Cheng Danruo first assessed the credibility of the news.
As the saying goes, there is no smoke without fire. The source of Lady Pan’s information was unclear, but having spent over a decade in the Chen household, it was hardly surprising that she had her own connections. If the news had reached her, then even setting aside the matter of taking a concubine, there must have been concrete mention of marriage for the rumor to spread.
So, did Old Madam Chen truly intend to make her a concubine?
Not necessarily.
No matter how impoverished she was, she was still a commoner of good standing – this was not the same as assigning a maidservant to attend to a young master. Nor was there any private affection between Chen Zhixiao and herself. The whole affair would be difficult to pull off and unnecessary to boot – why go through all that trouble?
But becoming the lawful wife was equally impossible.
Cheng Danruo could not fathom Old Madam’s intentions. Yet whatever the purpose, discussing marriage without offering the status of principal wife could hardly bode well.
Since it was not good news, she had to prepare for the worst.
What if Old Madam truly intended to make her a concubine?
Cheng Danruo was well aware that in ancient society, children were regarded as the private property of their parents – let alone a mere “relative.” A destitute relative who had come seeking shelter; offering her a meal was already an act of kindness. Why would anyone consider her interests in every matter?
She was nothing more than a helper in the guise of a relative, and the title of “Cousin Miss” was merely a veneer of respectability.
No one would truly look out for her. She could not rely on others – she could only rely on herself.
Thus, Cheng Danruo never once considered pleading with Old Madam Chen. Instead, she addressed the matter squarely and analyzed the root of the problem: Why did Old Madam Chen want her to marry Chen Zhixiao?
Out of pity, because she could not bear to part with her? Perhaps that played a part -but if Old Madam wished to keep her by her side, there was no need to drag Chen Zhixiao into it, for he was the eldest legitimate grandson.
Could it be that she intended to use the choice of the eldest son’s wife to curb Lady Huang, who had come to dominate the inner quarters? No – she was hardly important enough to serve as such a crucial bargaining chip.
Could it be… Cheng Danruo paused, struck by the most likely possibility.
Concurrent heirships.
Old Madam Chen’s youngest son had died without issue, leaving that branch of the family extinct. Old Madam Chen often regretted having sent him out to deliver news back then, and it was only natural that she wished to preserve a bloodline for her youngest son.
But she dared not raise the matter rashly. Old Master Chen might not necessarily agree, and Lady Huang would certainly not consent – more likely, she would put forward Gong Ge’er, the son of Lady Mo.
A son born of a singsong girl – Old Madam thought little of him, nor would he serve to check Lady Huang’s influence.
Cheng Danruo, however, was different. Her awkward position allowed for both advance and retreat – just right. With proper planning, it was not impossible to force Lady Huang into swallowing a loss in silence.
Having sorted through the entire chain of cause and effect, Cheng Danruo could not help but admire Old Madam Chen.
Though the old lady was bedridden, her calculations were no less sharp.
And the one who least wanted this plan to succeed was none other than Lady Huang.
A single son inheriting two lines – that would considerably diminish his standing in the marriage market.
Cheng Danruo knew what she had to do.
By the time she returned to Xuancao Hall, she had already composed herself. She practiced calligraphy in her room for a while, and only when the sun was no longer so scorching did she step into the small kitchen.
The old lady preferred soft, sweet foods, which differed greatly from everyone else’s tastes, so a separate kitchen had been set up just for her.
“Does the old madam have any instructions, Miss?” asked Nanny Wang, who was in charge of the kitchen.
Cheng Danruo replied, “The weather is growing warm, and the old madam’s appetite has been poor. I thought I would prepare some snacks to show my filial respect.”
Nanny Wang said, “How thoughtful of the young lady. I’ll have Xiao Ya’er lend you a hand.”
Xiao Ya’er was her daughter. On such a hot day, she too was unwilling to be cooped up in the kitchen tending the fire.
Cheng Danruo instructed, “Find some mugwort, squeeze out the juice – I’ll need it shortly.”
“Yes, miss.” Xiao Ya’er hurried off on her errand.
Cheng Danruo then found some oranges and a cantaloupe, intending to make an iced-powder version of mango pomelo sago – though in this era, iced powder had not yet appeared, and mangoes had not yet been introduced, likely growing only wild in Hainan.
However, the Nicandra physalodes used to make iced powder was a medicinal herb. Last autumn, when she went to the pharmacy to purchase ingredients, she had discovered its seeds, bought them specially, and dried them, planning to make iced powder this year.
The method for making iced powder was not difficult: put the seeds into a gauze bag, knead them in water to extract the mucilage, then stir in lime water and let it sit until set.
The translucent iced powder was key to the visual appeal of the mango pomelo sago.
Since there was no mango puree for the base, she used mugwort juice to tint it instead – a clear, translucent green that had an ethereal quality surpassing the orange of mango.
She peeled the oranges into segments and used a small spoon to scoop out round balls of cantaloupe, adding them both to the iced powder, which had been lightly sweetened with licorice.
Thus was born a green dessert that was neither quite iced powder nor quite mango pomelo sago.
Cheng Danruo studied it for a moment, feeling that the cantaloupe’s color was closer to that of jade. She changed one character and said, “Let’s call it ‘ Willow Bough Jade Dew.’ Xiao Ya’er, go break off a willow branch.”
Willow trees grew in the Chen family’s back garden. Xiao Ya’er swiftly returned with the most attractive branch she could find.
Cheng Danruo plucked one willow leaf and tucked it diagonally along the rim of a white porcelain bowl.
“Take these two portions to the master and the madam,” she instructed. “Tell them this is called Willow Dew of Immortal’s Bough, and it can clear heat – I made it especially to show my respect to the elders.”
Delivering to the main courtyard would surely earn some reward, so Xiao Ya’er answered with particular enthusiasm, “Yes, miss!”
Though she was barely ten years old, she carried the tray steadily, not spilling a single drop of the liquid in the bowls.
Cheng Danruo likewise picked up the yellow pear-wood tray and entered the main room, where the old lady had just woken from her nap.
“Greetings to Old Madam.” She bent her knees in a slight curtsy and set the white porcelain bowl before the still-drowsy Old Madam Chen. “The weather is sweltering today, and I thought your appetite might be poor, so I made a chilled dessert to help you beat the heat.”
The emerald-green syrup, the jade-colored melon pearls, the bright orange segments, and the flawless, translucent iced powder – everything about it was refreshing to the eye.
Old Madam Chen took one look and felt the summer heat recede at once. “What is this? I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s a sort of medicinal delicacy I devised,” Cheng Danruo replied with a smile. “It’s called Willow Bough Jade Dew – taking its auspicious meaning from the jade vase of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, whose single sprinkle of sweet dew is said to dispel all illness.”
There was no elderly person who did not delight in such words.
Old Madam Chen slowly broke into a smile. “Good, good. You’re very thoughtful.” Then, with a note of concern, she asked, “Have you sent some to your uncle and aunt as well?”
Normally, the old lady would not have asked such a question. Cheng Danruo kept her composure. “I have. But I thought I’d wait a little longer before giving any to the two young ladies and Gong Ge’er – they’re still young, and their stomachs are delicate. I’ll save it for when the heat grows even fiercer. And for you as well, Old Madam – though this can clear heat and reduce internal fire, it’s best not to overindulge.”
“Hmm.” Old Madam Chen picked up her spoon and took a slow sip.
To be frank, the flavor was not extraordinary – just the refreshing texture of the iced powder, the faint sweetness of licorice, and the fortunate symbolism. Still, she found it seven or eight parts to her satisfaction.
She was about to raise her head and offer a word of praise when she caught sight of Cheng Danruo looking at her with eyes that held a trace of reminiscence and sorrow, along with a deep, full affection.
Startled, she asked, “What’s the matter?”
Cheng Danruo snapped back to herself as if waking from a dream. She quickly dabbed the corners of her eyes and smiled. “It’s nothing.”
“Have you been wronged somehow?” Old Madam Chen asked with concern.
Cheng Danruo shook her head.
“Tell me the truth,” Old Madam Chen said, feigning displeasure. “Surely no one thinks I’m too old and has been slighting you?”
“Nothing of the sort, Old Madam. It’s just that…” Cheng Danruo lowered her gaze and said wistfully, “The fifteenth of May is almost here. I was thinking of my grandmother.”
Old Madam Chen paused. When she had first married into the family, Cheng Danruo’s grandmother was still an unmarried young lady. They had met a few times, and she vaguely recalled a delicate, refined, and gentle girl.
And for a sister-in-law, any sister-in-law who caused no trouble was a good one. She could not help but sigh as well. “Ah, yes, I remember the fifteenth is…”
“My grandmother’s death anniversary,” Cheng Danruo supplied considerately.
Old Madam Chen nodded and said on her own, “I recall that last year, you went to Tianxin Temple to burn incense.”
Cheng Danruo softly acknowledged with a “yes.”
She was no fool – she had been tending to a bedridden stroke patient year-round without respite. Over the past two years, she had found opportunities each year, whether at Qingming Festival, Buddha’s Birthday, or her grandmother’s death anniversary, to visit Tianxin Temple outside Songjiang prefecture city to offer incense.
She would stay for three to five days, offering free consultations to the locals and accumulating virtuous merit for her departed parents and loved ones. It also served as a chance to rest and get away, so she would not remain cooped up in the Chen household all the time.
Of course, she did not rule out the intention of “cultivating good connections” either.
Cast a wide net, and you might just catch a fish.
Old Madam Chen gave her a glance and saw through the meaning behind today’s “Willow Bough Jade Dew.”
But she had been in decent health lately and was in a good mood, so she felt a bit more compassion – pitying that the girl had to go to such lengths just to ask permission to burn incense for her ancestors. She therefore chose not to take issue with it and even said, “Then go before the fifteenth.”
Cheng Danruo’s face lit up with joy, and her eyes reddened again. “Thank you, Old Madam.”
She gave another deep bow of gratitude.
“Rise,” said Old Madam Chen. “Take two people with you – it will also count as accumulating virtue for your parents.”
“Yes.”
With Old Madam Chen’s approval, it was much easier to explain things to Lady Huang.
When Cheng Danruo arrived at her door, Lady Huang showed not the slightest trace of anything unusual on her face. She greeted her warmly, saying, “Why have you come? I tried the Willow Bough Jade Dew you sent earlier – such an ingenious idea.”
“It’s nothing, really. I’m glad you liked it.” Cheng Danruo glanced meaningfully at the maids as she spoke.
Lady Huang gave a subtle signal with her eyes, and the servants withdrew. She picked up her teacup, studying Cheng Danruo from the corner of her eye while speculating on her purpose: Was she here to curry favor after learning of the old lady’s intentions? Or did she have something else to say?
Cheng Danruo said, “The fifteenth of May is my grandmother’s death anniversary.”
Lady Huang realized. “Ah, yes, of course.”
“The old madam has given me leave to go to Tianxin Temple to burn incense and offer prayers,” Cheng Danruo explained, with a hint of hesitation. “Every year, I hold free consultations outside the temple to accumulate merit for my parents.”
Lady Huang sighed. “You’re a filial child.”
Cheng Danruo raised her eyes and dropped a pointed hint. “For someone like me, placing my hopes in the gods and Buddhas is really the only way.”
Hm? Lady Huang’s brow twitched slightly as she studied her closely.
But Cheng Danruo’s expression remained perfectly normal as she continued, “Burning more incense, reciting more sutras, and praying for a reunion in the next life – that is already my greatest wish.”
Lady Huang’s expression remained unchanged as she nodded. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Here’s what I’ll do – I’ll have Hao Fu’s wife accompany you. Stay for three to five days and then return. A Buddhist temple, after all, is not a place for a young lady to linger too long.”
“I do rather love the morning bells and evening drums, though.” Cheng Danruo rose to express her thanks. “Thank you, Aunt. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
Lady Huang now had a fair understanding of the situation.
She was not surprised. Though Cheng Danruo was dependent on this household, she had her own pride. That she would rather take monastic vows than become a concubine was hardly unexpected.
So be it, she thought. As long as she doesn’t get in Xiao Ge’er’s way, what she does with herself is none of my concern.
On the sixteenth day of May, Xie Xuanying accompanied his teacher, Yan Hongzhi, on a visit to Tianxin Temple.
In the pale light of early dawn, the two rode on horseback, attended by only three or four servants, ambling leisurely out of the city.
Yan Hongzhi was fifty-six years old, well past the age of knowing one’s destiny, yet his appearance betrayed none of it. He wore a plain linen robe of lotus-green, square-toed black boots, and a wispy white beard beneath his chin – an immortal bearing, utterly free and at ease.
“San-lang, why the long face?” He was jovial and quick-witted by nature, and finding the journey dull, he took to teasing his disciple directly.
Xie Xuanying replied, “I do not have a long face.”
“Oh, look at you – so sulky!” Yan Hongzhi laughed heartily. “Is it because I left you behind and went to Yangzhou to enjoy the Slender West Lake? Are you really that upset?”
Xie Xuanying said nothing. He had left the capital for Jiangnan under the pretense of attending to his teacher, who was lecturing in the region, and had sent word ahead before he even set out.
But by the time he arrived in Songjiang in the third month, his teacher had already gone out, saying he was off to Suzhou for a couple of days and that there was no need for Xie Xuanying to follow – he would be back shortly.
Xie Xuanying took him at his word and waited. Half a month later, word came that his teacher had changed course and gone on to Yangzhou.
He had been gone for over a month before he finally returned.
“If you were in Yangzhou, you should have sent word to me,” Xie Xuanying said.
Yan Hongzhi replied with perfect seriousness, “Yangzhou is a place of romance and pleasure – one’s resolve easily melts away there.”
Xie Xuanying did not believe a word of it.
Ever since the rise of the School of Mind in Jiangnan, a new trend had swept through the literati circles – anyone who buried himself solely in the Four Books and Five Classics was deemed thoroughly pedantic, and scholars took pride in pursuing individuality and self-expression.
Thus, whether among the elder generation of renowned Confucians or the younger scholars, each had his own particular pursuits. Yan Hongzhi’s pleasure was climbing mountains to take in the views, then composing short essays upon his return to share with friends. His collected miscellany, Records from the Mountains, sold quite well in the bookshops.
But outsiders did not know that he preferred to draft his pieces on the spot, particularly after wine – he would write in a drunken stupor, burst into laughter, and then make his way down the mountain.
The Yan family was deeply worried and had repeatedly urged his students to keep an eye on him.
After that, he stopped taking his students along on his excursions.
