Chapter 28
The Pear Blossom Teahouse wore each season differently, offering new sweets and seasonal specialties as the year turned. But the warm, welcoming aroma of fresh pastries that greeted every visitor and the quiet contentment that lingered within its walls never changed.
On the second floor, Xu Cheng-yi sat at his favourite corner table, from where he could watch the customers enjoy their delicacies and look out onto the bustling street through the open windows.
As he savored the new summer special of chrysanthemum water jelly drizzled with bayberry syrup, he spotted Gu Ting-zhi entering through the front door, his head lowered.
He looked up when Ting-zhi arrived and immediately signaled for a fresh pot and a second tray of pastries, which appeared with the speed that suggested the staff had been watching for exactly this.
“Gu Ting-zhi,” he said, with genuine pleasure. “Flower Scholar. You look terrible.”
“Thank you,” Ting-zhi said, and sat down.
Cheng-yi looked at him with the attentive cheerfulness of a friend who knew something was wrong.
“Tea first,” he said, pouring, “then whatever it is.”
Ting-zhi drank his tea. Outside the teahouse window, Pear Blossom Lane went about its early evening business—a fruit seller calling his prices, two scholars arguing about something that was probably not worth arguing about, a child being pulled along by a very determined grandmother. Ordinary life, proceeding without him.
“I have a friend,” Ting-zhi said.
Cheng-yi’s eyes widened with interest and he scooped another mouthful of chrysanthemum jelly into his mouth slowly.
“This friend,” Ting-zhi continued carefully, “has done something that upset someone important to him. And this person is now angry and not speaking to him.”
“How not speaking,” Cheng-yi asked. “Politely not speaking or actually not speaking.”
“Actually not speaking.”
“For how long.”
“Nine days.”
Cheng-yi took a steamed osmanthus cake and chewed it thoughtfully. “This friend,” he said.
“Yes.”
“How bad was it. What he did.”
Ting-zhi considered the question with more honesty than was comfortable. “Bad,” he said.
“Bad like my third sister finding out I lost her favorite painting in a bet.”
“Worse.”
Cheng-yi winced. “My fourth sister finding out I told her admirer she had a terrible temper.”
“...worse.”
“Your friend,” Cheng-yi said, with great diplomacy, “has a problem.”
“Yes,” Ting-zhi said. “He does.”
Cheng-yi refilled both their cups and assumed the expression of a man about to dispense the accumulated wisdom of a lifetime of female relatives. “I have five sisters,” he said.
“I know.”
“So, I consider myself something of an expert.” He paused. “Tell your friend to listen carefully.”
“I will,” said Ting-zhi.
“First,” Cheng-yi said, holding up one finger, “apologize immediately.”
“It has been nine days.”
“Immediately was nine days ago. Now your friend has to salvage the situation, which is harder but not impossible.” He took another thoughtful bite of his cake. “Second: gifts.”
“Gifts.”
“My second sister cannot stay angry at anyone who gives her jewelry.” He paused for a moment. “For my fifth sister, it is candied hawthorn.”
“I don’t think candied hawthorn—”
“Not hawthorn specifically. Something she wants. Something she’s mentioned wanting and doesn’t have yet.” Cheng-yi passed a pastry to him. “The gift has to say I was listening. Not I am sorry. I was listening. There’s a difference.”
Ting-zhi was quiet for a moment. “That’s not bad,” he said.
“Five sisters,” Cheng-yi said modestly. “Third: woo her.”
“Woo her,” Ting-zhi repeated.
“Speak gently. Soft words, softer tone. My eldest brother-in-law,” Cheng-yi said, with the gravity of a man recounting a cautionary tale, “made the mistake of trying to out-argue my eldest sister when she was angry. He is still, to this day, sleeping in the east wing.”
“How long ago was this.”
“Three months,” Cheng-yi said. “The east wing is very comfortable now. He has redecorated.”
“Noted,” said Ting-zhi. “No arguing.”
“No arguing, no explaining yourself before she is ready to hear it, and absolutely no telling her she is being unreasonable even if and when she is being unreasonable.” He paused delicately.
“Fourth.” He leaned forward slightly and whispered conspiratorially.
“There is an old saying, ‘Fight at the head of the bed, reconcile at the foot of the bed’.”
A silence.
“Cheng-yi,” Ting-zhi said.
“It is time-honored wisdom,” Cheng-yi said, entirely unabashed. “A balance of Yin and Yang creates harmony. It has been true since the beginning of time and it will be true until the end of it. I did not invent this wisdom, I merely pass it on.”
“We are not—” Ting-zhi stopped. “My friend is not yet—”
“The wedding is in what, one, two months?” Cheng-yi said, selecting another pastry with serenity. “Tell your friend to be patient. The principle still applies.”
Ting-zhi picked up his teacup. Put it down. Picked it up again.
“My fifth sister,” Cheng-yi added, after a moment, “says that what women want most, when they’re angry, is to know that the person who upset them actually understands why. Not just sorry. Sorry is easy. Understanding is harder.”
“Your fifth sister sounds wise.”
“She is,” Cheng-yi agreed, with great affection. “You’d like her.” He paused. “She’s eleven, but still.”
Ting-zhi looked at him incredulously.
“Sisters,” Cheng-yi shrugged.
“What else,” Ting-zhi asked hesitantly. “More advice. I shall relate them to my friend.”
Cheng-yi brightened. “My second brother-in-law once bought my sister an entire cartload of fabric to apologize for forgetting her birthday. She was furious.”
“Why?”
“They were all in colors she didn’t like,” Cheng-yi said. “He had been married to her for three years. The gift has to say I was listening,” he repeated, tapping the table for emphasis. “This is the most important. Everything else is decoration.”
“And if,” Ting-zhi said carefully, “my friend has been... not entirely honest. From the beginning. And she knows it.”
Cheng-yi was quiet for a moment.
“Then,” he said, more seriously than he had said anything else, “your friend needs to be more honest now than he has ever been in his life.” He looked at Ting-zhi steadily. “Women always know when you’re still holding something back. My mother always does.”
The teahouse hummed around them. Someone at the next table laughed. The pastry tray was almost empty.
“One more,” Cheng-yi said, rallying back to his usual register. “My third brother-in-law, when my sister refused to speak to him, stood outside her window every evening and read her poetry until she forgave him.”
“How long did that take.”
“Eleven days,” Cheng-yi said. “Good poetry, though. He has a gift for verse.”
“Mm,” said Ting-zhi.
“The waiting is hard,” Cheng-yi said, after a moment, without comedy. “But your friend sounds like someone who knows how to wait.”
Ting-zhi looked out the window at the capital glowing gold as the sun set.
“He’s been waiting,” he said quietly, “for quite some time.”
They parted at the corner of Pear Blossom Lane as the evening settled properly over the city, the street lanterns slowly blooming as the lamplighters make their rounds.
Cheng-yi went left toward the Xu residence, already planning, from the look of him, what he was going to eat next.
Ting-zhi paused for a moment, then went right.
Scholar’s Lane in the evening was quieter than during the day, the booksellers beginning to close. He slowed when he reached Autumn Leaf Literary Treasures.
The shop was dark inside, but through the latticed window he could make out shapes in the dim light.
The debris of construction was gone, and the shop looked ready, just waiting for books to fill its shelves.
There was new shelving in pale wood running the full length of the wall, and more shelves in between.
Reading nooks had been tucked into empty corners and by the windows.
The new sign above the door was covered with a red cloth, waiting for the reopening.
He stood for a long moment, hands tucked into his sleeves, taking in everything she had built.
She hadn’t told him about any of it.
He missed her so much his heart ached in pain all the time.
Waiting, Cheng-yi had said. Not hovering. Not pushing. Just waiting.
He looked at the sign a moment longer. Then turned and walked home through the drifting scholar tree flowers, thinking about what she wanted that she didn’t have yet, and how to woo and apologize when she would not see him.