Chapter 3

8.

Qin Zhaoye finally signed the divorce agreement.

Not because he had suddenly seen reason. Creditors had come from Jiangnan, exposing how Liu Hanyan had sold her late husband's fields and estates and pledged the same property deeds more than once.

They stood at the Qin residence gates with their documents.

If Qin Zhaoye continued to shield her, the Censorate could accuse him of covering up unlawful conduct and failing in his personal integrity.

He came to me that night, his eyes bloodshot.

“Ah Heng, the creditors say you have the jade hairpin she gave you. It was pledged as security. Could you hand it over first to help her through this emergency?”

I was sealing a batch of floral water for shipment out of the city. I looked up, pressed the wax seal firmly in place, then answered.

“I didn't accept that hairpin. She took it with her when she left the Qin residence.

“You bought her plenty of jewelry when you moved her to the other house. If it really belongs to her, she can sell it. If it was already pledged, all the more reason to return it to the creditors.”

His face turned ashen.

“She says she has nothing left.”

“She can read and write, play the qin, and manage an estate. You always thought she couldn't survive without someone to depend on. You've helped her narrow her own choices until this is all she has left.”

His fists tightened, then suddenly relaxed.

After a long silence, he said quietly, “Ah Heng, I know you still resent me.”

I handed the sealed wooden case to the assistant before replying.

“I don't have time to resent you every day. There's always something to do here: checking stock, keeping accounts, teaching apprentices. That's enough to keep me occupied.”

He looked at me as though he had a great deal to say. In the end, he only asked, “Do you truly feel nothing for me anymore?”

I laid the divorce agreement before him.

“You wrote poems for her. At the spring banquet, you were evasive about who I was. Again and again, you told me to be understanding. I remember all of it. Now you want me to come back, but there's no place left for you in my heart. Returning would only make us both miserable.”

He sat at the desk for a long time. At last he picked up the brush and signed his name.

When the ink had dried, I asked the shop manager to show him out.

From then on, I stopped asking about the Qin household.

Later, I heard only that Liu Hanyan had sold all her jewelry and the separate residence, but still hadn't cleared her debts. In the end, she returned to her mother's family in Jiangnan.

Qin Zhaoye was reprimanded by his superior for secretly helping her raise money. He was moved from a leisurely clerical post to managing storage and transport, and spent his days rushing from place to place.

When that news reached me, I was taking measurements for a new apprentice.

Her name was A-Ya. She had a light-brown birthmark on her face. At the fragrance shop where she had worked before, people had constantly found fault with her.

I asked whether she could write her name.

She shook her head.

I wrote the character for Ya on a sheet of paper and told her to trace it.

Her strokes were crooked. She looked up to ask whether they were all right.

“Very good for a first try,” I said. “Keep practicing tomorrow.”

Her eyes curved into crescents as she smiled.

The rain had just stopped outside. Banksia roses covered the wall.

Watching her bend over the desk to write that character again and again, I felt lighter too.

There were orders and accounts to attend to, and young women eager to learn a trade. Once I was busy, there was naturally little room left to dwell on the past.

9.

After autumn arrived, the workshop opened a second small shop in the east of the city.

It was near an academy, and most of its customers were women from scholarly households.

I added inexpensive insect-repelling fragrance tablets and calming pillow sachets. They sold particularly well.

It was there that I met Lu Guanlan.

He taught at the academy and was about twenty-six or twenty-seven. He wore a clean, freshly washed blue cotton robe and often carried a bamboo case full of old books. On his first visit, he came to buy mosquito-repelling incense for the academy.

I invited him to sit and asked how many tablets they needed.

He took a densely written sheet from his sleeve.

“Twenty-eight in Class A, twenty-four in Class B, and another eight in the east residence. Would one each be enough?”

I took the paper. On the back he had added, “Two teachers. Reading at night strains their eyes; prepare calming incense as well.”

Every stroke was exceedingly neat.

“That will be enough,” I said. “If you want to save money, you needn't buy the calming incense. Planting some mugwort beneath the academy windows will help keep insects away too.”

He considered this seriously.

“The students recite their lessons at night. The mosquitoes bite them so badly they can't sleep. Mugwort smells very strong; it might give them headaches after a while. We'd better buy the tablets.”

I glanced up at him. Most customers asked about the price first. His first concern was whether the scent would give his students headaches.

I had the tablets wrapped and added two pots of mint balm.

“No charge for these. A little on a mosquito bite brings the swelling down quickly.”

He didn't refuse. Cupping his hands, he bowed solemnly.

“Then let me thank you on behalf of my students, Mistress Ruan.”

“No need to be so formal, Master Lu. If you find our goods useful, just come back and support the shop.”

He smiled. Faint lines creased the corners of his eyes. He seemed far steadier than the young gentlemen who spent their days talking of romance.

Half a month later, he returned.

Not to buy incense this time. He placed a wooden box on the counter. Inside were dozens of carved pearwood stamps: banksia roses, crabapple blossoms, osmanthus, lotus leaves, each design different.

“I noticed you use old wax to seal the fragrance boxes, and it gets all over your hands,” he said. “The students are learning woodwork. I asked the girls to try carving some stamps. Take them if they're of any use.”

I picked up a banksia rose stamp. Its wooden edges had been polished smooth and round. A playful flowering branch curled across the face, with a tiny character for Heng carved beside it.

“If your students carved these, why is my name on this one?”

His ears reddened, but his answer was candid.

“I carved that one. The lettering on your shop sign is beautiful, so I copied it for practice.”

Beside us, A-Ya pressed her lips together to hide a smile. I put the stamp back and asked how much I owed for the work.

“Nothing. The academy roof had several leaks. The students helped repair them, and I already owe the girls bowls of sweet soup for that.”

After a moment's thought, I sent A-Ya to the back courtyard for a jar of freshly made osmanthus honey.

“I'll pay half the cost of their treat. Take this tomorrow and let them share it after lessons.”

He didn't argue back and forth.

“Then I'll remember it on their behalf.”

As he left, a gust of wind set the paper lantern beneath the shop eaves swaying. I pressed the banksia rose stamp onto an account book. The pattern came out clear, like a newly opened white flower.

10.

Before winter, Qin Zhaoye came once more.

His new duties often took him outside the city to inspect grain stores, and he had grown much thinner. It was cold that day, and a dusting of snow clung to his shoulders. Standing at the workshop door, he looked almost unfamiliar.

I was discussing a winter fragrance blend for the academy with Lu Guanlan. He said the students felt the cold and he wanted to put braziers in the sleeping quarters, but worried the charcoal fumes would make them uncomfortable. I mixed dried citrus peel, pine needles, and a little atractylodes root, showing him how to warm it slowly beside the coals.

Qin Zhaoye stopped short when he saw him.

Lu Guanlan rose naturally and bowed.

“Lord Qin.”

Qin Zhaoye recognized him and gave a cool acknowledgment. His gaze fell on the fragrance formula on my table.

“So this is what has kept you busy, Ah Heng. Meeting men outside your home.”

Before I could answer, Lu Guanlan spoke.

“You misunderstand, Lord Qin. My students are cold at night. I've come to ask Mistress Ruan for a fragrance blend.”

Qin Zhaoye's mouth twisted.

“You certainly seem close to my wife, Master Lu.”

I laid down my brush and looked up.

“Lord Qin, you signed the divorce agreement yourself. If you've forgotten, I can have the assistant fetch you a copy.”

He turned white.

Lu Guanlan sat quietly beside me, showing no curiosity. He merely began putting away the fragrance ingredients.

It took Qin Zhaoye a long time to speak again.

“I came to tell you that Liu Hanyan has returned to the capital.”

“Her arrangements here have nothing to do with me.”

“She's ill. Her uncle wouldn't take her in. I've rented her a small courtyard house.”

I nodded. “How considerate of you, Lord Qin.”

He searched my face, apparently hoping to find a trace of jealousy.

There was none.

His gaze grew unsettled.

“You used to hate my seeing her.”

I rolled up the formula and handed it to Lu Guanlan.

“I used to wait for you to come home for dinner too. But after waiting long enough, a person finds another way to live. You have your affairs, Lord Qin. I have mine.”

He gave a bitter smile.

“You always leave me at a loss for words now.”

“Did you come to ask me to treat her illness, pay her debts, or find another fine explanation for the two of you?”

He hastily shook his head, repeating that he meant nothing of the kind.

“Then you have nothing else to say to me.”

Lu Guanlan rose to leave. I walked him to the door.

“The academy has half a day off tomorrow,” he said, turning back. “The students want to come and help put on the New Year seals. Would you take them?”

“Of course. They'll be paid, and I'll provide lunch.”

He smiled his agreement, then turned to remind his students not to be late the next day.

Qin Zhaoye watched us talking.

“Does he treat you well?” he suddenly asked.

I thought for a moment.

“Master Lu is very good to his students, and considerate in his dealings with other people.”

“Then do you have feelings for him?”

I lowered the door curtain to keep out the cold wind.

“Whom I care for is no longer something I need to report to you, Lord Qin.”

11.

Two days before New Year's Eve, Liu Hanyan fainted outside the workshop.

She had grown much thinner. In an old cloak, her face was frighteningly pale. A-Ya recognized her and ran to ask whether she should summon the authorities.

I had her carried into the back courtyard first and sent for the physician next door.

He said she had gone hungry too long and caught a chill. A few days' rest would put her right. When she woke and found herself in a clean bed, she stared for a moment, then turned her back on me.

“Did you keep me here so you could laugh at me again?”

I set a bowl of freshly cooked porridge on the table.

“If you're uncomfortable here, eat and leave.”

She didn't touch it.

I sat by the window sorting a basket of dried osmanthus blossoms. After a long time, she asked, “Hasn't Zhaoye come?”

“He's working outside the city. Perhaps he doesn't know.”

Tears rolled down her face and splashed onto the quilt.

She looked out the window and remained silent a long time.

“He said he would look after me.”

“He paid your debts and rented you a house. He has looked after you.”

She abruptly sat up, her voice shrill.

“But why can't he look after me forever? I have nothing left.”

“Cousin, you always say you have nothing. But you have hands and feet. You can write, keep accounts, and play the qin. In Jiangnan, you managed your husband's estates, and your accounts were clearer than many stewards'. If you really want to go on living, you needn't cling to what little pity a man offers you.”

She gripped the letter and said nothing for a long time.

I took a letter from the cupboard. A music school in the south of the city had sent it over. They had opened classes for girls and needed someone to teach music and literacy. Having heard of Liu Hanyan's skill, they were willing to offer her a three-month trial.

“I asked about this for you,” I said. “The wages aren't high, but they'll cover rent and food. Whether you go is your decision.”

She stared at the letter, her fingers slowly tightening.

A long time passed before she looked up.

“Why were you still willing to ask about work for me?”

“I only asked about a position. Whether you take it is up to you. I don't want to see you go on living on anyone's pity until you've forgotten what you're capable of yourself.”

Her tears stopped.

Much later, she picked up the bowl and ate the porridge, mouthful by mouthful.

Three days later, she changed into a worn blue outfit and left the workshop. She didn't thank me. She only washed the empty porridge bowl and left it upside down beside the stove.

A-Ya came back from the door and told me Liu Hanyan had stood at the end of the lane for a long time before putting on her veiled hat and walking south.

I asked no more about her.

Early in spring, people said there was a new Teacher Liu at the girls' school in the south of the city. She was strict about music, and her pupils were afraid of her when her back was turned. Others said that with her first month's wages she had bought a basket of tangerines to share with the little girls.

When that reached me, I made no further inquiries. She was earning her place in the school by teaching and collecting her own wages. It had nothing to do with me.

12.

On the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the academy held a lantern festival.

Half a month earlier, Lu Guanlan had ordered a great many scented lanterns from the workshop. The students would paint the shades themselves, then place fragrance pellets inside. Lit at night, they would release a faint herbal scent, keeping the students from feeling sleepy as they read late.

I took A-Ya along to deliver them. Colored paper lanterns hung throughout the academy. The girls clustered along the corridor, their hands stained with paint. At the sight of me, they all bowed and called, “Mistress Ruan.”

Lu Guanlan came out of a room with a smear of vermilion on his cuff. He held an unpainted rabbit lantern and looked rather helpless.

“The students say my painting is dreadful. They've sent me out here to be laughed at.”

I took it to look. One eye was higher than the other, and its ears were crooked.

I held back a smile. “It has a great deal of spirit.”

A girl beside us immediately exposed him.

“He was painting a cat. It isn't a rabbit at all.”

Lu Guanlan coughed softly. His ears reddened again.

I added two strokes for whiskers and a spray of banksia roses. The lantern instantly looked much better. The girls gathered round, cheering that their teacher had finally rescued a cat.

After we had joked for a while, Lu Guanlan took me up the hill behind the academy to see the lanterns.

An old scholar tree stood on the slope, its branches hung with students' wishes. One hoped to enter the Imperial Academy. Another wanted to buy her mother a hairpin. On one crooked slip was written: “One day I will open a fragrance workshop even bigger than Mistress Ruan's.”

I couldn't help laughing.

“Her name is Xiaoman,” Lu Guanlan said. “She heard you teaching A-Ya to keep accounts the other day. When she came back, she said she wanted to learn.”

I nodded. “If she's willing to learn her accounts, she won't be cheated when she opens her own workshop.”

After a brief silence, he took a little wooden box from his sleeve.

There were no jewels inside, only a brass token engraved with banksia roses.

Two small lines on the back read: “Hengwu Fragrance Workshop. Come and go freely.”

Holding it, I looked up at him.

“One of the academy's gate tokens was engraved incorrectly,” he said seriously. “I thought it might be convenient for your frequent deliveries.”

I turned the token over twice.

“Master Lu, why would an academy gate token bear the workshop's name?”