“As you have told me.”
“Then you shall hear it again, so you might be a good mother to your sons when they are old enough.” I move to my dressing table to apply rouge and lip color. “I started teaching Lian when he was three. I thought to myself if a child can memorize a nursery rhyme, then why not something more important? I opened the Book of Odes. I remember well the first lesson Lian learned by heart. He who depends on himself will have the greatest happiness. And look! It has turned out to be so.”
My daughter-in-law begins to brush my hair. I like the girl. She’s obedient, with a kindly disposition. And she’s particularly adept at styling high buns and attaching ornamental pins and other decorations.
“Lian is already a juren,” I go on, as if she didn’t know this already. “He passed this level of the imperial exams at an age earlier than my father, my grandfather, or Lian’s father. Oh, such a bright future lies ahead.” As if in agreement, my daughter-in-law steps to my side so I can see her pregnant belly. I nod to acknowledge her silent message. Then, “Please go ahead to the inner chambers. I shall be along shortly.”
My first stops this morning are to the kitchen, the granary, and the weaving room. Next, since the Dragon Boat Festival is nearly upon us, I check to make sure preparations are under way to protect the house and its inhabitants from the Five Poisonous Creatures that wake up at this time of year. Servants have burned ruby sulfur throughout the compound to ward them off and hung bouquets of mugwort over the gates to keep evil spirits at bay.
By the time I reach the inner chambers, everyone is already deep into their morning activities. As the model who sets the example for womanhood, it’s my duty to pass proper values on to the daughters in our family so they might marry out into good families, while my actions—if in alignment with the cosmos—maintain tranquility and decorum among the wives and concubines who live within the protective walls of our compound. I pay obeisance to Lady Kuo, who sits with the spinsters and other widows. I check to make sure Poppy is nearby. For the last two years, she has loyally served as personal maid to my mother-in-law, who needs help with everything. My youngest daughter, Ailan, is also part of this group. Her betrothal was canceled after the matchmaker saw the extent of her heavenly flowers scars. My poor girl is the new Spinster Aunt, although she’s only twenty-four.
I give special attention to the young mothers to remind them to take those formulas that promote fertility, encourage them to continue teaching their sons and daughters, and supervise those who are binding a daughter’s feet. “A plain face is given by Heaven,” I recite, “but poorly bound feet are a sign of laziness.” My instructions and warnings are met with a chorus of “Yes, Lady Tan,” and “Thank you, Lady Tan.” Last, I nod to the concubines. These women, who rely on their beauty for power and prestige, are as catty and petty as they are in every home. I prefer peace be kept, but I try to maintain control from a distance. Sit on the mountaintop and watch the tigers fight. Best not to get scratched.
Once I’ve made my rounds, I stand in the center of the room and clap my hands to get everyone’s attention. It’s taken me a few years as the head woman of the household to reach this decision, and I’m not sure how everyone will receive it. “We have just entered the fifth month,” I begin. “The custom in the Garden of Fragrant Delights has always been for the concubines to accompany their masters to Lake Tai to celebrate the Dragon Boat Festival.” In their circle, the concubines gracefully nod to each other in acknowledgment of this special privilege. “This year all concubines will stay home. Whoever else would like to attend the Dragon Boat Festival may do so—from babies to grandmothers.”
My announcement is greeted with surprised gasps from the wives and sullen looks from the concubines, but no one can fight me on this. I am, after all, Lady Tan. Later, when I seek out my mother-in-law, she comments, “You’ve always been a different kind of thinker.” I suppose that’s true. She adds, “I hope this doesn’t cause trouble with the men.” I hope it doesn’t either. Then she gives me a steely stare and says, “I will be coming. I have always wanted to attend the festival.” A hidden desire of the heart can now be achieved.
Two days later, on the fifth day of the fifth month, every female from a six-week-old infant to an ancient auntie—apart from the concubines—arrives in the inner quarters dressed in her best finery. I wear a silk gauze dress with a train that snakes out behind me like a pearly tail. Jade earrings in the shape of feathers dangle from my ears. As we make our way to the front gate, the rustling of silks and satins and the tinkling of hair ornaments nearly drown out the birdsong, while our rose-cloud capes float in our wakes. I hope I’m right about this decision. My grandmother disapproved of attending the Dragon Boat Festival, because she wanted to maintain her integrity as a doctor. Lady Kuo believed that when she sent the concubines with their masters, those men would come home ready to sire sons with their wives. My wish: let the wives tantalize their husbands and make the husbands woo their wives.
I’ve arranged for palanquins, sedan chairs, and a carriage to take us to Lake Tai, where we’ll meet our sons and husbands. At the drop-off area, we carefully step to the ground and join hundreds, maybe thousands, of residents of Wuxi from every level of society—from the poorest of the poor to high-ranking officials and their families—as they walk to the shore. At one of many docks, we board a leisure vessel to take us across the lake. In the distance, we see the boats that will be competing today. On each one, the upturned bow has been shaped into a dragon’s head, with an open mouth and painted eyes. Just glimpsing them builds excitement in us. To be able to behold the races…
We reach the far bank and disembark. Half the women of my household ooh and aah at every new sight, while the other half have been awed into contemplative silence.
“Please be mindful,” I warn them. “Older girls, hold your younger sisters’ hands. Mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, I caution you as well. I’ve been told the pathways are not as manicured as what we have at home. Be careful not to fall.”
Murmurs of agreement reach my ears. Not one woman or girl will rebel, because each one knows I give the care of her feet prime importance. Over my years as a doctor, I’ve seen too many cases where gangrene has set in. Many girls die—drifting off like leaves falling in autumn winds, like lamp wicks burned to ash. As worthless branches on the family tree, as girls who are being raised by their natal families only until they are married into their husbands’ families, they are not memorialized. No records of their deaths, no memorial tablets, and no great mourning. As for the adult women who are haphazard in the care of their feet, each one reminds me of my mother.
“Poppy?” I call out sharply.
“I’m here.”
I spot her in the crowd. She has a firm grip on my mother-in-law’s elbow.
“Then let us begin. Everyone stay together. And please remain vigilant.” I offer one last caution: “This is our first time here. Let’s not allow a tragedy to make it our last.”
We climb a short hill, heading to a private pavilion where the men of our family have gathered to watch the races. Cypress, gnarled pines, and osmanthus trees, as well as towering stands of bamboo, paint the shoreline and surrounding peaks a thousand shades of green. The lake stretches out fifty li, maybe more. The embankment is built of stone. Bridges—one with four hundred arches—bisect the lake at different spots. Shrines dot the hillsides. A pagoda rises like a ladder fourteen stories into the heavens. A crane swoops and cries out. Up ahead, I see Maoren, who greets me with a beckoning wave. When I reach him, he takes my hands in his.
“I’m happy to have you here,” he says.