The rain seemed reluctant to stop, falling as a fine mist from the break of dawn well into the afternoon.
Chu Mingse reached a hand out from under the eaves and felt a faint chill as the mist passed through her fingers.
Such a light drizzle was hardly enough to keep her indoors. She slung a small bundle over her shoulder, carefully put on the little straw rain cape and hat her father had woven for her with his own hands, and from a distance looked round and plump, like a little potato just dug up from the ground.
She turned back and latched the door firmly, then gave the courtyard a meticulous once-over. Early this morning, her father had gone to the carpentry workshop in town to deliver a custom piece, and her mother had gone to treat the flowers at a wealthy household’s estate. She was home alone today, so she had to take on the responsibility of looking after the place.
After checking the front and back of the house, Chu Mingse was about to head to the neighboring courtyard. She had just set her foot on the ladder leaning against the courtyard wall when a knock came at the gate.
“Sese, are you home?”
A boy’s loud voice came from outside, unmistakably Lin Ergou’s.
Chu Mingse withdrew her foot from the ladder and scurried over to the gate, pulling open the vermilion-painted wooden door.
Lin Ergou, dark-skinned and lanky, stood casually outside. Though only a year older than Chu Mingse, he was a full head taller, casting a shadow like a young pine tree before the door. He had been about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open to reveal a small head poking out. He quickly pulled back the hand that had nearly knocked against Chu Mingse’s head, tucked it behind his back, and broke into a grin, flashing a row of white teeth.
“Ergou, did you need something?”
Chu Mingse asked with all seriousness, and Lin Ergou’s face fell at her words, though the change was hardly noticeable on his already dark complexion. He furrowed his unruly brows and said in a muffled voice, “Can’t I come find you just to play? You haven’t come out in days. Ah Hua guessed you got into big trouble and that Uncle Qingyuan grounded you. Is that true or not?”
“Not true. I didn’t get into any trouble.” Chu Mingse tilted her head and earnestly defended herself. “Ah Hua guessed wrong.”
“I knew it. You’re so well-behaved, Sese. Even if you made a mistake, Uncle Qingyuan wouldn’t have the heart to lock you up.” Lin Ergou let out a relieved breath, a hint of pride creeping into his eyes as he added, “Ah Hua wanted to take your place as the princess, but I didn’t agree. I said you’d still be playing with us today. Come on, let’s go meet up with Ah Hua and the others!”
“Princess” was one of the roles in their make-believe games, championed by the “sword-bearing guard” Lin Ergou, and whoever held the role had the right to first pick of all the supplies. Everyone fought to be the princess, but most of the time the “sword-bearing guard” only ever chose Chu Mingse.
Lin Ergou reached out to take Chu Mingse’s hand to lead her out, but instead she grabbed his hand and gave it a little shake.
“If Ah Hua wants to be the princess, let her be. I have something else to do today, so I can’t play with you all.” Chu Mingse tried her best to convey her apology with her eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? Let’s play another time.”
“What do you have to do that you can’t bring me along?” Lin Ergou grumbled, grabbing hold of her rain cape. “Where are you going?”
Chu Mingse tilted her chin to the side and said honestly, “I’m going next door.”
Her parents had said that their relationship with Madam Pei was not something to be shared with outsiders, so she kept her answer brief, without adding a single word more.
Lin Ergou’s face immediately fell, his eyes beneath his thick brows filled with accusation. “I’ve noticed—ever since new neighbors moved in next door, you’ve never played with us again! Have you found new friends and don’t want to play with us anymore?”
“You, you…” Lin Ergou choked for a long moment, then, recalling the words his mother used to scold his father when he didn’t come home, clumsily applied them: “You heartless wench!”
Chu Mingse was taken aback. “I—I’m not!”
“You won’t play with us because of him—if that’s not a heartless wench, what is?” Lin Ergou huffed, and with a long stride, turned to leave. “I’m going to tell Ah Hua and the others that you’ve got new friends and won’t play with us anymore.”
Chu Mingse was at a loss, hopping anxiously in place. She hadn’t forgotten her old friends just because she’d made a new one!
She looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds pressed against the horizon, making it impossible to tell the hour. But she’d only woken from her nap a short while ago, so there should still be plenty of time before dinner. Going next door to see Brother Pei was important, but her old friends mattered just as much—she shouldn’t neglect one for the other. Having thought it through, Chu Mingse stamped her foot, shut the door behind her, and chased after him.
Brother Pei would stay in his room and wouldn’t run off anyway. She could go explain things to Lin Ergou and Ah Hua first, apologize, and then come back to find Brother Pei—it wouldn’t be too late.
The clouds refused to disperse, and the sky remained dim and gloomy. Inside the room, the newly installed water clock dripped away, its sound grating on the nerves.
Slender fingers flipped a page of the book, the slightly impatient motion creasing the paper.
Pei Zhaoxue looked up once more at the tightly shut window before his desk. Aside from the rustling of wind through the leaves, there was no sound at all.
It was almost the end of the shen hour.
A fleeting emotion crossed his indifferent dark eyes. He closed them briefly, then shut the book in his hands. His fingertips tapped rhythmically on the cover, keeping time with the dripping of the water clock.
Calm the mind, steady the breath, let nothing external disturb…
Thump, thump…
Rapid footsteps approached from afar, drumming against Pei Zhaoxue’s heart and disrupting the rhythm of his fingers.
A familiar voice, breathless, sounded from outside the window: “Brother Pei, I’m here.”
His thick, dark lashes trembled. Pei Zhaoxue slowly opened his eyes and saw a thin slip of paper being pushed through the crack in the window.
Outside, Chu Mingse was still chattering on, explaining why she was so late today. She didn’t want to flatter herself by thinking Brother Pei had been waiting for her, but since she was this late, she ought to explain herself. She’d only just managed to appease Lin Ergou and Ah Hua, and she didn’t want to be called a “heartless wench” again.
Pei Zhaoxue took the note and glanced at it. In crooked, wobbly handwriting, it read:
“Brother Pei, greetings upon opening this letter:
My name is Chu Mingse. Father said it comes from the line ‘Se bi yu zan’—I can’t recite it, but Father said you would know it. It’s a good name!
Could you tell me what your name is?”
After the question mark, she’d drawn a big smiling face in her childish hand.
It was clear she didn’t know many characters yet—the more complex ones must have been written by an adult for her to copy stroke by stroke, and they came out much larger than the others, looking clumsy and naive.
Se bi yu zan, huang liu zai zhong. Kai ti jun zi, fu lu you jiang.
Indeed, it was a very fine name.
Outside the window, Chu Mingse was straining to hold onto the windowsill, her lips pressed tightly together as she reminded herself not to rush him. What if Brother Pei was planning to write her a reply, but her impatience made him decide not to bother with her after all? But then…
Chu Mingse glanced at the clean windowsill. The little wooden figure she had left yesterday was gone—which, if she looked on the bright side, meant Brother Pei had accepted it. In that case, she was sure to get a reply!
The sky had been overcast all day, and the lamp inside burned steadily, casting the boy’s silhouette against the window.
Chu Mingse watched eagerly. When the shadow finally moved after being still for a long while, she pressed closer in excitement and received a slip of paper through the gap in the window.
A reply!
Chu Mingse took it with both hands, beaming, and held it up to her face—only to freeze in dismay.
The note had only three characters, but she could recognize just the first one, which she assumed was the surname “Pei.”
She scratched her cheek and tugged at the small bundle slung under her straw hat, which held her brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. She had thought that if Brother Pei truly wouldn’t speak but did reply, she could set out her writing supplies right there and communicate with him through little notes. But she had forgotten that her parents never pushed her hard in her studies—they taught the poems in her books slowly, so she knew only a few characters.
She hemmed and hawed, carefully tucking the note away, then leaned close to the window crack and whispered, “Brother Pei, I don’t recognize these characters yet. Wait for me to go home and learn them!”
The last rays of the setting sun broke through the gloomy clouds, casting a faint light. Chu Mingse added, “The sun’s about to set anyway, so I need to head home now. I’ll come back tomorrow—and tomorrow, you have to write me another reply!”
Chu Mingse hurried home without stopping.
Inside, Pei Zhaoxue lowered his gaze to the note, staring at the ugly little smiley face for a long moment. His fingers brushed over it twice, but in the end, he didn’t toss it into the pile of crumpled paper balls on the floor. Instead, he picked up the paperweight from the desk and pressed the note beneath it.
“Father!”
Chu Mingse hadn’t even come down the ladder yet when her loud, spirited call rang through the courtyard. She shouted, “Father! Teach me to read characters, quick!”
Chu Qingyuan was splitting wood in the yard. He looked up, puzzled. “Didn’t you just practice writing last night? What characters do you need to learn now?”
“Brother Pei wrote me a reply, and I don’t recognize the characters on it!”
“Oh my! He actually agreed to communicate with you!” Chu Qingyuan quickly set down his hatchet, walked over to the foot of the ladder, and held the hard-won note up to his eyes, pressing his head against Chu Mingse’s as they looked at it together.
“What does it say?”
Chu Qingyuan clicked his tongue in admiration. “This handwriting is truly beautiful—full of character and style. Though it seems a bit subdued, lacking any sharpness or edge…”
Chu Mingse bumped her head against his and urged, “What does it say?”
“His name, that’s all.” Chu Qingyuan pointed at the three elegant, flowing characters on the paper and read them one by one: “Pei Zhaoxue.”
“That’s your Brother Pei’s name. Do you recognize it now?”
“Pei Zhaoxue. What a pretty name.” Chu Mingse took the note back, studied it carefully, recited it silently a few times, and nodded confidently. “I know them all now!”
Chu Qingyuan helped her take off her straw rain cape and only then noticed the small bundle slung across her body. He lifted it with one hand—it was a bit heavy. “What’s this you’re carrying?”
“My brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone.” Chu Mingse took off the small bundle and handed it to Chu Qingyuan. “From now on, I can use little notes to communicate with Brother Pei.”
“…” Chu Qingyuan didn’t quite understand. “Since he can hear you, why not just talk to him and have him write notes for you? Why carry all this calligraphy stuff around? It’s awfully heavy.”
He pinched his daughter’s slender little shoulder, worried—she might get crushed under the weight.
“What if he happens not to be listening when I speak? What if he just prefers replying with notes?” Chu Mingse had her own logic. A few days ago, she had chattered away for a good long while without receiving a single word in reply, but today she handed over a note and got one back—proof that her method worked.
Chu Mingse hugged Chu Qingyuan’s arm and swayed it back and forth, her dark eyes wide and round, gazing up at him with a pitiful look. In a soft voice, she said, “Father, you’re not busy, are you? Could you teach me a few more characters, please?”
“…” Never in his life had he imagined being begged by his daughter to study. Chu Qingyuan laughed and bent down to scoop Chu Mingse up. “Alright, tonight your father will do nothing else—just teach Sese to write. But can you remember all the characters I teach you?”
“Didn’t Father say Sese is the smartest? Of course I’ll remember them all!”
Chu Qingyuan let out a hearty laugh. As he passed by the kitchen window, Qu He called out to him.
The warm yellow light of the kitchen enveloped her, gentle as if she were a figure in a painting. Misty steam rose from the stove, and the aroma of food drifted out through the open window. She gave a soft, tender command: “Save the character lessons for later. Wash your hands and eat first.”
The big one and the little one exchanged a glance, then said in unison:
“Listen to your mother.”
“Listen to Mother!”
Author’s Note:
“Bright and pure the jade libation cup, golden wine within it fills. Noble and virtuous is the gentleman, blessings and fortune upon him descend” is from the Book of Songs, roughly meaning: “In the gleaming, pure jade cup is filled with golden fragrant wine. For the gentleman of noble virtue, fortune and blessings shall naturally descend upon him.”
“Se” describes the crystalline appearance of jade, extended to mean clean and bright.