Leaving the Residence (1)

In the beginning, Ye Qianran found it difficult to adapt to life in the north. She tired easily, ate only a little at each meal, and was prone to insomnia. Despite her parents’ constant care and the maids’ and servants’ watchful attention, she still longed for Jiangnan, though she never let this show before her parents. Juanbi and Lülian, who had grown up with her, felt the same way—listless all day, moving through their tasks with lazy reluctance. Ye Qianran instructed them never to reveal their discontent in front of her parents, lest it deepen their parents’ sense of guilt. They reserved their complaints solely for her, lamenting how wonderful Jiangnan was and how unpleasant the capital seemed. Ye Qianran would only listen, offering a faint, quiet smile. In her heart, she shared their longing. Back in Jiangnan, she had yearned with all her heart to return to Beijing; yet now, having returned, she missed the south. What one cannot have always seems best—she understood this well. She knew she simply needed time to adjust, for, after all, this was her true home.

The Ye estate was vast and grand, courtyard after courtyard, pavilion after pavilion. The rear garden alone was twice as large as her maternal grandparents’ home in Jiangnan. At first, Ye Qianran was unaccustomed to it all, often losing her way—even unable to find her parents’ or brother’s quarters, leading to more than a few amusing incidents. As she roamed the grounds more frequently, she gradually familiarized herself with the layout. Her parents and younger sister resided in Qinghui Hall at the center of the estate, while her brother’s quarters, Chuyun Pavilion, stood in the southwest. Her own residence, Zhuxue Pavilion, echoed her brother’s in the southeast. From Zhuxue Pavilion, it took less than the time of half an incense stick to reach the rear garden, which quickly became her favorite place in the estate. Ancient trees towered, curious rocks were scattered throughout, mountains embraced water, and elegant pavilions dotted the landscape, with winding corridors and twisting paths. Five scenic spots—Bright Moon Studio, Winding Path to Secluded Nooks, Shaded Green Promenade, Fragrant Moon Pavilion, and Flowing Water Pavilion—combined to form a garden within the garden. Purple wisteria bloomed in tangled clusters, and sitting beneath the flower trellis felt like stepping into a painting. Only when wandering along the emerald hills, by clear waters and secluded terraces, did Ye Qianran feel she had reclaimed a long-lost sense of peace.

Whenever Ye Qianran missed Jiangnan, she would take Juanbi and Lülian to the garden. Over time, the ache of longing faded, and she grew accustomed to her surroundings, no longer pining to return south. Time indeed changes many things.

Unnoticed, a month had passed.

The weather in the capital was unlike that of Jiangnan. Though it was already March, the spring winds still carried a chill. The early spring was sharp and unpredictable, warm at times but still cold. After Juanbi and Lülian helped her wash and dress in the morning, Ye Qianran stepped out of Zhuxue Pavilion to see the cherry tree before the house battered and scattered by last night’s cold rain and wind. White petals covered the courtyard, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of earth. Petals mixed with soil, releasing a faint fragrance, as servants bustled about watering, sweeping, and trimming branches. Ye Qianran looked up at the sky, clear and blue as if washed by water, and a faint smile touched her lips. “An autumn rain brings a chill; a spring rain brings warmth. Today is sure to be a fine day,” she said lightly.

Juanbi and Lülian stood behind her, mimicking her pose as they gazed at the sky. Juanbi exclaimed excitedly, “Miss, why don’t we go out for a walk? We’ve been in the capital over a month and haven’t really seen the imperial city yet!” Ye Qianran’s heart stirred; she turned to look at the two of them, their delicate faces full of anticipation. A glint flashed in her eyes as she suddenly thought of a good idea. Feigning anger, she put on a stern face and scolded, “All you ever think about is playing. Have you ever done anything proper?” Juanbi and Lülian were immediately cowed, their faces flushing as they lowered their heads, not daring to look at her.

Seeing their embarrassed expressions, Ye Qianran couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Juanbi and Lülian glanced at each other and instantly understood; they leapt up to catch her, but Ye Qianran, anticipating them, was already running ahead, her laughter ringing like silver bells through the spring air. Suddenly, the sun seemed brighter.

After breakfast, having sought her parents’ permission and made her preparations, it was already a quarter past nine. Ye Qianran wore a simple green butterfly hairpin in her hair, her long black hair cascading to her waist like a waterfall. She donned a pale apricot jacket embroidered with chrysanthemums and a green skirt patterned with plum blossoms, tied at the waist with a light silk sash. Standing beneath the long corridor of the Ye estate, the spring breeze lifted the hair at her temples like fluttering ribbons of ink. Willows brushed the air, catkins drifted everywhere, and from distant branches came the plaintive call of the cuckoo. She stretched out her slender, fair hand, catching a willow catkin in her palm, and suddenly recalled a line from “Dream Song”: “How can this be but the last velvet of brocade? Half a curtain of fragrant mist curls up. My slender hand lifts it away, leaving only the cuckoo’s lament and the swallow’s envy. Stay, stay! Do not let spring slip away.”

Juanbi and Lülian had already left Zhuxue Pavilion and now stood quietly, watching her lost in thought beneath the corridor. Sunlight filtered through the dense layers and fell upon her, illuminating her beauty until she seemed to glow like a painting. Juanbi found herself momentarily entranced. Lülian sighed softly, thinking to herself, “Miss is beautiful, and her spirit is lofty; no ordinary man could ever catch her eye. I wonder what kind of man could ever win her hand. They say beauty brings disaster—who knows if her beauty will be a blessing or a curse?”

That sigh pulled Ye Qianran from her reverie. She turned and asked, “Is everything ready?” Juanbi and Lülian nodded, and having bid farewell to her parents, Ye Qianran was urged by her mother to take her brother along, as she was unfamiliar with the capital. Ye Qianran, being used to her independence, felt uncomfortable with a companion—even her own brother, Ye An, made her feel restrained. She gently persuaded her mother for a while before her mother relented, only urging her to return early. Ye Qianran nodded with a smile, then left the estate with Juanbi and Lülian, boarding their carriage.

The carriage headed west and soon arrived at the most bustling street in the capital. On either side of the road, upturned eaves with green tiles soared skyward, and tall banners marked inns and taverns. Pawnshops, banks, and jewelry stores lined the street. People bustled in and out, and all manner of hawkers loudly peddled their wares—paintings, antiques, jewels, fruits, vegetables, cosmetics, kites, sachets, local snacks—so many that the eye was dazzled. People in every manner of dress came and went, and the tasseled carriage made its way through the throng. Ye Qianran alighted with Juanbi and Lülian, strolling and taking in the sights. The gentle spring breeze caressed her face, warm and comforting, filling her heart with an indescribable contentment.

They stopped at a stall selling sugar figures. The vendor, an old man with hair and beard now white and a face lined with wrinkles, smiled with the wisdom of one who had seen much and said, “Miss, buy a sugar figure—may all your wishes come true and everything go as you desire.”

Ye Qianran smiled as she looked over the sugar figures: tigers, fawns, mice, crabapple, peony, lilac, even depictions of Guan Yu, Cao Cao, and Liu Bei. Juanbi picked up a sugar figure she couldn’t name and asked curiously, “Who is this?” Ye Qianran followed Juanbi’s gaze to see a middle-aged man in an official’s robe and hat. She searched her memory for famous figures from history but could not recall who it might be, so she waited, curious, for the old man’s answer. A fleeting look of melancholy passed through the old man’s eyes, but he soon resumed his smile, saying, “That is Li Bowen, once a founding minister of the Western Dynasty. Unfortunately, the emperor of the West grew fearful of his ministers’ power and built a Pavilion of Merit, which he set ablaze. Li Bowen narrowly escaped, met a sugar figure vendor on the road, swapped clothes with him, and from then on lived incognito, selling sugar figures for a living.”

His voice was low and hoarse, as if coming from a great distance.

Ye Qianran took the sugar figure from Juanbi and examined it closely, noticing a striking resemblance between the sugar figure’s features and those of the old man. The thought flashed through her mind. She had read all the histories but had never heard of such a founding minister of the Western Dynasty. However, among the founding ministers of the current dynasty, there was a Zhu Bowen, rumored to have been the emperor Liu Ao’s chief counselor, advising him in the early days of the dynasty, helping to pacify the realm and soothe the people. Liu Ao had once praised him as being even greater than Zhang Liang or Xiao He of Han. But Zhu Bowen disappeared in the ninth year of Baokang, vanishing without a trace. Some said he became a monk, others that he went into obscurity, never again concerning himself with state affairs. If Ye Qianran’s guess was correct, this elderly vendor was none other than Zhu Bowen himself. Like the reigning emperor, he was now aged, and as he spoke of bygone days, a strange look flickered across his face—perhaps recalling those years when he moved the world. Of course, this was only Ye Qianran’s conjecture, but whether or not it was true no longer mattered. The emperor had grown old, and so had he, yet the country was young. She wondered, as he looked at this prosperous imperial city with peace reigning across the land, whether, on some dark and sleepless night, he felt a measure of comfort. No matter how wary the old emperor had been, Zhu Bowen had once been a friend who shared hardship and glory, and in the end, he was immortalized in the annals of history.

Beneath the feet of the emperor, in the radiant imperial capital, how many stories lay hidden among the common people, how many secrets buried deep? Ye Qianran sighed and let the thought go. The stories woven through life were far more vivid than those recorded in history books.

She set the sugar figure down and her gaze drifted over the other figures on the stall, suddenly lighting on one in particular. She picked it up—it was Daji, the last princess of the Shang Dynasty. The old man was taken aback for a moment, then stroked his beard and smiled. “Now there’s a venomous beauty. Do you like her, miss?”

Daji was remembered as a femme fatale, cruel and wicked, who brought ruin to the Shang Dynasty. Ye Qianran wasn’t sure herself why she was so drawn to her; perhaps it was because her grandmother often said her eyes resembled Daji’s. Perhaps, in some mysterious way, she felt a special affinity for her—not quite liking, not quite disliking, but something unique.

Ye Qianran’s gaze lingered on the sugar figure as she spoke softly, “Daji’s infamy was imposed upon her by later generations. In the chronicles of the Spring and Autumn period, there is no mention of her whatsoever. The tales of torture, wine pools and meat forests, and the death of Bi Gan are nothing but rumor and slander.”

“Oh? I’d like to hear more,” the old man replied.

“The Records of the Historian by Sima Qian recounts: ‘When Emperor Yi died, his son Xin took the throne as King Zhou, and all the land called him Zhou... he loved drink and pleasure, and was devoted to women. He favored Daji, and heeded her words.’ But King Zhou was fierce and willful by nature, disdaining the advice of others. Daji was merely his companion in his later years, hardly one whose word was law, let alone someone who could sway the politics of Shang. Her vilification was a political ploy by the Zhou, meant to incite public outrage and rally opposition against King Zhou. Thus, they painted Daji as a wicked, depraved temptress and King Zhou as a cruel, wanton tyrant—a puppet ruled by a woman. In truth, Daji was no more than a scapegoat, like Lady Yang of the Tang Dynasty—a beauty blamed for a nation’s fall. She was neither vicious nor cruel nor a viper in human form. Like all the famed beauties of history, her fate was never her own.”

As she finished, she looked up slowly. The old man nodded in approval, saying, “In all my years as a street vendor, I’ve never heard such insight. Miss, you have a keen mind and a discerning eye.”

Ye Qianran lowered her head, smiling modestly. “You flatter me, sir. It’s but a humble opinion.”

The old man smiled. “You are too modest. Since you favor this sugar figure, please accept it as a gift—a small token of my regard.”

Ye Qianran tried to refuse, hastily calling Lülian to pay, but the old man firmly declined, saying that if she refused, she would be insulting him. Seeing his insistence, Ye Qianran had no choice but to accept, thanking him repeatedly before finally departing.