Chapter Thirty-Six: The Sixth Qiqiao Festival (Part One)

Suddenly, a constable shouted, “Lord Su has arrived!”

The group turned to look and, sure enough, it was him. They all hurriedly saluted. “Greetings, Lord Su.”

Su Mu surveyed the Wen family’s building, a look of dissatisfaction in his eyes. He turned to the constable beside him and said, “Why is it only this tall?”

The constable, flustered, replied, “My lord, we were pressed for time. It was difficult to construct a tower any higher in such haste.”

Su Mu frowned. “Go find more bamboo and add ten more stories.”

The constables froze at this. Twilight was already falling; where were they supposed to find so much bamboo at this hour? Wasn’t he making things difficult on purpose?

Seeing the constables’ troubled faces, Wen… was about to step forward when Fifth Lady Wen beat her to it, walking up to Su Mu with a smile. “This tower really is too short. The festive towers of the capital’s wealthy families reach more than fifty feet, while this one is barely twenty. I fear it’s not even as tall as those of some well-to-do families in the county.”

“Fifth Lady speaks true. How can the county yamen’s tower be outdone?” Su Mu declared, glaring at the constables.

They quickly responded, “We will see to it at once.”

“Lord Su, forgive my boldness, but the festive tower embodies people’s good wishes for the Qiqiao Festival. Its height matters little; what counts is sincerity. With night falling, if you demand such a lofty tower now, should anything happen, it would cause needless complications and leave the townsfolk grumbling about your extravagance. Such ostentation would only draw suspicion about the use of taxes,” Wen… said.

Su Mu fixed her with a long stare. “Seventh Lady speaks with wisdom. We’ll do as you suggest.”

Fifth Lady Wen was taken aback, shooting a daggered glance at her sister. Must you always interfere?

The constables breathed a sigh of relief, gratefully glancing at Wen… and silently giving her a thumbs up.

It wasn’t that Wen… was deliberately opposing Fifth Lady Wen; it was simply that with night coming on, any further fuss over the tower would mean no sleep for anyone. She herself was exhausted and keen to send the crowd away so she could rest.

After Su Mu and his entourage departed, Fifth Lady Wen smiled sweetly at her younger sister. “You’ve really learned how to manage things these days. When you left the capital, you still owed the tailor and the goldsmith several thousand taels of silver. Has mother managed to pay off your debts yet?”

Wen… was stunned. Debts? If she had to repay thousands of taels herself, that would be disaster. Did the former Wen Qiniang have such a habit of not paying her debts?

“Have you forgotten, Seventh Sister?” Fifth Lady Wen said with no small measure of satisfaction.

“It’s my debt, and of course I’ll repay it. Thank you for reminding me, Fifth Sister,” Wen… replied with a smile before retiring to her room. If the sky was about to fall, it could wait till tomorrow; she was so tired she could barely stand.

Fifth Lady Wen’s expression turned cold. This sickly girl looked better by the day. Who would’ve thought someone halfway to the grave would come back to life—and surpass her in Lord Su’s favor? As for Su Mu, who knew what he was thinking? Tomorrow would reveal all with his invitations.

…

The next day was finally the Qiqiao Festival, and the back courtyard was bustling from early morning.

“Seventh Sister, Third Sister, Fifth Sister, let’s dye our nails!” Eighth Lady Wen ran out, carrying a basket of fresh balsam petals.

“Alright,” Wen… accepted the basket, eyeing the petals, glistening with dew in a rainbow of colors. She was curious, but kept her face composed.

Qingshuang appeared, carrying a clay jar. She tipped in all the petals, then sprinkled in a white powder.

“Is that sugar?” Ten-year-old Wen asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

Qingshuang giggled. “That’s alum.”

“What’s alum? Can you eat it?” the boy persisted.

“Of course not. Even if you could, you wouldn’t like it; it’s bitter and astringent. Not sweet like sugar at all,” Third Lady Wen said fondly to her youngest brother.

“So why are you using it, then?” he asked, watching as Qingshuang began to pound the petals with a wooden stick.

“To dye our nails, of course. Now run along—this is girls’ business,” Fifth Lady Wen teased.

He frowned, pouting. “I’m the only boy in the family. If I don’t join you, who will I play with? I want to dye my nails too! Who says only girls can do it?”

His indignant little face made everyone burst into laughter.

“Be good, Ten. If father sees you with painted nails, watch out for your hide,” Wen… chided playfully.

At the mention of their father, Ten quieted down. He’d only been speaking out of mischief; at his age, the more you forbade something, the more he wanted to try it.

After pounding for a while, Qingshuang inspected the crushed petals, now a rich paste. She brought over a pile of soft, broad leaves, set them by the jar, cut a length of cotton string, then clapped her hands. “All ready—who’s first?”

“I will!” Eighth Lady Wen cried excitedly.

“Let Third Sister go first,” Wen… said, gently taking Eighth Sister’s outstretched hand.

Eighth Lady looked at Third Lady. Had Wen… not reminded her, she’d have forgotten her altogether. Feeling her hand squeezed, she understood. Since her divorce, Third Lady had not remarried, and in terms of seniority, she was the eldest. She smiled, “Yes, Third Sister, you go first.”

Third Lady was startled. She hadn’t expected Wen Qiniang to say that, or for even the boisterous Eighth Sister to notice her. Embarrassed, she protested, “I’m too old for this. People will only gossip.”

“Nonsense, Third Sister. Let them talk. We sisters should enjoy ourselves. Life is short—what matters is being true to yourself. Why let others’ opinions weigh you down?” Wen… replied. She never believed a woman should dress only to please others. Even if there was no one to appreciate her, she ought not to neglect herself. Besides, Third Lady was only twenty-three—still in her prime by modern standards. Yet because of her burdens, she dressed and acted like an old woman. It was hard to watch.

“We can’t say such things. As daughters, we obey our fathers; as wives, our husbands; as widows, our sons. How can we put ourselves forward?” Third Lady gasped. She’d never read such words in the books on women’s conduct and propriety. The sentiment seemed to defy convention, yet something inside her was stirred—a heaviness in her heart began to crack.

Fifth Lady was also surprised. Meek, obedient Wen Qiniang, saying such things? Had she been bewitched?

Only Eighth Lady nodded vigorously, her eyes full of admiration.

Wen… merely smiled. She knew one or two remarks would not change the beliefs instilled in her sisters since childhood. But seeing the expression on Third Lady’s face, she knew her words had landed. Given time, she would come to accept them.

Qingshuang scooped a bit of the balsam paste and pressed it onto Third Lady’s nails, wrapping each one in a lotus leaf and tying it with cotton string, just snug enough. She did the same for Fifth Lady, Wen…, and Eighth Lady, so everyone’s fingers now wore ten leafy caps. By evening, when the Qiqiao Festival began, their nails would be stained with balsam’s color—impervious to water, lasting for a long time.

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