Not long after this, Grandfather receives a letter from the capital informing him that my father attained a high level in the imperial examinations and is now a jinshi scholar of the fourth rank. As such, he was presented to the emperor, who personally read Father’s essay. Already the Tan family—through my great-grandfather, grandfather, and great-uncle—is an established part of the provincial elite. Already our family holds enormous power and prestige. That my father has become a jinshi—having never needed to repeat an exam—gives him status in his own right, while building the family’s glory. To add to his triumph, he’s entered the rank of Lesser Grand Master of the Palace and has been appointed to a position on the Board of Punishments in Nanjing, as my grandfather was. It’s a great honor, but it will require him to travel from county to county to investigate and rule on crimes. It’s all wonderful, but it makes me sad too, because it means he’ll continue to be far from the family. My grandparents can’t stop smiling, though.
“We must have a celebration of this accomplishment,” Grandfather announces. “I’ll consult with the geomancer to find an auspicious day for our son to return home.”
Grandfather arranges for musicians to accompany my father to the Mansion of Golden Light from a distance of five li, so our neighbors and their servants can celebrate our family’s good news. Grandmother sends Cook to buy ingredients for a banquet and orders the gardeners to rearrange pots filled with hibiscus, orchids, and cymbidiums so the courtyards are filled with color.
On the appointed day, everyone in the household—including women and girls who’ve been given the rare treat of being allowed to join the menfolk—gathers outside the main gate to await my father’s arrival. Miss Zhao has taken great care with her appearance and that of my brother. She’s even combed my hair and chosen my clothes to show what a good caretaker she’s been in my father’s absence. Despite the teasing she’s received in the inner chambers, she’s acted as a good wife since my mother died. As if to prove this to my father, she holds my brother’s and my hands so we look like a wife and children who’ve faithfully waited for the master to return.
I’m eager to see my father, but I’m also excited to be outside the gate, having believed this wouldn’t happen until my wedding day. Before I can begin to soak in my surroundings, though, the air fills with the sounds of clappers, cymbals, and drums; the braying of pack animals; and the clank and jingle of the metalwork on their harnesses. The noise grows louder until the procession comes into view. At the front, three pairs of men carry red banners mounted on tall poles. I see my father in a sedan chair, riding high above those who carry him. This will be his life from now on, for a jinshi is so elevated in position that his feet should never touch the ground unless absolutely necessary. Behind him, a palanquin and several carts follow.
My father steps down from the sedan chair. He wears his scholar’s hat, a straight-cut loose robe belted with a black sash, and leather boots. An elaborately embroidered square patch has been sewn to the chest of his tunic. It shows a pair of wild geese, which announces to anyone who sees it—peasant or nobleman—that he is an official of the fourth rank, which Grandfather has told me is just four levels below the emperor himself. My father brings his hands together until they are hidden beneath his sleeves and then bows formally to Grandfather Tan and Grandmother Ru. He watches as servants present gifts to his parents, Yifeng, and me. But this is not all. As box after box of goods are unloaded and brought through the gate, the door to the palanquin opens and a young woman steps down, gracefully holding up the hem of her skirt to reveal a slim stockinged ankle and a bound foot in a shoe of emerald-green silk embroidered in a pattern of subtle delicacy. Her gown is the color of bamboo sprouting in spring but embroidered with the white chrysanthemums of fall. Blue sapphire earrings hang from her lobes. Her complexion is as white as goose fat. Her makeup accentuates her fine brows, and her hair is swept up not in the fashionable style of a concubine but in the elegant combings of a wife.
Miss Zhao’s hand tightens around my own as the woman makes obeisance to my grandparents. Then my father takes her by the elbow and introduces her to the relatives that matter the most. Finally, Father brings her to us.
“Daughter, Son,” he says, ignoring Miss Zhao, “please meet your new mother. You will call her Respectful Lady.”
I’m the first of the three of us to lower myself to the ground to show deference to my father’s new wife. As my forehead touches the stonework, words the original White Jade once spoke enter my mind. Whether animal or woman, we are a man’s possessions.
PART II
HAIR-PINNING DAYS
The Twelfth Through Thirteenth Years of the Chenghua Emperor’s Reign
(1476–1477)
A Selfless Heart
I turned fifteen a month ago, and my hair was pinned up to show everyone I am ready for marriage. It has been seven years since my family received the Letter of Betrothal, and I am one day away from going to my husband’s home. My mother’s bed has been dismantled and sent ahead with Lady Huang—as a highly valued and fertile woman in our family—to “make up the room,” supervising as men piece each window and decorative panel back together. She’ll watch as they roll out rugs and position my wardrobe, desk, and chairs. She’ll put away my clothes, cosmetics, and jewelry. She’ll personally adorn the bed with the wedding linens and pillows I’ve embroidered over the years, so that all will be ready when my husband and I reach the bridal chamber.
A simple bed has been brought to my room for me to sleep on tonight, making me feel like I am already a guest in my family home. I tell myself that I’m fully prepared to enter the second stage of a woman’s life. I’ve attained the Four Quintessential Attributes for a woman: virtue, elegant speech, proper comportment, and diligent work habits. I’ve struggled to improve my embroidery skills and labored for two full years creating pairs of shoes to be presented to my mother-in-law and the esteemed aunties in my husband’s home. I was diligent in the sewing and embroidering of my bridal shoes, knowing that the quality of the stitching and design will be especially judged. (I hope no one looks too closely. I plan to walk as daintily as possible, so my shoes never peek out from beneath my bridal skirt.) Naturally, I’m familiar with the idea of bedroom affairs from having helped Grandmother treat women with issues below the girdle these past years, but I’ve also received instruction from Meiling, who was married out six months ago and has confided more about what happens in the bedchamber, and from the illustrated books Miss Zhao has given me to study.
The day begins with a visit to Grandmother in the pharmacy. She turned sixty-one this year, but to my eyes she looks no different than the first day I met her. I expect her to relate more details about what will happen under the bridal quilts. I’m wrong.
“When you turned fourteen, your yin qi welled up within your body and you started having your monthly moon water,” she begins. “Until you are pregnant or go through childbirth, this will be your greatest connection to other women. You understand within your own body what it means for another woman to have stagnating or congested Blood, when women are suffering from depletion of energy, headache, or sorry emotions.”
“I’m more concerned with how I’ll fit into my husband’s home.”
Grandmother responds in her own way. “Excessive joy can cause the yang within to disintegrate. Excessive anger can cause yin to snap. Too much sorrow can lead to exhaustion. These things happen not just to wives but to concubines, maids, and servants too. Stay aware as you take your place in your husband’s home.”
“I’ll try.”
“Although you’ve studied with me for seven years, you are still a novice doctor. Confine yourself to treating girls if the opportunity should arise. Promise to write to me with your ideas for treatment before you attempt anything. I’ll either write back with my approval or tell you to think harder. Don’t forget you’re still learning. In time, when you’re older and have more experience, wives and concubines will seek you out. Trust me on this.”
She pauses to let me absorb what she’s said. Then, “Please take care of yourself. Don’t let ill health or pensive feelings overcome you, no matter how your husband or others treat you. I have lived as the principal wife. You must do the same. If you fulfill your duties, you can have control over who your husband brings in. But remember, as long as your mother-in-law lives, even the pots and pans will report what they hear.”