WSMTATMC C134

Chapter 134

At first sight, both families were a bit surprised, but Lady Gao was quickest to recover. “Truly fated—both families even come up the mountain to divine on the same day!”

Qin Furong smiled and nodded repeatedly; Madam Li also inclined her head.

With so many temples in the prefectural city, yet both chose the same one, and even the same day—indeed, an omen of affinity.

The younger generation rose to greet each other. Seeing her future mother-in-law, Chen Qingyun’s cheeks flushed slightly, yet she remained poised and gracious.

Qin Furong liked what she saw. “Sit, rest a bit. Madam, when did you arrive?”

“Only just,” said Madam Li. “We walked till we were tired and sat to rest—and by happy chance, met the two of you.”

The Liu family’s page offered water from a skin, and the two ladies also sat and drank a cup.

“Yesterday,” Qin Furong asked, “our servants went to your shop for vegetables and found it closed—did something happen?”

“Nothing amiss,” Wang Ying replied. “It’s just that produce from the fields is coming in now; shop business has slackened. So we shut for a rest—and won’t sell greens this year.”

“Not sell vegetables—then what?”

“In a bit, when the weather turns hot, cold drinks and ice sticks.”

The two ladies were surprised—not that they’d never tasted such things, but because in summer ice was very dear, and ordinary folk were loath to buy it.

Selling only to wealthy houses in the city wouldn’t move much. Cold sweets were not like vegetables that are eaten daily, and they don’t keep—what doesn’t sell in a day melts, and the loss is heavy.

Still, they said no more—someone else’s business; they knew little and did not wish to annoy by saying too much.

After resting a moment, the party continued up the mountain. Two turns later, Qingfeng Temple stood ahead.

This temple was built in the previous dynasty, some hundred and fifty years ago. It was half-destroyed in a past war, and after the founding of the Wu Dynasty, several merchants of the prefectural city financed a restoration.

In these years, incense had been strong; the grounds were tranquil. Many ladies from official families came to make offerings.

Qin Furong and Lady Gao often came—monks at the temple recognized them at a glance and stepped forward. “Peace and health to you, good patrons. It has been a while. Are your bodies well?”

“By your grace, all is well.” In winter, the mountain road was difficult, and they hadn’t come; this was their first visit since spring began.

“We’ve come today,” said Lady Gao, “to ask Master Qingxu to match eight characters. Might he be in?”

“He is in the hall—please come in.”

Qin Furong motioned to Madam Li and Fourth Aunt. “Let the children wait outside. It’s not easy to get out—let them look around the temple.”

The elders went in; Wang Ying took Lin Sui and Qingyun to bow at a side hall.

The main hall enshrined the Three Pure Ones; the hall to the right, the Three Officials—Heaven, Earth, and Water.

The images were carved of wood, painted with oils to depict their faces and robes; the craftsmanship looked superb—figures exquisite and lifelike.

The three knelt on cushions and bowed, then rose and went to the other side hall. There, the God of Wealth and the Old Man under the Moon were enshrined—likely the most popular hall, the beams blackened with smoke.

Because worshipers were in front, the three waited at the door; when the room cleared, they entered.

Naturally, Wang Ying went to the God of Wealth. He bought a string of high-grade incense from an acolyte, lit it, set it in the burner, and knelt with palms together to pray.

May the God of Wealth bless the shop with booming business, and this year with smooth success and great profit!

Qingyun knelt by the Old Man under the Moon, cheeks pink, hands together, eyes closed—praying her marriage be harmonious and happy, like her brother and sister-in-law’s…

Only Lin Sui stood in the middle, unsure whom to address. He thought to pray to the God of Wealth—but for now, he had no power to make money.

Helping beside his sister-in-law earned him two strings a month—far more than others. He knew that, by his own strength, he couldn’t even earn three hundred cash in a month.

As for praying for a match—still more vain. He was a gē’er who could not bear children; how could he hope for a good marriage?

A wave of desolation surged up, pressing the breath from him. He turned and stepped outside, to the steps, and let his tears fall in secret.

—

Below the mountain, Steward Chen tied the carriage by the roadside and sat at a tea stall to wait.

The stall’s owner was a man of years. With little business, he sat and chatted idly with Steward Chen.

They were speaking when hooves sounded—both started up and looked. A mounted party, six or seven in all, approached from not far off.

The leader was tall, with a square face and thick brows, a blue birthmark on his left cheek. Though he wore ordinary homespun, it could not hide his air. Those behind were seasoned men.

They reined in at the stall and tossed the proprietor a bit of broken silver. “Watch them.”

“Yes, yes—be easy, masters. I’ll keep them safe!”

Horses were many, more than one man could mind. Steward Chen helped bring a few and tie them to a tree.

“Many thanks, elder brother.”

“Think nothing of it.”

The stall owner nodded, then lowered his voice. “Do you recognize him? If I’m not mistaken, that man is Li Mu, Marquis of Wuping.”

Steward Chen didn’t know marquises, but idle and curious, he listened.

A tea man sees many patrons—among them noble ladies and young misses from the city. Whatever their station, when women gather, they love to gossip—so the stall keeper had heard much.

He confided in whispers. “This marquis is famous in the prefectural city. He was once only a secondary son of the Li clan. Because he was ugly, his father disliked him, and at thirteen he was sent to the army.”

“This man is something. In under two years he earned merit and rose to company commander; after successive victories, to battalion commander. Years ago, when the Northern Qiang invaded, he led three thousand and smashed them to pieces!”

By chance, that year was the new emperor’s accession. The victory delighted the sovereign, and Li Mu was ennobled a marquis.

Though the lowest of the third class, it was great honor, and his name blazed through Jizhou.

Steward Chen sipped and listened on.

“Yet such a hero fared poorly in marriage. His birth mother was only a concubine and could not make his match; it fell to the principal wife. Alas, the Li matron was ill-natured and disliked Li Mu; she chose a match at will—a wealthy merchant’s daughter in the city.”

“After marriage the woman bore him a girl—and the next year put a fine green hat on his head. She had had entanglements before the wedding; the child’s father was unknown. In fury, Li Mu beat the man half-crippled, divorced his wife, and broke with his own family.”

The affair had set the city abuzz then, a tale for tea and supper.

As for the protagonist, Li Mu was even now hurrying up the mountain. He had not come to pray—but to beg the abbot to treat his daughter.

The day before, the girl had fallen ill; a string of blister-like sores rose around her waist, the pain unbearable—she cried for days.

The doctor said it was “snake circling the waist,” a grave malady. If the blisters formed a full ring, the child would not survive.

Li Mu asked urgently—could it be treated?

The physician shook his head. “No ready cure. But it’s said the abbot here at Qingfeng once healed such a case—perhaps he has a way.”

On the spot, Li Mu led his men, galloped to Qingfeng, and begged for aid.

They hurried up the mountain, but at the door a novice blocked them. “Please wait, good patrons. There are ladies within—the abbot is matching a marriage. You must wait until he is free.”

“I have urgent need of the abbot’s aid—pray, elder, deliver a message!”

The novice was troubled. Divination was best not interrupted, and match-fixing was a great rite. “Please wait a moment longer.”

Behind him, a retainer soothed, “My lord—do not fret. At most, another quarter hour. The young lady will come to no harm.”

Fretful, Li Mu paced before the hall. He happened to see Lin Sui standing upon the high steps—tear-streaked, face ashen, and right beside a precipitous drop of many fathoms. Thinking he meant to fling himself off, Li Mu strode over, seized the boy’s robe, and yanked him back.

“Ah!” Lin Sui started, falling hard. For a moment, he could not catch himself.

Inside, Wang Ying and Qingyun heard and ran out, hauling up their cousin. “What happened?”

Lin Sui’s clothes were soiled, his palm skinned—the sting brought fresh tears. “I was just standing there—and this man suddenly lunged from behind and threw me down!”

Li Mu stood flustered. “I… thought you meant to jump…”

“Who’s jumping?” Lin Sui was already pained in heart; now his bones ached from the fall. He covered his face and burst into sobs.

“Forgive me—my fault.” Li Mu set a purse by his side. “Please accept this in apology; do not take offense, gentlemen.”

Just then, the door beside the main hall opened, and Qin Furong and the others came out smiling. Li Mu still pressed for time—he clasped his hands in a hasty salute and turned to go in.

“What happened?” Madam Li and Fourth Aunt hurried over.

“He was standing at the steps,” Wang Ying said. “That man must have thought he meant harm, and hauled him back a bit too hard—knocked him down.”

Madam Li took his hand to inspect. “Are you hurt?”

Lin Sui wiped his tears and shook his head. “No—just scraped a bit of skin on the palm.”

“This man! To come grabbing our gē’er like that—is he some street rogue?” It was natural for Madam Li to think so—Li Mu was tall and burly, with a blue birthmark on his face—a fierce look, not seeming a good sort.

Lady Gao recognized him and lowered her voice. “Careful—don’t speak at random. That is the Marquis of Wuping. He would not do such a thing.”

Madam Li startled—her hand flew to her mouth.

Lin Sui was shaken as well. He had not expected the man to be a marquis. The purse by his side suddenly felt scalding hot.