MBSB C1

Chapter 1 — The Pretty Little Husband

It was the tenth of the second month, winter still hanging on. The New Year had passed barely more than a month ago.

Gongs, drums, suona. Firecrackers and congratulatory noise. Lu Li was crowded onto the edge of the bed. Auspicious talk from the wedding-women filled his ears. He only stared at the toes that did not fit the shoes, fists clenched so tight the fingers trembled.

The Du family were the richest household in the county—fat fields, shops everywhere, wealth without end. Everyone said marrying into such a house was a blessing accumulated by one’s ancestors. A pity the eldest son was a cripple, paralyzed for years, and strange in temper besides. Not an easy man to live with. Even the wedding bows had been completed with a rooster.

Under the veil, Lu Li’s loosened fingers caught the hem of the skirt again and pulled until the joints went white.

The bridal room quieted. Only a thin breath remained. Then the person on the bed spoke, broken, discontinuous, the voice scraped raw like a grindstone, faint as a ghost from the underworld.

“Taking a wife was not my wish. I am a dying man. Even the physicians say I will not live past twenty. Today is my birthday. I will certainly not last the night. If I die, they will make trouble for you. I have written a letter of divorce and set aside a generous sum. I will not touch you. Whether you return to your natal home or marry again is your affair. Even if you do nothing at all, that money will keep you for the rest of your life.”

Lu Li could not hold it. The rims of his eyes overflowed. Hot tears hit the back of his hand and were wiped away at once.

Du Siqing’s gaze fell on the boy’s hands—rough, mapped with small cuts. A pair of hands that had done too much bitter work. The family days at home had not been easy, then. Even the crying was stuffed carefully in the throat, no sound allowed out.

“The divorce letter and the bank notes are in the cabinet. You may look. I have not lied to you.”

The tears came faster, dripping without pause, impossible to wipe clean. The small shoulders jerked. Anyone could see he was wretched with grief. Du Siqing did not know what to do with himself.

Then he remembered: besides the groom, no one might lift the veil. Only this once. He kept that scrap of courtesy, sighed, and strained to reach the red cloth.

The fiery veil slid down.

A little face like peach blossom. Cheeks flushed redder than rouge. Full, moist lips parted and trembled. One accidental glance was enough to unsettle the heart.

Du Siqing’s eyes widened a fraction. He could not help forcing his body a little more upright. A withered hand rose and wiped the tears at Lu Li’s eye. “But rest easy. For as many days as I live, I will treat you well. I will not let you suffer.”

The fingers were ice. They rubbed back and forth at the corner of his eye. Lu Li was terrified. He did not dare move.

The man on the bed had hollow cheeks and a livid color. Powder had been smeared on for the sake of looking better and only made him more like a hanged ghost. Lu Li dropped his head hard. Fear ran through him. His whole body shook like chaff in a sieve.

Du Siqing had never kept company with girls or young men. He did not know what to do. Perhaps the sudden gesture had frightened him. He snatched the hand back, stumbling over the words. “Why are you shaking so hard? Are you cold? There isn’t enough charcoal in this room. Sit closer.”

Lu Li, weeping like rain on pear blossom, said nothing. He only shook his head again and again. The brilliant wedding clothes made him still more vivid—only the size was wrong, a full measure too large, hanging loose. Du Siqing found himself resenting it. A wedding was no small matter. How had they not even cut a set of clothes that fit?

So many tears. What a crying little thing. If he went on like this he would flood the bedchamber. Would he cry himself ill?

“I know you did not want this. Threats or inducements—you were forced. I will not blame you.”

Lu Li shook his head desperately.

Shyness, fear, distaste, disgust—any of it was permitted. Du Siqing did not care. With a face like his, even his own mother, were she still living, would not have liked him.

After the accident he had never thought of marrying. This inconvenient, ruined body had no right to ruin some family’s daughter or son. The household had never consulted his wishes.

He lay back down. “They said a lucky bride would improve my health. As if such miracles exist. If they did, the world would need no physicians—only temples and a few kowtows.”

Lu Li could not help it. His eyes curved into little crescents. A pair of dimples appeared in his cheeks, full of spring water, shimmering when he moved. Too pretty.

For the first time Du Siqing hoped, fiercely, that the gods were real.

Lu Li felt that burning stare, shut the smile at once, pressed his lips together, and hid his face in shadow. He did not want anyone to see.

Staring like that was unspeakably rude. Du Siqing looked elsewhere. “No one will come to make a row in the bridal chamber tonight. We should settle early.”

The heart Lu Li had just let down leapt into his throat again. He clutched the new clothes.

Du Siqing slept in the middle of the bed and took most of it. There was no room, and his legs could not be crowded. He had said he would not touch him.

Lu Li lifted his eyes and peeked around the room like a small mouse. A narrow couch stood at the foot of the bed. He gathered his courage and went toward it.

The chamber was cold. The couch had only a thin blanket. It would be colder still. A sturdy man would not bear it, let alone a slight, delicate boy. Before Lu Li’s hand reached the couch, a voice came from behind him.

“Come onto the bed.”

He stopped. His heart hammered like festival drums. He inched back as if going to his execution.

Liar. He said he wouldn’t…

Du Siqing had no idea what the boy was thinking. He shifted himself toward the outer side and left a space on the inner bed. Those few movements exhausted him. He lay panting, thin and low.

Lu Li first went into the inner room to wash. He took down the hair ornaments, cleaned his small face, and removed the bright wedding clothes, stroking the fabric with reluctance. When he came out he wore only a thin inner robe.

Night frost. Even with charcoal the room was raw. Cold crept into the joints. The ill-fitting robe gaped; half a shoulder showed, pale soft skin laid out without ceremony, white enough to shine. The collarbones stood clear.

Du Siqing was dazzled. Irritated. He shut his eyes and silently recited the classics.

Before leaving home Lu Li had been stuffed with a little illustrated book. He was afraid, but he was not entirely ignorant. He climbed up from the foot of the bed and burrowed under the covers.

A long time later he steeled himself, turned, and sat astride Du Siqing. He sniffled and reached, trembling, to undo the man’s frogs.

Du Siqing had been breathing in the faint sweet scent the boy had left when he crawled over. Then his abdomen tightened, his chest went cold. He snapped his eyes open and caught his own collar, words falling apart, like some untouched young wife. “Wh—what is it?”

Lu Li was shy and frightened, frail and pitiable. The fingers, finding nothing, did not know where to rest. He looked at Du Siqing with wide, wet, beautiful eyes, lost and timid.

Du Siqing understood at once. Even the tips of his ears went blood-red. “You needn’t… needn’t do any of that. I will not touch… touch you. Sleep. Just… sleep.”

Lu Li turned back, wrapped himself tight in his small quilt, and pressed to the innermost edge of the bed. Another person could have slept in the space between them.

The mattress was soft. The quilt was warm, like lying in cotton. Once he touched it he did not want to rise. If every day had a bed this yielding, that would be good too. Quietly he prayed that Du Siqing might live a few more days, so he could enjoy it properly before the man died.

His breathing evened and lengthened. Du Siqing could not sleep at all. He stared at the canopy, empty-eyed. He had meant to go to death calmly. Five years of this half-dead body—anyone would have lost the courage to live. Now he did not quite want to die.

Before dawn Lu Li woke. He reached carefully and tested Du Siqing’s breath. Weak, but there. He patted his own chest in relief.

Then, as always, he tidied himself and began on the room and the clothes. His dowry was almost nothing: two ragged quilts, a few garments washed colorless, not even a basin. He found a large tub in the courtyard, scrubbed yesterday’s things clean, and hung them in the yard.

He had just pegged the last piece when Nanny Li arrived uninvited. She looked Lu Li up and down and clicked her tongue.

“Oh, the young master is up so early to work. Well. The eldest young master is paralyzed and inconvenient. Indoor and out, it falls to the young master to manage.”

Lu Li did not catch the mockery. He only thought she was blocking the path. He waved her aside.

She stood like a post and put on airs. “Madam asks the young master to come and offer tea.”

The sky was not yet light. Most households still slept. It was not the hour for morning and evening greetings. Lu Li gestured.

Nanny Li frowned in distaste. “What are these ghost-scrawls? The eldest young master’s legs are inconvenient, so he need not go. Only the young master was called. Is Madam to wait on you?”

Lu Li could only nod.

—

Author’s note

Du Siqing: I’ll give you a divorce letter. That said… you are very pretty.