The sky darkened little by little.
Song Shi sat on the stone stool in the courtyard, watching the last trace of afterglow in the west disappear behind the mountains.
Dusk closed in from all sides, and lights gradually began to glow throughout the village. A few barks drifted over from the distance, only to be scattered by the night wind.
It felt as though something were scratching at his heart—an unbearable itch that left him unable to sit still.
Fang Wan.
His mind was filled with the image of her lifting the curtain and stepping out. Her moon-white top, her raven-black skirt, the white velvet flower at her temple, her clear and understated gaze, and her neither-cold-nor-warm tone.
He wanted to see her one more time.
The moment that thought surfaced, he could no longer suppress it. It was like a burning coal falling into a pile of dry kindling. In an instant, the flames roared up, leaving him unable either to sit or stand.
Song Shi rose and paced around the courtyard twice before sitting down again. Then he stood once more.
He wished he could rush straight to the Fang Family Courtyard, using the excuse that he had left something behind—or simply saying that he wanted to see her. But after taking two steps, he stopped again and smacked his own head in frustration.
Go there empty-handed?
He had brought nothing with him when he returned this time. The bolts of cloth he had taken from the shop had already been given to Mother Fang. Now he had nothing of value on him—not even a piece of candy.
The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became.
If only he had a box of rouge fit to present! Or a pearl hairpin. At the very least, a packet of pastries would do. The girl had just agreed to the marriage, and he was going there empty-handed—what kind of behavior was that?
Song Shi squatted on the ground, clutching his head with both hands, wishing he could give himself a good beating.
What fine things did the shop not have? Exquisite Suzhou embroidery handkerchiefs, delicate pearl flowers, rouge and cosmetics from Jiangnan—he could have brought any of them. But he had brought nothing!
He had been too preoccupied with quarreling with his father and thinking about that Qingluo. And now look at him: he wanted to show Fang Wan his attentions, but he had nothing with which to do it.
“Shi-ge’er, are you squatting there counting ants?” A voice came from the neighboring courtyard. It was Uncle Zhao, the neighbor, who had just returned from the fields with a hoe over his shoulder. Seeing Song Shi like that, he could not help laughing.
Song Shi sprang to his feet, his face reddening slightly. He stammered, “N-no, I’m just getting some air.”
Uncle Zhao chuckled and did not ask further. He simply carried his hoe away.
Song Shi stood in the courtyard a while longer, staring toward the Fang Family Courtyard. It was pitch-black, and he could not see a thing.
It felt as though ten thousand ants were biting him inside.
He wanted to see her, but he could not; he wanted to go, but he had no face to show up empty-handed. He could neither leave nor stay, and not a single part of him felt comfortable.
In the end, he could only return to his room, lie on the bed, and stare motionlessly at the ceiling. Moonlight slipped through the window lattice and shone across his worried, furrowed face.
He closed his eyes, but Fang Wan’s image was still before him.
When he opened them, she was still there.
======
Unlike the restlessness in the Song family’s courtyard, the Fang Family Courtyard was quiet and peaceful.
Fang Wan was busy in the kitchen, preparing three dishes and a soup.
There was a plate of plain-fried tofu, a plate of greens tossed with garlic, and a bowl of steamed egg custard, along with a pot of millet porridge.
Her father had only just passed away, and the family neither killed living creatures nor ate meat. Everything was vegetarian, but she prepared each dish with great care. The tofu was cut into neat squares and fried golden on both sides until it had absorbed the flavor. The greens had been blanched until they were a vivid green, then drizzled with garlic oil. The egg custard was tender and smooth, with a drop of soy sauce and a spoonful of sesame oil on top. It looked appetizing enough to make one hungry at a glance.
Mother Fang sat in a daze in the main room. She did not come back to herself until Fang Wan carried the dishes in.
“Mother, it’s time to eat.” Fang Wan set the dishes on the table, then returned to the kitchen to bring out the porridge.
Mother Fang looked at the food on the table, and her eyes reddened again. “Wan'er, your father is gone, and you’ve had to suffer.”
Fang Wan did not answer. She simply ladled a bowl of porridge for her mother and placed it in front of her. “Mother, eat while it’s hot.”
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside. A moment later, a boy of seven or eight came running in.
His name was Fang Zhao, Fang Wan’s younger brother. He had just finished his lessons at the village school. He wore a gray-blue cotton robe and carried a cloth book bag over one shoulder. His round face resembled his sister’s by about three parts.
“Sis! I’m back!” Fang Zhao tossed his book bag onto the table, sat down eagerly, and grabbed his chopsticks.
“Wash your hands.” Fang Wan pressed down on his hand. Her voice was not loud, but her tone allowed no argument.
Fang Zhao pouted, obediently set down his chopsticks, and ran to the kitchen to wash his hands. When he returned, he shook the water from them as he made his way back to the table.
“Sis, did people from the Song family come today? Were they here to see you?” Fang Zhao asked, his eyes blinking with curiosity.
Fang Wan placed a piece of tofu in his bowl, her expression unchanged. “Children shouldn’t pry into such things.”
“I’m not a child!” Fang Zhao protested. “I’m already eight! Father said that once I grew a little older, I would be the man of the family and protect you and Mother!”
Fang Wan’s hand paused, and her throat tightened.
Mother Fang’s eyes reddened again. She took her son’s hand. “Zhao'er, if your father were still here and saw how sensible you’ve become, he would be so happy.”
Fang Zhao grew uncomfortable at his mother’s reaction and pulled his hand free. He shoveled down several mouthfuls of porridge before mumbling, “Mother, don’t cry. I’ll study hard from now on, earn honors, and give you and Sis a good life!”
Fang Wan drew a deep breath, suppressing the ache in her heart, and smiled. “All right. I’ll wait for Zhao'er to earn his honors. But before that, you have to finish this bowl of porridge.”
Fang Zhao lowered his head and drank the porridge. In just a few loud gulps, he had emptied the bowl.
After the meal, Fang Wan gathered the bowls and chopsticks and took them to the kitchen to wash. Fang Zhao followed behind her, chattering nonstop about what had happened at school. Student Wang had failed to recite his lessons and been struck on the palm by the teacher; Student Li had brought a packet of osmanthus candies and shared one with him.
Fang Wan listened as she washed the dishes, responding now and then.
“Sis.” Fang Zhao suddenly fell silent. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, his voice growing softer. “Will that Song Shi treat you well?”
Fang Wan’s hands paused in the water, then continued moving as the water rushed and splashed.
“Zhao'er, let me ask you something.” Rather than answer directly, she asked him in return, “Do you remember what Father used to say about Village Head Song? What kind of person did he say he was?”
Fang Zhao thought for a moment. “Father said Village Head Song was capable, upright, and loyal.”
“That’s right,” Fang Wan said. “Village Head Song’s son can’t be too bad, then.”
Fang Zhao nodded as though he understood, then asked, “Is he handsome?”
Fang Wan paused. She remembered Song Shi’s awkward, uneasy face and those eyes that had clung to her and refused to move away. She gave a soft “Mm.” “He’s all right.”
“Then does Sis like him?”
Fang Wan did not answer.
She stacked the washed bowls one by one, dried her hands, then turned around and squatted down so that she was eye to eye with her brother.
“Zhao'er, whether I like him or not is something for the future. Right now, the most important thing is for the three of us to live our days in peace and stability. I’m marrying into that family for the sake of ours.”
Fang Zhao did not entirely understand, but he still nodded hard. “Sis, don’t worry. When I grow up, I’ll protect you.”
Fang Wan stroked his head and smiled.
The smile was faint, like moonlight scattered across the surface of a lake. It was beautiful, yet somehow made people feel a little heartbroken.
The night gradually deepened.
Mother Fang went to bed early, and Fang Zhao began snoring softly in the inner room. Fang Wan sat alone in the courtyard, mending the tear in her younger brother’s clothes by moonlight.
The needle flashed up and down in her hands. Before long, the tear had been repaired. The stitches were fine and even; one could not see them without looking closely.
Fang Wan lowered her eyes, fastened the needle to the front of her garment, and softly spoke words that only she herself could hear.
“Father, rest assured. Your daughter will be fine.”
Meanwhile, at the other end of the village, Song Shi tossed and turned for most of the night before finally drifting into a confused sleep.
In his dream, Fang Wan wore a bright red bridal gown and gave him a faint smile.
He reached out, wanting to grasp her hand—
He woke.
The rooster crowed for the first time.
Song Shi lay in the darkness and raised his hand before his eyes. He clenched it, then let it fall.
He could no longer sleep.
He might as well get up. Feeling his way in the dark, he dressed himself. He had made up his mind—
As soon as the sky brightened, he would go to town, buy the finest rouge and the finest pearl hairpin, and then go to the Fang family.
He could not wait any longer.