother-in-law’s birthday, remembered Qingya’s, remembered Xing Pingchun’s, and even remembered Old Madam Zhou’s and Xing Muzheng’s—yet always forgot her own. Last year, Qingya and Xing Pingchun had given her a small birthday celebration, but a few days later, she heard that Xing Muzheng had made a grand affair of celebrating Feng Yuyan’s birthday.
That her beloved son remembered clearly, and even came to kowtow to her, made Qian Jiaoniang very happy. Stroking Xing Pingchun’s little face, she learned he had already asked leave from his teachers today so that he could accompany her.
When Qian Jiaoniang stepped outside, Ding Zhang, Yanluo, and Hongjuan led the household servants to kneel and offer their respects; Qian Jiaoniang rewarded them all. This was what Qingya had taught her. Just as she was thinking of Qingya, word came that people had arrived from the Prime Minister’s residence—Qingya had sent over a cart of birthday gifts, and even a person. The person was a matron in her early forties, surnamed Qi. Though she had traveled far and looked weary, her dress and bearing were neat and proper, her appearance kind and gentle, inspiring instant affection. In a letter, Qingya explained that Qi Momo was a stewardess she trusted deeply, who had long managed affairs in the Hang household. Hearing that the Marquis’ residence now had more and more people, she feared Qian Jiaoniang might not have proper order in hand, so she sent Qi Momo over. Qi Momo’s husband had died of illness some years ago, and she had a son who was a guard-escort, often away from home; thus Qi Momo could easily stay on in Yuzhou.
Qian Jiaoniang thought to herself that she had not cherished Qingya in vain—Qingya always knew just what she lacked.
After the bustle of the kowtowing, Ding Zhang told her that Xing Muzheng had arranged for a theater troupe to perform in the afternoon and for everyone to have a lively banquet in the evening. Since no outside guests were invited, Qian Jiaoniang had no objections. In the morning she continued practicing calligraphy and reading with Yanluo. But to her surprise, birthday gifts arrived one after another— from the Hong family, the Ma family, the Zhen family, the Xie family… even the Second Prince’s consort had learned of her birthday and sent twelve fans of gilt silk gauze and bamboo ribs. There was no hope of studying further; Qian Jiaoniang busied herself with having the gifts tallied and stored. Ding Zhang told her, “My lady, the Marquis said that the gifts you receive for your birthday are yours alone; they need not go into the public account.”
Qian Jiaoniang laughed: “I am only one person with one head and two hands—how could I possibly use so many things? Besides, these favors must be repaid. They cannot come in through me and not go back out through me—that would never do.”
Qi Momo, having come knowing she was sent to assist her mistress’s sworn sister, thought that if fate allowed, she would settle in the Marquis’ household. Upon hearing this remark from the Marchioness, she was surprised. She had expected little of a woman from a farming background. Small-household women often schemed to put aside private silver, or to send support to their natal families. Even daughters of great families often preferred only to receive and not to give. But this Marchioness, instead, was generous and open.
Shanzha, who loved new things most, seized the chance to ask what gift the Marquis himself had given. Qian Jiaoniang only smiled and said nothing.
By then Xing Muzheng had already gone out, as usual.
Ding Zhang hesitated, then reported: “Second Madam’s in-laws have come to kneel outside, saying Second Madam remembers today is Your Ladyship’s birthday and wishes to come celebrate with you…”
Qian Jiaoniang’s expression did not change. “It’s only a small matter. There’s no need to trouble Second Sister to make the trip.”
Ding Zhang received her instruction and went out to reply. Xing Pingchun, having already learned from his mother’s reply letter that he had a Second Aunt, lay across her lap with curiosity: “Mother, is that Second Madam my Second Aunt? Why don’t you let her come?”
Qian Jiaoniang stroked his head, looked at him for a while, then smiled: “Today, I don’t wish to mention her. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you, all right?”
Xing Pingchun blinked, then nodded.
In the afternoon, the theater troupe came, and Qian Jiaoniang and the household watched three plays, both literary and martial. Xing Pingchun was delighted, and even Granny Zhou was overjoyed. After the plays, Qian Jiaoniang felt she had eaten her fill of melon seeds and snacks. The steward came to tell her the banquet was ready.
She patted her stomach and thought this birthday was quite a good one: warm, well-fed, and with so many people by her side to celebrate. “Has the Marquis come back yet?”
“He has,” came the reply—just as Xing Muzheng walked in. He wore a brand-new robe of cloud-patterned silk. Qian Jiaoniang remembered that when he left earlier, he had been wearing a half-old plain blue gown. Now he had even changed into fine clothes fit for going out.
Xing Muzheng looked at her, smiling in his eyes. “Was the opera good?”
Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “Very good. Pity the Marquis didn’t watch.”
“Mhm, it is a pity.” Xing Muzheng nodded.
Xing Pingchun ran over, holding the large stage-prop sword he had mischievously snatched from the troupe, and gave a lively performance before his father.
Yanluo said to Qian Jiaoniang, “My lady, the Marquis has returned—please change your clothes, and as the birthday star, you may take your seat.”
Qian Jiaoniang glanced at her own cassia-green skirt. “Isn’t this perfectly fine clothing? Why should I change?”
Shanzha said, “But my lady, today is your great day—how could you not wear new clothes? We’ve already perfumed them!”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled, unwilling to refuse their kindness. “Then I’ll go back to my room…”
Suier said quickly, “No need, no need! We’ve already brought the clothes—just in the side hall!” She exchanged a glance with the other maids.
The maids hurried to echo her.
Qian Jiaoniang, not knowing what medicine they had in their gourds, allowed herself to be surrounded and led away.
Before long, Qian Jiaoniang returned, encircled by her maids like stars around the moon, entering the main hall. She now wore a sweeping gown of embroidered gold brocade with flying birds, with light makeup upon her face. Xing Muzheng could not tear his eyes away. Qian Jiaoniang was beautiful already, but in a resplendent dress she was even more so. To Xing Muzheng, she seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing day.
Everyone sat down for the birthday banquet, each coming forward to toast the birthday lady. However good Qian Jiaoniang’s drinking tolerance might be, she could not withstand so many people each offering her a cup. XIng Muzheng, unwilling to let her get drunk, intercepted many cups of wine on her behalf. The others, seeing the affection between husband and wife, pressed their lips to stifle laughter. Catching their looks, Qian Jiaoniang’s face grew even redder—whether from the wine or from embarrassment, she herself could not tell.
When the banquet was finally over, her eyes hazy, Qian Jiaoniang walked back toward the main courtyard with Xing Muzheng and Xing Pingchun. Xing Pingchun, who had taken just a small sip while toasting, was already floating and giddy. Mother and son hopped as they walked, trying to step on each other’s shadows, laughing in such a carefree, unruly manner that from behind, Xing Muzheng felt as if he were looking after two children.
But joy turned to mishap: the two, in their tipsy play, tripped over the same cobblestone. Seeing that both were about to fall flat, Xing Muzheng stepped forward and caught them each by the collar, saving them from disaster. Mother and son turned their heads at the same time, silly smiles on their faces:
“Thank you, Lord Marquis.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Their drinking manners were not bad after all. Xing Muzheng could not help but laugh.
Once they reached the main courtyard, Xing Muzheng ordered Hongjuan and the others to take Xing Pingchun back to his quarters, and forbade any servants from following further. Qian Jiaoniang’s maids had already been warned not to let her return to her own chambers—they knew a surprise was waiting. Exchanging secret smiles, they coaxed Xing Pingchun away.
Qian Jiaoniang, still a little tipsy, did not notice that only she and Xing Muzheng remained. Pushing open the door, she saw the courtyard ablaze with light from the immortal-crane palace lanterns. The brightness dazzled her for a moment. Looking closely, she saw something new: a frame had been set up, covered with lush green vines resembling grape leaves. And hanging from it—clusters of grapes. Gold grapes.
Half sobering at once, Qian Jiaoniang lifted her skirts and ran under the trellis. Looking up, her eyes were filled with strings of golden grapes, glittering so brightly they nearly hurt to look at. She reached out and touched them lightly—cold. She grabbed a bunch—hard. Pulling it down, she gasped: these grapes were made of gold!
“Do you like it, Jiaoniang?” Xing Muzheng’s voice came from behind her.
