My Cold-Hearted Wife Chapter 29

The ship they took to sea was a zheyang ship, also known as a sand ship. It had a flat bottom, a square bow and stern, and a broad, shallow hull, making it well suited to coastal waters. Originally designed for transporting grain, such vessels were now also used to carry passengers.

As before, the luggage was loaded first. Only after the laborers had finished boarding did Cheng Danruo and the others come aboard and set sail.

After travelling all day, everyone was exhausted. They had no time to look around the ship, and after a hurried wash, they retired for the night.

The next day, the weather was clear, with not a cloud in the sky. Looking out from the cabin, they could see an endless expanse of deep blue sea. Seagulls flew in the distance, their graceful silhouettes gliding across the horizon.

Zi Su could not resist gazing at it for a long while. “Miss, this is my first time going out to sea. It looks so enormous. I wonder where it ends.”

“The end is very, very far away.” Cheng Danruo propped the window wide open, letting the sunlight stream into the cabin. She began sorting through her luggage and took out the black gauze she had asked Nanny Zhang to buy. “Come over and help me with some needlework.”

Facing the open sea, her mind seemed to open up as well.

Zi Su was much more animated now. “What are you making, Miss?”

Cheng Danruo replied, “A ring of gauze around the parasol, rather like a veil hat.”

Zi Su looked puzzled. “You already have a veil hat, Miss. Why make another?”

Cheng Danruo merely smiled. “You’ll know when it’s finished.”

It was hardly a major task, and there was little else to do while sitting cooped up in the cabin. So although Zi Su remained curious, she fetched the black gauze and cut it to size. Together, they measured and pinned it, then stitched a band of gauze around the oil-paper parasol.

Cheng Danruo, meanwhile, measured out the radius with a length of thread. Using a hairpin as one leg of a makeshift compass, she cut out a circular ring to fit the parasol canopy, then carefully stitched it along both the inner and outer edges.

Around noon, Nanny Zhang brought over the meal. They had only just gone out to sea, so they could still enjoy fresh green vegetables: green beans, pork, tofu, and a dish of fish balls.

After the meal, Bai Mu brought over a small plate of cherries. “I bought them at the dock yesterday. They’re still quite fresh, so I thought you might like to have some while they’re at their best, Miss.”

Zi Su accepted them.

Once Bai Mu had left, she hesitated before tentatively saying, “Miss, Young Master Xie is being awfully considerate.”

Cheng Danruo, however, said, “I suspect the people under him took the initiative themselves.”

Zi Su was puzzled.

“If it were an order from their master, why would he not mention it at all?” she said.

Zi Su tapped her forehead. “That’s right. I was being foolish.” She looked embarrassed. “I’ve been in a daze these past two days. I actually needed you to point that out to me.”

“It’s hardly a big deal,” Cheng Danruo said. “Eat them. Cherries spoil easily.”

Meanwhile, Bai Mu also went to report what had just happened to Xie Xuanying.

“I took the liberty of setting aside a plate of cherries for Miss Cheng,” Bai Mu said with a smile. “They’re nothing particularly rare, but she is a guest, after all. It seemed only proper to observe the courtesies and make sure everything was taken care of.”

Xie Xuanying nodded. “As it should be. Well done.”

Bai Mu felt reassured, and a smile spread across his face. “I would not dare claim the credit. It was merely my duty.”

Xie Xuanying said, “Miss Cheng has only female attendants with her. There may be some inconveniences she finds difficult to mention, and she may have nowhere else to voice them. Keep a close eye on things.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

After lunch, the sunlight grew increasingly intense. Cheng Danruo took a short nap, and when she woke at around two in the afternoon, she immediately returned to her needlework for a while.

By the time the sun had begun to sink westward, she had finally finished.

As luck would have it, the sun was no longer quite so fierce. Cheng Danruo said, “Come on. Let’s go outside for a walk.”

Zi Su froze. “Outside?”

“Not downstairs. We’ll just walk around on this deck.”

Zi Su hesitated. The level where they were staying was occupied by only three of the masters. Everyone else, such as Nanny Zhang, lived in the servants’ quarters below, while the laborers and helmsmen were naturally not permitted anywhere near it.

But there were men outside, after all.

Cheng Danruo, however, paid no attention to her concerns and simply opened the door and stepped outside.

The cabin windows were tiny, and even when left open all day, the room still felt stifling. The moment she stepped onto the deck, the sea breeze brushed across her face, bringing a refreshing coolness.

Cheng Danruo opened the parasol she had made herself and stood at the bow, gazing into the distance.

Zi Su stayed close behind her. “Miss.”

“Look. Isn’t the sunset beautiful?” Cheng Danruo said. “They always say the moon rising over the sea is beautiful, but the sunrise and sunset at sea are the most beautiful of all.”

The sky stretched endlessly overhead, and the ocean seemed to have no end. At the farthest edge of their vision, sky and sea met and merged into a golden horizon. Fragments of cloud caught the splendor of the setting sun, creating a scene that was both vast and tranquil.

“You’re right, Miss. The sky really is beautiful.” Zi Su tilted her head upwards. For a moment, she forgot all about the propriety she had been warning Cheng Danruo about. She gazed towards the west for a long time, unable to tear her eyes away.

And then, suddenly, the curiosity that had been constrained by the strictures of feudal society, buried who knew how deep within her, began to sprout.

“Miss.” The normally capable and composed maid suddenly asked, “What does the end of the sky look like? Does the sun not set there?”

Cheng Danruo was taken aback for a moment, then her expression softened. “Silly girl. If you mean the far eastern and western ends of the world, then they are just like here: half the time it is day, and half the time it is night. At the very north and south, there are six months of polar day and six months of polar night.”

Zi Su asked, “Why?”

“The sun is always moving back and forth between the north and south. On the winter solstice, the sun reaches a point to the south, which means that places north of Mohe can no longer receive its light. They remain in darkness for half the year. On the summer solstice, the sun is directly above the area around Guangxi and Yunnan, so in the place I just mentioned, the sun does not set.”

Zi Su was completely confused. “Miss, I understand why places to the north cannot see the sun in winter. But in summer, if the sun does not set, shouldn’t that happen in the south? Why would it be the far north where the sun never sets?”

Cheng Danruo said, “Because the world is a sphere.”

“What?” Zi Su was utterly bewildered. Wasn’t the earth flat?

“Is that also what the Westerners say?” Yan Hongzhi’s voice came from behind them.

“Yes,” Cheng Danruo replied. “They have a scholar who is highly skilled in mathematics who proved it using geometry. Later, others put forward several more arguments. I find them quite interesting.”

Yan Hongzhi was extremely interested. “Really? People have always said, ‘The heavens are like a hen’s egg, while the celestial sphere is round like a pellet,’ yet no one has ever truly proven it.”

“Mathematics is both the simplest and the most objective of things,” Cheng Danruo said. “No matter how wild an idea may seem, if it can be demonstrated mathematically, then in some sense, it is correct.”

“Fascinating.” Yan Hongzhi asked, “How would one prove it?”

“By using the shadows cast by the sun.”

This was a method devised by the ancient Greek geographer Eratosthenes. On the summer solstice, he used the shadows cast by the sun at two different locations to calculate the circumference of the Earth.

But understanding the method required some foundation in geometry.

Yan Hongzhi’s mathematical knowledge was adequate, but only to the point of calculating grain yields and land produce. The moment he heard talk of triangles and proportions, the old man began to develop a headache.

“The sunset is beautiful. San-lang, I have a question for you. How about…”

His student turned towards him with a cold expression. “Yes. Please set the question, Sir.”

Yan Hongzhi could not help laughing.

This student of his hated being interrupted when he was thinking. When he was young, his senior fellow students would often tease him by suddenly snatching away his book halfway through his reading, then burst into laughter at the sight of his face, caught between anger and the inability to express it.

“Let us use the sunset over the sea as our subject. And since we are at sea, you must not use the word ‘sea’,” Yan Hongzhi said with utmost seriousness.

“The crescent moon rises in the first quarter,” Xie Xuanying began. “I gaze into the distance at the Weaving Maid Star.”

Yan Hongzhi offered his assessment. “Indeed. Today is the seventh day of July, but the opening is somewhat plain.”

“The white sails are like a magpie bridge, joining me to the capital.”

Yan Hongzhi said, “Now that is getting interesting.”

Using the distance between the stars and moon to express his longing for home was a classic example of expressing emotion through scenery: simple, yet sincere.

Seized by the moment, he interrupted his student again. “Miss Cheng, why don’t you try the third and fourth couplets?”

Cheng Danruo hurriedly said, “I’ve never studied poetry. I’m not very good at composing verse.”

“It’s only for amusement. As long as it rhymes and the lines are properly balanced, that’s enough.” Yan Hongzhi encouraged her, deliberately lowering the standard. “Poetry should come from the heart. Rules of meter and diction are secondary.”

This was also one of the tenets of the School of Sincerity: poetry should not be overly constrained by elaborate language and rigid forms. As long as it was genuine and moving, there was no harm even if the lines were not perfectly polished.

Cheng Danruo hesitated.

She truly was not well versed in poetry, but the opportunity was a rare one. She was unwilling to confine herself simply because of her own limitations, so she said, “Then please, don’t laugh at me.”

Yan Hongzhi stroked his beard and smiled. “By all means, Miss.”

Cheng Danruo thought for a moment, then hesitantly recited the third couplet:

“I dream of riding the great Peng away,
Flying across the peaks beneath the moon.”

The imagery was somewhat grand for what came before, and inevitably felt a little hollow. But Yan Hongzhi said nothing, merely smiling as he waited for what came next.

She continued:

“In the east, day; in the west, night,
When the sun sets, it is born anew.”

A faint smile appeared on the old man’s face. “Not bad. I rather like that line.”

“‘The sun and moon rise and set, moving above one part of the heavens and below another. Above and below, east and west, they travel in a circuit like a wheel.’ These two lines have rather a Daoist flavor as well,” Xie Xuanying commented.

Cheng Danruo was taken aback.

Had Daoist texts really mentioned such things? She had assumed they would ask why there was daytime in the east and nighttime in the west, but apparently they did not find the idea particularly strange.

The thinkers of ancient times really were remarkable. She could not help feeling embarrassed. “I was only saying whatever came to mind. Please forgive me.”

But she could not resist correcting them. “If the world is spherical, then there is no true ‘below’. It is simply another place on the opposite side. The two places are six hours apart.”

“There really are places like that?” Yan Hongzhi asked. “Directly opposite Great Xia on the other side of the sphere?”

“Every place has another place corresponding to it that is six hours apart,” Cheng Danruo said, “except at the extreme north and south.”

Yan Hongzhi sighed in wonder. “The world is truly vast and marvelous.”

Then he turned to something more sentimental.

“Miss Cheng, today is the Qiqiao Festival. If you wish to worship the moon, San-lang and I can step away for a while.”

He was truly a considerate and understanding old man, but Cheng Danruo shook her head. “I don’t celebrate festivals.”

Yan Hongzhi was startled. “Why?”

The seventh day of July was the Qiqiao Festival. In households that observed the occasion properly, preparations for the “Five-Life Basin” would begin well in advance. This involved planting grains such as millet and wheat in a basin and waiting for them to sprout. Those with particularly skillful hands would even add fences, mulberry and hemp plants, chickens, dogs, and the like, creating a miniature scene.

Even families that observed the festival less elaborately would, at noon, pay their respects to the scissors, rulers, needles, and other tools of women’s needlework, praying for dexterity. Then, once the moon rose that evening, they would at the very least worship the moon and thread a needle by its light.

Needless to say, wealthy households had even more elaborate amusements: wearing jadeite crowns, cutting kingfisher feathers into flowers, lighting nine-hued lanterns, and all manner of other festivities. There were so many different ways to celebrate that they would leave a modern person dazzled.

And it was not only young women who took part. Little boys and scholars alike prayed for safety and longevity.

Qixi was a major festival.

Yet Cheng Danruo said, “There’s no particular reason. I simply have no desire to celebrate.”

The evening breeze drifted softly by.

The sun had already sunk completely beneath the sea, leaving only a streak of magnificent purplish light along the horizon. During the day, exchanging a few words had not been particularly improper, but now that darkness had fallen, continuing the conversation would be discourteous.

“It is getting late. I will take my leave.” Cheng Danruo gave them a slight curtsy before turning away.

Xie Xuanying stepped aside to let her pass.

Her figure disappeared into the cabin, becoming a graceful silhouette behind the window.

Yan Hongzhi suddenly let out a sigh.

Xie Xuanying looked at him in puzzlement. “Sir?”

“Nothing. I was merely feeling a little wistful.” Yan Hongzhi stood with his hands behind his back. Seeing that the stars of the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid were already faintly visible on either side of the Milky Way, he said, “San-lang, it would be a pity not to compose a poem on Qixi. Write another one.”

Xie Xuanying said nothing for a moment, gazing into the distance.

In the blink of an eye, the sky had grown completely dark. Night covered the entire heavens, while the pale light of the first-quarter moon spilled across the calm surface of the sea like a layer of glass.

The Weaving Maid and Cowherd stars twinkled brightly. They seemed so close to one another, like lovers nestled against each other.

A love that could endure without complaint even if they were allowed to meet only once a year…

His heart stirred, and he slowly recited:

“Across the Milky Way, distant, blue light gleams;
On this fair night, the immortal lovers meet as one.
If I could ascend the cloud stairs to Penglai,
When will Liu and Ruan find their feathered robes?”

Yan Hongzhi immediately burst out laughing.

So, the boy has fallen for a young maiden.

Translator’s Notes:

Qixi, often called the Qiqiao Festival, is a traditional Chinese festival celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar.

It is based on the legend of the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid, represented by the stars Altair and Vega. They are separated by the Milky Way and are said to be allowed to meet only once a year, on Qixi, when magpies form a bridge across the river of stars.

Traditionally, Qixi was especially associated with young women praying for skill in needlework, dexterity, and a good marriage, hence the name Qiqiao (“praying for skill”).