Chapter 45: Those who love are mocked by those who do not (VI)

Li Shiyi was explaining it to her. Eight characters; Song Shijiu was only able to process them after a full twenty seconds. She hadn’t had any playthings since childhood; the only beloved she had was Li Shiyi; Li Shiyi was her stuffed toy, her fledgling bird; her bamboo toy horse, her green plums;^[1] she was the memories of each unsteady footstep, and her entire, world-spanning dream of embracing and kissing. She had almost thought that she was soon about to lose her. In the world, there wasn’t any feeling that emerged more splendidly than from losing and regaining something once again, even moreso when it was Li Shiyi.

Li Shiyi hadn’t gotten angry, or resentful; she’d only placated her with a tone like the gentle spring breeze and melting snow. She hadn’t gone on a blind date, and didn’t want to produce children for someone else, and, more than that, she cared about her. Therefore, she earnestly and with great patience repeated that she hadn’t known.

In her gaze, Song Shijiu lowered her head, biting the corner of her mouth, painted with fragrant rouge; the depths of her heart had been battered severely, and couldn’t stand this sort of gentle tenderness; it made her mood somewhat out of control, over and over. She nodded minutely, her nostrils flaring a couple times, and suddenly, the rims of her eyes red, raised her head to gaze at Li Shiyi. “Why is it that I feel like crying a bit?” The ache in her nose arose suddenly, and made her unable to make sense of the matter.

Li Shiyi gazed at her moist eyelashes, and the beautiful curve of her lips; the patterns of veins on her lips were very faint, like the congealed liquid of a flower, confined into clear lines by her lips, only allowing this bit of eroticism to be unbridled and close; if it were to overstep the bounds of propriety by a cun, it would perhaps cause the bees and butterflies to want to, without any regard, press a kiss to them.

In fact, what was beyond propriety was the rouge that had been spread to the edge of Song Shijiu’s lips. Li Shiyi’s fingers, within her sleeves, twitched; originally, she’d wanted, as usual, to reach out and wipe it away for her, but when she’d been about to pull her hand out, she suddenly became hesitant, and only lowered her eyes and gazed at her, raising her hand to tap the edge of her own mouth softly. It was a clear, implicit reminder.

Song Shijiu startled, immediately and hurriedly raising a hand, and without any orderliness, wiped at the edge of her own lip. Li Shiyi’s hand lowered, turning over to press against the wall, her ring finger habitually tapping, laying out and settling the escaping heartbeat within her chest.

Song Shijiu, high heels not too suitable, stood with some difficulty, and took her heel out, lazily drawing it back, the tip of her toes hooking the shoe, raising it perfunctorily. Her fine calves were bare and jadelike; her relaxed instep and the goblet-like heel were like a suitable spring breeze and rain, promoting the opening and maturation of flower buds. For a moment, Li Shiyi felt that the Song Shijiu before her was someone of personage. She pressed her lips together, the matchbox in her hand turning in a circle, and when she touched the coarse saltpeter strip, she stopped.

Song Shijiu, having put her mood back in order, on reflection, felt guilty for her own impudence, and, thinking that the two of them had come in for a long while, was afraid of it being impolite; she considered it, saying, “That person…is still outside.”

“Don’t pay attention to him.” Li Shiyi raised her head, the back of her skull pressing lightly against the wall. Her voice was both low and deep and gentle, and when she spoke, her beautiful tendons raised her graceful neck. Song Shijiu was most affected by this carelessness of thinking it below her dignity, as if Li Shiyi bore an attitude of it not being worth it towards others; as the Jing and Wei rivers were separated clearly, it was entirely different from the circle she’d drawn with the two of them.

Song Shijiu pressed her lips together with joy; Li Shiyi swept a gaze over her, and her lips curled as well. The vendor’s stand that Tu Laoyao had set up, he could put away himself.

“Then we…” Song Shijiu lowered her voice, as if guessing at some secret.

Li Shiyi stood up, and opened the door. “We’ll go out the back door.”

Song Shijiu put her shoes back on, and followed out after her; thinking of Tu Laoyao and A Yin waiting at the main entrance, she determined to not tell Li Shiyi. Playing tricks on a young lady—waiting a shichen or two was deserved.

The two walked back together; they walked slowly from the shade of one Chinese parasol tree to the next, but also peacefully; excluding halfway along, when Song Shijiu was aroused to craving by ice cream, and Li Shiyi bought one for her, the rest of the time, they barely spoke a word. But Song Shijiu arranged her curled hair, and gazed at Li Shiyi and her own leather shoes, and felt that it was quite like an accidental date.

Only having wandered for the better half a shichen did the two return to the residence; the main gate to the residence was open, and the rickshaw that had been hired was stopped at the entrance; Song Shiji’s bits of guilt were, in a split second, wiped clean; so, Tu Laoyao and A Yin hadn’t, in fact, waited for her. She lifted her leg and entered the residence, greeting Chen Ma, and headed directly to the east courtyard.

In the east courtyard, Tu Laoyao and A Yin were playing mahjong, calling out three times and shouting four, in a frenzy; they didn’t hear the movement of the two people entering in the slightest. Only once they’d arrived before them did A Yin, at the right, raise her head; taking in Li Shiyi’s cool expression, eyes widening, she raised the back of her hand to cover her lips. Tu Laoyao, whose back was towards those who had arrived, crouching on a stone stool, prompted her: “You’re acting like a woman getting married—you’ll leave the palanquin bearers to die from waiting!”

“I’m afraid that it won’t be the palanquin bearers dying.” A Yin, hand still raised, pressed her hand against her lips, her gaze falling to the tiles, smiling with a deep implication.

Just as she finished speaking, a clear, loud voice came from behind: “Tu Laoyao!”

The fine hairs on Tu Laoyao’s back ran quicker than a rabbit, rising in ranks like gathering troops. He stretched out his neck, turning his head, and saw Li Shiyi, standing with a blank expression, and Song Shijiu, whose face held cold fury. The ground beneath his feet turned slippery, and he almost fell off the stool to kneel, remaining calm with great effort; with a flattering smile, he asked her, “You were successful?”

Song Shijiu crossed the distance in a few steps, snorting, and pointed at him. “Don’t you move!”

Not daring to move, Tu Laoyao’s back was even straighter than a rooster’s.

Contrary to expectations, though, Song Shijiu was joyful; behind her, her hand turned half a circle, and, staring at his taut jaw, her fingers gently revolved. Forty, fifty, sixty…with a smile, she circled around Tu Laoyao, seeing his aging, toothless appearance, the aura of wickedness drawn out from the tips of her finger, sinking into her gleeful, smiling eyes.

A Yin was dumbstruck; covering her lips, she glanced at Li Shiyi, but saw that she was standing at a short distance away, gazing at Song Shijiu playing a practical joke, an indistinct indulgence seeping lazily from within her clear eyes.

Tu Laoyao was flustered and agitated; he raised his hands, looking at them again and again, and as he looked, his eyes grew weak, and he couldn’t squat anymore, and fell backwards with a few hissing sounds, his sleeveless top pressing against the top of the stone table. “You, you you…” The doddering, weak voice was accompanied by a cough, deficient of vitality; Tu Laoyao couldn’t even stretch his fingers out.

Song Shijiu turned her head, smiling at Li Shiyi, and was just about to stop, when she heard a muffled sound from the doorstep, a terrified shriek stopped up in the throat, only a moaning sound able to scatter from within. Song Shijiu hurriedly looked over, and saw Tu Saozi’s deathly pale face, staring at the familiar figure within the courtyard, extremely aged, holding her belly as she fell against the side of the doorframe.

The entire group grew panicked; in a few steps, they came forward; Song Shijiu had caused the disaster, and hurriedly drew back her power, rushing over to hold Tu Saozi.

Tu Saozi’s eyes were nearly popping out, and she gazed at Tu Laoyao with bloodshot eyes, bean-sized beads of sweat rolling down her face, dripping down her neck like water; she couldn’t speak, only rigidly grasping at Tu Laoyao’s hand, veins showing across her entire face in a sinister manner. She stammered for a while, trembling lips unable to speak, her throat stuffed with cotton, and only with great effort was able to breathe, her belly seeming to have been run over and crushed by someone’s ox cart, hurting so much that she couldn’t pay attention to anything else, her legs askew as she moaned in grief.

Song Shijiu was incredibly remorseful; the pearls of her tears fell and shattered, and her hands shook severely, almost limp on the ground. Li Shiyi, remaining calm and collected, shifted her body, and let her lean against her own shoulder, just raising her voice to order Chen Ma to call a doctor, when she saw A Yin gazing between Tu Saozi’s legs, hurriedly saying, “Her water’s breaking, call for a midwife!”

The god of the night spilled terrifying black ink; mournful cries rose to the roof, shaking the dust and ash on the roof tiles; hot water mixed with blood, basin after basin entering, the experienced midwife encouraging rhythmically within; A Yin stood guard at the doorway, checking the scissors and towels were properly arranged and offered up; Tu Laoyao was within the room, grasping Tu Saozi’s hand, face swollen and red from her exertion. After no less than two shichen of labor, little Tu Laoyao still hadn’t been born; Tu Saozi didn’t have any more energy, and her moans gradually grew quieter, but the sound of her gasping and breathing became louder, separated and dimmed by the screen, as if rumbling thunder beating against the ears.

Song Shijiu sat with her head lowered, disheartened, supporting herself on the armrests of the scroll-end chair, her worried face deathly pale; Li Shiyi sat at her side, and traded out the cooled tea, filling a new cup for her.

The sound of A Yin’s pacing stopped, and she grasped her hands, maintaining a forward leaning posture, and the depths of the residence courtyard, in a split second, sank into deathly still tranquility; Li Shiyi raised her wrist, and drank a mouthful of tea.

Song Shijiu loosened the right hand which had been gripping the armrest; the noise surged violently, and A Yin’s skirts moved, and she shifted forward with two urgent steps, brows knitting, locking a bit deeper together. Li Shiyi set down the teacup, tiredly rubbing her temples, her other hand opening the cover of her pocket watch. It was clear that only two shichen had passed, but she felt as if she had endured an entire night; it was only because Song Shijiu, at her side, was excessively anxious, her hands pinching, that time paused for a moment, and then let go, and then returned to its normal state once again. The person at her side was completely unaware, and yet Li Shiyi wasn’t affected by the control, and, still animated, accompanied Song Shijiu’s experience of the suffering twofold. She let out a soundless sigh.

The heavens turned to the pale light of the dawn sky; the rising sun followed along with the infant’s wails; the midwife wiped sweat away, and came from within to announce the good news, saying that a healthy child had been born. The entire group let out a breath, numb faces taking on smiles. Tu Laoyao’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted; the web between his thumb and forefinger had been pinched blue and purple; Tu Saozi had gone through a right of torment, but when she saw little Tu Laoyao, the light in her spirit reignited once more, and she cradled the infant, pitiful and loving, very unwilling to let go.

Li Shiyi passed a towel over, and A Yin took it, wiping away Tu Saozi’s sweat; Song Shijiu stretched her head out to look at the infant, carefully and cautiously reaching out a hand to brush the infant’s chin.

“Have you thought of a name?” A Yin asked.

“Tu, Tu Sishun,” Tu Laoyao struggled, shaking his leg, all his effort seeming to go like gossamer threads to speak the phrase.

Song Shijiu was startled, her heart warming halfway. Tu Laoyao hadn’t blamed her in the slightest; the shame from just now eased a bit, warmth rising in the left side of her chest.

Li Shiyi said, “Let’s go out, and let Tu Saozi rest a bit.”

Song Shijiu nodded, and the three closed the door and left. A Yin let out a yawn, supporting her waist and bid goodnight first; Song Shijiu took off the high heels that had been chafing the entire day, carrying them in her hand and following Li Shiyi back to the rooms. Her muscles were aching, as if she’d fought a battle for half the night; there was a faint bruising beneath her eyes, and her voice was a bit hoarse; she suddenly asked, “In my childhood, was I also like that?”

“Like what?” Li Shiyi replied.

“Bright red, wrinkled, with thin and sparse hair, eyes swollen like peaches, pasty and muddled together.” Not very nice to look at; she swallowed this half a phrase back.

Li Shiyi pondered a moment, and shook her head. “No. Fair and delicate, plump, hair jet black and glossy, with large, wide eyes, which turned back and forth.” Incredibly pretty. The words fit together perfectly, like gears closing up Song Shijiu’s worries. Song Shijiu smiled, lowering her head and shifting her steps, and folded her own shadow together with hers into one place.

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Translator's notes:

[1]: 青梅竹马 (qingmei zhuma), green plums and bamboo horse, used to refer to childhood sweethearts.