Baoyu returned to his rooms, washed his hands, and began planning the evening with Xiren. He wanted his birthday gathering to be easy and cheerful, without ceremony. Xiren told him everything had already been arranged. She, Qingwen, Sheyue, and Qiuwen had each contributed five mace of silver; Fangguan, Bihen, Xiaoyan, and Si’er had each added three. The money had been given to Sister Liu in the kitchen, who had prepared forty small dishes of fruit and delicacies. Xiren had also spoken to Ping’er, and a good jar of Shaoxing wine had already been hidden away. The eight of them meant to celebrate only for him.
Baoyu was touched and protested that the girls ought not to have spent their own money. Qingwen laughed at him and said that if they had no money, that hardly meant the maids did. It was a matter of feeling, she said; even if the silver had been stolen, he should simply accept their affection. Baoyu could only laugh and agree.
When he suggested shutting the courtyard gate early, Xiren stopped him. Closing it too soon would only attract attention. So he went out for a turn instead, taking Xiaoyan with him, and while no one was nearby he asked after Wu’er. Xiaoyan said she had already told Sister Liu the matter, and Sister Liu had been very glad; but Wu’er had been so upset and humiliated by the recent trouble that she had gone home sick. She could not come until she recovered. Baoyu sighed, regretting it deeply. He then asked whether Xiren knew; Xiaoyan said she had not told her, and did not know whether Fangguan had. Baoyu decided he would explain it himself later and returned inside, making a show of washing again.
By lamplight, they heard a group entering at the front gate. Peering through the window, they saw Lady Lin Zhixiao with several serving women, one carrying a large lantern. Qingwen whispered that they had come to inspect the night watch, and that once they left the gate could finally be shut. The women on night duty in Yihong Court all came out to meet them. Lady Lin Zhixiao gave her instructions sharply: no gambling, no drinking, and no sleeping straight through till dawn. If she heard otherwise, she would not let it pass. Everyone laughed and replied that no one would dare.
She then asked whether Baoyu had already gone to bed. No one answered clearly. Xiren hurriedly nudged him, and he came out in his slippers to greet her, inviting her in for tea. Lady Lin Zhixiao entered smiling and chided him for being up so late now that the days were longer and the nights shorter. A gentleman who studied ought to sleep early and rise early, she said, not behave like a laborer. Baoyu answered obediently that she was right; he had only stayed up because he had eaten noodles and was afraid the food would sit heavily.
She told the girls they ought to brew some pu’er tea for him. Xiren and Qingwen replied that they had already made “daughter’s tea,” and that he had drunk two bowls. Qingwen poured some for her. But Lady Lin Zhixiao had another admonition ready. Recently, she said, she had heard Baoyu calling the senior maids by their names instead of “sister.” Even inside the room, they were still attendants originally assigned from the Old Lady’s or Lady Wang’s apartments, and proper respect should be shown. A casual slip now and then was one thing; if such familiarity became habitual, younger relatives might imitate it, and people would mock the family for forgetting rank and elders.
Baoyu admitted fault at once. Xiren and Qingwen defended him, saying that he still usually called them “sister,” only letting a name escape now and then in play. Lady Lin Zhixiao nodded, pleased. That, she said, was the conduct of a properly educated young gentleman: the more humble he was, the more honor he gave others. Even the cats and dogs in the rooms of the Old Lady and Lady Wang should not be lightly slighted. After tea, she took her leave and went on to inspect elsewhere.
The moment she had gone, the gate was shut. Qingwen complained that the woman must have had a drink somewhere, judging by all her nagging. Sheyue answered that whatever her tone, she meant well enough and only wanted to prevent trouble from getting out of hand.
The girls brought out the wine and dishes. Xiren suggested they not sit around a formal table but instead put a round huanghuali kang-table on the heated platform, where they would be more comfortable and at ease. The forty dishes were carried in several trips on large tea trays. Outside, two old serving women squatted by a brazier warming and straining the wine.
Baoyu said the weather was hot and everyone ought to take off their outer garments. The girls laughed and told him to do as he liked; they still had to keep a certain appearance. He complained that if they insisted on ceremony, the seating would go on till dawn. Since he hated these formalities among intimates, they finally agreed. The room soon lost its stiffness. Heavy dress was put aside, hair was loosened into simpler arrangements, and everyone settled into light jackets and skirts. Baoyu lounged in a bright red gauze jacket and green trousers, his legs loose and his body against a fresh pale pillow embroidered with rose and peony petals. He and Fangguan were already playing a finger-guessing drinking game.
Fangguan, flushed from the heat, wore only a patchwork short jacket in pale and red tones, a willow-green sash, and pink flowered trousers. Her hair was braided close around the brow and gathered into a thick plait trailing behind. In one ear she wore only a tiny jade stopper; from the other hung a large red gold-mounted earring. Her face was round and white as the full moon, her eyes clear as autumn water. Everyone laughed that she and Baoyu looked like twin brothers.
Xiren stopped the game long enough to have each person take at least one sip before the rounds began in earnest. She drank first from the cup, then passed it around in order. Only after all had tasted the wine did they settle in a circle. Xiaoyan and Si’er, unable to fit on the edge of the kang, took chairs beside it. The forty dishes were all arranged in matching white Ding ware saucers no larger than teacup plates, but they contained a world’s assortment: dry and fresh, from north and south, river and sea, near and far, even foreign delicacies.
Baoyu proposed a drinking game. Xiren wanted something refined and quiet, so no one would shout and attract notice, and she also objected to literary games since several of them did not know much writing. Sheyue suggested dice. Baoyu found that dull. Instead he proposed drawing flower-name lots. Qingwen at once approved. Xiaoyan then suggested, half timidly and half daringly, that they secretly invite Baochai, Xiangyun, and Daiyu to make it livelier, and let everyone sleep after second watch. Xiren worried about opening the gate again and being discovered by the patrol. Baoyu brushed the objection aside. Since Tanchun liked wine as well, she should also be invited, and perhaps Baoqin too.
Xiaoyan and Si’er were delighted to go. But Xiren, Qingwen, and Sheyue thought the girls of the inner family might refuse unless pressed in person, so Xiren and Qingwen themselves went with a lantern. As expected, Baochai protested it was too late, and Daiyu said she did not feel well. After repeated entreaties—if only to save their hosts’ face and stay a little while—they relented. Tanchun was glad enough to come, but then thought that if Li Wan were not asked, it might offend her, so she sent Cuilan with Xiaoyan to invite Li Wan and Baoqin too. Xiren also dragged Xiangling in. Another table was joined to the first before everyone could be seated.
Baoyu fussed over Daiyu at once, telling her to sit near the wall because she was afraid of cold, and arranging a backrest for her. The maids took chairs below the kang to attend the company.
Daiyu, reclining a little apart from the table, smiled toward Baochai, Li Wan, and Tanchun and said that they were always criticizing others for gathering at night to drink and play, yet here they were doing the same. Li Wan answered that there was no harm in such an evening once a year on a birthday or festival; it was not as though they made a nightly habit of it.
Qingwen brought out a bamboo-carved lot tube filled with ivory flower-slips and set it in the middle. Dice were shaken in a box and thrown to decide who should draw first. The count fell to Baochai.
Baochai shook the tube and drew a slip. It bore a peony and the words “the fairest of all flowers.” Beneath was a line of Tang poetry: “Even without affection, she still moves the heart.” The note below instructed that everyone at the table should drink a congratulatory cup for the one who drew it—the acknowledged queen among the flowers—and that she might command any performance, poem, jest, or elegant amusement to accompany the wine.
Everyone laughed that the draw suited Baochai perfectly; who but she matched the peony? They all drank to her. Baochai then said Fangguan should sing for them. Fangguan demanded a cup all around first, and after everyone drank she began a festive line about a birthday banquet. At once they cried out that she must stop—that was too formal for the moment—and sing something truly good instead. So she sang an aria from Shang Huashi, delicate and lingering.
As she sang, Baoyu kept turning the peony slip over in his hand, murmuring, “Even without affection, she still moves the heart,” and watching Fangguan in silence. Xiangyun suddenly snatched the slip from him and tossed it back toward Baochai.
The next throw counted to Tanchun. She drew a slip, glanced at it, and at once threw it to the floor, blushing. She said the game ought not to be played if the slips contained such things; it was clearly a men’s drinking game full of improper talk. When the others picked it up, they found it was an apricot blossom marked “a celestial bloom of the Jade Pool,” with the line: “A red apricot by the clouds near the sun.” The note declared that whoever drew it was destined for a noble husband, and everyone should congratulate her with a cup.
The room burst into laughter. They teased her: there was already one princess in the family; did she expect to become another? Tanchun refused to drink, but Xiangyun, Xiangling, Li Wan, and the rest forced the wine down her at last. She tried to have the slip canceled and another drawn, but nobody agreed. Xiangyun took her hand and made her throw the dice again; the count fell to Li Wan.
Li Wan’s slip showed an old plum blossom with the title “cold grace at dawn in frost.” The verse on it read: “Content beneath bamboo fence and thatched eaves.” Its instruction was simple: the drawer drinks one cup herself, and the next player throws. Li Wan was pleased with the aptness of it, drank quietly, and passed the dice on.
Daiyu threw next, and the count fell to Xiangyun. Xiangyun, sleeves pushed up and spirits high, drew a crabapple blossom titled “drunken in a fragrant dream.” The line was: “Only fearing that deep night may put the flower to sleep.” Daiyu instantly said that the two characters for “deep night” should be changed to “stone cool,” alluding to Xiangyun’s daytime drunken nap on the stone bench. Everyone understood and laughed. Xiangyun pointed back at her and told her to get on the boat and stop talking. The note on the slip said that since the flower was lost in fragrance and sleep, the one who drew it need not drink; instead, the players on either side of her must each take a cup.
Xiangyun clapped her hands with delight. By chance Daiyu sat on one side of her and Baoyu on the other. Both had to drink. Baoyu swallowed only half of his, then when no one was looking passed the rest to Fangguan, who tipped it back in one go. Daiyu, pretending to continue her conversation, quietly poured her wine into the spittoon.
Xiangyun threw again, and the count fell to Sheyue. Sheyue drew a thorn-apple blossom titled “spring beauty at its height,” with the line: “When the tea-rose opens, the flower season is over.” The note said everyone present must drink three cups to send off spring. At this, Baoyu’s face clouded. He quickly hid the slip and said only that they should drink. Each took three mouthfuls to stand for the three cups.
Then Xiangling drew a twin blossom with the title “double auspice entwining spring,” and the line: “Flowers bloom on joined branches.” The instruction was that all should congratulate the drawer with three cups, while the rest each took one. Her next throw counted to Daiyu.
Daiyu silently hoped for a good one and drew a hibiscus slip titled “clear sorrow in wind and dew.” The verse read: “Blame not the east wind; better sigh for oneself.” The note ordered her to drink one cup and have the peony drink one with her. Everyone said the slip could belong to no one else: only Daiyu suited the hibiscus. She smiled too and drank.
Her throw counted to Xiren. Xiren drew a peach blossom titled “another scene beyond Wuling,” with the line: “Peach-red—again another spring.” The note declared that the apricot blossom must accompany her with one cup; those of the same age must accompany her with another; those born in the same zodiac year, another; and anyone sharing her surname, another. At once the company became busy and merry, counting relations. Xiangling, Qingwen, and Baochai were of her same age; Daiyu shared her birth sign; no one shared her surname—until Fangguan cried out that her own surname was Hua, “Flower,” and so she would accompany Xiren too. As the cups were poured, Daiyu turned to Tanchun and teased that one destined for a noble husband ought to drink quickly, since she was the apricot blossom and others were waiting on her. Tanchun laughed and threatened retaliation, while Li Wan said she could not bear to see a girl promised a great husband rewarded with blows. The room dissolved into laughter.
Just as Xiren prepared to throw again, someone called at the gate. An old serving woman went out and returned with news: someone had come from Aunt Xue’s place to fetch Daiyu. Asked the time, the messenger said second watch had passed and the bell had struck eleven. Baoyu still doubted it until he looked at the clock himself and saw it was already well into the night. Daiyu rose and said she could not hold out any longer and still needed to take her medicine when she returned. The others admitted it was time to break up. Baoyu and Xiren tried to keep them, but Li Wan and Baochai insisted the night had grown too late; what they had already done was enough of an exception. Xiren therefore had one last cup poured for each guest. Lamps were lit, and the hosts escorted them as far as the far side of the river by Qinfang Pavilion before coming back.
Once the gate was shut again, the original company resumed the game. They filled large cups, sent assorted fruit and dishes down to the old women on the floor, and with wine in them all began guessing games and singing snatches of songs. By the fourth watch, even the old serving women were drinking openly and stealing secretly, and the whole jar of wine had vanished. Only then did they finally wash and tumble into sleep.
Fangguan’s cheeks were as red as rouge; her eyes and brows seemed lovelier for it. Unable to hold herself upright, she dropped against Xiren and said her heart was pounding. Xiren laughed and asked who had told her to drink with such force. Xiaoyan and Si’er had already fallen asleep. Qingwen still kept chattering. Baoyu said they should stop talking and rest as they could. He leaned on his perfumed red pillow and was asleep at once. Xiren, afraid that the drunken Fangguan might vomit in her own sleep, quietly got up and moved her so that she lay beside Baoyu instead, while Xiren herself slept on the opposite couch.
At daybreak Xiren woke with a start and cried that they were late. Looking over, she saw Fangguan sleeping with her head against the edge of the kang. Baoyu had already turned over and woken. Together they roused her. Fangguan sat up dazed, rubbing her eyes. Xiren teased her for being shameless enough to collapse anywhere after drinking. Only then did Fangguan realize she had slept beside Baoyu, and she burst out laughing as she jumped down, saying she had been too drunk to know anything. Baoyu replied that he had known no more than she; otherwise, he said, he might have blackened her face with ink as a joke.
As they were being dressed and combed, Baoyu declared that since everyone had troubled themselves for him the night before, he would host another feast that evening in return. Xiren immediately vetoed it. One night was one thing; another would invite gossip. Baoyu still marveled that they had finished an entire jar of wine. Xiren said that was precisely what made it enjoyable: the fun had broken off at its height, which left a better aftertaste than dragging on too far. She remembered that even Qingwen had forgotten her usual modesty and sung a song; Si’er reminded her that she had sung as well, and in fact everyone at the table had. At that, they all reddened and covered their faces with their hands.
Then Ping’er came in smiling broadly to summon every person who had attended the birthday drinking. She said she herself was inviting them all that day; not one was allowed to be absent. The girls made her sit and drink tea. Qingwen said it was a pity Ping’er had not been there the previous night. Ping’er immediately asked what exactly they had done. Xiren answered that it could not be told—that the merriment had been beyond anything even the Old Lady and Lady Wang usually managed on festive nights. They had emptied a whole jar of wine, lost all shame, burst into singing without knowing how, and only near dawn had they slept in a heap. Ping’er pretended to be offended: she had helped supply the wine and yet had not been invited, and now they were only telling her about it to make her jealous. Qingwen said Baoyu was returning the feast that evening and would certainly invite her. Ping’er instantly caught the pronoun and teasingly asked, “Who is ‘he’?” Qingwen lunged after her laughing, but Ping’er had business and went off, threatening that if even one person failed to come, she would arrive in person to drag them there.
After washing, Baoyu was drinking tea when he noticed a sheet of paper tucked beneath the inkstone. He complained that things ought not to be shoved about so carelessly. Qingwen lifted it out. It was a pink visiting card bearing the words: “The one beyond the threshold, Miaoyu, respectfully offers distant congratulations on your fragrant birthday.”
Baoyu started as if stung and demanded to know who had received such a card without telling him. The others, seeing him so agitated, thought some important visitor must have called. At last Si’er came running in, saying Miaoyu had not come in person but had sent an older woman to deliver it the day before. She had laid it there and then forgotten all about it in the bustle of the wine. The others all said it was hardly worth such commotion.
Baoyu ignored them and immediately asked for paper. But when ink and brush were set out, he stared at Miaoyu’s self-designation—“the one beyond the threshold”—and could not decide what style of reply would answer it properly. He sat with his pen suspended, lost in thought. Baochai, he reflected, would surely criticize the eccentricity, so it was better to ask Daiyu.
Tucking the card into his sleeve, he went out to find her. Near Qinfang Pavilion he unexpectedly met Xiuyan on the path. She was on her way to visit Miaoyu. Baoyu, surprised, said that Miaoyu was so aloof and out of step with the world that hardly anyone entered her eyes, yet she clearly esteemed Xiuyan and knew she was not one of ordinary people. Xiuyan smiled and explained that Miaoyu did not necessarily prize her so greatly; they had simply been neighbors for ten years, separated by only one wall. While Miaoyu cultivated herself at Panxiang Temple, Xiuyan’s poor family had rented rooms belonging to that temple. Xiuyan had often gone there for company, and the characters she knew she had mostly learned from Miaoyu. They were friends from humble days, and Miaoyu had even been half a teacher to her. Later, after Xiuyan’s family went to seek relatives elsewhere, she heard that Miaoyu, unable to fit herself to the world or be tolerated by powerful people, had come here instead. By a strange fate they had now met again, and Miaoyu still treated her kindly.
Baoyu was delighted. He said that Xiuyan’s unusual bearing now made perfect sense, since it had such an origin. Then he showed her the card and asked what reply would be suitable. Xiuyan laughed at Miaoyu’s unchanging eccentricity. Who ever wrote a visiting card under a sobriquet, she said? It really made Miaoyu seem neither nun nor laywoman, neither proper woman nor man. Baoyu defended her at once, saying she belonged outside ordinary categories and had only used such a style because she regarded him as someone with a little understanding. He had been on his way to ask Daiyu, but now Heaven had conveniently sent Xiuyan instead.
Xiuyan studied him for a moment and then said that one really must see a person to know why a name travels. No wonder Miaoyu had sent him such a card; no wonder she had given him those plum blossoms the year before. She then explained Miaoyu’s wording. Miaoyu often said that from Han, Jin, Five Dynasties, Tang, and Song there were no truly good poems except one line: “Even if there are iron thresholds for a thousand years, in the end there is only a mound of earth.” That was why she sometimes called herself “the one beyond the threshold.” She also admired Zhuangzi and sometimes used “the odd one” or “eccentric person.” If Miaoyu had signed herself “eccentric person,” Xiuyan said, Baoyu should reply with “worldly person”; since Miaoyu was calling herself one who stood beyond the iron threshold, he should answer as “the one within the threshold.” That would exactly please her.
Baoyu felt enlightened at once. Returning to his room, he wrote only a few words on the reply card: “The one within the threshold, Baoyu, after incense and ablutions, respectfully bows.” He carried it himself to the Green Lattice Nunnery and slipped it through the crack of the gate before coming away.
Back at Yihong Court he saw Fangguan with her hair newly dressed and ornaments added. Instantly he began remaking her appearance. He ordered her side hair cut short, her scalp shown blue and clean, the top parted like a boy’s, and declared that in winter she ought to wear a sable cap, thick boots with tiger-head cloud patterns, and loose trousers over plain socks. “Fangguan” no longer suited her, he said; she needed a man’s name, something more striking. He renamed her Xiongnu—then elaborated it into Yelü Xiongnu, playing at foreign tribal names and fancying the disguise immensely.
Fangguan was delighted. She said that if so dressed, she must be taken out with him and passed off like one of his boy servants, no different from Mingyan. Baoyu doubted anyone would be fooled. Fangguan replied that there were already foreign bondservants in the household, so he could easily say she was a little Tartar page. Besides, people always praised how well she looked in linked braids. Baoyu was overjoyed by the idea and indulged in a long, half-serious, half-playful speech about barbarian names, conquered peoples, and the peace of the reigning age. Fangguan answered just as sharply that if he truly wished to honor the dynasty he should study archery and horsemanship and go catch rebels himself instead of borrowing girls for theatrical jokes. Baoyu laughed and insisted that in a time when all seas submitted and all quarters were at peace, even a jest ought to praise the age.
The matter amused them so much that the new name stuck for a while. Others soon began to dress their own young actresses as boys. Xiangyun, who loved bold and martial costumes, transformed Kui Guan into a little page and renamed her Wei Daying, taking a phrase from “only great heroes keep their true colors.” Li Wan and Tanchun liked the effect and had Baoqin’s little Dou Guan made up as a child attendant too, with twin knots of hair, short jacket, and red shoes. Baoqin thought the usual names like “qin-tong” or “shu-tong” were too common, and instead called her Dou Tong. The garden delighted in such nonsense.
After the noon meal Ping’er gave her return feast. Because the Red Fragrance Garden was too hot, the tables were laid in the Hall of Elm Shade, with fresh wine and good dishes. By happy chance Lady You also came strolling into the garden with her two concubines, Peifeng and Xieluan. They were both young, pretty, and lively, not often seen there. Once they mingled with Xiangyun, Xiangling, Fangguan, Rui Guan, and the rest, they at once fell into laughter and chatter, hardly minding Lady You behind them and leaving the maids to attend as they liked.
When they reached Yihong Court, they heard Baoyu calling out “Yelü Xiongnu.” Peifeng, Xieluan, and Xiangling laughed so hard they could hardly stand. They began imitating the name, mispronouncing it, forgetting the syllables, and at last mangling it into something like “wild donkey.” The whole garden, hearing this, was sent into helpless laughter. Afraid that Fangguan was being made too much a joke, Baoyu hastily proposed another name: he had heard, he said, that in western lands there was a precious kind of gold-star glass called Wendurina in their own speech. He would compare her to that and rename her so. Fangguan liked this even better. The others found the foreign sound awkward and soon translated it back into plain Chinese by simply calling her Glass.
The company gathered again in the Hall of Elm Shade and, under cover of drinking, amused themselves with all kinds of games. Women entertainers beat drums, and Ping’er plucked a peony branch for a flower-passing contest among some twenty participants. The afternoon was full of noise and delight.
Then a servant came to report that two women had arrived from the Zhen family bringing things. Tanchun, Li Wan, and Lady You went out to the reception hall to deal with the matter. The rest drifted out to stroll. Peifeng and Xieluan went to the swing. Baoyu volunteered to push them. Peifeng hurriedly refused, saying he must not come and create a scene; better let “Wild Donkey” push instead. Baoyu begged them not to say such things, lest others take it up and mock Fangguan too. Xieluan laughed that she was too weak from laughing to swing at all, and Peifeng ran after her to strike her playfully.
In the midst of all this gaiety, several men came rushing in from the eastern mansion in great alarm, crying that the master had passed away.
The shock silenced everyone. Jia Jing, who had shown no open illness, was suddenly dead. Those belowstairs said only that he had practiced Taoist cultivation every day and must have completed his merit and ascended to immortality. Lady You, hearing this while Jia Zhen, his son, and the other principal men of the family were absent, had no capable male relative at hand and was thrown into confusion. She immediately stripped off her ornaments, sent people to the Xuanzhen Abbey to lock up all the Taoist priests there until Jia Zhen returned to question them, and then hurried out of the city with Lai Sheng and various servants and wives to inspect the matter herself. Physicians were summoned too, so that the exact cause of death could be known.
The doctors, seeing the body, could hardly speak of taking a pulse. They already knew that Jia Jing’s “guiding the vital breath” and Taoist alchemy were largely delusion, and that his rituals to stars and constellations, his fasting vigils, and his use of mineral elixirs amounted to dangerous folly. In death his abdomen was hard as iron, and the skin of his face and lips had been burned dark purple and cracked. Their report to Lady You was blunt: he had died from swallowing alchemical metals and cinnabar, which had burned and swollen him internally.
The priests, terrified, insisted that it had been a new secret elixir of his own devising that did the harm. They had warned him, they said, that his spiritual attainment was not yet sufficient and he ought not take it. But on the night of his vigil he had secretly swallowed it and thereby “ascended.” They tried to dress the disaster in religious language, claiming he had escaped the bitter sea, shed the shell of flesh, and gone on his own way. Lady You would hear none of it. She ordered them kept locked up until Jia Zhen could decide their fate.
There was another practical difficulty: the place where he died was cramped, and in any case the body could not immediately be brought into the city. So Lady You had it wrapped and carried in a soft sedan to the Iron Threshold Temple for temporary enshrinement. Counting the days, it might be half a month before Jia Zhen could get back. In the summer heat the family could not wait. She therefore took charge herself, had a diviner choose the date for encoffining, and used the coffin that had long before been prepared and stored at that temple. Three days later the mourning rites were formally opened and a Taoist service begun while they awaited Jia Zhen.
At the Rong mansion, Wang Xifeng could not come away, Li Wan had the care of the sisters, and Baoyu was no help in business. So the management of outside affairs fell for the moment to several secondary stewards and male kinsmen, each assigned a task. Since Lady You could not return home, she had her stepmother fetched to Ning Mansion to oversee the inner quarters, together with the stepmother’s two unmarried daughters, so that someone respectable would be on hand.
Meanwhile Jia Zhen received the news while away on duty. Jia Rong too held office. The Ministry of Rites, not daring to decide on its own because of the emperor’s well-known emphasis on filial conduct, submitted a memorial asking for instruction. The emperor, already inclined to favor the descendants of meritorious houses, asked what rank Jia Jing had held. The ministry replied that he was originally a jinshi graduate, but his hereditary privilege had already passed to his son Jia Zhen. In his old age, often ill, he had retired outside the capital to keep quiet at the Xuanzhen Abbey. Now that he had died there, his son Jia Zhen and grandson Jia Rong, being in service during the national mourning period, requested leave to return and bury him.
The imperial edict granted extraordinary favor. Though Jia Jing wore no official rank and had rendered no present service, the merits of his forefathers were remembered, and he was posthumously awarded fifth rank. His descendants were permitted to bring the coffin through the north gate into the capital and install it in the family residence for mourning. After the full rites, they might escort the coffin back to the ancestral place, and the Court of Imperial Entertainments would provide sacrificial honors according to precedent. Nobles and officials from princes downward were allowed to come offer condolences. The decree brought immense gratitude in the Jia household and loud praise throughout the court.
Jia Zhen and Jia Rong raced back night and day. On the road they met Jia Bian and Jia Guang riding out with retainers to escort the old lady, since Lady You had feared there might be no one proper to receive them on the way. Jia Zhen praised this foresight repeatedly and asked how matters had been handled. They reported the arrest of the Taoists, the removal of the body to the family temple, and the arrival of Lady You’s mother and younger sisters to watch the inner house. Jia Rong, hearing that the two young women had come, exchanged a grin with his father. Jia Zhen only said the arrangements were suitable and urged the horses on harder.
At last, before dawn on the fourth watch, they reached the capital and went first to Iron Threshold Temple. The watchman roused everyone. Jia Zhen dismounted, and he and Jia Rong began crying aloud before they even entered. From outside the main gate they dropped to their knees and crawled in, weeping and prostrating themselves before the coffin till daybreak, their voices hoarse. Lady You and the others all came to meet them. Father and son changed into mourning dress and knelt before the bier according to ritual, though practical affairs soon forced them to raise their eyes and ears from grief in order to direct the household.
Jia Zhen announced the imperial favor to the assembled kin and friends. Then he sent Jia Rong ahead to prepare the house to receive the coffin.
Jia Rong could not have been more eager to go. He rode ahead, had tables and chairs cleared from the front hall, lattice screens removed, mourning hangings put up, musicians’ sheds and ceremonial arches arranged before the gate, and all the visible apparatus of bereavement set in motion. Once that was begun, he turned inside to visit his maternal grandmother and the two young women staying there.
The old Lady You, advanced in years, loved to sleep and was resting askew. Her two younger daughters and the maids were sewing and doing household work. When Jia Rong came in, they all complained that he was a nuisance. He only grinned and said to the second sister, with a look full of mischief, “Second Aunt, you’ve come again? My father has been thinking of you.” She flushed and scolded him for shamelessness: he was supposed to be a great family’s educated young master, yet in manners he was worse than rough common folk. Snatching up an iron, she made as if to strike him over the head. He ducked and rolled into her lap begging forgiveness. The third sister came over to twist his mouth and said they would certainly tell their elder sister when she returned.
Jia Rong, kneeling on the kang and laughing, pleaded until both sisters themselves burst out smiling. Then he began snatching cardamom seeds from the second sister. She chewed them and spat the husks into his face; he went so far as to lick them off with his tongue. The maids protested that this was outrageous: the family was in hot mourning, the old lady had only just woken, and though the sisters were still unmarried girls living as guests, he had no respect for propriety. If the master heard, they warned, he would be made to pay for it. Jia Rong merely left the sisters and began hugging and kissing the maids instead, calling them his darlings and saying they were right.
The maids shoved him away angrily, saying he had a wife and enough attendants of his own and ought not harass them. Those who understood would know it was play, but any filthy-hearted gossip would spread the tale through both mansions till everyone knew what a disgraceful muddle they were. Jia Rong, with his usual reckless tongue, answered that every branch of the family had its own affairs; who could manage everyone? Since ancient times, he said, even the Han and Tang dynasties had been mocked for their scandals—why should their clan be any different? Which family lacked amorous affairs? He boasted that he knew everyone’s secrets, hinting at improprieties among elder uncles and cousins.
He was still talking wild nonsense when the old lady woke. He immediately went to greet her, speaking with smooth courtesy, saying how much trouble she had taken, how much the two young ladies had endured, and how deeply the whole family was indebted. Once the funeral was over, he said, they would all come in person to kowtow thanks. The old woman nodded approvingly and asked after his father—when had he received the message, and had he arrived yet? Jia Rong said he had only just reached the city and had sent him ahead first to pay respects to her. He begged her, if possible, to remain till everything was finished.
While saying this, he cast another look toward the second sister, who silently bared her teeth in a smiling curse and muttered that he was a babbling monkey-cub. Jia Rong then turned the joke on her mother and said not to worry—his father was daily anxious to find the two girls a pair of excellent husbands: men with family standing, wealth, youth, and charm enough to suit them. For several years, he said, none had seemed quite right, but by luck on the road he had only just fixed on one. The old lady, taking him seriously, eagerly asked whose family the man was from. The two sisters dropped their work, laughed, and ran after him to strike him, crying to their mother not to believe such thunderbolt nonsense. Even the maids muttered that Heaven had eyes and would punish a tongue like his.
At that moment a servant came to report that the arrangements outside were complete and that the young master was needed at once to inspect them and report back to his father. Jia Rong, still laughing, slipped away.
So the chapter moves from secret wine cups and flower-slips in the scented garden to a coffin at Iron Threshold Temple, from girls in light summer jackets singing late into the night to the stern apparatus of mourning and family business. The happiness had scarcely faded before death entered and rearranged the whole house.