Chapter 46: Those who love are mocked by those who do not (VII)

Tu Sishun’s arrival threw the day into chaos; his and Song Shijiu’s infancies were starkly different—he followed after his father’s troublemaking spirit, sleeping during the broad daylight and lively during the night, and 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 the eyes to ail; 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, but was incredibly concerned with Tu Saozi’s belly, which hung down like a loofah gourd—a perfectly round belly which had deflated, and which hadn’t shrunk in days; its surface had blue and purple veins, and her chest 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 converse with Tu Laoyao, saying that they should leave and search for Shijiu’s history, and urging him to remain at home and take care of it well; she also left some money for him to use. Tu Laoyao asked her what the plan was, 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 like walnuts under his eyes, still carrying Tu Sishun, he sat across from the three ladies, and talked it over. “The residence has Chen 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. “We were all delayed for quite a few days because of him; 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 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, watching for a while, then changed her clothes and, holding up an umbrella, went out.

The streets never lacked a 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. The imperial capital had this bit of favour; the imperial dynasty had been toppled, and the current political situation was in upheaval; important matters that had to be kept secret were 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 caught by a 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, 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 eyes flickering with anger, an accomplished rejection crouched in courtesy.

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

After noon, as usual, she boiled tea, sitting at the desk and practising calligraphy; the scent of the Anhui ink overwhelmed that of Junshan yinzhen tea, and there was the sensation of time within a dream. The sound of a brief exchange came from outside, followed by that of footsteps approaching, and before the shadow imprinted fully on the window lattice, a pair of beautiful hands pushed the door open as they hadn’t for a long while.

A Yin brought along a great, wide smile, and a bit of sunshine that crept in secretly. Turning her hand over to push, the door 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.”

Two characters—neither cold nor intimate, nor harsh or light.

A Yin wiped away sweat with her handkerchief, and came before her, extending her head to look at her writing, but it was only a deceptive motion, and in the next moment, she withdrew once more, picking out a cup to pour herself tea. The minute flow of the stream of water rose, 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 quite circuitously, yet it was enough for A Yin to understand the meaning of her words. The journey South was far; with 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, creating a faint, layered poignancy.

A Luo didn’t reply in any way, only measuredly writing a long and verbose poem; only then did she put down her brush, sitting on the scroll-end 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 fell halfway across A Luo’s features. Even her shadow wasn’t complete—she only had a half.

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 she didn’t continue. A Yin furrowed her brows, thinking for a while, and then suddenly covered up her lips and laughed, raising her brow and staring at her for a few moments; she said, significantly, “So, that's what it was.” The tea she’d just been drinking seemed to have gone directly from her throat to her stomach, and a faint, tranquil ease arose. She turned her hand over along the edge of the table, index finger playing with her handkerchief, and said, “It’s just that in the past we had a bit of a friendship, and by chance, 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 having smoked in the red-light district; she had no alternative but to go along and put on a play, or she’d have to bite her tongue and commit suicide like a chaste, noble woman, and wouldn’t that be a bit affected?

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, inclining her head to look at her with a smile, gazing directly at her until she raised her head; then A Yin narrowed her eyes, and said, “There won’t be others again. How about you check?”

Yanluo-daren, after all, was merely a person; most of the time, she, as well had a competitive character, and wasn’t willing to share with others. Even if it was a client from before, 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 breaths. 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, “Lay down.”

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 had passed through A Luo’s hands. The books she’d opened had their hidden contents on the outside; the congealed ink stick, ground to produce ink; the tea leaves, scattered and limp; if there was the rhythmic cry of ecstasy, it was the fragrant, sweat-covered, perfect summertime.

A Yin’s fingers touched the silk band of the signet on the 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 packed up, and the tickets had been bought for two days later. Tu Laoyao, carrying Tu Sishun, wiped away tears, and talked at length, urging like an old female servant, and only then firmly resolved to carry the suitcases and get into the car.

The train wasn’t novel; feeling melancholy about leaving his wife and son behind, he leand his head against the glass, like a gourd with its mouth stoppered up. A Yin pushed at the pile of suitcases Tu Laoyao had left, gently swatting at the remnant dust on her hand, gaze casting about as it pleased; without warning, she was caught off guard and dazed..

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

A Luo closed the book and smiled, quiet and contented. "Being free is being free."

A Yin 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. Shanghai, with its foreign settlements, its sounds, colours, dogs, and horses, caused one to shelve their temporary restlessness to the side, indulging, for a short period, in the wantonness without regard for the next day. It had spacious streets, high buildings constructed in the Western style in great numbers, trolleys following the road in established motion, rickshaws stopped neat and orderly, the coachmen’s feet and the cars' honking intertwined, an all-inclusive scene.

The rhythm of Shanghai at night ebbed and flowed from suave neon lamps, the best signboard of the evening venues. Xianyuesi as the longest-standing of the three great dance halls in Shanghai’s Bund, with wide doors and high levels, its flights of stairs covered with soft, red silk carpets, in fear that 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 weight bearing down. Two shiny, compact cars stopped at the door, and the doorman came forward to open the doors; a pair of small, unsullied leather boots stepped 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 ornamented 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, a 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, who came to her brows in height, 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 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 while—please, this way.”

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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.