Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Festival of Weaving Skills (Part Two)

By evening, everyone had removed the lotus leaves from their fingers and marveled at how all ten fingernails had turned a translucent, lustrous shade of orange. Wen mused that this was far more environmentally friendly and healthy than modern nail polish, though admittedly more troublesome. Wen Eighth had already managed to chip off several spots, leaving her ten fingers uneven in color—a curious charm in itself.

That afternoon, the girls had rinsed their hair with water mixed from the juice of pounded leaves, a ritual meant to bring the hope of finding an ideal husband. Except for Wen Third and Wen herself, both Fifth and Eighth were full of anticipation for the future, especially Wen Fifth, whose face glowed with a maiden’s bashful shyness.

Wen Third had no such fantasies. Having endured a failed marriage, she had long since lost all hope. As for Wen, a single woman of advanced age by modern standards, she felt no pressure at all. Besides, this body had just turned fifteen—she had no desire to marry early, bear children, and tend to a husband. What if she ended up with a tyrannical mother-in-law? She still wished for a few more years of carefree freedom.

Wen Eighth, her heart only recently awakened to love, had already forgotten her brief infatuation with Lin Bai. Wen Fifth, however, was wholly preoccupied with thoughts of the county magistrate, Su Mu, and as dusk deepened, her eyes darted again and again toward the gate.

By the time the last glow of sunset was devoured by night, the entire county was alight with lanterns of every hue. The streets bustled with men, women, and children, even more lively than on market days. Carriages could hardly make it through the narrow lanes, and even the nobility had to proceed on foot.

Lanterns flickered across the river, where brightly lit pleasure boats swayed with crowds of revelers, adding to the gaiety.

The young ladies of the Wen household finished supper early and retreated to their rooms to change and dress up before heading out.

Qing Shuang arranged Wen’s hair into a flying fairy bun and dressed her in a jade-green ruqun. Wen frowned slightly at the sight of the skirt, recalling that she had worn a similar color the year before. She considered asking for a different one but, noticing how busy Qing Shuang was, let it go. After all, she hadn’t yet crossed into this world last year; that girl was not her.

Wen Eighth wore her favorite pale yellow ruqun, with her hair styled in playful side buns, making her look charming and lively—the two of them painted entirely different pictures.

Suddenly, a man’s voice sounded outside—it seemed to be Su Mu.

Wen and Wen Eighth were ready and stepped out together.

Su Mu looked up just in time to meet Wen’s gaze, his eyes flashing with amazement. Although Wen Fifth was equally beautiful, her face bore a shrewd, worldly air. In contrast, Wen’s expression was calm, her brows and eyes tinged with proud aloofness, her whole bearing graceful and unrestrained, almost unlike a woman. Such wild, untamed women stirred Su Mu’s interest far more than the countless coquettes he had encountered—a conquest here would be far more intriguing.

With a swift calculation, he said, “Tonight, Seventh Lady, you outshine even the Weaver Girl in the heavens.”

Wen, catching the faintly flirtatious smile on Su Mu’s lips, felt a wave of distaste, but managed a shy reply: “Sir Su flatters me. The Weaver Girl is a celestial maiden—how dare I compare myself to her? You do me too much honor.”

Su Mu, seeing how receptive Wen appeared, believed he had struck just the right note. What woman, especially a beauty, doesn’t like sweet words?

“I haven’t been in office here long and am not yet familiar with the county. Might I trouble you, Seventh Lady, to show me around?”

Wen was momentarily taken aback, but caught sight of Wen Fifth approaching. “So Sir Su wishes to invite all us sisters for a stroll? Only, I promised to accompany Eighth and Ten to make some purchases. But since you are so gracious, perhaps Fifth Sister might escort Eighth and Ten in my stead.”

Wen Fifth’s eyes widened at this blatant maneuver. “My dear Seventh Sister, that’s not quite proper, is it? You know Eighth and Ten have never taken to me; they surely won’t want my company. Better that you continue with them and I accompany the county magistrate.”

Su Mu’s face darkened briefly, though he could not show his displeasure. Inwardly, he cursed Wen Fifth for her lack of tact, ruining his plans.

“If that’s how it must be, I’ll leave them in your care, Fifth Sister,” Wen said with feigned disappointment, though her lowered eyes sparkled with amusement. She knew Wen Fifth would refuse, thus offending neither Su Mu nor Wen Fifth, who would feel as though she had won—a peaceful resolution all around.

Wen Eighth watched Wen Fifth’s smug expression and snorted quietly. What was there to be proud of?

Since Wen had spoken, and seeing Wen Fifth’s expectant face, Su Mu could only sigh inwardly—better than nothing.

Once the group dispersed, Wen, Eighth, and Ten also headed out into the street, while Third remained at home, never one for revelry.

“Eighth Sister, I want a candied hawthorn!” Wen Ten, gnawing on a piece of stinky tofu, pointed at a hawthorn seller, then, spotting a sugar figurine vendor, scampered off at once.

“Ten, slow down! Don’t get lost!” Wen called anxiously. The streets were crowded and Ten darted everywhere—she regretted bringing him.

“Seventh Sister, isn’t that Fifth Sister and the magistrate up ahead?” Wen Eighth’s sharp eyes spotted the pair at once.

Wen looked in the direction indicated and saw them indeed.

“Tsk, tsk, look at them—so close they’re nearly glued together,” Wen Eighth squinted.

Wen could only smile wryly—such old-fashioned thinking! Nowadays, some students dared kiss on buses; these two hadn’t even held hands.

“Where’s Ten?!” Wen turned, only to find Wen Ten gone. In the space of a heartbeat, the little rascal had vanished.

Wen Eighth was terrified; if they lost their father’s beloved son, their lives would not be worth living.

“Hurry, let’s look! He can’t have gone far,” Wen urged.

Suddenly, a commotion rippled through the distant crowd. Wen’s heart clenched—had something happened to Ten?

She pushed her way through, and as she drew closer, the throng parted of its own accord.

A massive yellow ox appeared before her, nearly as tall as a man, its eyes like brass bells staring at the crowd. And perched atop its back, clad in a voluminous white robe, sat a man at ease—it was none other than the famous Young Lord Ning.

“Why is the Cowherd not meeting the Weaver Girl in the heavens, but wandering the streets here instead?”

“Maybe the Weaver Girl sneaked down from the sky.”

“That Cowherd is truly handsome—no wonder a fairy was moved by him. If I were forty years younger, I’d compete with the Weaver Girl for such a beau.”

“Oh, hush, you’re too old for such talk.”

Wen, listening to the banter of the two old ladies beside her, couldn’t help but twitch her lips. Since when had Ji Changge become the Cowherd? Wasn’t he supposed to be investigating a case in Yangzhou? How had he ended up here, parading through the county on a yellow ox?