“I will find someone as pleasant of disposition as she is of face,” I promise.
And I do. I think of my grandfather’s three Jades when I name the girl I buy for my husband Snowgoose. (In time, I might find Maoren another Snowpink, but now is too soon for him to be reminded of her and their son.) Already I imagine all the other Snows who might enter the compound one day—Snowlight, Snowcrystal, Snowdawn. For now, though, Snowgoose evokes purity, lightness, and the ability to carry someone away from earthly concerns. Her face is unmarked by smallpox scars or lines of worry. Her eyebrows curve like willow leaves, and her lips are so pink that she need not apply color unless she so chooses. She has a slender form, with a swaying walk. When she’s brought to the household, I personally help her dress in an aqua silk gown with a pattern of butterflies and flowers in raised silver thread. I supervise as her hair is styled into a bun and enclosed in a circlet of gold filigree. I tuck into her hair long pins on which shimmering blue butterflies made from kingfisher feathers decorate the ends, giving the effect of a garden at the height of spring. I walk my husband to the concubine’s door, open it, and give him a gentle push.
As I head back to my own rooms, I consider something I learned from my grandmother. Every woman must treat her husband’s concubines well. Our behavior in this regard raises the quality of our benevolence in our husbands’ eyes. But I believe we have even more to gain than a husband’s admiration, and that is compassion. We may not care for concubines, but it’s important to remember that each one came from the womb of a woman. Every girl—no matter how small-minded or unfortunate—had a mother who nursed and cared for her. Each one—no matter how jealous we might be when our husband visits her—is still a human being.
These thoughts lead me to Miss Chen. Even though my father warned me against interfering in other people’s lives, I still want to help her. I discreetly ask the concubines in the household about her whereabouts. They direct me to a rooming house, where I find Miss Chen, protected by walls and shrouded in veils so no one will see her ruined face. She has always been skilled at embroidery. A few words placed here and a few placed there, and soon elite women in Wuxi are buying embroidered sleeve guards, the tops of bound-foot shoes, and nightclothes from a mysterious unnamed woman. For Miss Chen’s part, she has perfected the art of imperfection by deliberately leaving out a single stitch that might complete a peony, goldfish, or cloud. The message is clear—and one that makes a good gift to daughters who are marrying out: be humble but also recognize that no one is perfect. Meiling and Kailoo hire Fifth Daughter, Miss Chen’s surviving child. She works in the tea shop, assists Meiling in her midwife duties, and cleans their home. These are not the chores typically given to a bound-footed girl, but at least she will earn a living. By the time Meiling’s baby announces it’s ready to breathe the air of this world, Fifth Daughter is able to help Midwife Shi deliver her grandson.
When I step out from behind the screen that has shielded me from the sight of blood and mess of childbirth, the baby has already been placed in Meiling’s arms. She gazes up at me and says, “My heart will forever be attached to my son’s.” When I look down into his face, I’m reminded of the aphorism that says, No mud, no lotus.
As the Hongzhi emperor completes the fifth year of his reign, my oldest daughter is pregnant with her first child. Chunlan and Ailan are both betrothed. Lian is nineteen months old, and Poppy spends her days chasing after him. My brother has successfully passed the highest level of the imperial exams and been presented to the emperor. As for myself, I have just turned thirty-one. I’ve had many challenges over the last thirty-two months, and I still have many years of rice-and-salt days ahead of me, but I see my future in a way I never have before. I will use all that my grandparents, especially my grandmother, taught me to heal women. Without fear. Without hesitation.
PART IV
SITTING QUIETLY
The Fifth Through Sixth Years of the Zhengde Emperor’s Reign
(1510–1511)
White-Haired, Growing Old Together
How is a life located in time? By the movement of the sun and the moon, by the changing of seasons, or by the marking of the New Year’s Festival? By how we note the stages of a woman’s life in milk days, hair-pinning days, rice-and-salt days, or sitting quietly? A famous couplet tells us Heaven adds time and people get older; spring fills the world and blessing fills the door. The young get married and have babies; those of middle age grow old and die. We make offerings to our ancestors in the Afterworld in the anticipation that they will reward us in this world. We try to make good decisions—by choosing wives for our sons, creating good alliances through the marriages of our daughters, planting crops, buying land and businesses, and hiring the best tutors for our sons—in hopes that we will secure goodness and prosperity for future generations. But nothing is guaranteed. An unblemished face will grow wrinkles in time and the white petals of the azalea will turn brown and fall. It is a never-ending cycle that will continue through eternity.
Nineteen years have passed since the smallpox invasion, and I have officially entered the time of sitting quietly. This is the period in a woman’s life when, by definition, she waits for death to remove her from the struggles of life, but no one would know it from observing me. When my father-in-law died five years ago, my husband became headman of the Garden of Fragrant Delights. Maoren retired from the Board of Punishments and currently oversees all matters pertaining to the Yang family with help from Second Uncle, who has proved himself to be wise, loyal, and hardworking, as well as an excellent model of behavior to his great-nephew and my son, Lian, who will one day lead the Garden of Fragrant Delights. I now preside over a four-generation household and hope to live long enough to see the next generation. An extended family line is like a tree with a sturdy trunk, deep roots, and many branches. To that end, I’m responsible for the health not only of all the children and women in the Garden of Fragrant Delights but also for the working women who come to the back gate to seek my help.
As Lady Tan, I also bear all the burdens and obligations of running the household—managing the budget, receiving rents paid by those who work our lands, overseeing construction projects and repairs, purchasing staples like coal, rice, and salt, as well as all other foodstuffs, selecting and hiring servants and tutors, and arranging for weddings and funerals. I like to think I’m straightforward in my approach to my duties and to our servants. Not once—at least not yet—have I drawn on the strategies that were so much a part of Lady Kuo’s way of presiding. All of which is to say I do not have time to sit and watch the flowers grow in their leisure or enjoy the moon’s travel across the night sky. Rather, I am the gatekeeper of the family resources. As such, my days begin early, and they are very long.
I’m already awake and dressed when my daughter-in-law taps on the door to my bedchamber, enters, and serves me tea. She recently turned seventeen. She is the mother of my first grandson and will soon give birth to another child, hopefully another son. My concern, the same one that preoccupied Lady Kuo, is that the Yang wives are not producing enough sons, despite my best efforts to make the women in the household fertile. What’s worrisome is that if we keep on this path, the family will continue to grow smaller and money will become scarcer, as we won’t have enough men to run our businesses or sons to do well in the imperial exams.
“When Midwife Shi comes for her weekly visit,” I say to my daughter-in-law, “I expect you to visit the Hermitage so we can both examine you.” (I still have a hard time thinking of Meiling as Midwife Shi, but she took on the title after her mother died.)
“I will be there, Lady Tan,” she answers, her head politely bowed.
I count on this girl to be an extra pair of eyes and ears for me, so I ask, “Are there others in the household I should see today?”
“Fourth Aunt is having trouble with her granddaughter’s footbinding—”
“Fourth Aunt should have told me!”
“She blames herself that she hasn’t been more vigilant, and she didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Tell her not to worry about my opinion. What matters is that infection doesn’t settle in her granddaughter’s feet. I will visit the child after Midwife Shi leaves.”
“Yes, Lady Tan.”
I smile at the girl. “How are Lian’s studies progressing?”
“He was in his library, working all night.”
My smile broadens. “He has always been a good student.”