Chapter 29 #2
Her mother reached over and slapped her lightly on the arm. “You order this household around without a care for anyone else’s concerns.”
Xiaoting nearly dropped her cup in shock. “How dare you?” she said, forgetting to whom she spoke. “I do nothing but think of this family.”
“You think of the family, not the people.”
“They are one and the same.” Xiaoting did her best to hide the quaver in her voice.
Of all people to attack her, she would never have expected it to come from her own mother.
“Who else will do it apart from me? It’s my responsibility.
I am the fifth daughter.” What she left unsaid, because of the guilt that plagued her sleep like a stinging insect, was that it was her error of judgment that had required them to move in the first place and forced the Hua women to hide for the first time since the death of Empress Wu.
Still, the old woman continued, “There may have been other solutions than to leave our home for this village exile. You never asked, but made the decision on your own.”
“The decision that saved us,” insisted Xiaoting.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? You know the warning Zheng He gave us. What was I to do?”
Her mother’s wrinkled face creased. “I don’t know, Daughter. I never had the chance to take part in a discussion, although it was my right. Nor did your husband, although it was his right.”
“As he has pointed out many times,” muttered Xiaoting.
“Do you blame him? He came home and his wife had half the household ready to start out the city gate. You’re lucky he allowed it.”
“You know time was of the essence. He didn’t have to come.” She wished he hadn’t.
Her mother doesn’t bother to answer. “You need to stop treating Yingtai like an ox,” she said with finality.
When she left the room, Xiaoting lay flat on the couch, furiously debating with the faint scent of her mother’s robes since she couldn’t do it with the woman herself.
She didn’t treat the family like oxen. Yingtai was merely jealous of her sister.
She frowned. Xiaoting’s own sister had never been jealous.
In fact, her sister had been almost sad for her.
“Imagine having to have a daughter,” she’d said the night she’d left for her husband’s house.
“I was saved that, at least, along with this stifling life.”
She had died in childbirth not a year later, the unwanted daughter dying as well.
Xiaoting sat up, the grief that accompanied thoughts of her sister coming to haunt her again.
Xiaoting looked out the door in the direction her mother had gone, wishing she hadn’t left.
Then again, what would she say? She had made a mistake?
It was too late now. They were here, and there was nothing to do but go forward.
She was certain it was better to make a decision and live with the consequences than do nothing.
The idea of wu wei and its release of control had never been understandable to her.
“Mother.” Her elder daughter came in. “What did you say to Yingtai?”
Xiaoting waved her to a seat and Guilan sat down, as obedient as always. Xiaoting looked at her daughter, her long black hair neatly tied up and smelling like something new. “Too much camphor,” she said absentmindedly. “You always put in too much.”
Guilan nodded. “I know. Yingtai said the same thing.”
Xiaoting poured tea to have something to do, wondering at herself.
It wasn’t like her to be uncertain, particularly with her daughters, but Guilan was twenty and had recently taken possession of her moli.
She suspected that was when things had begun to degrade further with Yingtai.
It would continue if Yingtai married and was lost to them forever, like so many other daughters.
“Your sister is angry with me,” Xiaoting said.
“She is.” Guilan’s smile was brief. “She’s never been able to hide how she feels.”
“She says I neglected her for you. Because you are a moli daughter and she is not.”
Guilan kept her expression as bland as unflavored barley porridge, but Xiaoting saw through it. “Guilan.”
“Yes?”
“Have I treated Yingtai poorly?”
Guilan’s eyes slid to the side. “What I think doesn’t matter. If she thinks you did, that’s the most important.”
Useless. Both her girls were useless. Xiaoting waved her away, and her elder daughter swept gracefully out of the room.
How dare her mother say she treated people as oxen!
How ridiculous. She was the ox, if any of them were.
All she did was work for Yingtai and the rest, to keep them safe and fed and clothed, and this was the gratitude she received.
She stood to pace the room and halted by a panel painted by Yingtai several years ago, the lines of the branches drawn with a passion that had surprised Xiaoting.
Yingtai’s father had been impressed a mere girl could manage to portray such power and insisted on providing her with tutors and the finest tools.
Xiaoting stood before it now, looking at it with fresh eyes.
It was a scene from nature, three birds on a branch. Two were larger and looked to the left. The smaller one on the right looked wistfully at them. Light snow came in to cover the branches and the smaller, lonely bird, while the winter sun played on the other two.
Was this how Yingtai saw them? With herself on the outside, looking in?
Xiaoting took another step back. Yingtai rarely shared her art with her mother, although she did with her father, and Xiaoting had known that to be presented with this piece had meant something at the time.
But she’d been busy with a new commission, and Guilan had been ill with a fever that had spread from the maids.
The fields to the west had been dying from too much rain.
Although she’d taken the painting and hung it in a place of respect, Xiaoting hadn’t contemplated it in the way she did now. She had not spoken to Yingtai about it.
She had treated it like decor and not art.
Raw, bleeding shame overtook Xiaoting. Her mother was right.
She had looked at the family as more important than the individuals.
In truth, there was no family without the people.
Yingtai could not be treated like Guilan because she was not Guilan, and by treating her individuality as a problem, Xiaoting had forced her daughter away.
She looked at the painting, wondering if it was too late to shelter the small bird under her wing. Her daughter would be suspicious at first and wonder at Xiaoting’s motives. Xiaoting knew from experience she would occasionally fail and slip back into her old pushy ways.
She refused to dwell on the mistakes of her past. The sale to the second wife.
Leaving the capital. There was nothing she could do about them, after all, so what was the point?
With Yingtai, though, she could make a difference.
She could perhaps make up for her mistakes going forward.
She could have Yingtai know she belonged here as much as her sister and her value was as great.
She was about to leave to look for Yingtai when a maid came in to announce a visitor.
It was Lady Pan, and in her hand, she held a flask Xiaoting recognized. “You lied,” Lady Pan said, her usually sweet voice high and cracking. “I found no love.”
“Lady Pan.” Xiaoting faced her, wondering about the best way to deal with the enraged woman. Although Lady Pan was robed to perfection and her hair dressed beautifully, tears of anger trembled on her lower eyelashes. “You tried the moli.”
“I wanted love,” Lady Pan said. “Love, my true love. Yet I remain alone with only my husband. You know how cruel he is and what a true love would do for me. It would give me some joy. A little happiness is all I desire. You lied.”
Xiaoting sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This happens sometimes. When the moli fails, it means your true love has died.”
Lady Pan took a deep breath and Xiaoting watched the fury dissipate into bleak acceptance, the quick resignation of a woman who was used to living without hope.
How much of the payment would Lady Pan demand back?
She would be within her rights to want all of it, and Xiaoting prepared herself for a hard bargaining session.
She had to appear reasonable—she didn’t want Lady Pan to spread rumors—but at the same time, it wasn’t her fault the woman’s love was dead.
As she was about to offer Lady Pan tea, a commotion was heard in the corridor. “Lady Pan! My lady!”
It was a small maid, who stumbled into the room, followed by Xiaoting’s own maids, all exclaiming at this breach of manners. Lady Pan twisted. “Sheyue? What is the meaning of this?”
The maid stood tall, her eyes wild and hands working the front of the robe in anxiety. “Lord Pan, my lady. He was coming after you on his horse.”
Lady Pan went white. “How far is he?”
“No, my lady, no. He had been drinking and his horse threw him. His head hit a rock. He died.”
“He’s dead?” Lady Pan whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The maid looked at her. “Very sure, my lady. His manservant was there and saw everything. He managed to get Lord Pan’s body back home.”
Xiaoting murmured some words of sympathy but trailed off when she saw Lady Pan’s face. Her dark eyes were shining not with the unshed tears of grief, but with ecstasy. “He is dead,” Lady Pan whispered. “Dead.” Her voice grew more confident as she repeated the word. “I must return home.”
“Of course.”
Lady Pan looked at the maid. “Prepare my carriage, Sheyue.” She seemed to have forgotten the reason she was here at Xiaoting’s residence, as she left with her step light and head held high.
Strange, thought Xiaoting, but a lucky occurrence.
The gossip she’d heard said Lord Pan was a monstrous man.
Lady Pan was lucky to be rid of him, and Xiaoting had no pity to spare for a man who enjoyed causing fear and pain to his wife and others who could not defend themselves.
Thinking of love and Lady Pan, she went over to the register that sat in the corner of the room and was where she listed all her sales.
Lifting her brush, she drew a line through Lady Pan’s name.
With a dead true love, it was unnecessary to add her to the list of people Xiaoting had helped when it came time to write the final version of her chapter for generations to come.
The sound of a breaking vase came from the direction of Yingtai’s room, and Xiaoting put her brush down to look at the painting again, tracing the line of sight of the little bird and wondering what she should do about her wayward daughter.
Then she leaned in and frowned. The bird wasn’t looking at the other two birds.
It was looking higher, to a small break in the branches, as if yearning for freedom.
The bird didn’t care at all about the other two. It wished only to escape.
Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. It was only a painting, and if she looked closely, she could see the errors made with the brush. She had more important things to consider. Yingtai was a child and she had a child’s perspective, limited to what affected her.
With a final look at the painting, Xiaoting gathered her robes and went to look for her daughter. Guilan was due in the workshop. As for Yingtai? She could do as she pleased.