“Auntie, you’ve been coming back quite frequently lately.”
“You little imp, what nonsense are you going to spout now?”
“Haha, although you’re my mother’s younger sister, in terms of closeness, you’re more like her daughter. Could it be that now that I’m managing the household, you’re afraid I might embezzle funds and feel you were shortchanged on your dowry, so you’re here to keep an eye on me?”
“Yes, yes! When I was managing the household, the account books were clear, and I handled matters fairly. If you dare to line your own pockets or show favoritism, I’ll make sure to wear down that thick skin of yours. A young lady like you, always talking about dowries—are you in such a hurry to get married? Today, I’ll have your mother arrange your marriage for you.”
“Hehe, I’m not getting married.”
“Not getting married? Do you plan to become an old maid?”
“Hehe, what’s wrong with being an old maid? It means freedom and no ties.”
Since Guo Mianniang’s birthday, Lin Cui’e had been returning to the Lin residence more and more often, staying for two or three days each time. Lin Fang understood that Lin Cui’e had completely let go of her past grievances, no longer dwelling on her failed marriage to Guo Mian. Touched by her parents’ efforts back then, she now relied on them even more, hence her frequent visits. Lin Cui’e was only ten years older than Lin Fang, and the two had grown up without much formality between them—bantering and teasing each other was second nature.
In less than three years, Lin Fang would turn eighteen. Li Cuimei also felt it was time for her daughter to learn how to manage the household, lest she be bullied after marriage. However, she was still concerned about Lin Fang’s health, so she left Xiaoqin’s wife at home to assist her. Whenever Lin Fang showed signs of fatigue, Xiaoqin’s wife would take over the remaining tasks, allowing Lin Fang to rest.
One day, Lin Fang was in her mother’s study creating tables to organize the month’s income and expenses. As she filled in the headings, Lin Cui’e entered carrying Xixian, and the aunt and niece began their usual banter.
The bumpy carriage ride had lulled Xixian to sleep like a cradle. After placing her daughter on the study’s couch, Lin Cui’e came over to see what Lin Fang was doing. Once she understood, she exclaimed delightedly, “This method is excellent—clear at a glance. I’ll use it for my accounts from now on.”
“Ha! Auntie, you can’t just copy the tables I worked so hard to create. You’ll have to give me something in return.”
“You little miser, what do you want? Your uncle is an official, and the law forbids him from engaging in business. His salary, though not small, pales in comparison to your monthly income. What could I possibly offer you?”
“Ha! The moment I ask, you start crying poverty. Between the two of us, who’s the real miser here? Your husband may not be allowed to do business, but as part of your dowry, you still run a weaving workshop. Why pretend to be poor? In my free time, I’ve drawn a few pictures of monks preaching. If you could weave these designs directly into fabric, it would surely sell well. Then you can repay me.”
“Oh? Show me quickly. If it really makes money, I won’t forget your share.”
Just moments ago, she had called her niece a miser, but at the mention of a profitable venture, her interest was immediately piqued. Xiaoqin’s wife, listening nearby, found it amusing—who was the real miser here?
Lin Fang explained the table-filling method to Xiaoqin’s wife, while Lin Cui’e instructed her maid to watch over Xixian. The aunt and niece then headed to Lin Fang’s Caixing Courtyard. Upon entering, they saw Sima Rusu sitting under a tree leisurely eating pomegranates. Lin Fang was puzzled: “Shouldn’t you be harvesting wood ears at the ear farm today? What brings you here to raid my stash?”
The sweet and juicy pomegranates had been delivered that morning by Qi Biao’s wet nurse. Sima Rusu loved pomegranates, and Lin Fang suspected she had a nose like a dog’s to sniff them out.
Putting down a piece of pomegranate peel and swallowing the seeds and juice in one gulp, Sima Rusu frowned. “It’s all because of that so-called adopted son of the Marquis. Today, he actually came to the ear farm and asked why I kept refusing his poetry gatherings. I told him I don’t know how to compose poetry—should I go just to be laughed at? Then he pulled out an invitation, saying I absolutely had to attend this time, or I’d be slighting the magistrate’s wife.”
Lin Fang was curious. “An invitation? Why would the Marquis’s adopted son personally deliver it?”
Picking up another pomegranate, Sima Rusu peeled the seeds as she answered. “It’s an invitation for the young ladies of the county’s official and wealthy families to admire chrysanthemums. Signed by Liang Feng.”
“Who’s Liang Feng?” Unless they were close, women rarely shared their personal names. It was no surprise Lin Fang didn’t know.
Lin Cui’e interjected, “Liang Feng is Guo Mian’s wife. She occasionally hosts poetry and flower gatherings.”
Remembering what they’d overheard that day, Lin Fang and Sima Rusu responded in unison: “She’s just bored.”
“Haha, how come you two speak in such sync?” Lin Cui’e shared their sentiment. Liang Feng had no children, didn’t serve her mother-in-law, didn’t share a bed with her husband, and had no household affairs to manage. If she didn’t find things to do, how else would she pass the time?
“Admiring chrysanthemums? How does one ‘admire’ them? Toss them in a salad, stir-fry them, or steep them in water?” True to her gluttonous nature, her thoughts never strayed far from food.
Sima Rusu nearly choked on a pomegranate seed. After chewing and swallowing hastily, she scolded, “You’re so vulgar! Such an elegant event, and you drag it down to the dinner table.”
Lin Fang retorted righteously, “Whether as medicine or food, chrysanthemums clear heat, brighten the eyes, nourish the liver, and have antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, and blood pressure-lowering effects. They even prevent heart disease. So what if it’s vulgar? Does being elegant mean we stop eating?”
“Fine, fine. I’m just a beginner in literature. The esteemed Sixth Miss Lin is so learned—I concede defeat. But don’t get too smug. There’s an invitation for you too. Whether you choose vulgarity or elegance is up to you.” Lifting the fruit plate, Sima Rusu pulled out two red-embossed invitations from underneath—she’d been using them as a tray liner—and handed one to Lin Fang.
Taking the invitation and opening it, Lin Fang saw the elegant signature “Liang Feng.” She frowned. “She gave you the invitation—why did you take mine? After that birthday banquet where someone died, do you still want to go?”
Sima Rusu sighed. “It’s all because of that adopted son. No matter what excuse I gave, he wouldn’t leave. He clung like a leech, so I took your invitation, saying I had to deliver it to you. That’s how I escaped. Even if I hadn’t brought it, he would have. Might as well let me use it. Whether you go is up to you.”
Could she refuse? As a well-known female tutor, Lin Fang’s talents were widely praised—proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Many young ladies had sent her invitations to tea parties, poetry gatherings, chess matches, or art and music competitions. But Lin Fang had little interest in such competitive games among girls. She had declined eight out of ten invitations, earning a reputation for aloofness. Now, with an invitation from the magistrate’s wife and the Marquis’s adopted son delivering it personally, refusing would be outright rude.
Besides, Sima Rusu was right—even if she hadn’t brought the invitation, that leech Shi Binghua would have delivered it anyway. One way or another, it would have ended up in her hands. Might as well let Sima Rusu use it to escape that playboy.
With the matter settled, there was no point in further discussion. Lin Fang and Lin Cui’e went inside to examine the preaching illustrations, while Sima Rusu, having seen them before, stayed outside. She asked Bo’er for a thin quilt, wrapped it around herself, and dozed under the tree.
Ever since Qi Biao’s blood was used to detoxify Lin Fang years ago, she had developed a fondness for the serene feeling of listening to Buddhist sermons. She would often climb the mountain to hear the monks preach and occasionally sketch the scenes on a whim.
This dynasty revered Buddhism. While Lin Fang enjoyed the mental tranquility, she wasn’t fanatical enough to forgo profit for faith. She believed that weaving sermon scenes into fabric would appeal to devout Buddhists. With a monastery nearby and monthly sermons on the first and fifteenth days, selling such patterned fabric around those dates would surely be lucrative.
Lin Cui’e agreed with Lin Fang’s idea and carefully collected the illustrations. Unable to wait for her elder brother and sister-in-law to return, she hurriedly picked up the now-awake Xixian and rushed back by carriage. When Li Cuimei returned and heard about it, she scolded Lin Fang. The autumn winds were chilly, and such rushing about was hard on adults, let alone children.
Lin Fang hadn’t expected Lin Cui’e to act so hastily. To soothe her mother’s worries, she reasoned, “Mother, you know how impulsive Auntie is—she acts on a whim. There’s no stopping her. But perhaps this is for the best. Lately, she’s been visiting so often, and Xixian suffers from the trips. Who knows if Uncle is already displeased? Now that she has this project, figuring out how to weave the designs will keep her busy. Once she’s occupied, she won’t have time to visit so frequently, sparing both adults and children the hardship. Uncle won’t resent her for clinging to her maiden home, and successful fabric sales will bring extra income. Multiple benefits—don’t you think it’s a good thing?”
Her sister had already left, and scolding her daughter wouldn’t help. Besides, Lin Fang made sense. Li Cuimei smiled. “I say one thing, and you counter with a whole speech. You always have the last word, turning even the unreasonable into reasonable. I heard Shi Binhua delivered invitations to several young ladies today, including you and Rusu. What do you plan to do—go or not?”
Lin Fang deflated. “Honestly, I don’t want to go, but I feel I can’t refuse.”
“Hmm, I understand. You should go, but be cautious. Shi Binhua’s status has changed, yet he humbled himself to run errands for a mere magistrate’s wife. This is unusual. People don’t act without motive—he must have an agenda. Be on guard, and remind Rusu too.”
After Lin Cui’e left, Lin Fang had pondered her mother’s concerns and nodded. “I understand.”
Thank you all for your unwavering support during the author’s break.
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