WSMTATMC C79

Chapter 79

The carriage clip-clopped along the official road toward Jizhou Prefecture.

This was the tenth day of travel for Chen Qingyan and his companions. Though their hearts still ached with homesickness, the three gradually adapted to life on the road.

Each morning after washing, they began the day by walking for half an hour to exercise. As Master Liang put it, sitting long in a carriage makes the bones rust, and over time it will surely lead to illness.

After exercise, they boarded the carriage and began morning reading. The material wasn’t limited to the Four Books and Five Classics—histories and miscellanies were also allowed—but whatever was read had to be followed by a written summary and reflections.

Additionally, Chen Qingyan and Chen Qinghuai had to write one policy essay each, while Qingsong copied large characters for five pages.

Writing in a carriage inevitably made the brush shake, but Master Liang’s standards did not relent; anything poorly written or blotted had to be rewritten.

At first, the three suffered considerably, but with time they learned to find calm amid motion and could produce properly formed characters even as the carriage jolted.

When passing through Qingyang County, Liang Boqing decided they would enter the city to rest for a day before continuing—Qingyang had a magnificent waterfall. With a drop of seventeen zhang, its torrents sprayed in a spectacular sight; it was the perfect moment to appreciate it.

As they neared the falls, the thunder of water reached their ears. It was early spring, the ice melting; the flood was at its height, the water rushing straight down the cliff from a hundred feet, plunging into a dark pool, misting the entire basin, where sunlight drew a seven-colored rainbow—breathtaking.

“Quick, bring pen and paper!” Master Liang cried.

Qingsong ran back to the carriage and fetched paper, brush, and a board.

Seated right on the ground, Master Liang’s brush flew. In the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, he had finished a “Rhapsody on the Waterfall.”

“Hung stream of a hundred feet, cleaving the green of mountains.

White silks droop from the heavens, frost-spray scatters in the deep ravine;

Silver River pours down, thunder roars upon the hidden tarn.

At first a trickle from clouded cave, gathering to heaven’s vast sash.

Cliffs crumble and stones split, resounding like a dragon’s cry in the great gorge;

Pearls leap and foam turns back, bright as a merman weeping upon an icy tray.

Its form: gazed up from below, like a rainbow drinking from the brook; peered down from above, like a jade dragon coiling round the ridge.

In clear sun it scatters seven hues, a bright bow piercing peaks;

With rain and gloom, a myriad drums shake the earth, snowy waves assault the sky.

Flowers of rock and grasses of stream are at times bathed in numinous dew;

Mist pavilions and clouded windows are long filled with pure cold.

Most wondrous beneath the moon: Heaven’s lamp twinned with water,

Shattering jade and pearl for a thousand fathoms;

Winds and vapors stilled, a hanging mirror of ice in the ninth heaven.

Its flowing voice washes mortal ears;

Its limpid soul purifies the dust of men.” Note 1

The three standing behind him were struck dumb—this was their first time witnessing their master display his talent before them. No wonder he was called the foremost talent of Jiangnan: to compose such a superb piece in minutes left them far behind.

When he finished, Chen Qingyan hurried to read it, let the ink dry, then carefully folded and stored it.

They toured the falls by day and stayed within the city at night. After several nights in post stations, they could finally sleep at an inn.

They took three rooms, two to a room: Ershun and Chen Guang (the attendant sent by Fourth Uncle) together; Qinghuai and Qingsong together; and Chen Qingyan shared with Master Liang.

Perhaps the day had been tiring—after serving his teacher with washing, Qingyan lay down and quickly fell asleep. When the old man was asleep, Qingyan quietly snuffed the candle and entered the experimental field.

Inside the field, the sun was bright. Wang Ying had not yet arrived. Qingyan took a stroll, picked a few fruits, and sat under a tree reading and eating.

After a quarter-hour, he suddenly heard a soft babble of sounds.

He looked up with a start—little Yuanbao, in his split-crotch pants, toddled in!

“Yuanbao?”

“Dad—Daddy…” Yuanbao, showing a few tiny milk teeth, ran toward him in wobbly steps.

Qingyan quickly scooped him up, joyfully lifting him high. “How did you get here? Where’s your Ah Fu?”

“Ah Fu—eating—Yuanbao play.”

Qingyan pieced it together: Wang Ying must be eating outside and had let the boy play for a while—and the child had toddled into the field!

No one knew how Yuanbao had entered the field, but the surprise was real and overwhelming.

Qingyan smothered his son in kisses, wiped the fruit, and shared it.

The child was thrilled; he had not seen Daddy for many days, and clung to his neck without wanting to let go.

They played wildly in the field for a long time before Qingyan realized—why hadn’t Wang Ying come in yet? Could it be he didn’t know Yuanbao was here?

Back outside, the manor household was nearly frantic.

Before dusk, Wang Ying had been playing with Yuanbao in the courtyard. The little one had just learned to walk these past few days and refused to stay indoors; he insisted on playing outside.

The courtyard was spacious and level; although there was a brook, it was shallow—less than half a foot—so there wasn’t much danger. He was allowed to play outside most days.

When it neared mealtime, Madam Li called Wang Ying to bring egg custard for the child. Wang Ying left Yuanbao briefly in the rear courtyard to fetch it—only a few seconds—and in that instant, the child slipped into the experimental field. When Wang Ying came out, Yuanbao had vanished.

His scalp went numb; he nearly dropped the bowl.

“Mother! Mother!”

“What is it?” Hearing something wrong in his voice, Madam Li ran out.

“Yuanbao is gone!”

“What?!”

She was terrified. “He’s so little—he can’t have gone far. He must be close—”

The family fanned out searching, desperate to glimpse even a corner of the child’s clothes.

Madam Li was in tears; Wang Ying’s heart felt shredded. He bitterly regretted leaving the child alone in the yard.

The rear compound was close to the back mountain—what if a wild beast had snatched him?

Chen Bo called villagers to help. They combed the area around the compound, but could not find the boy.

As time passed, Wang Ying forced himself to calm down, replaying the scene again and again.

At most two minutes passed between the courtyard and the house—no large predator could have slipped in and taken a child without a sound.

Besides, the household kept a dog and a cat—wild animals would have caused an uproar. Suddenly a thought flashed—

Could it be the experimental field?

There was no other explanation for the child vanishing into thin air.

Wang Ying slipped into the bedroom, barred the door, and entered the field. The moment he appeared, he heard his son’s laughter.

“Yuanbao!”

Qingyan ran over at once. “You finally came in. I don’t know how he got here—he won’t go back!”

Wang Ying rushed forward, grabbed Yuanbao, and gave his bottom two quick smacks.

“Waaah—” The little one burst into tears, bewildered at the sudden scolding.

“Why did you hit him?” Qingyan asked, puzzled.

Wang Ying’s eyes burned red. “We were all going mad looking for him! We feared he’d been taken by a wild animal—meanwhile he’s here playing happily!”

Qingyan immediately aligned with his husband and tapped the boy’s little nose. “No running off! Grandma and Ah Fu get worried!”

Yuanbao seemed to half-understand and nodded. Wang Ying dared not linger, picked him up, and left the field.

Outside, they were still searching; from time to time Madam Li’s hoarse voice could be heard calling his name.

“Grandma…” Yuanbao answered.

Madam Li froze and called again. Yuanbao tottered out of the bedroom. “Gran—Yuanbao here…”

“Oh my precious!” Madam Li swept him into her arms.

“Bodhisattva bless, Buddha bless—where did you go? If we hadn’t found you, Grandma would’ve died of worry!”

Wang Ying couldn’t tell the truth, so he lied, “He crawled into the bedding. It was too dark and we didn’t see him.”

Little Yuanbao lifted his head and pointed at Wang Ying. “Ah Fu—Yuanbao—Daddy hold Yuanbao—eat peachy.”

Madam Li didn’t understand the latter part, only pinched his chubby cheek with a sigh. “Listen to your Ah Fu next time. Don’t run around! Do you know how scared everyone was when we couldn’t find you? Never again, understand?”

Yuanbao nodded obediently. Wang Ying called Chen Bo back to stop the search and announced the child was found.

Everyone offered congratulations. Though called out at night and made to run about, nothing mattered as long as the little master was safe.

But the incident taught Wang Ying a stark lesson: a child could not be left alone even for a moment. If anything happened, it would be more than he could bear.

When Yuanbao was asleep and the household settled, Wang Ying returned to the field.

Qingyan was still waiting. They hadn’t seen each other for four or five days; at the last post station, rooms had been scarce and three of them shared a room. Qingyan hadn’t dared come into the field for fear of being discovered.

Each day he’d slipped in only to leave two notes, then hurried away. Today he lingered a little longer.

“How is it? When you brought Yuanbao back, did Mother ask where he’d been?”

“She did. I deflected. What’s strange is—how did the kid get in?”

“I don’t know,” Qingyan said. “I’d just come in and sat under the tree—less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea—when he toddled in.”

Wang Ying didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Well, if he can come in, that’s something. Next time when you’re missing him, I’ll bring him in to see you.”

“Alright.”

“How are things out there? Are you getting used to it?”

Qingyan took his hand and began to describe their travels. “At first, Qingsong couldn’t handle riding in the carriage; Master also got motion-sick, so we had to stop often.

“On the road we met a merchant caravan going the same way; we traveled together for two days. The leader was kind—he heard Master was carsick and offered a remedy: thin slices of raw ginger with pepper, pasted over the navel. It helps.

“We bought ginger and pepper for Master to try—and it worked. We made much better time afterward. Today we reached Qingyang County and visited the waterfall.”

He produced the “Rhapsody on the Waterfall” for Wang Ying to admire.

Though Wang Ying knew little classical prose, he was still stunned by the old man’s talent.

“Tomorrow we continue. Four or five more days to Jizhou Prefecture. We’ll likely stay over ten days before heading to Laizhou.”

“Stay safe on the road,” Wang Ying said. “We’ll meet again in Jizhou.”

Qingyan squeezed his hand and nodded. “You too—take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry. Everything is manageable at home. It’s you out there braving the elements who must be careful. On the road, don’t pinch pennies. The money I make is for your examinations.”

“Aye.” From the head of the bed came a cough. Qingyan didn’t dare linger. He kissed his husband’s forehead and hurried out.

On the bed, Master Liang rolled over and resumed sleeping. Qingyan crept back to lie down. The long night stretched on, and he missed Ah Ying all the more.

Note:

1. A literary rhapsody (fu) in high classical style. Imagery such as “Silver River” refers to the Milky Way; “jade dragon,” “ice mirror,” etc., are conventional metaphors for waterfalls and moonlight in Chinese literature.