Chapter 52: New Year Greetings

After that, they chose lighter, happier subjects and drank more freely. The reunion meal was meant to last into the third watch, followed by a vigil to welcome the New Year. But the Zuos could not afford charcoal, and sitting still would leave them chilled. Once the third watch had passed, they ended the meal and went to bed instead.

It was Shaoyang’s first New Year’s Eve since arriving in this age, and the first time his marriage had been discussed. Even before travelling through time, he had never been particularly high-minded about such things. Modern attitudes to marriage had shaped his generation, himself included. He did not attach excessive importance to it or have a precise image of his future wife. As long as she was not too unattractive and their temperaments suited, that would do. Most ordinary urban families in modern life were comfortably enough off; wealth and income had not been his first considerations.

Here in the Tang, however, parents decided marriages, with equal family standing foremost. His father gloried in an ancestor’s eighth-rank office and called them a scholarly family of officials. Yet their home was bare and their debts heavy. What family of scholars or officials would willingly send a daughter to suffer with him?

His father’s grand marriage plan seemed a castle in the air. He would probably have to manage his own future—though if the shop prospered and their circumstances improved, his parents might still arrange a suitable match.

Tipsy, he lay thinking for a long while. Then Peilan came to mind. He took out the half-bun wrapped in her handkerchief. In the darkness he could see nothing, but brought it to his nose. He fancied he could smell that faint scent of grass, the distinctive fragrance that belonged to her.

His heart stirred. He wrapped it again and slipped it under his pillow. Hard as stone, it pressed uncomfortably against his head. He moved it further into the bed, and only then went to sleep.

Since the shop would be closed on New Year’s Day and there were no chores to do, he had hoped to sleep late. Before dawn, however, firecrackers began sounding everywhere. Pulling the quilt over his head did nothing. He was wondering what he could use to plug his ears when his mother called from below.

“Zhong! It’s the mao hour. Come down and set off the firecrackers!”

He muttered that he was far too old for firecrackers. But she had bought them so solemnly yesterday and was calling him before dawn; clearly this was a ritual rather than amusement. He answered, climbed up and rubbed his eyes as he descended the ladder.

Madam Liang had bought just a few of the cheapest large crackers and set them outside the door. She held a lit incense stick. Zuo Gui was up too, smiling with his hands in his sleeves.

Shaoyang took the incense and stepped outside. It was still dark. Snow on the ground gave off an eerie white glow, and fresh flakes were drifting down.

Other shops had already begun setting off fireworks and crackers. Tang gunpowder technology was naturally inferior to modern technology, and so were the fireworks. The reports were dull rather than crisp, and few fireworks rose into the sky. Most poor households probably could not afford such extravagance; a few crackers on the first day to drive away evil would suffice.

He crouched, lit them one by one and retreated inside. Several booming cracks followed.

“Freedom from illness and disaster! Good fortune in all things!” his parents said together.

He added a few auspicious wishes.

“Why haven’t you wished your father a happy New Year?” Madam Liang asked, smiling. “He has your gift money ready.”

“Gift money?” Shaoyang laughed. “I’m in my twenties. What do I need that for?”

“Until you marry, you still receive it. That’s the custom. Go on.”

“There’s a custom for everything. Do I kowtow or bow?”

“At New Year, of course you kowtow!”

“Oh.”

He peered around.

“Where’s the mat? I can’t see in this dark…”

“Never mind,” Zuo Gui said with a wave. “You’re grown. No need to keep kneeling. A bow will do.”

Shaoyang clasped his hands and bowed deeply.

“Happy New Year, Father and Mother! May your blessings be as vast as the eastern sea and your lives as long as the southern mountains. May wealth pour into Guizhi Hall and gold fill its doors each day!”

“Gold pouring in daily is hardly a good wish for a medicine shop,” Zuo Gui said, shaking his head. “Your couplet put it better: ‘May all beneath Heaven be free from illness, though medicines gather dust upon our shelves.’ That is what we should hope for.”

He took a little red packet from his robe and gave it to Shaoyang.

Shaoyang accepted it in both hands. Inside was a small stack of six copper coins, six signifying that all should go smoothly.

“It’s still dark. Go back and sleep a while,” his father said. “There’s nothing to do today. You’ve worked hard all year. Rest.”

Hands behind his back, he strolled into his room. Madam Liang waved Shaoyang upstairs and followed her husband.

The wind outside had left Shaoyang shivering. He thrust the money into his robe, hurried back, shut his door and climbed into bed. Yellow Ball had been woken by the crackers and was peering out of its nest. He stroked its sleek skin.

“Go to sleep. It isn’t light yet. There’s nothing to eat.”

Whether obedient or merely accustomed by now to the noise, the little creature curled up again, front paws round its head. Its furry tail wrapped over it like a quilt, and it soon slept soundly.

Shaoyang dozed until noon, when his mother called him to eat. Still bleary-eyed, he carried the squirrel’s nest down, fed it, then washed and had his own meal.

“Shall we begin our rounds tomorrow?” he asked his father over the food.

“No. We must wait until your sister’s family has paid their New Year visit. They usually stay for supper, so there probably won’t be time tomorrow. We’ll go on the second day.”

“Oh.”

He had yet to meet Hou Pu, his brother-in-law the yamen clerk, and was curious to see him.

After eating, he found a thick layer of overnight snow outside, trampled to ice by passing feet. He borrowed an iron shovel from the general-shop uncle opposite, cleared the ice, then swept it aside with the large bamboo broom. The uncle naturally praised his newfound diligence again.

With that finished and nothing else to do, he told his parents he was going for a walk. Several days had passed since his arrival, and he had not properly explored the town.

Hands tucked in his sleeves, he began with the immediate neighbourhood. On the other side of the little alley he had taken that night stood a private house, with two stone lions outside tightly closed red doors. No sound came from within. A family with guardian lions at its gate was probably well off. With such an imposing entrance, they were hardly likely to seek the neighbourly intimacy of “a near neighbour is better than a distant relative”.

On closer inspection, however, the lions were old. One lacked a toe, and the paint was peeling from the red doors. Perhaps the family was not doing so very well either.

On the shop’s other side stood an oil-and-salt shop, watched over by an old man who sat like a block of wood. Shaoyang tried to talk, but received only one reply to several remarks, with scarcely a smile. Losing interest, he moved on.

He followed the alley behind the kitchen to the T-junction he had visited before. The dark opening there proved to lead to a small temple, its sign reading Qingfeng Temple.

Idle, he went in. It was small but clean. Paint had peeled from the clay bodhisattva’s shoulders, exposing the earth beneath. Apart from curling sticks of incense and a few plates of dried fruit, the altar held no offerings. There were no worshippers, only two or three old monks chanting listlessly. They did not greet him.

He had no money to donate. After a look around, he came out again.

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