Chapter Eleven: On the Painted Boat

The hour was close to midnight, and the gaiety within the city of Jiangning was reaching its peak. A carriage, coming directly from the Su residence, cut across the quieter streets, slowing as it neared the Black Robe Lane. All along the way, the world outside the carriage shimmered with countless lively torches. Lifting the curtain for a glance, one would see that even the usually tranquil roads were now filled with festivity. Approaching the bustling commercial street near Black Robe Lane, the carriage found itself mired in a sea of people, unable to move forward. A troupe performing a dragon dance, beating drums and clashing cymbals, advanced from the opposite direction, forcing the young coachman to pull aside and halt.

“Sister Xiaochan, it’s impossible to go further up ahead,” the youth called out.

Though he was likely a year or two older than Xiaochan, he still addressed her respectfully as “sister.” While it appeared that Xiaochan had merely spent the past few months running errands at Ning Yi’s side, she and her two sisters had actually been in training under Su Tan’er for years. With Su Tan’er poised to eventually take the helm of the Su clan, her three most trusted maids held a special status—even the household stewards would defer to them. This was why a mere maid could simply summon a carriage at will. The young man, newly signed into the Su family with a twenty-year indenture, was well aware of her standing, and treated her with the utmost respect, glancing curiously at the petite girl who looked even younger than himself.

“I see, I’ll get off here. You can head back,” Xiaochan said, flipping open the curtain and hopping lightly down from the carriage. She turned to give him a bright smile and a wave. “Thank you!”

“I—I’m Dongzhu,” stammered the youth, mustering his courage to introduce himself. He looked up and offered, “There are too many people up ahead, let me see you through.”

“Brother Dongzhu,” Xiaochan replied, giving him a playful bow before waving him off, “No need, I’ll be fine.” Like a butterfly, she darted into the surging crowd, her little hand visible for a moment waving above the heads, before she vanished into the throng.

Xiaochan had wandered Suzhou’s streets countless times and knew them intimately. When it came to socializing, running errands, or handling minor troubles, the seemingly innocent Xiaochan far outstripped this country youth in skill. In such a crowd, no one was likely to trouble a young girl out enjoying the festivities. There might be rakes or young bullies in these times, but chance encounters with them were rare.

Skipping through the throng of dragon dancers, Xiaochan passed a neighboring brothel from which haunting, languid singing drifted out, blending with the street’s jubilant clamor. Soon, a man dashed past waving a sheet of calligraphy: “Lichuan Poetry Gathering—Young Master Tang Yu’s new ode to bamboo!” He slapped the paper onto a shop’s poetry board as people crowded around. An old man, pushing a cart of tea eggs and layered pastries, laughed as he steered clear of the crowd; Xiaochan likewise dodged the cart, smiling as she followed the excitement.

After a quick glance at the poem, Xiaochan made her way towards the riverside at the far end of the street. Black Robe Lane was not far off—narrow but bustling, aglow with lanterns and packed with people. Near the riverbank, the most vibrant sight was the Confucius Temple. This riverside district was Jiangning’s crowning jewel, the roads festooned with exquisite lanterns. The six-boat flotilla of the Puyuan Poetry Gathering cruised the Qinhuai River all night, and by this hour, they were sure to pass by. With experience attending poetry gatherings, Xiaochan headed straight there.

She presented her invitation at a Puyuan-owned curio shop by the road, and staff hurried to hail a small boat for her. By then, the resplendent “dragon palace” pleasure barge had already appeared at the far end of the river, gliding toward them amidst a flotilla of ornate craft.

Small boats came and went from the shore. Xiaochan’s boat, now afloat amidst the lanterns, glided toward the grand linked barges at the river’s center. At the prow, the little girl hooked her fingers together and gazed up in anticipation as the pleasure barge drew near, its lanterns illuminating her round, expectant face. Music drifted from the riverside—another song and dance nearing its end. Xiaochan felt no regret at missing it; just being here was enough. If only she could learn a tune or two... She recalled how her master liked to listen to songs at night. Yes, he would surely be pleased.

The music and dancing ended aboard the pleasure barge, replaced by enthusiastic applause. Small boats ferried over sheets of poetry featuring the evening’s best verses—some with the praise and commentary of renowned poets. Poetry gatherings were never mere sit-down affairs; from the flotilla’s launch, there were entertainments aplenty—songs, riddles, lanterns, and scenic views, all to inspire the guests. But by this hour, the event was entering its most crucial phase. For all the night’s revelry would last past three in the morning, the real heart of the gathering faded after midnight.

The main reason was that most elders, or those in poor health—poets were often frail—could not last beyond this time. Their opinions carried the most weight, and those seeking fame or recognition tonight aimed to impress them. After they departed, the games of young scholars and beauties began in earnest. Only after midnight did flirtations truly commence, turning the gathering into a sort of grand, elegant revel—even in this age when liaisons with courtesans were fashionable, the meaning was less significant. Given a choice between fame and beauty, most men of the era would choose fame.

Thus, the best poems were coming forth now—several odes to the moon had already amazed everyone. Su Tan’er had copied a few onto her pale writing paper and was now quietly conversing with a familiar lady from the Wu household beside her.

Though not particularly skilled, Su Tan’er loved poetry. In this age, poets were as idolized as modern-day celebrities—what girl did not harbor a trace of romantic longing? Her own lack of talent only made her admire poetry all the more; the sight of a young scholar displaying his art before the crowd naturally stirred her heart.

Of course, it was only a part of her inner life, just as many modern girls adored Andy Lau. Though she liked poetry, she seldom showed it openly, and her husband, Ning Yi, was not exactly a poet—after reading that infamous verse about lotus roots, she understood well enough, and he had admitted as much. But it hardly mattered.

After a while, Xiaochan was led over by a maid.

“Is Master asleep?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s sleeping.”

“Juan’er and Xing’er are over there—should we add another mat and squeeze in?”

“All right, miss, I’ll go… Good evening, Miss Wu.”

After greeting the Wu lady, Xiaochan hurried to where two other maids were waving to her. Juan’er and Xing’er sat together at a low table piled with delicate sweets and fruit. Xiaochan slid in between them, and the three girls giggled in a tight huddle.

Not far off, Su Tan’er and the Wu lady rose to stroll about. At such gatherings, men and women generally sat apart, separated by screens, though not strictly so. The guests at Puyuan tonight were mostly couples, not just unmarried young ladies. While etiquette was observed, couples could still meet and converse. Su Tan’er accompanied her friend to the rail, gazing at the illuminated shore, where the lady’s husband soon joined them. The Wu family ran the largest textile business in Jiangning; both parties were already acquainted. After exchanging pleasantries and discussing textiles, Su Tan’er intended to give the couple some privacy. Soon, Xue Jin and several young gentlemen, now dressed as scholars rather than merchants, strolled over, folding fans in hand—the very picture of refinement.

Xue Jin had made quite a splash tonight, having composed a poem on the moon that was much admired—one of the finest at the gathering. As he approached, the Wu gentleman greeted him, smiling: “Brother Xue, your talent may well win Miss Qilan’s favor tonight—congratulations!”

Qilan was a famed courtesan of the Qinhuai, celebrated for her beauty and wit. She performed only for art, not for sale, and was connected to the Puyuan family, hence her appearance tonight. She would choose her favorite poems to sing during the evening, and the ones she picked often marked the highlights of the event.

There was much maneuvering behind the scenes, but talent could indeed win the day. Xue Jin’s poem was good, and his family background solid, so he was likely to be featured. Should he win Miss Qilan’s favor, he might gain further invitations in the coming months—dinners, poetic discussions, and perhaps more. To take her as a concubine, should he succeed in wooing her, would be the ultimate proof of masculine charm.

For centuries, such stories along the Qinhuai had become fashionable tales, and any man involved became the talk of the town, earning him the title of romantic scholar.

Xue Jin accepted the compliments with modesty. The Wu lady smiled: “Your poem moved me as well, Sir Xue.” Su Tan’er, too, praised his poem. Of course, those familiar with the scene, like the Wu lady or Su Tan’er, knew that many of these poems were purchased from famous writers.

Xue Jin was all smiles, exchanging pleasantries. Then he said, “It’s a pity Brother Ning could not attend tonight. With such an occasion, surely he would have composed something exceptional…”

Su Tan’er frowned slightly. The host, a middle-aged man from the Puyuan family, now joined them. He was the younger brother of the head of the household, himself a former imperial scholar of some talent. Making the rounds, he inquired about their conversation. Xue Jin explained that Su Tan’er’s husband, Ning Yi, had planned to attend, but had fallen ill with a cold—much to everyone’s regret, for surely Ning Yi’s talent would have shone.

“I doubt it,” someone behind them interjected. “I’ve heard that Ning Yi, for all his years of study, is nothing but a mediocrity. His presence would make no difference.”

Xue Jin turned, still smiling: “Brother Feng, you mustn’t say that. I’ve seen Brother Ning’s bearing for myself. The Su family searched long and hard before choosing him…”

The Wu family, who were friendly with Su Tan’er, knew that Ning Yi lacked literary talent. That was why, though they inquired after his health, they avoided mentioning poetry. Watching Xue Jin’s little performance, the Wu couple understood his motives—Xue Jin had once pursued Su Tan’er, only to be rejected, and now harbored some resentment. His display was unsubtle but effective; if this continued, tales of Su Tan’er marrying a useless man would soon spread through their social circles. The Wu lady signaled to her husband to intervene; he noticed, but hesitated, uncertain what to do. Su Tan’er smiled calmly, about to speak, when Xiaochan suddenly popped up beside her.

“Yes, my master is very good at writing poetry,” she said. She had been playing with Juan’er and Xing’er, attempting to repeat a magic trick Ning Yi had taught her but failing, dropping her pastry in the process. Noticing the commotion, the three girls paid attention. Juan’er and Xing’er whispered that Xue Jin was up to no good; Xiaochan, after some thought, came over. “Master wrote a poem tonight, too.”

Both Xue Jin and Su Tan’er were momentarily taken aback. After a pause, Xue Jin laughed, “Oh? Brother Ning has a new work? Wonderful! Let us all admire it together.”

His delighted, open manner hid his amusement—he knew all about Ning Yi’s meager talents. The man could write poems, but their quality was questionable. He assumed Xiaochan simply lacked judgment. If the poem proved poor, being read aloud for all would confirm Ning Yi’s incompetence.

“Yes, all right,” Xiaochan replied, extracting a folded sheet of paper from her clothing and chattering as she did so. “Master was feeling unwell this evening and wanted me to sing, so I brought him a book of poems to choose from. But he said he didn’t like any of them, so he wrote one himself. Here, I copied it down…”

He didn’t like any of the existing poems, so he wrote his own… Such arrogance! Both Su Tan’er and Puyang Yu frowned, while Xue Jin only smiled the brighter. Xiaochan handed the note to Su Tan’er, whose expression wavered between suspicion and doubt. Confirming there was writing on the paper, she glanced at Xiaochan, then began to read, her lips moving silently.

Halfway through, her lips slowed, her gaze growing increasingly complex. She paused, glanced again at Xiaochan, then returned to the poem, reading on. Xue Jin, smiling, craned his neck to peek, though he could not see the words—he was still delighted.

What good would silent reading do? She would have to share it with everyone anyway. He could read it aloud for her. How amusing!

He felt as if his prank had succeeded, and his heart was filled with glee.

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