A Flower’s Shade Page 2

  "How old is your daughter?"

  "Thirteen."

  "I've deflowered younger girls than that." Naixiang said, a little put off. "You really are a fool. Since I've taken to her, would I let any harm come to her?"

  That night, after Ai'ai went to bed, her parents stayed up half the night debating, heaving sighs, arguing. At last they reasoned that she would have to be married sooner or later, and with that resigned themselves to her fate. So they turned off the lights and went to sleep, though after a moment, Ai'ai's father crept over and climbed onto Mrs. Wu, making the bed creak and whine. Mrs. Wu said "You're no better than a beast, to have this in mind at a time like this." Ai'ai's father answered, "Young Master Zhen has so many concubines, and now he's taking another one, a young one. But I have only one woman, and I've travelled a long way. I don't want it to have been for nothing."

  The following day, Ai'ai's father was gone, the silver coins wrapped up in his bundle. Under her mother's supervision, Ai'ai boiled a great pot of water, washed herself with it, and, dressed in new clothes, was shown into Naixiang's chambers. Naixiang, beside himself with pleasure, was at the door waiting for her, and showed her to the heated bed, where they sat together and drank some rice wine. Her mother was standing awkwardly to one side, and now looked rather like she wanted to leave. Naixiang smiled and said, what's the hurry, tell your mother to sit down and have a cup too. Ai'ai had already grasped what was about to happen, and she sat there uneasily, blushing and blanching in turns. Naixiang tried to comfort her, saying, "Don't you worry, this is some medicinal wine I've had mixed especially for you. Just drink this down, then it won't hurt a bit." No man had ever spoken to Ai'ai so softly and gently before, and she could feel his warm breath tickling her throat. Naixiang continued, "After the first few times, you'll start to like it, you'll begin to need it."

  Ai'ai surrendered to the vagaries of fate. She left off being a little village girl, and became instead the youngest of Naixiang's concubines. She was also the final concubine Naixiang would formally marry before his attack. Because she was so young, Naixiang did not show her very much love, but nor would it be right to say he hadn't loved her. In fact, once her novelty had worn off, she fell out of his favour and was largely ignored. She was too young to grasp the joys of physical love, and even had she understood them, he was duty-bound to all his women, and couldn't expend too much energy on an immature little girl like Ai'ai. It was fortunate that, also because of her tender years, she stood completely outside the spats and petty jealousies which the many other women engaged in. Not long after she had so lightly passed from girlhood into young womanhood, the suave and distinguished Naixiang was suddenly stricken and become a vegetable. Before Ai'ai had understood the matter or been able to take it all in, the terrific burden of Naixiang's care had been settled entirely on her shoulders.

  For ten years, she had pushed the wooden wheelchair without a shadow of complaint. She was accustomed to her duties, and used to thinking of them as a fixed part of her destiny. Nonetheless, that early spring a cold front had come from afar and descended quickly upon them. The morning of the old master's sudden death, Ai'ai had gone to the main hall without the slightest premonition of the great events. A magpie had been chattering on the eaves, and Ai'ai felt that her hands were a little cold. So she lifted up her hands, and blew some warmth into them, then rubbed them a little. And just at that moment, a long shriek of horror resounded, coming from somewhere quite nearby.

  Dressed very lightly in rumpled clothes, Peach Blossom rushed out and ran up to Naixiang. "Young master, it's the old master—he's dead!" Peach Blossom cried, badly shaken.

  Naixiang's fixed expression did not change at all. Ai'ai noticed that Peach Blossom was panting so hard that her firm breasts were leaping restlessly about, like a pair of rabbits caught in her unbuttoned clothes. Ai'ai was especially sensitive to women's bodies, and she could not tear her eyes away from the breasts. Peach Blossom grabbed hold of Naixiang by the front of his shirt, and spluttered again:

  "The old master's dead, young master."

  Still Naixiang's fixed expression did not change at all.

  2

  A large portrait of the deceased was placed on the mourning altar. It was a charcoal drawing, done from a photograph, hastily executed by an artist of no great skill. It jarred horribly with the solemnity due to a mourning hall. In the portrait, Old Master Zhen looked ecstatic, exceedingly compassionate and endearing. One could hardly look at it without wanting to giggle. They had placed the mourning altar in the Great Hall where guests were generally received, in the northeast corner. An enormous white cloth hid the bier and curtained off the coffin from the rest of the hall. The portrait was hanging from the white cloth.

  As the cold front arrived, sleet began to fall heavily. The snow reached the ground and melted almost immediately. On account of the old master's extraordinary proclivities, the hall was packed with stunning beauties, a genuine universe of women. Whether it was light work or heavy work—women did it; even the Estate gardeners were women. Women were everywhere, every manner of woman running in and out of the Great Hall, this way and that, as if nobody knew quite what they were about.

  The great gates, otherwise kept closed, were opened in honor of the grave occasion. Everyone was accustomed to coming in through the small side doors. Now, as soon as one came in through the great gates, one encountered a mourning canopy made of white cloth and held up by great thick shoots of tortoise-shell bamboo. This foyer led to the sedan chair hall and from there on to the main hall. Long, broad wooden boards had been set up, forming a walkway between the halls. The courtyard floor had thus been raised level with the Great Hall, and one could take in everything for a considerable distance at a glance. The floor had become like a long level road, spacious and magnificent. All the carpenters of the little town had been summoned to construct this floor, and it had taken them all day and all night. Uncounted quantities of wood had been used, and the air was filled with the crisp smell of newly sawn wood.

  All kinds of suspicious-looking men appeared one after the other at the great gates, having swiftly covered a considerable distance to attend the mourning, each of them a representative from some branch of the clan. They were dressed in long grey gowns, with muddy shoes, standing beneath umbrellas of oilcloth or of paper, casting furtive looks this way and that. The Zhen family was one branch of a very large clan, and it was obvious that for many this was their first opportunity to cross the threshold of this Estate, redolent with its legend. As they came in, they were dazed by the Estate's mystique.

  An old man known as Seventh Grandfather, thronged by a number of clan members who looked like country gentlemen, entered the Zhen Estate. Of all members of the Zhen Clan, Seventh Grandfather held the most senior position. When he appeared, it always meant that the clan was on the brink of a momentous decision. In fact, when the news of Old Master Zhen's demise had reached them, the Zhen Family had held a meeting in the ancestral hall directly. After much noisy deliberation, it had been unanimously decided that Seventh Grandfather would announce to the heiress Miss Yu the decision they had taken on her behalf.

  The Zhen clan's ancestral hall was in Yaoshan Village, at three miles' distance from the small town. In life, Old Master Zhen had seldom bothered much about his clansmen, and even on the days of ancestral worship, he had generally been too lazy to make an appearance. He was naturally rebellious against the feudal and Confucian order, and he harbored no warm feelings for his clansmen. But since he owned a great many fields in the countryside, he gave some money every year to the clan, and so they didn't dare offend him either. Ever since Naixiang's attack, the clan had held a number of meetings discussing what was to be done regarding the inheritance of Old Master Zhen's enormous property. Naixiang was incapacitated, and Old Master Zhen had no other male descendants. According to the old ways, Old Master Zhen's only daughter Miss Yu, being a woman, could not inherit property. The clan had been in agreement about the matter: Old Master Z
hen ought to select an honest, able nephew or other young male relative and adopt him. That man could then take on the management of the Zhen Estate in due time.

  This subject had been tactfully broached, provoking on each case a violent dressing-down from Old Master Zhen. "I'm not dead yet, but you have the nerve to stand there and make calculations about my property!" Recklessly, Old Master Zhen heaped scorn on his clansmen until they blushed to the roots of their hair, standing motionless as statues without daring to make any response. Old Master Zhen had been well-known for his strange tempers, and he had never paid the slightest heed to the risible decisions of the clan. Nothing beyond his own pleasure was worth considering. He had been unwilling to take any great trouble about his son's incapacity, nor was he going to lose sleep over what might happen after his death. His son Naixiang might be past helping, but the old master still had a bevy of concubines, and perhaps one of them might yet produce a nice little heir for him.

  Old Master Zhen's extraordinarily robust libido had always been a point of pride with him. When a man, even an old man, is performing well in bed, there's no likelihood that the thought of death will enter his mind. The Zhen Family was entering a rapid decline. Although it kept up its appearances and enjoyed its established reputation, it was readily apparent that this once-glorious Estate was on the brink of collapse. Old Master Zhen had been the representative figure of an era of decline. The future had held no meaning for Old Master Zhen, nor did it hold any meaning for the Zhen Estate as it fell more and more into disrepair.

  When Old Master Zhen realized that there was no chance of further offspring, he decided that management of the Estate would pass upon his death to his daughter. "Who says men and women have to be different? Well, I'm going to institute a new rule." The old master didn't care a bit that the old rule forbade female inheritance, telling the man who had come from the clan, "Once I go, this whole place will belong to my daughter, and there isn't a thing the rest of you can do about it."

  3

  Flicking off the raindrops as they walked underneath the long funeral canopy, the clansmen began to make their way to the funeral hall in twos and threes. As the only legitimate heir of the old master, Miss Yu was reposing lazily on the heated bed, her eyes closed. She was twenty-seven, very beautiful, and visibly spoiled. During these days of mourning, she seemed intent on deliberately vexing people. She was dressed in lively colours, which went very poorly with the solemn atmosphere of the funereal affairs.

  Mrs. Wu was obediently preparing the opium for her mistress. Mrs. Wu was formidable to look at, and since becoming Miss Yu's wet nurse she had never left service in the Estate. When the opium was ready, Mrs. Wu stopped the opening of the pipe and took a long, full breath. Then she breathed it slowly out over Miss Yu's face. For many years, Mrs. Wu had served Miss Yu, and she had acquired a very special standing among the servants. Now that Miss Yu held all the power, Mrs. Wu had formed the view that from now on some of the glory would reflect on her as well.

  Miss Yu's eyes were still closed. Already she felt the opium smoke enveloping her face, and the wings of her nose trembled slightly. Mrs. Wu solemnly continued to exhale smoke over Miss Yu's face. "Miss, now that your father is dead, and with your brother the way he is." Mrs. Wu was saying ingratiatingly as she exhaled, "The whole great big property is all yours."

  At this, Miss Yu's resting eyes opened for the first time. She had large, pretty eyes, and once she had opened them, her gaze passed over Mrs. Wu disdainfully; then she closed her eyes again. After a moment, she reopened them, and looked at Mrs. Wu with dilated eyeballs as though she had never seen her before.

  "All that property, more than you, miss, could have any use for in your whole life." Mrs. Wu was prattling on, and energetically sucked in the smoke in order once again to breathe it out over Miss Yu's face, "Really, even counting the next generation, it's more than anyone could put to use. Just think of it, in this family, you're the one who has the say-so now, isn't it?"

  Miss Yu, who appeared to be only half-listening, closed her eyes again. She was intoxicated by the haze of opium, and felt very lazy. Now she appeared to have fallen asleep.

  A young maid entered, blustering, "Miss, all the people from the outside are already here, and Seventh Grandfather's here, the Great Hall is just packed with people, all of them just waiting for you."

  Intoxicated by the opium, Miss Yu pretended not to have heard, and continued to enjoy the smoke at her own pace. No one ought to be there, bothering her. This here was the most pleasurable moment, and she didn't want to move a muscle. What was the big deal about Seventh Grandfather? So he had come, very well. Miss Yu felt that even if her father had come back from the dead, it was no concern of hers.

  "What, is Seventh Grandfather here too?" Mrs. Wu's face showed signs of alarm, "Miss, who would have thought that they'd bring even him here for the occasion." Mrs. Wu wanted to hurry Miss Yu a little, but she knew her mistress too well, and knew the more that she was hurried, the more her mistress would put on airs, so she turned to face the maid and said, "You go greet them, and let them know that the mistress will be along very soon, just as soon as she can."

  "Greet them? What for? Just let them wait." Miss Yu breathed gently.

  The maid ran off to pass the message on, while Miss Yu burst into malevolent laughter. She was a headstrong spinster, and often came up with wicked schemes. Of course, it was a very amusing thing to have all those men waiting obediently for her. She rolled her eyes mischievously before shutting them again. "What's all the fuss about? It's only that Seventh Grandfather or whatever his name is." She breathed in the smoke from the opium, which still hung in the air, and then said lackadaisically, "Why was today's pipe finished so quickly?"

  Before long, the maid ran in again with the intention of urging Miss Yu to hurry. She knew that Miss Yu had a peculiar temperament, so when she came in and saw Miss Yu, she didn't dare to say anything. Miss Yu, limp from head to toe, was lying on the heated bed, having satisfied her opium craving. She heard rapid footsteps, and knew it was the maid coming to hurry her again, but still she ignored it, desiring apparently to deliberately lengthen the wait of the people in the Great Hall. Mrs. Wu shook her head at the maid, indicating that there was no point in trying to rush someone like Miss Yu. The maid frowned in consternation, sighed, and whispered, "Oh dear, the Great Hall's just packed with people, what'll it look like if they're just kept waiting and waiting?"

  Miss Yu suddenly sat up, startling Mrs. Wu and the maid. "What'll it look like, indeed! I'm going now, aren't I?" Now that she had satisfied her addiction, she was in glowing spirits; she leapt off the bed and nearly ran off. Mrs. Wu, gradually recovering her wits, got a good hold of her and insisted that she change her clothes before going. Miss Yu turned back to look at her, looked askance at the mourning clothes the maid held in her hands, and said with great reluctance, "Must I really wear all that today?"

  Mrs. Wu said, "Well, when else would you ever wear it, if not today? My dear miss, you'll just have to make do, you'll just have to grin and bear it!"

  Mrs. Wu and the maid fell over themselves helping Miss Yu dress. Impatiently, Miss Yu stood in front of the dressing table, letting them handle her, until soon enough a great loose morning dress hung over her. She turned to looking at herself in the dressing table mirror, put on a very solemn expression, and rushed suddenly off.

  The form of Miss Yu in her white mourning dress rushed across the courtyard like a gust of wind and sped through the passageway. "Mistress, walk slowly!" Mrs. Wu and the maid called after her, rushing to catch up. They wanted to shout but didn't dare, and hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

  4

  The Great Hall was packed with people, a black mass of men, their patience frayed, loitering about holding whispered conversations. It had long been said that Miss Yu could match her father in eccentric humor. But on a matter as weighty as the mourning ceremonies, no amount of eccentricity could account for letting all these adult men stand abou
t like fools, waiting upon her pleasure. Seventh Grandfather, infirm with age, had been seated on an incomparable imperial-style armchair when the waiting had become too long. He sat in grave dignity and wore an expression of great displeasure. Beside him was Naixiang in his wooden wheelchair, his face set in the same expression it always had, exceedingly rigid and ridiculous. The events taking place seemed to have made no impression on Naixiang, and his presence there was entirely a matter of display.

  A large troop of women in mourning were kneeling before the portrait of the deceased. Because they were all wearing white, they looked from a distance like a snowfield. Their black hair, streaming out from their white caps, was like leaves falling on the snow. Besides Naixiang's principal wife Suqin, the others had all been the concubines of either the old or the young master. They varied widely in age and character, but at present all of them were earnestly kneeling there, not making a noise, silently pursuing their own thoughts. The Zhen Estate's great oak had fallen, and they did not know what would follow.

  Miss Yu burst into the mourning hall like a whirlwind. The grumbling conversations of the men ceased instantly. The kneeling women, startled by the abrupt silence, couldn't help turning back to see. Miss Yu had appeared ostentatiously at the door of the mourning hall, taking in the scene, looking as if she didn't care two bits for the whole affair. The hubbub had been interrupted for only a moment when a concubine clapped her hands, and then emitted a protracted dry wail. Following her lead, the other women produced a welter of moaning and keening, which rose and fell and filled the hall.

  Once again, the hall was thrown into disarray. Majestically, Miss Yu approached the portrait, and, in a seemingly intentional effort to shock all present, she knelt slowly down in an exceedingly affected manner and, under everyone's eyes, made three cursory kowtows to that portrait, which depicted Old Master Zhen in such a risible manner and with such a ridiculous expression. Her movements were rushed, clean and sharp, full of youthful vigor, lively like those of a strong young filly. As she kowtowed, people noticed that she was wearing red slippers embroidered with a floral pattern. Besides this, they also noticed that inside her mourning gown, her clothing was brightly colored.