Chapter 80: The Rogue in Bloom

The position of Chief Attendant to the Privy Council in the Song Dynasty had its origins in the late Tang, where the role was to receive and transmit memorials. Established in the seventh year of Taiping Xingguo, the office retained the function of presenting matters at court and forwarding military documents. However, with the changing nature of the Privy Council and the Song Dynasty’s strict separation of civil and military governance, the selection for this post shifted from military officials, to clerks, to civil officials. During Emperor Shenzong’s reign, the chief post was given to civil officials while military men served as deputies, though Shenzong himself preferred the latter; under Emperor Zhezong, it returned to the civil officials’ hands.

The office of Chief Attendant to the Privy Council could be seen as both significant and insignificant. Its importance lay in its role as a conduit, facilitating communication between higher and lower echelons—a key position in the bureaucratic machine. Yet it was not among the truly powerful posts; it did not grant entry into the innermost circles of decision-making, the core of governance. Above the Chief Attendant were, beyond the emperor, the chief ministers and heads of various departments, such as the Director of the Privy Council and the Minister of Revenue.

In the early years of Shaosheng, Cai Jing held the influential post of Minister of Revenue, a step away from becoming a chief minister. When his career seemed smooth and he believed he was about to ascend into the ranks of the highest officials, Zeng Bu memorialized Emperor Zhao Xu, pointing out that Cai Jing’s own younger brother, Cai Bian, was already serving in the Privy Council—implying that the two brothers should not serve in high office together. Zhao Xu agreed, and Cai Jing’s ascent was abruptly halted; he was transferred to the post of Chief Attendant to the Privy Council, a position of little consequence.

This was one reason why Zhang Dun worked so hard to win Cai Jing over.

Naturally, Cai Jing was far from content; he constantly schemed for a return to power. While he was racking his brains over this at home, Cai Rongxue came to see him.

“Immortal in exile, over these years, how have I treated you?” Cai Jing asked after understanding her purpose.

“My lord’s kindness to me is as deep as the mountains,” Cai Rongxue replied, offering a deep curtsey.

“No need for such ceremony,” Cai Jing said with a gentle gesture. “Though you... I have never regarded you as an outsider, always as my own daughter—perhaps even dearer. Hearing your words brings me great comfort. I have often thought, no matter what, I must find you a good family, to ensure you a happy marriage and bring peace to your brother’s soul. But you are still young; it is too soon to discuss such matters. We shall speak of this again in time. What do you think?”

A faint blush colored Cai Rongxue’s cheeks, though the veil she wore concealed it from others; only her eyes betrayed her shyness.

“I shall leave everything to your discretion,” she replied softly.

“Very well, you may go now,” Cai Jing said.

As she turned to leave, he called after her, “When will you remove your veil?”

Since the day her brother died and Cai Jing took her in as his foster daughter, Cai Rongxue had always worn a veil, never once taking it off.

“That depends on your wishes, my lord,” she answered.

...

“Sanlang...” Lady Fu, wringing her hands in anxiety, glanced at Li Sanjian and said hesitantly, “Mother always seems to bring you trouble... always embarrasses you...”

It would not be true to claim that Li Sanjian had no complaints against Lady Fu; in truth, he harbored some resentment, however faint. He had always been strongly opposed to this match. The notion of “marrying within one’s station” was deeply ingrained—how could a poor family like his hope to marry the daughter of a great household? He still did not know the identity of the head of the Cai family, but by now it was clear that they belonged to the ranks of high officials. To come so boldly with a marriage proposal—wasn’t that just courting disaster?

Yet Lady Fu was his own mother; how could he bear to utter a word of reproach? After all, there are no parents who are ever truly wrong—this, too, he understood.

Lady Fu was scarcely past thirty and had been widowed young. She had followed her husband in life, and now, with him gone, devoted herself entirely to her son. This devotion made Li Sanjian’s heart ache. Sometimes, he even wished his mother would remarry; not only would he not oppose it, he would support her. But he also knew that, though she was not Han, her belief in lifelong fidelity was even stronger than that of Han women. If she would not speak of it, how could he dare broach the subject? The only thing he could do was redouble his filial devotion and try to comfort his pitiable mother.

Thinking this, he seated Lady Fu gently and said, “Mother, haven’t I said it before? A man’s word is his bond. You have done nothing wrong. But, Mother, since they have broken faith, let us put this marriage out of our minds. What do you say?”

Lady Fu tidied the stray hairs at his temples and replied, “The poor should not aim too high—how could I not understand this? But I keep remembering your father’s dying words... Sigh, let it be. I shall find you a good girl from a respectable family.”

“Mother, why are you in such a hurry?” Li Sanjian muttered. “I’m only sixteen, not yet seventeen—isn’t it a bit early?”

His heart was young and he had accomplished nothing—he was far from ready to start a family.

“Nonsense,” Lady Fu retorted. “Sixteen is not young! Many men your age already have children. Not that I... but still...”

Her expression clouded with worry. “I know our family is poor, but surely we can find a good, honest girl.”

“Oh, Mother...” Li Sanjian said, half laughing, half exasperated, steadying her. “I’ll soon be taking the examination. Let’s talk about this after, all right? Besides, what man worries about finding a wife? I’ll bring you ten—or even eight—daughters-in-law, and then give you a whole brood of grandchildren...”

What? Ten or eight? Lady Fu stared at him, itching to box his ears—what a shameless thing to say! Such a roguish boy—was his father ever like this?

But as she imagined herself surrounded by sons’ wives and grandchildren, the whole family thriving, she couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Shame on you...” Little Bean Sprout, tapping her cheek with a finger, teased, “Brother, you really have no shame. You’re a real rogue!”

Both Li Sanjian and Lady Fu burst out laughing.

“You little scamp,” Li Sanjian said, tugging her pigtails. “Where did you learn to call me a rogue?”

“Ow, that hurts!” Little Bean Sprout wriggled free and replied, “In the capital, no one dares cross that Flower Rogue—people sing songs about him...”

Children’s street songs? Li Sanjian shook his head. He had no idea who this “Flower Rogue” was to the children of Kaifeng, but he was certain it was not himself.

After unbraiding Little Bean Sprout’s hair, Lady Fu began weaving it anew as she said, “Shankui is already grown; it’s time he settled down as well. Though we are poor, we should find him a good wife.”

The more time they spent together, the more Lady Fu, like Li Sanjian, began to see Shankui and Little Bean Sprout as her own children. Still, to hear her call the mountain-like Shankui “child” was somehow jarring to Li Sanjian.

He nodded in agreement. Shankui was already about twenty, more than old enough to start a family. It was time to find him a suitable match. He couldn’t follow Li Sanjian around forever, rootless.

But Shankui was not Han, and still a servant. That part could be resolved, but would any girl in Kaifeng marry someone with an unknown origin? A real headache, Li Sanjian thought privately.

“Sanlang,” Lady Fu continued, braiding hair, “after the New Year, I’ll find work as a maid, to help with expenses.”

“Absolutely not!” Li Sanjian said, alarmed.

“Why not?” Lady Fu asked, startled. “Are you worried I’ll tire myself out? When we lived by the sea, I did all the housework, indoors and out.”

“That’s precisely it,” Li Sanjian replied. “I’m afraid you’ll exhaust yourself. Back then, I was too young to understand, but now that I’m grown, how could I let you go out and work? Mother, is our household really so short of money?”

He had won considerable prizes at the lantern festival—enough to keep them comfortable for some time. There was no need for Lady Fu to work herself to the bone.

It wasn’t about pride—what pride could a poor family have? He was afraid not only that Lady Fu would wear herself out, but that she might suffer further humiliation. If that happened again, he would lose his mind. He remembered how he felt standing outside the Cai residence, seeing his mother insulted—he had nearly lost control then, and dreaded what he might do if it happened again.

“We can’t live off what we have forever,” Lady Fu sighed.

Despite Li Sanjian’s winnings, there was still no steady income, and with four mouths to feed, and both Shankui and himself to marry off, things would soon become tight again.

“Don’t worry, Mother. I won’t let you go out and work,” Li Sanjian said firmly.

“Second Mother, master, I’m back!” At that moment, Shankui pushed open the door, bringing a flurry of snow in with him.