Chapter Fourteen: Nighttime Conversation

In the afternoon, Wu Ning, thinking that more people would be coming to help the next day, sent Huzi and Wu Li into town again to buy a good amount of food.

That evening, the patriarch Zu Jun suggested Wu Qi sleep at his place, but Wu Qi refused, insisting he wanted to squeeze onto the kang with Wu Ning.

Seeing the two of them together, Wu Li also declared he wouldn’t go home.

As for Huzi and Qiao’er—well, the three brothers simply kicked Huzi out. Not only did the fellow snore, but his feet stank. Besides, given his size, if he tried to sleep in Wu Ning’s room too, they’d have to stack themselves up on the kang.

...

The three half-grown boys lay on the kang, unable to sleep, and as was the case in every era, their idle chatter inevitably turned to women.

“Old Eight, has your father found you a wife yet?” Wu Qi broke the silence.

“Call me Brother Eight!” Wu Li shot him a glare in the darkness, then added, “He’s looking, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Wu Qi rolled over to face Wu Li. “Why? He can’t find one, or none that you like?”

“It’s not about finding one. Our patriarch is the village head, we have land and a kiln, and our eldest uncle’s in the army—girls from other villages would jump at the chance to marry in!”

“Oh, listen to you brag!” Wu Qi teased him. “So why not get your hopes up?”

Wu Li grew agitated. “It’s our patriarch! He insists on finding someone plump, says it’s for the sake of bearing sons.”

Perhaps influenced by Wu Ning, both Wu Li and Wu Qi had tastes a bit at odds with the times. In the Tang dynasty, plumpness was considered beautiful—not excessively so, but curvy was the ideal. Yet the two of them, like Wu Ning, preferred the slender type.

“The other day, old Chen from Chen’s Manor came to our house, offered his second daughter, but the patriarch turned her down.”

“Second Miss Chen? Really!?” Wu Qi sat up. “I remember a few years back she was a real beauty—she must be even lovelier now, right?”

Wu Ning, who hadn’t spoken till now, chuckled. “The moment Old Eight saw her, he was practically drooling. You tell me if she’s lovely or not.”

Embarrassed at having his secret revealed, Wu Li protested, “You were staring at her just as much as I was!”

“I didn’t drool, though!”

“Get lost, talk about someone else!”

...

After a moment of silence, Wu Li couldn’t help but lament, his voice cracking, “She would have been such a good match, but the patriarch just won’t allow it!”

Wu Ning, seeing his distress, started making mischief. “Then go cry to the patriarch, say you won’t marry anyone but Second Miss Chen.”

“Right!” Wu Qi egged him on. “I’ll go with you.”

Wu Ning raised an eyebrow. “Why are you getting involved?”

Wu Qi put on a pained expression, just like Wu Li’s. “Old Nine, I’m just like Old Eight, I...”

“I can’t help myself either.”

“Ah... what?” Wu Ning was shocked, sitting up bolt upright. “Can’t be. Aren’t you the top beauty in Fangzhou yourself?”

“Honestly! I mean it!” Wu Qi had not a hint of jest in his voice.

...

“Who is it?”

“Qin Miaoniang from the Qin family in town, do you know her?”

Wu Ning thought hard, eyes wide. “I haven’t met her, but I’ve heard the name.”

Qin Miaoniang was the only daughter of Qin Wenyuan, the great merchant of Fangzhou. Her reputation was as extraordinary as her name—wondrous beyond words. Stories about her beauty had spread everywhere; she was said to be as radiant as spring flowers, the unrivaled beauty of Fangzhou. Not only minor characters like Wu Qi, but even Li Chongrun, eldest son of Prince Luling, though only eight years old, had declared after one meeting that he would marry no one but Qin Miaoniang. The first son of the County Lord’s family also boasted he would take her as a concubine, warning that anyone who dared compete would be his enemy. One could imagine just how beautiful this fourteen-year-old girl must be. Unfortunately, Wu Ning had never seen her.

“You’ve seen Qin Miaoniang?”

“Once.”

“And you fell for her?”

“I did.”

“Then have your father propose. With your family background, how could you not win over the daughter of a merchant?”

Wu Qi was nearly in tears. “It’s exactly because of my family background—my father would never agree.”

...

“My father said, she’s just a merchant’s daughter—even if the Qin family gave her a dowry of ten thousand strings of cash, it still wouldn’t be a good match for us.”

Well, Wu Ning was at a loss for words. Like father, like son. The old patriarch was stubborn, but he hadn’t expected his fourth uncle to be just as unyielding about such matters.

“Then forget it,” Wu Ning said.

“What? Forget what?”

“Give up. That’s what I mean.”

“No way!” Wu Qi protested, grabbing Wu Li’s arm. “Brother Eight, let’s go cry to the patriarch together tomorrow, okay? You for your Second Miss Chen, me for my Qin Miaoniang. How about it?”

“Not a chance!” Wu Li shook him off. “I’m not going to get beaten up with you. At least with Second Miss Chen it’s just about body type; for you, it’s about family background. How could those be the same?”

“Fine!” Wu Qi was thoroughly dejected. “Looks like I’ll have to give up on Qin Miaoniang.”

“So you’re giving up just like that?”

“What else can I do? My father will never agree,” Wu Qi muttered. Then, suddenly, his face brightened with a dazzling smile, all trace of sorrow gone.

“Luckily, I still have Li Siniang as a backup.”

Good grief!

Wu Ning and Wu Li both collapsed with laughter.

“And who’s Li Siniang now?”

What a hopeless case—he was simply a born heartbreaker.

...

The three chatted and joked, and no one knew exactly when they fell asleep.

When morning came and Wu Qi opened his eyes, Wu Ning was already gone, and the smell of breakfast was wafting from the kitchen. He dragged Wu Li out of bed, and the two of them went to the kitchen to find not only was the rice done, the dishes were coming out too. The rice was cooked in a clay pot, this time with pork—plenty of meat and vegetables to go around. Wu Ning had also made a special big-bone radish soup; even if you couldn’t see the meat, the aroma was rich and tempting.

Seeing them up, Wu Ning, while pouring okra soup into the pot, said, “Wash your faces and start bringing things out. Seventh Brother and Sixth Uncle will be here any moment.”

In fact, they had already arrived. As soon as Wu Ning finished speaking, Old Seven came in with Old Eleven, Old Fourteen, and Third Brother.

“Well, when did Old Ten get back? Didn’t even come by Third Brother’s house to say hello.”

Wu Qi hastened to smile obsequiously, “Here I am now.”

He added, “Old Nine really caused a stir, even called in Third Brother.”

Third Brother was much older than Wu Qi and the others—by more than a little. In this hollow, everyone was kin, but the branches of the family varied in age. In fact, Third Brother was two years older than Wu Li’s father. To these younger ones, he was not just a brother, but like an elder.

“Third Brother, Seventh Brother, sit down—food will be ready in a moment!”

Wu Qi and Wu Li bustled about, quickly washing up and carrying pots of food out to the courtyard.

Soon Sixth Uncle arrived, and Wu Qi went next door to fetch Fifth Uncle and Fifth Aunt, so they could all eat together.

The patriarch wasn’t there; he’d gone to the kiln and hadn’t come back yet.

...

It was custom—if you helped with someone’s work, you ate at their table. No one was shy about it, because sooner or later, everyone would need help in return.

But when Sixth Uncle saw there was white rice and meat on the table, along with stewed vegetables and egg soup, his face immediately darkened.

“Ninth Boy, you can’t live like this. No one can afford to eat like this every day!”

“No one said we’d eat like this every day!” Wu Ning called everyone to the table. “First day, we eat well. Tomorrow there won’t be any of this.”

“All right then.” Sixth Uncle was a straightforward man and didn’t insist. He passed chopsticks to Fifth Uncle, looked around at the helpers, and announced, “Old Nine has fed us well; we have to do a good job and be worthy of his kindness.”

Old Eleven, already ravenous, wasted no time snatching a big chunk of meat to put in Fifth Uncle’s bowl, then started eating before anyone else.

He replied while chewing, “Don’t worry, Uncle Six!”

...

After breakfast, no one lingered. Sixth Uncle was an expert at house repairs, so everyone followed his lead. First, he had Third Brother take the younger men to remove the thatch from the main house and dismantle the beams—work that required muscle, not skill. Meanwhile, he and Fifth Uncle went to the back yard.

The new beams were laid out in the back; cutting, riveting, mortising—these were his tasks.

...

————————————

Some readers might feel the opening of Cangshan is a bit slow or wordy.

But all I wanted was to use my writing to paint a picture of a small Tang dynasty village, to make this little hollow come alive.

I want you to remember every person in this village, because...

That will matter.