Chapter Seventy-Nine: The First Birthday Ritual

The imperial mausoleum lay to the north, leaning against Cloud Mountain, where layers of peaks rose one after another, shrouded in utter tranquility. The rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves echoed far along the blue stone path. By rights, someone like Lin Tianyu should not have been allowed to enter the imperial mausoleum, but this time he accompanied Anzi as part of the ritual entourage, following behind him.

Anzi walked the path with an uncertain feeling; he had never met his mother, the Empress, not even once. All his impressions of her came from the recollections of others and lacked any profound emotional connection.

Upon entering the imperial mausoleum, the foremost sensation was one of chilling gloom—a place long abandoned by the living, devoid of vitality. The officials who came to greet them seemed particularly lifeless, as though weighed down by the silence of the tombs. Anzi made his way to the Empress Yuan’s resting place. He found himself unable to summon deeper feelings, offering only a single stick of incense before departing. Lin Tianyu, however, was different; he had much to say before the Empress Yuan’s grave.

Once outside, Anzi noticed a small house nearby containing some of the late Empress’s personal belongings. He pushed the door open and entered. In the center hung a portrait of the Empress Yuan—in the heart of spring, apricot blossoms fluttering down, the young woman stood before the flowering tree, her smile radiant.

“So, this is what she looked like...” For the first time, Anzi felt that all his vague memories began to take on distinct form; the figure of his mother became clear at last.

Lin Tianyu spent the entire afternoon talking endlessly before the Empress’s tomb, while Anzi lingered in the little house all day, gazing at her portrait, reading the books she once read, touching the zither she once played.

By evening, Anzi and Lin Tianyu walked out of the mausoleum together, both in low spirits. Anzi noticed Lin Tianyu’s eyes, red and swollen with tears. They walked in silence, only parting ways at the palace gates.

That night, Qi Nanxing found time to dine with Anzi. Their meal was light, and with only Steward Wan in attendance, the father and son dispensed with formalities. Qi Nanxing picked up a piece of Chinese yam and placed it in Anzi’s bowl. “This yam is well-cooked and good for you. Try it.”

Anzi picked up the piece of yam. “Can you tell me what she was like?”

“Your mother, you mean?”

“I... I don’t remember her at all.”

Qi Nanxing patted his head. “That’s not your fault. You were far too little then. Let’s eat first. Afterward, I’ll tell you all about her.”

After their meal, with a pot of light wine and a cup of tea, they sat together as countless ordinary fathers and sons have done, recalling the woman they both missed.

“When your mother was a child, she was round and plump. I remember the first time I saw her, it was in the snow—I thought she was a snowball, and I was shocked when she suddenly moved...”

“She was very bold. The grand tutor who taught painting was a peculiar man, not even giving face to the late emperor, but your mother had a knack for wheedling and coaxing. She even tugged at the old tutor’s beard, and strangely, he doted on her. He entrusted her with many of his treasured possessions. The painting beneath the apricot blossoms was his work. She cherished it deeply, though I found it merely captured half her charm...”

“One year, forced to learn embroidery, she ran away from home, climbing over the wall and slipping, breaking her arm in the fall. Yet she was happy afterward—said she wouldn’t have to learn embroidery anymore. Even so, she mastered it in the end... When she was still healthy, she made you many close-fitting garments, shoes, and socks. I’ve stored them all for you...”

“She loved reading, and after she read, she’d come up with all sorts of strange logic that was impossible to refute. She loved it best when no one could out-argue her; her eyes would curve into a delighted smile...”

Qi Nanxing didn’t know how many cups he had drunk. He felt himself growing tipsy, intoxicated by memories of her bright eyes, lost in those irretrievable years.

Anzi listened in silence. When he saw his father slumping over the table, he was about to help him rest when Steward Wan hurried over. “Allow me, Your Highness.”

Anzi did not insist, but lingered a moment before leaving the hall and heading toward Alder Pavilion.

That night, Anzi dreamed of a woman in plain robes, sewing a pair of little tiger-head shoes, stitch by stitch. When he awoke the next morning, his pillow was slightly damp. Had he wept in his sleep? Perhaps.

Two months had passed since their arrival in Yangzhou, and Gan Sui was growing more adept at his duties. The children’s first birthday was fast approaching. In Yangzhou, the zhua zhou ceremony was especially valued: on a child’s first birthday, they were dressed in new clothes and, after a ceremonial bath, presented with items to grasp.

The objects for the ceremony had long been prepared for Yu Huai: a seal, a toy horse, the Three Character Classic, brush, ink, paper, inkstone, abacus, bow and arrows, among others. Banxia remembered reading somewhere about a child who once grabbed a box of rouge during their ceremony. Yu Huai was already fair-skinned; if he followed in the steps of Jia Baoyu and grew up effeminate, she’d probably be driven to tears.

After Banxia arranged the items, Gan Sui carried the child in. Yu Huai looked around happily, wriggling with excitement and promptly grabbed the seal.

“The young master has picked the seal—he’ll be blessed with official success, destined for a prosperous future...” Xiangyu, who had already consulted the elders about the rituals, immediately recited auspicious words as Yu Huai made his choice. Yu Huai licked the seal—finding it unpalatable, he tossed it away and grabbed the abacus instead. The clatter delighted him, and he clung to it tightly, crying, “Mama... mama...” He began calling “mama” at nine months, the sweet, tender call moving Banxia to tears. Gan Sui had been trying hard to teach him to say “papa,” but the child refused, much to his frustration.

“It seems our young master is destined to be a finance official,” Xiangyu joked, smoothing things over.

When it came time for Liuguang’s ceremony, the bow and Three Character Classic were removed from the table and replaced with rouge, silk flowers, zither, and chess set. Liuguang was still half asleep when brought in; since eight months old, she had been unusually fond of sleeping, rarely awake. Even the physician could find no cause.

“Come now, Liuguang, see what you like?”

“Sleepy!” Liuguang seldom spoke, but when she did, she expressed exactly what she wanted.

“Choose first, then sleep!”

Banxia pinched her daughter’s soft little cheek, watching her dazed expression. Liuguang looked around, then casually picked up a shiny object, handed it to her mother, and promptly buried herself in Banxia’s arms and fell asleep.

“What’s this?” Banxia didn’t recall preparing such an item. Looking closer, she realized it was a small dagger.

“That must be the self-defense dagger Master Uncle bought for the young master and miss. How did it end up here? Shall we let her pick again?”

“No need, she’s already asleep. Let it be—at least it shows she’ll be skilled in the martial arts.” Besides, with Liuguang’s formidable temper upon waking, Banxia never disturbed her slumber.

She turned to Gan Sui. “Look at your daughter, grabbing a weapon. With such ferocity, who’ll dare marry her in the future?”

“Our Liuguang is still young. No need to worry about that now. Even if she never marries, I can provide for her,” Gan Sui replied. “No random pig will ever take away my precious cabbage—not in this lifetime.”

The day after the ceremony, the chief weaver’s household sent an invitation: next month, on the fifteenth, his daughter would have her coming-of-age ceremony, and they were specially invited to attend. Banxia had never been to such an event and was curious. That afternoon, she prepared to go out and select a gift.

Banxia took Xiangyu with her. Once in the carriage, Xiangyu began to gossip. “I hear the chief weaver’s daughter is very fortunate. Her engagement is with someone from the capital—a prince, I think. She must be beautiful.”

“Looks aren’t everything. The chief weaver’s mother was herself a noble lady, the emperor’s cousin. Her granddaughter marrying a prince is perfectly well-matched.”

“Still, marrying so far away, if she’s wronged in that big household with no one to support her, she’d have no place to even cry.”

“Her grandmother is still in the capital, and with such a family background, I doubt anyone would dare bully her. Are you worrying on her behalf because you wish to be married yourself?” Banxia teased, accustomed to joking with Xiangyu.

“Not at all...” Xiangyu’s face flushed. “I intend to serve you all my life, madam.”

“I won’t keep you all your life. A grown girl cannot be kept at home; better you find a good match and set my mind at ease.” As they spoke, they arrived at a jewelry shop.

Banxia and Xiangyu entered, where a young mistress and her maid were already picking out ornaments. The girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, wore a pleated skirt embroidered with dancing butterflies and pearl earrings. Her complexion was as fair as snow. She tried on a pair of ruby earrings, set them down, and then left with her maid.

Banxia approached and, finding the ruby earrings quite lovely, picked them up for a closer look, about to make her purchase when a voice sounded behind her. “Shopkeeper, I’ll take those earrings.”

“Young Master Gongsun, but this lady—” The shopkeeper hesitated, as Banxia was holding them.

“It’s nothing. I’ll look at something else,” Banxia replied, not so enamored as to insist.

“Many thanks for your kindness, madam. I intend these as a gift for someone. If you fancy anything else, allow me to buy it for you as an apology.”

“No need. They weren’t mine to begin with,” Banxia said, turning to browse other items.

The shopkeeper wrapped the earrings. “Safe travels, Young Master Gongsun—”

The young man apologized again to Banxia and departed. As Banxia examined the other pieces, the assistant began to chatter, “Madam, don’t worry about it. That gentleman has more money than he knows what to do with. The coins that slip through his fingers could feed a small family for half a year.”

“Who is he?”

“The eldest son of the Salt Guild... They transport all the salt in Yangzhou. It’s said their fortune rivals the waters of the Qiantang River.”

“You exaggerate, young man. Salt taxes are limited each year...”

“There’s official salt, but also private salt... You have no idea—”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” The shopkeeper sternly interrupted, and the assistant fell silent, aggrieved.

“Don’t mind him, madam. Just choose what you like.”

Banxia smiled and finally selected a set of gold-and-jade hairpins before returning home.

That evening at dinner, Banxia told Gan Sui about her encounter.

“The man you met must have been Gongsun Tiandong, third generation of the Gongsun family. His grandfather started as a dock laborer and eventually became the Salt Guild’s chief. His father is capable of maintaining the status quo but lacks ambition and is rumored to be a drunkard, leaving the household in chaos. His mother is a devout Buddhist, and he has a string of half-brothers eyeing his position. Still, he is talented, and now it’s said he’s colluding with the salt merchants, looking to expand his domain. This could be a good opening for us.”

“Is there really smuggling of private salt?”

“Undoubtedly. Salt is a daily necessity, with huge profits. The government’s salt supply is limited, and though smuggling is risky, the profits are high—there will always be those willing to take the risk. But I doubt Gongsun would dare act alone; he must have someone behind him.”

“Well, that’s your concern. I’m going to bed.”

“If madam wishes to rest, how could I not attend you personally? Come, tonight I’ll show you my skills.”