WSMTATMC C65

Chapter 65

Qingyun held the jade pendant in her hands, at a loss, glancing toward her mother.

Just from its luster and color one could tell it was of extraordinary worth. In ancient times though gold and silver were prized, fine jade was even more valuable—such a piece could be exchanged in Tianyang County for a large mansion.

“This… this is far too precious. I cannot accept it,” Qingyun said quickly, trying to return it.

But Li Cheng picked it up again and placed it firmly into his niece’s palm. “Keep it. This is a gift from your grandfather. Your mother’s words do not make the decision.”

In the end, still bewildered, Qingyun kept the pendant, carefully tucking it near her body in her pouch, frightened she might drop it.

The old man chatted a little more, then grew exhausted.

Madam Li helped her father to lie back down. “Rest for a while—we will not leave. The family will stay to accompany you these next few days.”

The group withdrew, leaving only two maidservants by his side to tend him.

Her eldest sister-in-law, Madam Wen, a thoughtful woman, sensed the estranged siblings had too many unsaid words to easily speak. She kindly began conversation with Madam Li.

“These years you never returned, but in truth the old master always thought of you.”

“It was my fault. I always thought Father blamed me and never wished to see us. So I dared not return.”

“How could that be? You were the youngest daughter of the family. He barely had enough love for you—how could he resent you?”

In fact the Li family once had four children. The eldest was Li Cheng. The second and third had not survived—both fell ill in youth. Thus by the time of little Shuer (Li’s birth name), their parents loved her with the deepest intensity, hence scolded sternly.³

Back in the front hall, Madam Wen ordered servants to prepare a meal. “You’ve journeyed far—surely weary. Eat and rest early.”

Another cousin, Li Binwen, had returned. He now held a minor official post as an eighth-rank registrar⁴ in the county yamen. Though a small post, he still had to check in daily.

His nature was more open than his elder brother’s. Seeing Chen Qingyan, he warmly embraced him. “You resemble my father so much—even more than I and my brother do!”

Madam Wen laughed. “Of course—a nephew resembles his uncle.”

“How many days did your journey take?”

“Five days. The snow on the road made travel difficult,” Qingyan replied.

“So far! One day when convenient, my brother and I must visit your county. I heard Longquan County has a renowned spring.”

Indeed, nearby there was a great spring. Legends told that centuries ago, a dragon was born there—Longquan County took its name from that very “Dragon Spring.”

“If you come, write in advance. We will take you touring together.”

“Good! I shall certainly send word ahead.”

Li Cheng, who had been quiet, suddenly served his sister some food. With a light cough, he said: “Since you’ve come, stay several days. Father’s spirit grew much brighter upon seeing you.”

“Yes,” Madam Li nodded in agreement.

Madam Wen added, “He could scarcely eat a mouth these days. But today, he drank half a bowl of porridge. Perhaps as the weather warms, he will recover.”

Just then, a cry rang from outside: “Not good—the Great Master is passing!”

They abandoned the meal and rushed toward the rear courtyard.

Because Wang Ying was pregnant and feared to draw in “death energy,” Chen Qingyan held him back, as well as his younger siblings. “Both of you stay here with sister-in-law. Help me watch over him!” Then he himself hastened into the sickroom.

Inside, the old master could no longer speak. The vitality from before was gone. His eyes shut, mouth gaping, breath rasping harshly with a rattling whistle.

Madam Li dropped to her knees at the bedside, clutching his hand, weeping. “Father, Father—what is wrong? Please wake up!”

Perhaps recognizing his daughter’s cries, the old man opened his eyes with difficulty. He raised a trembling finger, pointing toward his son.

Li Cheng too knelt at the side, choked with sobs. “Father—whatever last words, please speak them now.”

With the last of his strength, the old man placed his son’s hand upon his daughter’s, patted twice, and closed his eyes forever.

“Father! Father!”

Brother and sister broke down wailing—childlike once more, crying their grievances to their father. Yet this time none could raise them with comfort.

The old Master Li had lingered bedridden long; his passing now could be considered fortunate, as his coffin and burial garments had long been prepared.

By custom, his descendants must change his clothing. Li Cheng dismissed others, then with his two sons dressed their father. Enduring heartache, he ordered servants to hang the white streamer at the gate and deliver funeral notices to kin.

Sons and grandsons changed into mourning attire. For funerals, no red or green could be worn—the plainer, the better.

Wang Ying had only prepared two changes of clothing, but their colors were too vivid. Li Binwen’s husband found one of his own plain robes from when he too had been pregnant, and lent it.

After dressing, they assembled the funeral shed. The corpse was carried to the front hall, laid east-to-west, covered by burial cloth, with a long-light lantern lit above.

Madam Li and Madam Wen knelt crying at his side, burning spirit money paper. Li Binwen and Li Bingchen’s spouses also knelt behind them in mourning. Normally, Wang Ying too ought to kneel, but with his months advanced, fearing harm, they excused him back to rest.

The funeral messages had barely left when mourners arrived in waves—not only family, but also many scholars drawn by renown.

The Li family being notable, all manner of people came. Even the county magistrate dispatched attendants to offer respects.

Li Cheng had no leisure for his grief, busy hosting all comers. Chen Qingyan, with his two cousins, stood also to assist, until by deep night, when finally the visitors dwindled.

The men kept vigil by the coffin, the women behind.

Chen Qingyan supported his mother. “Please take care of your health.”

Madam Li’s eyes were swollen red; she nodded weakly, and maids and older women helped her back to her room.

“Why do you wait up so late?” she asked faintly.

Wang Ying replied gently, “They were worried and insisted on staying until you returned.”

Madam Li sank into her chair, exhausted. Qingsong quickly offered her a bowl of hot broth.

But she had no appetite. “Children, look well to your sister-in-law.”

“Yes.”

“Qingyun, keep that jade pendant properly. With crowds and many hands, make sure it is not lost.”

Qingyun immediately took it from her breast and offered it to her mother. “You keep it. I’m afraid I might break it.”

Madam Li accepted, and at once recalled her father’s words. Tears fell upon the jade drop by drop. After a long while, her sobs subsided. “Its late. Go rest. I will also sleep.”

Wang Ying offered a few words of comfort, then returned to his quarters. He himself was utterly worn out. With pregnancy and days of travel in carts, his back ached dreadfully, both legs swollen and sore.

Back in the room, he undressed hastily and fell asleep.

In the night, half-conscious, he heard the door creak. He opened his eyes to see Chen Qingyan entering.

Attempting to rise, he was pressed back gently. “Sleep. I’ve returned.”

Wang Ying clasped his hand. “Why is it so cold?”

“I was outside just now, sending off a guest with Cousin.”

“Be careful not to catch a chill.”

“Yes.” Qingyan tucked in the quilt corners. “Were you uncomfortable today?”

“Not too much—just some soreness in my back, and my feet ache.”

Qingyan reached under the covers and massaged his lower back. “These days have been hard on you.”

“I can manage. But take care with Mother—I fear grief will undo her health.”

“I know.” In truth, compared to Li, her children did not feel great grief: after all this was their first time meeting their grandfather, nearly a stranger to them.

But for Madam Li, it was different. She already carried guilt in her heart, and now, with his sudden passing, it was hard to accept.

Voices echoed again outside; more mourners had arrived.

“What time is it?” asked Wang Ying.

“Just past the chou-hour [1-3 a.m.]. Sleep again. When dawn comes I’ll have Qingyun bring you food. With so much commotion outside, you three stay in the room today.”

“Alright.”

Qingyan bent and kissed his brow. “I’m going back. Sleep.”

Wang Ying slept again, and when he woke it was almost midday.

After a night’s rest, his body felt less strained. The funeral would last seven days before burial; only then could they depart. This meant they would be on the road through the fifteenth of the first month.

On the second day, even more guests came. The Li family was large. The late master had been third-born—two elder brothers still living, and a younger.

Uncles numbered over a dozen, with some away in official service. The cousins were even more numerous. The house was bursting.

Thus the two children stayed in the room with Wang Ying, lest they be lost amid the crowds.

Qingsong read a book; Qingyun fiddled with a handkerchief, sighing, “Sister-in-law, I want to go home…”

Wang Ying beckoned her over. “Just a few more days. We mustn’t leave now—only just reconciled with your maternal kin. This is not the time.”

“I know, I only grumble,” said the sensible girl.

At noon, Qingyan came to eat with them. His eyes darkened with sleepless circles, voice weary from two days of night watch.

After the meal, eldest uncle Li Cheng shooed him away to rest in his chamber.

Not until the seventh day, when the coffin was carried out, did Wang Ying and the children don funeral clothes and join the procession.

The courtyard overflowed with people, all clad in sackcloth mourning robes. Men gathered to select pallbearers; women and husbands grouped together talking of how grand or costly the funeral arrangements must be.

Seeing Wang Ying and the children emerge, Madam Li hurried forward. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” said Wang Ying. “Only the wind stings the face.”

The weather was harsh. The morning gale brought needling snowflakes striking the cheeks painfully.

“When the procession leaves the city,” Madam Li urged, “you need only escort us to the gate, and then return.”

“Yes.”

The ancestral grave of the Li family lay on a hillside outside the city. To carry the coffin that whole way was no task Wang Ying could risk in his state.

When the appointed time came, the men shouldered the coffin. As daughter, Madam Li was required by custom to steady the coffin, and she instructed Qingyun and Qingsong to care closely for Wang Ying.

With the clang of a gong, Li Cheng lifted the banner and cried, “Father—departing now!”

The eldest grandson, Li Binwen, smashed a clay basin, and sixteen men raised the coffin, carrying it out the gates.

Paper money rained through the sky, mingling with snowflakes as they drifted.

The women’s wails arose all together—a mournful dirge echoing from ancient times.

notes:

1. Xiucai (秀才): Licentiate degree in the imperial examination system. 
2. Eighth-rank registrar (八品主簿): A very low-level post in the bureaucratic hierarchy, handling records and administration at the county level. 
3. Strict love (责之切): Parents often scolded or chastised their most cherished children severely, believing strictness showed love. 
4. Funeral customs: Breaking of a clay basin when the coffin departs symbolizes severing ties with the deceased’s soul. White streamers (白幡) marked mourning.