Chapter 22#
Rain Past the River’s Source#
Waking from a dream was truly unpleasant.
Despite it being the dead of winter, Feng Bing had broken into a full sweat, unable to believe the tremors deep within his body. How was this possible? Five years had already passed, and yet he dreamed of Pei Dan in this season. Was it because this had been the only man he’d ever had?
He considered himself not a lewd person, but when he was with Pei Dan, he had indeed greatly enjoyed the pleasures of love. Pei Dan was considerate, cheerful, and vigorous. Most crucially, he was beautiful—whenever Feng Bing watched him undress, he couldn’t resist wanting him.
But the Ten Princes’ Residence was too small—thin walls and decayed doors. Every time they made love, they deliberately kept their voices down, always afraid of startling the neighbors. When they woke at dawn, the distant sound of the market watchtower gong drifted in, along with Hu-bread vendors, women out early buying vegetables, and hurried passersby—all seeming to be right at their doorstep. This made the naked Feng Bing clutch the quilt even tighter, wanting to bury himself entirely in Pei Dan’s arms.
Pei Dan would laugh, his bare chest seeming to expose a naked heartbeat. Even though they’d married in July, when the weather could only be called sweltering, they still always needed to cling to each other to feel warm.
Feng Bing could still remember, even now, the quivering waves of emotion in Pei Dan’s eyes. In that moment, he had believed that Pei Dan liked him.
It had been a long time since Feng Bing had felt such intense emotions, but he couldn’t discern the direction of their surge. With his eyes closed, he breathed for a long while, finally suppressing the stirring desire.
Yet just last night, Pei Dan had been boasting that his upright posture cast no crooked shadow.
Feng Bing thought to himself that he already had nothing left—he couldn’t even afford to lose his dignity.
Pei Dan came out of the kitchen and heard people chatting near the hot spring in the backyard. He went over to look and saw that it was Chunshi and a young servant boy standing behind a hole in the wall, stacking stones one after another to block it up.
Pei Dan and Chunshi’s eyes met, and Chunshi piled the stone in his hands on top, blocking Pei Dan’s line of sight.
Pei Dan: …
After finishing the task his master had assigned, Chunshi returned to the main hall. His master was standing on a small stool, one hand holding up his sleeve and the other holding a brush to paint the “counting the nines” winter plum blossom picture on the wall.
Today was rare in its fine weather. Slanting sunlight shone through the doorway, and the frost in the hall gleamed with cold, luminous reflections.
Over twenty days had passed since the Winter Solstice. Two nine-petaled red plum blossoms were already vivid as if dripping with color; his master was now painting the third. Carefully filling in that single petal until his hand grew sore, he lightly hopped off the stool. Chunshi hurried over to take the brush and said with a smile, “Master paints so beautifully!”
Feng Bing put his hands on his hips, looking up at the winter plum picture with satisfaction of his own. The base design had been purchased from the East Market. Though he wasn’t skilled in calligraphy or painting, surely he wouldn’t go wrong just coloring it in!
But after gazing at it for a while, his smile gradually faded, and he said something seemingly out of nowhere: “The old one was still prettier.”
Chunshi shrank his neck back, not daring to say more.
Chunshi knew his master enjoyed doing this sort of work. In the distant past, the winter plum picture each year was always painted by hand by Master Pei—Master Pei’s poetry, prose, calligraphy, and painting were all unparalleled in this dynasty; painting this thing was a mere trifling skill—and then he would let his master stand on a small stool each day to color it in. Sometimes Chunshi would see Master Pei standing beside him, steadying his master’s waist and pointing out his painting technique. When his master grew impatient, he would lift his brush and dab a stroke of vermilion directly onto Master Pei’s nose.
“We agreed to let me color it in,” his master said, quite angry.
“You said it was just to test colors, but now it’s almost all colored in.” Master Pei instead pulled his master closer, his grimy nose tip pressing against his master’s collar, making him dodge away. “Well then, why not just let Chunshi come tonight so we can—” The rest of the words, Chunshi couldn’t hear again.
……
But after going to Lingnan, life was harsh. Neither Chunshi nor his master had thought of this New Year tradition again. Counting the nines after the Winter Solstice, warming a pot of hot tea to watch the plum blossoms open—that was a refined pastime of comfortable times, not belonging to them in their displacement.
For dinner they had freshly sliced crucian carp, drizzled with ghee and fragrant vinegar. Fresh and delicious, his master was in good spirits and even had an extra bowl of rice. Chunshi watched the fish shreds, thin and delicate, glistening like snow, and marveled at how long it had been since he’d eaten such luxurious fare. Back in the Ten Princes’ Residence, the best his master had gotten was a bite of fresh fish. The cook in Minister Yang’s residence—with this knife work alone—could surely go cook imperial meals in the Inner Palace!
Feng Bing bit his chopsticks with a smile, his gaze drifting uncertainly. He had a vague guess in his heart but didn’t dare confirm it—it just floated in his chest, stifling his heartbeat.
On the twenty-fourth, the Kitchen God festival, the palace was to hold a small family reunion banquet by custom. Feng Bing figured this was probably what the imperial decree in August had meant by “a gathering to recount brotherly bonds.” In the afternoon, the palace sent carriages to fetch him, led by Deputy Commissioner Yuan Jiulin. The man glanced at Feng Bing, gave a slight bow, and smiled with hidden meaning.
The long avenue was covered in slushy snow. Chunshi followed Yuan Jiulin and several eunuchs, treading through the snow to escort the carriage toward Daming Palace. Rounding several corners, they passed the grand entrance of the Pei residence.
Chancellor Pei happened to be standing right beneath the white stone steps, with his own carriage nearby. Seeing the imperial carriage, he had nowhere to hide, so he simply brushed off his sleeves and stepped forward to pay his respects.
Yuan Jiulin smiled so broadly his eyes disappeared behind his brows. “I trust Chancellor Pei is well. Are you also heading into the palace?”
“Yes,” Pei Dan replied courteously. “Today the palace holds the Kitchen God ceremony. I oversee the rites, so I dare not be absent.”
“Good, good,” Yuan Jiulin said. “Then shall we go ahead?”
Pei Dan quickly said, “Of course—how could this humble minister’s humble carriage dare outrank the imperial carriage.” He instructed his coachman to lead the horses aside, clearing the road and letting Yuan Jiulin’s party pass first.
Feng Bing sat in the warmly heated carriage, listening to the dry exchange outside. He felt a bit breathless but didn’t dare lift the curtain to look. Did Pei Dan know who was sitting inside the carriage?
After having that spring dream, he actually felt like a guilty thief, not even daring to see Pei Dan.
Once the carriage had moved on and he estimated Pei Dan could no longer see, he slightly lifted the small curtain on the carriage window. Cold wind hit his face—but it was Chunshi who came up beside him. “Master, what’s wrong?”
Looking at Chunshi, he was suddenly struck speechless. Chunshi was outside the whole time—what was he even hiding from!
The imperial carriage departed into the distance. The Pei residence’s coachman led the carriage back, and Uncle Wu invited Pei Dan to board.
Pei Dan hastily pulled back his gaze.
He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Feng Bing—just knowing Feng Bing was in the carriage made his body stiffen.
He thought of his entangled dream from last night.
On this coldest day of winter, the young chancellor stomped his feet and breathed warm air onto his hands, his complexion growing even more flushed beneath his pallor. He got into the carriage and yanked the curtain down with a loud crash, startling Uncle Wu, who had no idea what sort of childish temper the chancellor was throwing now.
Feng Bing: We agreed to let me color it in.
Me: Let you color it, let you color it! I’ll give you 240 colored watercolor pens to color with! Oh, my Jiaojiao!
The Ten Princes’ Residence was an arrangement for imperial princes during the reign of Tang Xuanzong. The specifics can be looked up on Baidu; it was essentially a sprawling complex of connected mansions. It wasn’t shabby in itself—as mentioned at the beginning, no matter how unfavored Feng Bing was, his life was still much better than commoners’. However, my private canon is that not just princes but other members of the imperial clan also lived in the Ten Princes’ Residence, so it was more crowded. At the end of the day, it’s because I wanted the couple to be all over each other (case closed.jpg)