TBTTSP - Chapter 19
Chapter 19: Xu Wanqing Tells a Story (6)
The story of Ximen Qing was all over the city.
The literati criticized it, calling its perspective shallow. It was merely about the lives of common folk, yet rife with lewd and vulgar affairs. They wondered what sort of scoundrel had written it to pander to the masses, insisting it should have been banned long ago.
Xu Wanqing peeked her head out of the sedan chair for a glance. It had been so long since she had been out on the streets that the sight felt strangely novel.
Suddenly, her left hand was grasped. She turned to see the Squire, who said, "They say a woman's virtue is her lack of talent. They confine their daughters to the home, depriving them of worldly knowledge, so of course they seem shallow. But there are also women of insight, like you, my lady. If you ask me, you should be the one traveling to see the mountains and rivers while I manage the household—and who ever said managing a household was easy?"
She listened, captivated, and couldn't help but smile. "You jest, Husband. A woman's duty is to support her husband, raise her children, and manage the household on his behalf."
"Do you truly think so?" the Squire teased, as if he didn't believe her. His phoenix eyes tilted up slightly. His hands were pale and delicate, but the backs of them were clammy against hers, like squid tentacles wrapped around her wrist, filling her with a strange unease.
"Of course."
"I'll get the truth out of you sooner or later," the Squire said gently, releasing her hand. "But speaking of supporting a husband and raising children... aren't we missing something?"
A cold sweat broke out on Xu Wanqing's back, but she kept a smile on her face. "Are you in such a hurry?"
They exchanged an ambiguous, flirtatious glance. Xu Wanqing gave a shy smile, saving the Squire's face while lying to hide her true feelings.
After returning home, she was told that many guests had arrived.
That evening, she met the guests. The Squire presided over the gathering, while she spoke from behind a curtain.
"My lady, please speak your mind. No one outside can see you."
Despite his reassurance, she remained silent.
The curtain was a hazy screen, through which she could make out the silhouettes of four or five people. The shadows cast by the lamps and the moon were exceptionally indistinct, twisting together and bleeding into one another. The resulting image was like murky, yellowish wastewater flowing across the fabric before her.
Behind the curtain, she sat on a daybed. There was a lamp by her side and a small table before her, set with paper and a brush.
The men were talking.
One of them said, "This dynasty's story isn't over yet. It's not right for you to be writing such things."
Another said something else: "With the Crown Prince's favor, why should we fear beheading? Nothing gets done unless a young head rolls."
It was as if she had burned a hole through a gauze screen to glimpse a catastrophe raging in a sea of fire. Just from listening, she could guess what they were doing.
They were plotting a rebellion.
She heard them say that as soon as The Golden Lotus came out, some claimed such corruption and chaos must be a fabrication, or perhaps someone had intentionally concocted it to slander the court.
They probably had never seen The Exposure of the Official World.
Most of them were scholars who used paper and brush as their weapons. They wanted people to hear of the dynasty's evils. They made a pact to write novels and essays, which they would then disseminate, all while praising the Crown Prince's virtues to make the people understand.
She could no longer hear clearly. After all the guests had left, the Squire came around from behind the curtain. She rose solemnly and bowed. "Your wife is dull-witted and fears she cannot be of any help. I couldn't understand what was being said—"
"Did you truly not understand?"
She froze. The lie hovered on her lips, unspoken. The best course of action would have been to feign ignorance, but she had paused to think, and the moment for that had already passed.
The Squire said, "Of course we won't involve you. But a woman should also be aware of the affairs of the state. The emperor now listens to that hook-nosed Taoist and cares only for refining elixirs. The people are suffering. It is only natural that the throne should change hands."
"The Crown Prince?"
The moment the question left her lips, she regretted it.
One of the great advantages of being a woman was that you could ignore everything, know nothing, and thereby avoid inviting disaster.
"We've received reliable word. The emperor is preparing to depose the Crown Prince, so the matter is urgent."
"What can you do, Husband?"
"Merely choose a wise ruler for the common people, enlighten their minds, and let them decide for themselves whether the emperor is good or not."
She dared not ask any more. She simply attended to him as he prepared for bed, then retired to another room, drenched in a cold sweat.
It was time to return to the future, but she couldn't let go of her worries. She lay down, filled with anxiety.
She awoke with a heavy burden of worry, feeling utterly helpless. The notebook lay by her pillow as usual. She picked it up and began to flip through its pages.
Shang Yi and Zhang Xu were merely people of a later age; they couldn't possibly understand her circumstances.
Especially Shang Yi. She couldn't even grasp the object of Xu Wanqing's gratitude and had simply gotten angry with her.
Oh, Shang Yi had gotten angry.
She was probably angry that I might have said those words to someone else.
She, too, felt her words had been ambiguous. But her gratitude had continued to ferment until it became an unspeakable vat of sour vinegar. When Shang Yi failed to understand, she had felt abandoned, crying so wretchedly and losing all her composure.
Shang Yi had written in the notebook:
I've left Pingdu. Call if there's an emergency.
Left? Where to? The world outside Pingdu was completely foreign to her. How would she ever know where to find Shang Yi?
Shang Yi had just left, washing her hands of the matter without a word of explanation, leaving Xu Wanqing feeling like a lonely wife pining away in her boudoir.
Who would care for her affections? With this thought, Xu Wanqing closed the notebook, composed herself, and went to the private school.
In the morning, another package arrived. Shang Yi had specifically addressed it: To Xu Wanqing.
After finishing the morning broadcast exercises, she waited for Li Zhaodi to leave before opening the package. Inside were a book and a box.
The book was another one from the reading list she'd been given. Nestled inside the box was a silver hairpin.
Why would Shang Yi send this? She couldn't wear it herself. The only way to enjoy it would be to put it in Zhang Xu's hair, but Zhang Xu's hair was too short. Sending a hairpin was like giving someone an umbrella on a sunny day—utterly useless.
She couldn't fathom the gesture's meaning. She gently lifted the lid and saw a note:
Don't be angry anymore. I was stupid.
I saw this the other day and thought it was beautiful. It would suit you.
How could she know what I look like? To presume to say whether it suited me felt like a perfunctory attempt to placate me. But for someone from ancient times, the gift of a hairpin was a gesture of special affection. She hastily put the items away, unsure whether to be pleased or angry, and did her best to suppress her emotions.
Back in her room, lying on her bed, the meaning of it all slowly began to sink in.
Shang Yi had admitted she was wrong.
For such a spontaneous and charming woman to admit "I was stupid" to her made her heart flutter.
Shang Yi was older than her, after all, and her coaxing words were especially pleasant to the ear.
She truly wished she could have seen Shang Yi's expression as she wrote those words. Was she being teasingly perfunctory, or was she coaxing her as gracefully as the words themselves suggested?
She was no longer angry. She closed her eyes. The sun was perfect, warming her body as it streamed into the room, and for a moment, she had no desire to get up.
The sound of footsteps came from outside. She immediately sat up and bowed. "Husband."
"The guests are coming again today. You were silent yesterday; I thought you had fallen asleep. You must be sure to share your profound insights today."
"But..."
"You'll be behind the curtain. Who will know it's you? A woman should be aware of the affairs of the state. You're only listening. If things truly come to a head, I'll send you back to your ancestral home in Suzhou well in advance. I've already prepared an escape route. Do you still not trust me?"
"I wouldn't dare..."
She rose helplessly. The Squire's face shone with a radiant glow, as if someone had dusted it with gold powder. He carried himself with a dignified air and had a gentle, refined manner. Aside from his age, he was everything she had ever dreamed of in a husband.
That night, more guests arrived. Some voices were familiar, others strange. As before, they pontificated from their indistinct world behind the curtain. She dared not reply, and so she remained silent for another evening.
"If you remain silent, I'll start to think someone else wrote that book. If you refuse to speak, all my painstaking efforts will have been for naught..."
The Squire seemed quite hurt, as if she were a disappointment, frustrated by her failure to live up to her potential.
"I'm afraid I... am not skilled with words. I hope you will forgive me, Husband," she replied, choosing her words carefully.
"You need not come anymore. However, you must continue to read every day. And listen to me—your Golden Lotus is selling very well. If you could write another, it would be a true testament to your abilities."
The Squire was urging her to write a book.
Ultimately, she was afraid of her husbands. Both Squire Wang and Scholar Wang had been taller and more imposing than her. They would press down on her, releasing their urges with all their might, their bodies and faces contorting into monstrous shapes, leaving her with nothing but a body full of pain. She also knew she was a remarried woman; to be treated with courtesy was already an unexpected blessing. If she disobeyed her husband's command, she feared she would be divorced yet again.
Her father and brothers could not bear to lose face again.
The matter of The Golden Lotus had been an accident; she had never intended to plagiarize another's work.
But what if she were to truly write something herself?
She lifted her brush, only to gently set it down again.
Writing novels meant fabricating tales of right and wrong. It was said that authors would suffer retribution for their work.
When she next returned to the future, Shang Yi had left a message in the notebook:
Everything okay lately?
She hadn't responded previously, so Shang Yi was likely worried she was still angry.
Zhang Xu replied:
Fine.
She slowly put her brush to paper:
Nothing of note has happened recently. My husband...
She scribbled out the words "My husband."
Nothing of note has happened recently. I have a mind to write a book. The Golden Lotus has already been published, and I have another story I could write. But it is said that writing novels brings retribution, so I have not yet put my brush to paper.
A day later, a reply appeared:
Write.
I'll take the retribution.
Below it was a short piece of writing, something that looked like a cross between a story and a diary entry. It was about someone trying and failing to buy a pair of shoes. It was exceptionally dull.
The last line read:
I can't write, but this should count as a novel. I'm still alive and well, so you can see those people are spouting nonsense.
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