Chapter 50: A Family of Scholars and Officials

While father and son worked on the couplets, Madam Liang prepared the ancestral offerings and reunion dinner. She boiled the pork, beef and mutton in plain water, set each on a plate with red chopsticks inserted and placed them on the altar.

She steamed a pot of dark-flour buns too. There would be no mulberry root bark mixed into the New Year’s Eve buns. These and the New Year cakes went onto the table. She lit the red candles, folded spirit money into stacks of three and set them before the altar, then arranged three little wine cups. Beside it, on a stool, stood a wooden basin of clean water. Three straw kneeling mats lay in front.

When everything was ready, the family changed into clean robes. Zuo Gui came out holding a written invocation and led his wife and son to the mats. He stood in front, with Madam Liang and Shaoyang behind him to either side.

He placed the invocation before his mat, returned to his position and cleared his throat.

“The ancestral rite begins.”

At the basin, he washed his hands carefully and shook off the water. Then he took three sticks of incense, lit them at a red candle and flicked out the flame. Holding them in both hands, he stepped back, bowed respectfully and moved forward to plant them in the burner. Blue smoke curled up, spreading a pleasant scent through the room.

He filled the three wine cups, lifted one in both hands and called clearly, “Ancestors, please partake of this wine!”

Tilting the cup, he poured a thin stream before the altar, replaced it, stepped back with clasped hands and returned behind his mat. He brushed down his robe.

“Kneel.”

He knelt first; Madam Liang followed.

Shaoyang had been wondering whether he should kneel and kowtow. He had never knelt to anyone in modern life. Here, even without meeting an emperor, such ceremonies were common enough. This was one already.

Yet he had returned to life in the body of the Zuo family’s son. That made him one of them. It was only right to kneel before their ancestors. He followed his mother down.

Zuo Gui picked up the invocation, cleared his throat and read aloud:

“On this auspicious evening of sacrifice, the eve of the New Year in the first year of Zhenguan, the dutiful son Zuo Gui, with his dutiful wife, née Liang, and dutiful grandson Zuo Zhong, bows before the spirits of his late honoured father, Lord Zuo Shou, and all the ancestors. With incense, candles, offerings, the three sacrificial meats, wine and seasonal food, inadequate though these rites may be, we reverently offer this sacrifice. Weeping, we address you: Alas…”

He continued, swaying his head as he chanted. The invocation’s balanced four- and six-character phrases were sonorous and carefully paired, but Shaoyang understood little. Had his father copied it, or written it himself?

At last it ended.

“Alas—may you accept our offerings! Three kowtows!”

The family respectfully bowed their foreheads to the ground three times.

After the rite, Madam Liang brought the low round dining table from the kitchen and set out three stools. She transferred the buns, cakes and two cups of wine from the altar to the table, then carried the three cuts of meat into the kitchen.

Two were put away. The pork she sliced into shreds and stir-fried until fragrant. She shredded the large radish, fried that too, scattered spring onion over it and brought out the plate.

“You two have worked hard these last few days,” she said, smiling. “Enjoy the New Year. I’ve made something to go with your wine.”

Shaoyang had not smelled cooked meat since arriving in this age. He swallowed audibly. Though the plate was mostly radish and the pork scarcely visible, he lifted his chopsticks at once.

His mother tapped his hand affectionately.

“Wait, you greedy little cat! Your father must begin first. Where are your manners?”

Who still kept such rules in modern households? The idea had never formed part of his life, so he kept forgetting. He hastily put down his chopsticks and swallowed again.

“Father, let’s eat!”

“What is the hurry?” Zuo Gui glanced at him. “Your mother hasn’t sat down. At your age, when will you learn some manners?”

“Oh. Mother, sit down and eat.”

“You start. It won’t taste good cold.”

She wiped her hands on her apron.

“I’ll just make you a vegetable soup.”

“We’ll wait. The reunion dinner should be eaten together.”

Zuo Gui stroked his beard and nodded. “That’s better. Go and offer the ancestors another stick of incense.”

Shaoyang rose, took a stick and lit it at the candle as his father had done. Bowing respectfully, he said aloud, “Ancestors, please continue to bless Father and Mother with health and long life in the coming year. May wealth enter Guizhi Hall, and may our lives flourish.”

A clinic could not ask for booming business; asking for wealth was acceptable. That custom he did know. He bowed and set the incense in place.

Rather than return to the food and keep swallowing over it, he stood with his hands behind him, studying the rows of ancestral tablets. Then he fed the squirrel some nut juice and played with it until his mother called him to eat.

Zuo Gui raised a cup.

“Come. To everything going well for our family in the coming year.”

“Cheers!”

Shaoyang lifted his cup, then noticed that his mother had none.

“Father, shouldn’t Mother have a cup too? She has worked hard all year, looking after everything.”

Madam Liang’s nose prickled. She sniffed quickly.

“Mother doesn’t drink.”

The old-fashioned expression she used literally meant “eat wine”. Shaoyang found it novel, though he could not get used to saying it himself.

“It’s New Year, Mother. Even if you don’t usually drink, have a little.”

Zuo Gui glanced at her. “Since Zhong is being so thoughtful, have a cup.”

“Exactly!”

Shaoyang fetched the empty cup left from the ancestral offerings, filled it and placed it before her.

“It’s cold. A cup will warm you and ease your tiredness.”

“Yes.”

She lifted it. Following Shaoyang’s lead, they toasted Zuo Gui. Father and son drained their cups; Madam Liang took only a small sip.

“Why haven’t you finished it, Mother? This first cup is our family reunion cup. You must empty it for everything to be complete.”

She laughed. “Very well. I’ll finish it.”

She drank slowly. Unused to wine, she felt it burn her throat and nearly choked to tears.

Shaoyang picked up her chopsticks and held some food to her lips.

“Quick, Mother! Have a mouthful to take the edge off.”

She ate it, chewing steadily, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.

Zuo Gui chuckled and looked reproachfully at his son.

“Look what you’ve done to your mother!” Then, to her, “Pour another and take your time with it.”

Shaoyang refilled her cup. After a few mouthfuls of food and several cups of wine, he felt pleasantly light-headed. He gathered his courage.

“Father, from the tablets and the invocation, it seemed Grandfather’s name was Zuo Shou. Is that right?”

“Mm.”

Zuo Gui, a little tipsy himself, looked towards the tablets over his cup.

“Your grandfather’s story is remarkable and sad. Ours is a scholarly family, a family of officials. Long ago, your great forebear served as merit officer in Chenzhou!”

He grew animated at the memory of ancestral glory. Taking a sip, he turned to Shaoyang.

“Do you know what a merit officer is?”

Shaoyang shook his head.

“A principal assistant to the prefectural governor, of the upper eighth rank, appointed directly by the Ministry of Personnel! Quite a figure in our home district. When I was a child, it brought us great honour.”

Shaoyang thought of the saying about seventh-rank county magistrates. Upper eighth rank might be roughly like a deputy county-level official. An official of some standing, anyway. No wonder his father spoke so enthusiastically.

“What happened afterwards?”

“The chaos at the end of the Sui. Warlords rose everywhere, and your great forebear’s service ended. He returned home and died in dejection. Your grandfather studied hard too and hoped for examination honours. But with war after war, what future was there for a scholar? The family declined, and he had no choice but to turn to medicine.”

So his grandfather had come to medicine partway through life. It was common enough in ancient times: when a scholarly career failed, one studied medicine instead.

“We really were a scholarly family, then. No wonder the ancestors’ tablets all have both personal and courtesy names. Father, why haven’t I got a courtesy name?”

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