Shichahai (Part One)

Since the day she quarreled with her father, Ye Qianran had not left Zhuxue Pavilion. She wandered the courtyard, rarely visiting her beloved garden. Juanbi asked her why, but she never answered. She spent her days curled up in her room, reading. Ye An came to see her several times, and though she always assured him she was fine, in truth she dreaded facing her father. Although parents and children rarely hold grudges overnight, since that day, Ye Qianran no longer knew how to face him. She wished to apologize but could not bring herself to speak; yet not apologizing left her uneasy, as though a knot in her heart twisted endlessly.

On the third day, she finally steeled herself. She knew she was at fault and must apologize; otherwise, the guilt would linger forever. Breakfast was still taken in Zhuxue Pavilion. After tidying up, she went to Qinghui Hall, where her mother was helping her father arrange his clothes. Ye Qianran stood quietly in the corridor outside. The morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of flowers. Passing the pond, she saw lotus blossoms in full bloom, clusters of green leaves encircling delicate pink petals. In the clear water, the lotuses swayed shyly in the breeze, dew glistening on their petals, as fish darted playfully beneath. The jade disk her maid carried rippled gently, releasing fragrance as it swayed. Ye Qianran found the scene charming, bent to pick a blossom, and toyed with it in her hand.

Seeing her mother had finished organizing, she waved for Juanbi and Lülian to wait outside. Having not seen her father for days, she noticed he had grown thinner, which pained her. Kneeling before her parents, Ye Yuandao started in surprise, hurried to raise her, but she stubbornly refused, insisting on her gesture. Ye Yuandao sighed softly and sat down before her.

Her voice was steady yet gentle as Ye Qianran spoke: "Your daughter has failed to honor you by your knee, which is already unfilial. Worse, I angered you, father, which is a greater sin. My words were careless—I hope you will not take them to heart, nor grieve over a daughter so unworthy." She finished and bowed deeply three times.

Wen Qiumei hastily took a handkerchief to wipe her tears. Ye Yuandao’s eyes grew moist, yet his heart was gratified, a smile blooming on his lips: "Indeed, you are my daughter, Ye Yuandao’s child—raising you was not in vain."

The maids rushed forward to help her up, and Ye Yuandao spoke quietly, "Father too was at fault. No matter how angry I was, I should not have raised my hand against you."

"Master," Wen Qiumei chided him gently. "We’re family—what fault is there to speak of? I’ve found that Qianran’s temper is much like yours, truly a daughter worthy of her father." She teased him with a smile, dabbing away her tears.

The three all laughed, and Ye Qianran felt the weight in her heart lift.

She lingered with her parents for a long while, reminiscing about Ye An's mischievous childhood and Qianzhi’s unruliness. Though her parents had been married for over twenty years, their affection remained deep, an unspoken harmony flowing between them that made even Ye Qianran, an outsider, feel happiness.

"Through life and death, joy and sorrow, hand in hand until old age"—such were her parents.

Ye Qianran looked up at the sky; its transparent blue reminded her of a lady’s silk handkerchief, the clouds scattered across it like embroidered blossoms. Birds flashed overhead, leaving no trace. In the courtyard, ancient bonsai pines and cypresses flourished, bringing a touch of coolness to the blazing summer. Juanbi held a pale oil-paper parasol for Ye Qianran, decorated with bold peony blooms. They descended the steps gracefully. The June sun blazed mercilessly, heat thick in the air, as if intending to roast anyone who ventured out. Few people strolled in such weather, most hiding indoors for a brief respite. Ye Qianran had barely walked a few steps before sweat beaded on her brow, prompting her to wipe it away repeatedly. Though Qinghui Hall and Zhuxue Pavilion were close, the distance felt as long as a midday journey.

No sooner had Ye Qianran sat down than a young servant delivered a letter, addressed to "Ye Residence, Qianran’s Personal Attention." Lülian opened it and handed it to her.

It was Meng Lanyi’s handwriting—elegant yet lively, strong yet graceful, pure and upright. Her script was as vivid as her presence; as the saying goes, the person and their calligraphy are one, and indeed it was true.

The letter said: The heat is upon us, and there are few places in the capital to escape it. Shicha Lake is a fine spot to cool off. Would you join me there for relief from the summer? What do you think, sister?

Speaking of Meng Lanyi, since their chance encounter on the street months ago, they had met a few times, though not often. Ye Qianran had no close friends in the capital and was glad to share conversation, chess, tea, and music with Meng Lanyi. In their brief exchanges, Ye Qianran found that Meng Lanyi was not the demure, rule-abiding lady she had imagined. Meng Lanyi had mastered the Four Books and Five Classics; her father was Minister of Personnel, her younger brother still a child, so she often assisted her father with advice. Every document brought home passed through her hands, and over time, the Minister grew to rely greatly on his daughter.

The Ministry of Personnel managed the appointments, evaluations, promotions, transfers, and honors of officials across the realm. The Minister was its highest officer and chief among the central six ministries—a position of immense power. Yet this authority was wielded by a frail young woman, and when Meng Lanyi spoke of such matters, her demeanor was calm and indifferent, as if she were discussing the sweet cakes she’d eaten for lunch. This forced Ye Qianran to re-evaluate her; women rarely concerned themselves with state affairs, and though Ye Qianran herself read history and occasionally discussed politics with her brother and father, it was mere talk. Meng Lanyi, however, held real power, her words capable of lifting someone to prominence or casting them down.

Of course, Meng Lanyi confided in Ye Qianran alone; no one else knew.

Ye Qianran returned to herself, pondering. Meng Lanyi’s composure and sincerity made her easy to talk to; perhaps their shared interest in current affairs fostered a special affinity. Their conversations were comfortable, never awkward. After sending Lülian to seek her mother’s permission, Ye Qianran wrote a reply and dispatched it.

After lunch, Ye Qianran rested briefly. Upon waking, it was still early afternoon. She leafed through a poetry collection, the cicadas outside chirping incessantly, fraying her nerves. Juanbi and Lülian led several maids and servants into the courtyard to catch cicadas, their laughter and playful shouts drifting in. Ye Qianran felt a vague melancholy, and her mind wandered to memories of Jiangnan: summer afternoons spent lying on her grandmother’s lap, listening to tales of youth, sunlight flooding the courtyard, birds singing endlessly, afternoons stretching languid and gentle.

Those joys, those days, now could only linger in memory.

She sighed, realizing she was growing sentimental, and smiled bitterly.

Sitting before her dressing table, she studied her reflection in the bronze mirror. She had changed—less naïve, more composed; the slight lift at the corners of her eyes lent her a new maturity and allure. She had passed the age of coming-of-age, and indeed, it was time to mature. Perhaps soon she would be married, bear children, and live an ordinary life like other girls in the capital.

She set down the mirror and opened the top drawer. There lay a flawless jade pendant, quietly in the corner. Her gaze lingered, emotions surging within. She whispered softly, "There are trees on the mountain, branches on the trees; my heart delights in you, yet you do not know," caught between dream and waking.

When Ye An arrived at Zhuxue Pavilion, the courtyard was lively with maids and servants. Seeing him enter, they bowed and he smiled, waving them on. He strolled inside, where the incense burner filled the air with sweet sandalwood, its elegant fragrance soothing his restless mood. Ye Qianran heard footsteps and assumed it was Juanbi or Lülian, so she remained at her dressing table, lost in thought.

Ye An, standing behind the bead curtain, teased with a smile, "Sister, you seem to care less and less about your brother. I’m here, yet you don’t rise to greet me."

Ye Qianran started, then smiled and stood, lifting the curtain. She saw Ye An dressed in a moon-white silk robe embroidered with swirling clouds, a feather-blue sash accentuating his tall, graceful figure.

Her smile deepened as she sat beside him, her voice soft: "Though it’s afternoon, the heat hasn’t faded. What brings you here, brother?"

Ye An lowered his gaze, lips curving in a smile. "Of course, I came for a reason."

"Oh? What is it?" His candidness was rare, and Ye Qianran’s curiosity was piqued. She looked at him expectantly.

Ye An’s gaze lingered on the table. "Mother said you wish to visit Shicha Lake. May I accompany you?"

Ye Qianran’s heart skipped, her smile unwavering as she asked, "Why did brother suddenly decide to go with me?"

Ye An looked at her with a complex expression, then stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him, voice low. "You’re not going alone, are you?"

"You mean…?"

Ye An’s eyes betrayed a hint of pain. He nodded. "That’s why."

A rush of complicated feelings rose in Ye Qianran. She hadn’t realized her brother liked Sister Meng, and it seemed things were not going well.

Her mouth felt dry. "Does Sister Meng know?"

Ye An’s lips twisted bitterly, his voice shaded by sorrow. "If she wants to know, she knows. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t."

Ye Qianran found herself at a loss—perhaps anything she said would be unnecessary.

After a long silence, Ye An turned, forcing a smile. "It’s all right. I’m used to it, anyway."

He sat down, feigning lightness. "Your brother is already defeated by her in this life—there’s nothing to be done. You mustn’t follow my example; make sure you hold your own destiny."

A bitter feeling welled up in Ye Qianran’s heart. Hold her destiny? How could she, when some things remained beyond her grasp—wasn’t that so?