Chapter 1 #2
Mother’s condition had been poor for a while, but it was not an illness a doctor could cure.
It was more a matter of the heart. Already sentimental by nature, Mother was more affected by Father’s death than anyone else in the family.
Ailin had often found her staring out the window of her bedchamber for hours on end.
Mother’s dispirited spells worried Ailin and her younger sisters, who all felt powerless.
Uncle Chen sighed. “Child, you are shouldering too much. It’s your older brother and sister-in-law’s responsibility to take care of your mother and old nurse.
Why did they dismiss your nurse, of all people?
Surely Duan-xiōng did not leave so little behind that your family can’t afford to keep such an important person.
Is your brother choosing to be unfilial? ”
Ailin flinched. She had chosen her words precisely to avoid this question. It would have broken Father’s heart to have people think badly of his children. “Please don’t say that, Uncle Chen.”
“So you would let his heartless behavior stand to preserve the illusion of family harmony?”
Ailin looked down. She never worried so much when Father was alive.
Back then, matters like respect, balance, and harmony existed as naturally as water, earth, and air.
Now they seemed as elusive as the mythical peaches of immortality.
She often wished she could tell Junyou, Fulan, or even Mother how she actually felt about the state of their family, but what would that do besides create more conflict?
Feelings were burdens she was better off discarding.
It was better to be numb than in constant pain.
Junyou had a legal right to do whatever he wished with the estate, and Fulan must have reasons for acting the way she did.
Confrontation would only lead to more friction, not peace.
And of course, Ailin couldn’t complain to her one remaining parent.
The best Ailin could do for her frail mother was to take care of things quietly.
That was why she had slipped away without telling any family members besides her seventeen-year-old sister, Meilin, who was supposed to hide her absence until she returned in order to avoid worrying Mother.
Uncle Chen frowned as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Duan-xiōng’s paintings can certainly be sold for high prices, but when word gets out that such rare works are appearing at market, Duan Junyou may be upset that valuables have been taken out of Nuolan Garden without his knowledge.”
Ailin blanched at the implication. “The paintings I’ve brought today aren’t taken from the family. They’re part of my dowry.”
Uncle Chen looked shocked for the first time since Ailin had known him. “You took out your own dowry to support your family?”
Ailin nodded, uneasy about his impending judgment. She knew her choice was unconventional, but she could think of no better option.
Uncle Chen rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Child, your dowry is the only property you will ever own. It’s meant to help you marry well and strengthen your position in your future household. You can’t be using it to make up for your brother’s shortcomings before you’ve married out.”
Ailin bit her lip. She knew as much as anyone how important a dowry was in securing a good marriage, but supporting her mother and Nurse Liu was more urgent.
It was better to sacrifice a part of her dowry than let the current crisis escalate.
Ailin would pay any price to prevent her mother from worrying to death.
Uncle Chen was silent for a moment, then said, “I simply cannot sell these paintings for you. Imagine what people will think when they find out you traded away your dowry instead of asking your brother for money. What will they think of your family and your brother’s character?”
Ailin’s hopes dropped like a fledgling who’d overestimated her ability to fly. She wanted so much to help her family. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Have you ever thought of selling your own art?” Uncle Chen asked.
Ailin blinked in stunned silence. Her own art? Was such a thing even possible?
“I’m quite serious,” Uncle Chen insisted. “There are many collectors in Nanjing who would appreciate the paintings of a scholarly woman. Successful lady painters are highly valued.”
Ailin considered his words. She respected the famous women artists in history—people like Lady Zhòngjī—but it was quite another matter to compare herself to them.
She didn’t even know if her work was good enough to live up to her family name.
Her words tumbled out too fast. “Do you think anyone would actually like my paintings? I’m afraid—”
Uncle Chen held up his hand. “When your father and I used to meet to play wéiqí, he said that you were the best painter among all his children, your elder brother included.”
Ailin could not believe her ears. “Surely he didn’t mean it.”
Ten years her senior, Junyou was a well-rounded gentleman who had achieved the rank of jìnshì and served as an imperial government official.
The Four Scholarly Arts of zither, wéiqí, calligraphy, and painting were like breathing to him.
Ailin’s talents could not possibly compare to his.
She had painted for years but never shared her work outside her family.
Painting had merely been a way to spend more time with Father when he was alive.
“Duan-xiōng showed me some of your work once,” Uncle Chen said matter-of-factly. “Your apricot blossoms looked so lifelike I could smell spring in the air, and your swallows were so vibrant I thought they would fly right off the paper.”
“You should try it, miss!” Begonia exclaimed.
Ailin appreciated her maid’s enthusiasm but was not sure about her own resolve.
Uncle Chen chuckled. “It looks like even your maid agrees, so I think the matter is settled.”
Ailin did not feel settled at all, but Uncle Chen moved with the speed of a coursing river. He called for servants, and the old man Ailin had seen earlier soon arrived with a younger servant carrying a wooden box.
“I will pay you in advance for eight paintings that your maid can deliver to Chen Manor when they’re ready. Is this amount enough for now?” Uncle Chen opened the box.
Ailin covered her open mouth as she struggled for a response.
Inside the wooden box was not paper money or copper coins, but solid silver ingots.
The metallic glint seemed to light up the room.
Perhaps such a sight was quotidian for an established merchant, but for her, it was everything she needed and more.
Uncle Chen was giving her this now on the promise that she could provide something of equal value later.
Was she talented enough to carry the weight of such a promise?
The thought was as tantalizing as it was terrifying.
If she succeeded, the deal would benefit them both.
But if she failed, she would owe her father’s longtime friend more than she was worth, something her conscience would not allow, both for her own sake and for the sake of her father’s memory.
“I don’t know how long it will take for me to pay you back, sir,” she said honestly.
“Take all the time you need. I consider this a long-term investment.”
Uncle Chen offered to send Ailin and Begonia, his silver, and their unsold paintings home in a carriage, but Ailin declined, asking instead if Uncle Chen could hold the paintings until they could be retrieved discreetly later.
The last thing she wanted was for Fulan or Junyou to know that she had gone outside for help.
Her relationship with them, never close, became strained four years ago when she declined a marriage proposal Junyou had delivered on behalf of a friend whose family was one of the wealthiest in the city of Hangzhou.
Ailin had been fifteen at the time, definitely old enough to be married out and move to another province, but because Father’s health had begun to decline, her parents indulged her desire to stay home longer and turned down the proposal on her behalf.
Parental support meant Ailin was able to remain by Father’s side in his final years, but there had been a trade-off. Because Ailin had caused Junyou to lose face as his friend’s matchmaker, now she had to avoid conflict with Junyou and Fulan as much as possible.
As Ailin trudged up the hill toward Nuolan Garden with Begonia, the weight of her body and the half of the silver she carried pressed her feet painfully into the ground.
Heavy silver is not a bad problem to have.
She reminded herself not to be ungrateful as she gingerly stepped over a fallen branch.
Her undercover foray out of the house had ostensibly been a success.
She had more than enough silver to resolve the immediate crisis.
The challenge now was producing enough work to merit Uncle Chen’s generous advance payment.
Eight paintings were owed, and, unlike the sketches she made to amuse her family, they had to earn the respect of real art patrons.
She couldn’t let her work bring shame to the Duan name.
“It looks like it will rain soon, miss,” Begonia called to her from behind.
Ailin looked up through yellowing maple leaves to the gray clouds. A cold wind swept through the trees, chilling her skin under her thin cotton dress.
“Do you still have our umbrellas?” Ailin asked.