Cheng Danruo mingled in the crowd. She followed along when the two Miss Chens bowed, and otherwise stood quietly to the side.
The Chen, Wu, and Gu families were all familiar with one another and knew exactly who she was.
Gu Lian-niang was eleven this year and already a budding beauty, wearing a peach-red lined jacket over a goose-yellow skirt, with a jade hairpin in her hair. Her ornaments were few but exquisite, making her look charming and lovely.
She tugged at Chen Rou-niang and said in a voice neither loud nor soft. “Let’s go play. Some people should know their place and not follow us.”
Chen Rou-niang put up a token resistance before going along with her.
Meanwhile, Wu Qiu-niang cast a glance at her, raised her sleeve to cover her lips, and whispered to Chen Wan-niang. Neither knew what was said, but suddenly they were stifling giggles.
Cheng Danruo swept her gaze past them, her expression calm.
Was it so strange that the daughter of a fourth-rank official looked down on a commoner girl? It wouldn’t be strange even in modern times, let alone in the strictly hierarchical ancient world. When there was nothing else to amuse them, it was only natural to make her the butt of their jokes.
And she was living on their charity – every stitch of clothing, every bowl of rice and porridge came from them – so she had to endure it.
The older Gu Lan-niang, however, had a gentle temperament and nodded politely at Cheng Danruo.
Cheng Danruo smiled back at her. Gu Lan-niang was already fourteen, tall and graceful, wearing a moon-white jacket over a water-blue skirt. The ten-panel pleats were discreetly stitched down, and when the wind blew, it rippled like a pond of spring water stirred by a breeze.
“Miss Cheng, please make yourself at home,” she said, then left with her sisters.
Cheng Danruo stepped aside and said to Lady Huang’s head maid. “I’m going for a walk. If Madam asks, tell her I’ll be back soon.”
The maid acknowledged her request.
Only then did Cheng Danruo seize a moment, pick up her medicine box, and slip out of the tent.
In truth, it was only the wealthy families who had so many rules and insisted on cordoning off their own areas. Common folk had no such customs – entire families, young and old, would go out together, and it was perfectly normal to run into men.
After all, the Shangsi Festival was, at its heart, a rare occasion for matchmaking.
Cheng Danruo walked along the riverbank, keeping her eyes and ears open for any opportunity to build good connections.
However, today the Official Luck star in her fortune was quiet – it was the Matchmaker star that was stirring restlessly.
Up ahead came two scholars, exchanging mutual compliments.
“Brother Pengcheng’s poetry is truly excellent – no wonder the academy director is full of praise.”
“Poetry and verse are but minor pursuits. I, on the other hand, envy Zijie’s talent – your essay interpretations always bring fresh perspectives.”
“You flatter me too much – it’s hardly worth mentioning.”
“Zijie is being overly modest. Even Master Chen has spoken highly of your writings.”
They weren’t speaking the official court language, but some dialect from Anhui. Cheng Danruo only caught about half of it and couldn’t help glancing up.
This “Pengcheng” was about thirty, with a short beard beneath his chin, wearing a black gauze square cap and a pine-flower-colored traveling robe – the typical attire of a scholar. As for “Zijie,” he was under twenty, dressed in a sky-blue Daoist robe with a cerulean casual headscarf. He had fair skin and regular features – what one might call dignified and handsome.
The courtesy name Zijie, coupled with the mention of Master Chen – this should be the Scholar Lu that Zisu had mentioned, the one who had passed the provincial exam.
Not bad-looking, she thought, but then she saw Lu Zijie’s gaze sweep right past her and land squarely on the ornate tents in the distance.
“Those up ahead are the women’s pavilions,” he said, ever mindful of propriety. “Brother Pengcheng, let us go another way.”
The two walked off.
She stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath.
As an orphaned girl, the fact that he had no interest in her was, of course, a relief. But as a woman, the fact that he hadn’t so much as looked at her stung a little.
Cheng Danruo pressed her lips together and smoothed the creases at the hem of her clothes.
Today she wore a blue cross-collar jacket over a white pleated skirt – a combination that could never go wrong. Still, with ancient dyeing techniques being what they were and the fabric not of the finest quality, there was an undeniable dullness to it all.
Cheng Danruo sighed and decided to change tactics.
The riverbank was too shallow and too crowded – aside from children playing, she could spot no potential clients.
She turned around and decided to head up the mountain.
In the spring, the grass grew lush and orioles flitted about; a warm breeze blew gently, making one feel utterly at ease.
The mountain offered a higher vantage point. Looking down, one could escape the confines of all those suffocating tents and gaze far into the boundless open world beyond.
Cheng Danruo looked and looked, and found herself lost in thought.
This was Songjiang Prefecture in ancient times – what is now the Songjiang district of modern-day Shanghai.
Three or four hundred years separated her from the era she once knew.
She couldn’t map the scene before her onto the steel-and-concrete jungle of centuries later, nor did she know exactly where in Shanghai she was standing today.
Pudong? Jinshan? Lujiazui?
There was not a single familiar landmark – only the place names stirred a sense of nostalgia.
In the blink of an eye, it had been twelve years since she’d crossed over.
Twelve years ago, the car she was riding in plunged off a cliff into a raging river. When she woke again, she had become a three-year-old girl.
To this day, Cheng Danruo still wasn’t sure whether it was her soul or her body that had traveled through time.
If it was her body, why had it shrunk, and why was there a little girl with the same name and the same face, who had also happened to fall into the water? If it was her soul, then why had her personal belongings from that time come along with her?
There was no answer.
Over the years, Cheng Danruo had often felt that she had accepted her new identity. But now, standing on the mountainside, away from the crowd, looking down at the ancients below, she realized she had never truly done so.
If she had genuinely resigned herself to her fate, she would turn around right now and find a way to run into that Scholar Lu.
A young provincial graduate was a rare catch – good prospects, good looks, and her uncle was willing to play matchmaker. Miss this chance, and who knew if she’d ever come across another one?
She was fifteen now. Whether she liked it or not, she had to plan for the rest of her life.
She couldn’t keep eating the Chen family’s rice for free forever.
But… would that even be meaningful?
She kicked a pebble away from her feet, spread her handkerchief on the ground, lifted her skirt, and sat down.
The wind ruffled her hem, turning it into waves of flower-like ripples.
Cheng Danruo rested her chin on her hand and gazed into the distance, analyzing the matter with a calm mind: Everything should be viewed dialectically. Being an orphaned girl was indeed pitiful, but without the oppression of patriarchal authority, she had actually gained a rare measure of freedom.
After finally catching her breath, to go and find herself a husband and hand over the reins of authority to him – wouldn’t that be like an old man hanging himself, tired of living?
She needed to strengthen herself instead; the mere halo of “filial piety” was not enough.
What if Old Madam Chen suddenly got it into her head to marry her off – would that be “filial” or “unfilial”?
While she was lost in these wandering thoughts, footsteps sounded from behind.
“Cousin, there’s a pavilion up ahead – shall we sit there for a while?” The speaker was a boy in the middle of his voice change, his croaky rooster voice highly distinctive.
His companion grunted in acknowledgment, slightly older and somewhat aloof.
Cheng Danruo didn’t move. She had chosen a protruding low ledge to rest on, with a rise behind her for cover – there was no need to go out of her way to avoid anyone.
The two walked to the mountainside in the distance and sat down in the pavilion.
After a moment, the shorter boy suddenly rose and hurried back the way he came.
With years of experience reading domestic intrigue dramas, Cheng Danruo keenly sensed something unusual. She had just started to get up from her rock, but sat right back down again.
Why leave? Let’s see just how open the ancients really were – she could learn a thing or two for future reference and understand where the boundaries lay.
Sure enough, half a quarter of an hour later, a graceful figure in pale blue appeared.
Cheng Danruo suddenly realized that she knew this girl.
It was the Fifth Miss of the Gu family – Gu Lan-niang, who was fourteen this year and not yet betrothed, the legitimate daughter of Madam Gu.
From the few encounters she’d had with her, Gu Lan-niang was a quintessential lady of a distinguished family – kind and observant of propriety, more composed than the lively Lian-niang, and well-regarded among the young ladies she socialized with.
She would never have guessed that Gu Lan-niang would be meeting a man in secret.
Cheng Danruo straightened her back and peered out through the gap.
Gu Lan-niang stood delicately on the steps, her skirt rippling like gently lapping water -graceful and elegant. Her hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure, adorned with a full set of white jade ornaments, the hairpin catching the light and gleaming with a translucent sheen.
That set of jewelry must have cost several hundred taels of silver at the very least -probably enough to serve as a dowry treasure kept at the bottom of a hope chest.
Cheng Danruo made an objective mental assessment and continued watching.
The two stood about five feet as they spoke.
Gu Lan-niang was shy and demure, not once meeting his eyes directly. She only took something out from her sleeve and modestly held it out to him.
Due to the angle, Cheng Danruo couldn’t clearly make out the man’s movements. However, when Gu Lan-niang reached out further, it became apparent that he had not accepted it.
Was he refusing a woman’s private gift out of adherence to propriety, or was it simply that his heart was unmoved?
The answer soon came.
He flicked his sleeve, sweeping the sachet to the ground, and shifted half a step to the side with a vague movement of his form, retreating entirely into the blind spot.
Gu Lan-niang’s face instantly turned deathly pale, and she swayed as if about to fall.
No one came to steady her.
At that, she could no longer keep her composure and, too mortified to stay, turned to flee.
But after hurrying a few steps, she suddenly caught sight of the sachet lying abandoned on the ground. An intimate object like that could not be left lying around – if someone else picked it up and caused trouble, the consequences would be dire. The last shred of her reason made her stop and hold back her tears to retrieve it.
Yet whether it was because her mind was in disarray or the moss was too slippery – in any case, before she could pick up the sachet, her center of gravity suddenly tilted.
“Ah!” Gu Lan-niang let out a sharp cry as she slid down the slope.
The other party started in surprise and stepped forward. “Cousin?” His tone was displeased, yet his voice was like jade striking jade, or a spring flowing over pebbles – inexpressibly pleasing to the ear.
“Cousin,” Gu Lan-niang cried out in distress, “my foot hurts so much.”
Cheng Danruo thought for a moment, then decided to show herself. She pretended to have just heard the cries and looked around, searching. “I heard someone calling for help…”
Her voice cut off abruptly.
She looked at the young gentleman standing just a few paces before her, her emotions swinging like a roller coaster.
The first thing that struck her was his attire: a light crimson round-collared Daoist robe with a white protective collar, a jade belt hook, and large vermilion cloud-toed shoes.
Though it was indeed fashionable at the time to wear red shoes and light crimson robes, light crimson was still pink. No matter how low the saturation, pink was still pink.
And his pink was particularly beautiful – the delicate, misty pink of peach blossoms just beginning to bloom.
Was that a color just anyone could pull off?
Then she saw his face.
His complexion was like jade, subduing the delicate light crimson; his eyes were like cold stars, the gleam in their pupils far from a mere reflection of sunlight; his nose was straight and proud, rivaling the most majestic mountains; his lips were like brushed vermilion, unmatched by any rouge.
But the most beautiful feature was the line of his jaw – smooth and graceful, flawless from every angle. Even knowing that cosmetic surgery didn’t exist in this era, she still had to wonder if he’d had his bones shaved.
With such exquisite, striking beauty, he made the spring mountains and limpid waters pale in comparison –
Xie Xuanying, great-great-grandson of the Duke of Pingguo, grandson of Xie Yun, Marquis of Jinghai – surpassingly handsome.
—History of Xia, Biography 91
Xie Xuanying was clever from childhood, able to recite after a single reading. His beauty was heaven-sent, his bearing extraordinary. Emperor Shizong saw him and was delighted, praising: “The hibiscus cannot match his pure charm, the peach and plum cannot overshadow his rare brilliance. He must be the fragrance of the moon palace, the rosy clouds of the immortal gardens, the radiance of pearls and jade.”
—Veritable Records of Xia
Moon fragrance and immortal clouds: Describes a man of heaven-given beauty and ethereal bearing. Excerpt from the opera Longing for the Beauty: “Behold the young master, holding a gold-painted fan, clad in a light crimson robe – truly a jade tree in a jade forest, moon fragrance and immortal clouds. All the young ladies were utterly captivated…”
—Dictionary of Idioms (2005 Edition)
