Chapter 46: The amorous are angered by the heartless (VII)

Tu Sishun’s arrival caused the day to turn into chaos; his and Song Shijiu’s hours were distinctly different; following after his father’s troublemaking spirit, sleeping during the broad daylight and lively during the night, the sound of his cries for milk were loud enough to make it across two streets; Tu Laoyao suffered indescribable misery, and thought of solutions; in the daytime, he endured, looking at him without knowing what to do, in order for the nights to be a bit more peaceful.

As soon as Tu Sishun began to create a commotion, Tu-saozi wouldn’t be able to attend to anything else; moreover, Tu Laoyao swore three times a day that in the summer heat, her head had swollen, and a glance left her dazed; Tu-saozi was a bit sceptical, but not saying anything still counted as accepting it.

Song Shijiu had her wishes fulfilled in putting a longevity lock on Tu Sishun; A Yin wasn’t much interested in the raising of an infant, yet was incredibly concerned with Tu-saozi’s belly, which hung down like a loofah gourd, a perfectly round belly which had deflated, not having drawn back for a good few days; its surface had blue and purple veins, and her chest, contrarily, bulged, hurting such that Tu-saozi couldn’t raise her hand. As A Yin gathered up blemish-removing patches for Tu-saozi, she scolded Tu Laoyao through clenched teeth. “Ruthless bastard men, letting women come to this state!”

Tu Laoyao, in the courtyard, cradled Tu Sishun, ears burning, and sneezed.

After tending to Tu Sishun for a full month, they had a bustling, lively one-month celebration, and only then did Li Shiyi instruct Tu Laoyao, saying that they should leave and search for Shijiu’s history, urging him to remain at home and take care of it well, and also left some money for him to use. Tu Laoyao asked her how it would be done, but she replied that first they’d take a trip to Shanghai.

Tu Laoyao closed the door, and discussed with Tu-saozi for a bit; the second day, with bags under the eyes like walnuts, still carrying Tu Sishun, he sat across from the three ladies, and talked it over. “The residence has Chu Ma to look after it; I’ll still go with you.”

Song Shijiu said, “How could that be alright? Little Tu Laoyao is still tiny.”

Tu Laoyao patted the infant with practised ease. “Because of him, we were all delayed for a good few days; now that he’s been born safely, what lack of relief could there be? You ladies are concerned for my wife and child, and we can all see it in your eyes; when the time comes for returning the favour, we can’t be frivolous.”^[1]

Li Shiyi raised her gaze, and saw that he was swinging Tu Sishun, saying said loudly, “That Yu the Great still ‘passed the door of his house three times without entering’!^[2] How could I, Tu Laoyao, not act as a great wind!” Finishing speaking, he scratched his eye. “Xiaozi!”^[3] He gazed at Tu Sishun, and grinned.

In comparison with the Li residence, A Luo’s residence was as clean as if it were hidden in a painting. A Yin, at this time being busy, hadn’t come over in a long time, and A Luo, overcome with boredom, scattered a handful of millet, and looked for a while, then changed her clothes and, holding up an umbrella, went out.

The streets never lacked bustling liveliness; the bright and sunny weather made the sound of the clamour a degree louder; A Luo walked between the peddlers on the street, a white and blue oil paper umbrella held aloft, yet didn’t attract many stunned gazes. Under the heavens, it was this bit of goodness; the dynasty had toppled, and the current political situation was in upheaval; important matters had to be kept secret seemed to be many, and each person was solely preoccupied with their own, little lives, and had no inclinations to sweep the snow at someone else’s doorstep.

A Luo’s gait was graceful, yet relaxed; wandering aimlessly for a while, her embroidered shoe was caught and stilled by the small crack on the pavement filled with dirt. The surface of the umbrella rose slightly; Wu Qian followed along with her line of sight and came over, and saw that, not too far away, in a tailor’s shop, a graceful feminine figure was coming out; a flowered qipao with silver thread, and also drawing out her alluring, undulating figure; A Yin’s arms were crossed, and she rubbed her handkerchief, turned to smile at the man beside her who was carrying cloth bolts.

A few days before, when A Yin ran into Wu Qian, she’d said she was going down south, having just prepared the expenses, and after a few days, she’d come again to dine.

A Luo blinked her eyes slowly, and saw that man’s restless hands crawling onto A Yin’s waist; A Yin turned her hand and slapped him, casting him a sideways glance, her anger a fluid glance, a refusal yet a welcome of the advance.

A Luo withdrew the hand that was holding the umbrella slightly, meaninglessly lowering her lashes and smiling, and turned along with Wu Qian, and left.

After noon, she usually boiled tea, sitting at the desk and practising characters; the Anhui ink had the scent of Junshan yinzhen tea, and had the sensation of dreams left behind from sleep for years. The sound of a brief exchange came from outside, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching, and before the shadow was marked fully on the window lattice, the twin hands of beauty who hadn’t been seen for a long while pushed the door open.

A Yin brought along a great, wide smile, and a cun of energy that snuck in secretly. Turning her hand to push, the door was closed once more, and the room was once again quiet and splendorous.

A Luo held her sleeve back and worked the ink stick, saying with a mild tone, “You’re here.”

Neither cold nor intimate, severe nor mild; two characters.

A Yin wiped away sweat with her handkerchief, and came before her, extending her head to look at her characters, yet it was only a weak, swaying motion, and all at once, she withdrew once more, picking out a cup to pour herself tea. The minute sound of the water stream flowed, and she gazed at the cup in her own hand, the same as the one set by A Luo’s right hand, and asked her, “You knew I was going to come?”

A Luo lowered her wrist and raised her hand, gently forming a hook, her speech even lighter than the tip of the brush. “Wasn’t it that you said, you were going south.” She spoke incredibly circuitously, yet it was enough for A Yin to understand the meaning of her words. The journey south was far; a few months apart, if there wasn’t vital essence, A Yin’s body couldn’t handle it, so no matter what, before leaving, she had to come looking for her.

A Yin, as expected, smiled, and replied, “Yes.” She leaned against the side of the desk, the scent of the cosmetics on her cheeks covering the tea leaves, having a bit of layered poignancy.

A Luo didn’t reply in any way, only measuredly writing a long and superfluous poem, and only then put down her brush, sitting on the high chair, and raised her head to gaze at A Yin; the sunlight seeped in from outside, striking on the curve of A Yin’s shoulders, causing her shadow to expand until it was halfway across A Luo’s features. Even her shadow wasn’t complete, only halved.

She leaned against the back of the chair, saying with a soft voice, “Just then, I saw you.” She paused a moment, then continued speaking. “At the tailor’s shop.”

A Luo’s gaze swept across the delicate buckles on A Yin’s qipao, and didn’t continue. A Yin furrowed her brows, thinking for a while, and then suddenly covered up her lips and laughed, raising her brow at her for a few moments, saying significantly, “So, it was this.” The tea she’d just been drinking was as if directly having gone from her throat to the temples of her five viscera, faintly seeping out a smooth, suitable ease. She turned her hand over and grasped the edge of the table, index finger playing with her handkerchief, and said, “It’s just that in the past we had friendly relations, and luckily bumped into each other; he was solicitous, and it wouldn’t be good of me to be too resistant.”

People grasped at her flaws for being in the smoking willow alleys, and she had no alternative but to go along and put on a play, or commit suicide and bite her tongue like a chaste, noble woman, or else wouldn’t it be too unreasonable.

A Luo didn’t comment; her right hand kneaded the meat of the ring finger of her left hand. A Yin bit the corner of her mouth, smilingly inclining her head to gaze at her, gazing directly at her until she raised her head, and A Yin narrowed her eyes, saying, “There won’t be others again. How about you check?”

Yanluo-daren, at the end, was a person; most of the time, she, as well, wasn’t willing to share with others, and was competitive. Even if it was a client from before, when making a hypocritical show of affection, she always wanted to hear her say that she herself was the one who was in her heart. She understood, yet she didn’t understand fully.

A Luo gazed at her fixedly, breathing long and heavy, moist in and moist out. She raised her hand, throwing the Mengzi Classic from the table; it fell to the ground with a bang. With another movement, she threw the Zuozhuan Classic. The pages were flung aside, making crashing sounds; A Luo gazed at the clean, empty tabletop, and said softly, “Lean on it.”

A Yin was startled. The scent of books, the scent of ink, the scent of tea, and the scent of skin and cosmetics of a woman, all were entirely within A Luo’s control. The books she’d opened had their covered insides on the outside, and the congealed ink stick, ground to produce ink; the tea leaves, scattered across the frame and limp in posture, as if there was another sound eroding the bones with the cry of ecstasy; it was the scent of sweat of a succesful summer day.

A Yin’s fingers touched the silk band of the signet on table, and she closed her eyes and furrowed her brows, hearing A Luo behind her ask, “Is that enough?”

“It’s enough.”

“Is it good?”

“...it’s good.”

A Luo extracted her fingers, and replaced them with her lips.

Everyone had been put in order, and the tickets were bought for two days later. Tu Laoyao, carrying Tu Sishun, wiped away sweat, and talked at length and urging like an old female servant, and only then firmly resolved to carry the suitcases and get into the car.

The train was novel, and he raised his hands to toss away his wife and son’s melancholy, leaning his head against the glass, like the mouth of a bottle gourd. A Yin pushed at the pile of suitcases Tu Laoyao had left, gently swatting at the remnant dust on her hand, expression casting about as it pleased, and was, without warning, caught off guard and stilled.

A Luo and Wu Qian sat at the row of seats diagonally across, wearing a wide, Western hat to block the sun, calmly flipping through a book. A Yin walked over slowly, leaning against the seat, and asked her, “You’re going as well?”

A Luo cast a gaze at her, her fluid glance rising, whether she was happy or unhappy unclear. If an idiom had a lover as well, the four characters of red lanterns and green wine, feasting and pleasure-seeking, were most fitted to the Bund of Shanghai at night. The shanghai of old, with its foreign settlements, its sounds, colours, dogs, and horses, causing people to shelve their temporary restlessness to the side, indulging, for a short period, in the wantonness without regard for the next day. The spacious streets, high buildings constructed in the Western style in great numbers, trolleys following the road in established motion, rickshaws stopped, neat and tidy, cart drivers’ feet intertwining with the whistle of cars, a scenery with a great deal of tolerance.

The rhythm of Shanghai at night ebbed and flowed from suave neon lamps, the best signboard in of evening venues. Xianyuesi’s place, longstanding, was the foremost of the three large dance halls on Shanghai’s Bund, with wide doors and high levels, its flights of stairs covered with soft, red silk carpets, in fear of the high officials and noble persons’ shoe soles would get dirty, and the playbill was as tall as three people, its aloof remoteness put to full use in giving a sense of pressure. Two shiny, compact cars stopped at the door, and the doorman came forward to open the doors, a pair of small, unsullied leather boots stepping out, the person within the car leaning out, movements expressing a fine bearing; the doorman bowed his waist and head reverently and respectfully, and saw the svelte figure to surpass all others inside.

The young lady at the lead was tall and slender, her upper body erect and enclosed in a slim-fitting white shirt, buttons fastened to the very top, not ornaented in the slightest, only asymmetric magnolia flowers picked out in black thread on her open, high collar, the hem of her shirt tucked into her black, Western pants, enclosing a full waist. Her hands were in her pants pockets, and movement revealed fair and clear, bright wrists. Her expression was indifferent and cool, and her hair had been combed back, one side fastened behind her ear, the other side covering up half of the edge of the line of her distinct jaw, her pretty forehead connected with a high nose bridge, the curved line at thin lips that no stranger had ever come near. She faintly lowered her head as she walked forward, two men dressed in Western-style clothes following behind her, and half a step behind was another young lady, the height of her brows, her figure bound in a Western style striped corset and trousers of the same colour; inside the corset was a woman’s white blouse, her collar loose and at an angle, her features delicate but neat and tidy. At the very back was a pair of striking young women, hand in hand, one in a champagne qipao and an embroidered shawl that hung halfway, her openwork gloves with her delicate, supple ten fingers in them, and the other had long, curled hair which was tucked behind her ear, wearing a deep blue, velvet cheongsam, carrying the air the pampered charm of an unmarried daughter of a noble house.

As soon as they entered, there was a manager to welcome them; the young women who had arrived from Beiping had called ahead several shichen before. He rose halfway out of his chair and greeted them, saying in order, “Li-da-xiaojie, Yan-er-xiaojie, Fu-er-xiaojie, Song-liu-xiaojie; you’ve been expected for a long time; please, go in.”

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Translator's notes:

[1]: 娘们唧唧的 (niangmen jiji de) is hard to translate, but it’s referring to men being effeminate.

[2]: Dayu, or Yu the Great, is said to be the founder of the Xia dynasty. In his efforts to control the floods, he passed by his home three times without entering, despite the first time his wife being in labour, the second time his son being old enough to call out for him, and the third time his son being over ten years of age.

[3]: 小子 (Xiaozi), “little one” or “youngster”. A term of endearment.