loved, I wouldnever want to forget them, even if it gave me pain until the end of my days.”
By the time Xifeng returns to her apartment after overseeing dinner at Lady Jia’s, it is after ten o’clock. For the first time since she can remember, Ping’er is not waiting for her, to rub her aching feet or to fix her a snack. As she stands there in the gloom of the empty front room, she hears the talking and laughing and clink of dishes from down the hall. The new couple is celebrating their wedding night in the new bedroom that has been prepared for Ping’er. She hears Lian’s voice, his braying laugh punctuating his stories about the horses he has bought and the wagers he has won. Occasionally she catches Ping’er’s voice, bleating a reply, or giving a self-conscious titter.
She advances slowly into the room and lights the lamps. Ping’er’s clothes lie in a tangle on the kang . The dressing table is littered with hairpins and face powder. She cannot stand to leave the room like this. She folds Ping’er’s clothes. She thinks of calling for one of the junior maids, but decides not to. She does not want anyone else to be a witness to this scene that is so humiliating to her.
She puts Ping’er’s clothes away. Autumn comes in from the courtyard holding a kettle of wine in one hand and a stack of food boxes in the other. She seems surprised to see Xifeng there and gives a nervous little bow.
“Why didn’t you clean up this mess?” Xifeng says.
“I’ve been busy fetching food and wine for Master Lian and Mistress Ping’er. I’ll do it as soon as I’ve delivered these dishes.”
Nevertheless, after Autumn has scuttled down the hallway to Ping’er’s room, Xifeng lingers there instead of going to her own bedroom, both dreading what she will overhear and unable to tear herself away. She hears Lian joking with Autumn as she serves them the food. She gets a broom and sweeps the floor.
Autumn reappears, this time with a stack of dirty dishes. “I can clean the room now, if you like,” she says. “Master Lian said they won’t be needing anything more.”
“Never mind. I’ll do it myself. Why don’t you take that stuff back to the kitchens?”
Alone now, Xifeng arranges the hairpins and cosmetics neatly in thedrawers. She sweeps the spilled powder onto a sheet of paper, and folds the paper in half to pour the powder back into its little jade box. She can no longer hear talking from Ping’er’s room. She tells herself she should go to bed, but she cannot bear to face the emptiness of her bedroom. She has never, for as long as she can remember, gone to bed alone. When she was a little girl in Chang’an, Ping’er had slept beside her every night. Then, when she was married, she slept with Lian. If he was out late, Ping’er would come in to make up her bed and blow out the lamp.
She shuts the front door and shoots the bolt into place, looking around for another task. Her eyes fall on her loom in the corner, long unused since she became responsible for running the household. She takes a lamp from the desk and carries it to the loom. When she removes the dust cover, she sees that she had been working on a pillowcase with a pattern of a pair of mandarin ducks drifting among lotuses. She had completed the top third, the ducks shading off into nothingness below their crested heads and arched necks.
After staring at the pattern, she sits down before the loom. As if about to begin a difficult piece on the zither, she flexes her fingers, then flicks back her sleeves. With her left hand she takes up the shuttle wound with silver thread. She places her right hand below the weft, and she begins to pass the shuttle back and forth between her two hands, working it over and under the threads. Her fingers are clumsy at first, but after a minute or two they regain their old rhythm, the shuttle becoming a blur between her hands. Even in her concentration, she listens for sounds from Ping’er’s rooms. She
By the time Xifeng returns to her apartment after overseeing dinner at Lady Jia’s, it is after ten o’clock. For the first time since she can remember, Ping’er is not waiting for her, to rub her aching feet or to fix her a snack. As she stands there in the gloom of the empty front room, she hears the talking and laughing and clink of dishes from down the hall. The new couple is celebrating their wedding night in the new bedroom that has been prepared for Ping’er. She hears Lian’s voice, his braying laugh punctuating his stories about the horses he has bought and the wagers he has won. Occasionally she catches Ping’er’s voice, bleating a reply, or giving a self-conscious titter.
She advances slowly into the room and lights the lamps. Ping’er’s clothes lie in a tangle on the kang . The dressing table is littered with hairpins and face powder. She cannot stand to leave the room like this. She folds Ping’er’s clothes. She thinks of calling for one of the junior maids, but decides not to. She does not want anyone else to be a witness to this scene that is so humiliating to her.
She puts Ping’er’s clothes away. Autumn comes in from the courtyard holding a kettle of wine in one hand and a stack of food boxes in the other. She seems surprised to see Xifeng there and gives a nervous little bow.
“Why didn’t you clean up this mess?” Xifeng says.
“I’ve been busy fetching food and wine for Master Lian and Mistress Ping’er. I’ll do it as soon as I’ve delivered these dishes.”
Nevertheless, after Autumn has scuttled down the hallway to Ping’er’s room, Xifeng lingers there instead of going to her own bedroom, both dreading what she will overhear and unable to tear herself away. She hears Lian joking with Autumn as she serves them the food. She gets a broom and sweeps the floor.
Autumn reappears, this time with a stack of dirty dishes. “I can clean the room now, if you like,” she says. “Master Lian said they won’t be needing anything more.”
“Never mind. I’ll do it myself. Why don’t you take that stuff back to the kitchens?”
Alone now, Xifeng arranges the hairpins and cosmetics neatly in thedrawers. She sweeps the spilled powder onto a sheet of paper, and folds the paper in half to pour the powder back into its little jade box. She can no longer hear talking from Ping’er’s room. She tells herself she should go to bed, but she cannot bear to face the emptiness of her bedroom. She has never, for as long as she can remember, gone to bed alone. When she was a little girl in Chang’an, Ping’er had slept beside her every night. Then, when she was married, she slept with Lian. If he was out late, Ping’er would come in to make up her bed and blow out the lamp.
She shuts the front door and shoots the bolt into place, looking around for another task. Her eyes fall on her loom in the corner, long unused since she became responsible for running the household. She takes a lamp from the desk and carries it to the loom. When she removes the dust cover, she sees that she had been working on a pillowcase with a pattern of a pair of mandarin ducks drifting among lotuses. She had completed the top third, the ducks shading off into nothingness below their crested heads and arched necks.
After staring at the pattern, she sits down before the loom. As if about to begin a difficult piece on the zither, she flexes her fingers, then flicks back her sleeves. With her left hand she takes up the shuttle wound with silver thread. She places her right hand below the weft, and she begins to pass the shuttle back and forth between her two hands, working it over and under the threads. Her fingers are clumsy at first, but after a minute or two they regain their old rhythm, the shuttle becoming a blur between her hands. Even in her concentration, she listens for sounds from Ping’er’s rooms. She
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