Chapter Three: Portraits in a Crowd—The Old Man, the Young Maid, and the Scion

Life had grown tedious; to put it more kindly, it was leisurely. During the endless days of rain, he would play rounds of Go-moku with the young maid, occasionally practice calligraphy, or pore over ancient texts. Though these books could hardly compare in entertainment to modern novels, he was always one who could endure monotony. Now that he was in the olden times, to sit for half a day with an unpunctuated book, parsing out the meaning word by word, was not, to him, especially painful.

Of course, there were other trivial matters over these months as well.

As the new son-in-law, and moreover a live-in one, he held little status in this era. The Su family’s situation was rather complicated. The true head of the house was still Su Tan’er’s grandfather, known to most as the Old Master. He had three sons, now divided into three branches: the main house, the second, and the third. The main branch, led by Su Tan’er’s father, Su Boyong, managed the family’s affairs. Su Boyong had only one daughter, Su Tan’er, who, by her own considerable business talent, had wholly outshone the male heirs of the other branches, becoming the lynchpin in these complicated relationships. The other branches had long hoped Su Tan’er would marry out and thus relinquish her claim, giving them a chance at inheritance. But now a son-in-law had married in, dashing their hopes. Whenever they saw him, even if they refrained from open mockery, a roll of the eyes was never lacking.

Beyond the main three branches, the Old Master also had siblings, and the Su clan had grown vast and sprawling. There were at least thirty or forty cousins who could claim a kinship with Su Tan’er. Whether close or distant, few were genuinely warm toward this live-in son-in-law—though, truth be told, had they been overly friendly, he would have found it even more troublesome. In such a large family, even meals together became awkward affairs; he would sit aside, counting sheep, for apart from his parents-in-law, the two concubines, and Su Tan’er, no one much spoke to him, and those few conversations were hardly stimulating. Meals, he mused, would be far better taken in his own room.

He was not troubled by being so isolated; his past experiences had left him more than capable of handling such situations. Still, no one really seeks out this sort of loneliness. He found enjoyment in watching games of Go, but if given the choice, a lively game of mahjong would have been far more satisfying.

Entanglements of interest and subtle rivalries had not yet ensnared him, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Yet, so long as the Old Master and Su Boyong lived, any family squabbling would remain limited in scope. For now, as a guest in the Su household, his more pressing concern was employment.

He had awakened after being struck on the head, apparently suffering some memory loss, and many matters were put aside during his recovery. The family had no expectations for him, but to remain idle was not ideal either. Only recently had someone asked what he might wish to do. He had no clear answer. Managing a business, overseeing accounts at one of the branches—such roles seemed unnecessary and unappealing. His father-in-law seemed inclined to send him to the family-run academy as a teacher, a position suited to the impression he’d always given: that of a poor but diligent scholar.

Once this idea was broached, the Old Master temporarily set it aside, saying to let some time pass and allow him to consider his own interests. But in Ning Yi’s view, it was all but settled that he would soon be teaching. He’d spoken with the Old Master several times—mostly the old man reminiscing about family ties and sharing stories. Shrewd enough to maintain such a household, the Old Master had likely noticed a change in his temperament and allowed more time to observe.

Ning Yi did not go out of his way to feign the part of a bookish fool. Life was long, and pretense was unsustainable; he merely observed everything with a tourist’s detachment. Though one might glean aspects of his character from his demeanor, it would be folly to judge a man’s suitability for business or teaching, or even his morality, based on such fleeting impressions. So long as he caused no trouble, it was only a matter of time before the Old Master, finding nothing amiss, would assign him to teach.

He rather liked the prospect.

Though not an exemplary student in his former life, he could understand the old texts here. His previous identity was not that of a great scholar, so no one would expect much from him. If he became a teacher, he could at the very least have his students recite essays by rote, which would suffice. On good days, he might even regale them with scraps of modern knowledge. Thus, his stay in the Su household would be justifiable. As for leaving, in a place where he knew no one, it was simply out of the question. Even in modern times, a good life required connections; how much more so in the past? However grand his former commercial empire, he did not imagine that a few taels of silver would allow him to go wherever he pleased. The Su family, for now, was the best harbor.

The rain fell for days on end, keeping him indoors. Occasionally, he saw the three maids from the building opposite hurry out under oiled-paper umbrellas, or return, their silhouettes drifting through the rain. The covered walkways, the gardens and pavilions, the soft drizzle cleansing white stones and blue tiles—these women, robed in green, white, or blush pink, possessed a grace that seemed straight out of a watercolor scroll, unlike the packaged women of the modern age, always tinged with the scent of smoke or money. Watching them, he felt as if he were truly inside an ink painting. They would return from outside, dodging the dripping eaves, pat their damp clothes beside the stairs, and ascend. As dusk settled, lanterns glowed one by one across the courtyards, their crimson and russet halos fixed or wandering, and the night air filled with the aura of a grand old mansion.

For, indeed, this was such a mansion.

Go-moku was easy to learn and not hard to master. Little Chan picked it up quickly and soon became a formidable opponent. In the days that followed, Ning Yi found himself losing more often than he won, and this new pastime spread rapidly to the building across the way. Three days later, as he read by lamplight, Little Chan kept peeking in to see if he needed anything before leaving. When Ning Yi brought his book out to the corridor for a stroll, he saw the girl carrying the Go board across to the other house, where she entered with Xing’er and Juan’er. The light inside revealed the three of them playing, their shadows gesturing, bursting with excitement—Little Chan, no doubt, was chattering away as she instructed her two sisters. It was rather amusing.

The rain finally let up after several days. Though he had joked with Little Chan about not returning to the riverside to watch Go, he soon did go, and the elderly Qin, who hosted the games, greeted him.

Not long after, when the old man finished a match with a friend, he called Ning Yi over, introduced him to his opponent, and asked for his thoughts on the previous game. It was not an entirely serious affair; after all, reviewing moves and boasting about clever plays was part of the fun. The old man’s invitation was an acknowledgment of Ning Yi’s skill, and soon he invited him to play.

“Would you care for a game, Master Ning?”

Ning Yi smiled and agreed. As they collected the pieces, the old man chuckled, “With all this rain, I’ve been reminiscing about our last game with my friends. Your moves were quite ingenious, truly thought-provoking. I’ve been itching for a rematch, and here you are, now that the rain has stopped!”

Though on that day the old man had thought Ning Yi’s style less than “gentlemanly,” he had not dwelled on it. In fact, as a chess enthusiast, the more he recalled and replayed those novel tactics, the more they gnawed at him. They chatted and played, and once again, the old man lost. After a brief analysis, they played a second game, and as dusk approached, Ning Yi returned home.

The next day, he went back, and before long, the matter of his future employment was settled.

On the first of July, the family gathered for dinner. The Old Master inquired after Ning Yi’s health and then mentioned that one of the academy’s teachers would soon be leaving, asking if Ning Yi would care to take up the post. The old man’s tone was amiable, but given his authority, the matter was all but decided. Ning Yi, already prepared for this, nodded his agreement, and the Old Master summoned his second son, Su Zhongkan, who managed the academy, to arrange matters once the outgoing teacher departed.

There was still some time before the teacher would leave, so Ning Yi mostly passed the days playing Go, reading, practicing calligraphy, or playing Go-moku with Little Chan. Another month slipped by, and though his relationship with the Su family had not deepened, he had grown acquainted with some people around the riverside street.

The street itself was pleasant, shaded by trees but rather out of the way, with no major shops apart from a modest teahouse. In the mornings, a few vendors selling breakfast or vegetables would pass through. The houses were scattered, some built on stilts over the river’s edge, and one might see people washing clothes or fetching water at the bank.

The old man Qin seemed well-off, erudite and widely read. Though some might expect a scholar of the old school to be pedantic, he was not. He never spouted pedantries nor constantly quoted the sages, yet at the heart of his words was always the way of Confucius and Mencius—he truly understood their teachings. Stripped of their political trappings, these philosophies were really just distilled wisdom about life, and in many ways universally applicable. Ning Yi got on well with the old man, and their conversations were unconstrained. The old man had probably once held office, but now, in his twilight years, he spent his days idly hosting chess matches. He lived nearby, with a wife in her fifties and a pretty concubine in her thirties, who sometimes brought him lunch, giving Ning Yi a glimpse or two.

The old man had a stable circle of chess friends, most of whom were learned and well-off, though some seemed to live in genteel poverty. At first, Ning Yi mostly watched, but soon he was invited into their post-game discussions. Of course, some, like the proud old Mr. Dong, would criticize his trickier tactics, but Ning Yi had no interest in arguing principles with such men.

Sitting by the teahouse each day, eating and drinking, he grew familiar with the proprietor’s family. Little Chan, bored, sometimes chatted with the proprietor’s daughter. At first, this girl had shyly asked about Ning Yi’s background; learning he was a live-in son-in-law of the Su family, she was disappointed. He seemed a young master from a good family—able to bring a maid out every day, and conversant with Mr. Qin about matters others could not follow, which proved his scholarly prowess. If only she could marry him… but alas, he was a live-in son-in-law.

Chess games began amicably, and after two weeks they had grown familiar. The old man sometimes found Ning Yi’s offhand remarks thought-provoking, though at times heretical—differences in custom, perhaps. Ning Yi was easygoing, and their conversations meandered freely. After a month, the old man broached the subject of his status.

Ning Yi made little effort to hide his past. When first mentioned, the old man had merely nodded, treating him as a new acquaintance. Now, as they had become something like friends, the topic took on new meaning.

“You’re a man of some talent, but such a fate—marrying into another family—is truly a pity…”

Ning Yi was no expert in the classics, nor a product of rote learning, and the old man, a true scholar, saw as much, giving him the backhanded compliment of being “untaught yet skilled.” It was high praise, and Ning Yi merely smiled.

“There’s nothing wrong with marrying in. See, I come out each day, drink tea, play chess, Little Chan handles the money, I eat and sleep well, and soon I’ll be teaching, with no real burdens. I’m lazy by nature—it suits me perfectly.”

So he said, but in truth, the status of a live-in son-in-law was lower even than that of a legitimate wife; a wife’s tablet could go in the ancestral hall after death, a son-in-law’s could not—not even that of a concubine. He was always looked down upon, his ambitions cut off. In most families, he would be little more than a servant. Ning Yi, with all the disillusionment of a previous life, could take it in stride, but few young men could.

“What’s more, the Su family are merchants. Merchants chase profit, though some care for reputation. Even if you have talent, you’ll never achieve rank or wealth. They brought you in expecting a bookish fool, someone Su Tan’er could control. Even in your shoes, the original you was lucky—there’s nothing to resent.”

Still, Little Chan, overhearing, flushed with indignation and could not help but interject: “Grandpa, since the young master arrived, Miss Su has never treated him poorly! She is a very good person and will never wrong him!”

She was nervous, fiercely earnest. Having grown up with Su Tan’er, she loved her like a sister and could not quite grasp the old man’s deeper meaning, only that he seemed to speak ill of her mistress. In most families, a maid would never interrupt her master’s conversations, but a live-in son-in-law was a special case. Little Chan was well-raised and not the sort to look down on others, but she was anxious to defend her mistress’s and the family’s reputation. Who knew how much courage it took to speak up, her little fists clenched before her in worry.

Mr. Qin was used to the quiet, well-behaved Little Chan and was momentarily startled. Ning Yi glanced at her, then burst out laughing, dropping a piece onto the board.

“Old man, you worry too much. Now you’ve offended Little Chan! If word got out, I’d be the one in trouble.”

The old man laughed as well. “Ah, my apologies, my apologies! I meant no insult to the Su family, but it was wrong of me to speak of the affairs of others. I beg your pardon, Little Chan…”

He apologized graciously, and Little Chan, not truly angry, remained solemnly earnest. Her worried expression did not fade, even as they left, her small figure seeming even smaller in her silence. Ning Yi shrugged helplessly and turned back to comfort her: “What’s wrong? Still upset?”

Before the words were out, Little Chan’s shoulders trembled, her lips quivered, and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

It seemed more serious than he thought… Ning Yi paused, then softened his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Little Chan…” she choked out, looking up at him, “I may be just a silly maid, but I’d never gossip about such things. If you say word will get out, then you mean me, that I’m… not proper…”

She trembled, choking up even more. Ning Yi watched her for a while, realizing it was his own joke, not the old man’s words, that had wounded her. He could not help but laugh.

“Young master… you’re still…” she tried to protest, but before she could finish, Ning Yi suddenly reached out, pinched both her cheeks, and stretched her face into a pancake. Now it was her turn to be stunned, eyes wide as lanterns. He let go, patted her shoulder, and turned to leave. “Let’s go.”

After a moment, Little Chan followed, her face red as a beet, eyes wide with shock. “Young master, you…” She wanted to scold him, but in truth, the matter was both trivial and not. Over the past months, they had spent much time together; Little Chan often helped him measure for clothes, more often helped him dress—there had been physical contact, but always incidental.

Though the course of history had changed with his arrival, the Wu dynasty was very much like the Song, and though the strictures of Neo-Confucianism had not fully crystallized, the boundaries between men and women were already rigorously observed. Little Chan, as a maid, could not demand the same treatment as a lady, and if Su Tan’er had married Ning Yi, Little Chan would almost certainly become one of his concubines—no problem there. But as things stood, with Ning Yi marrying into the Su family, everything depended on Su Tan’er’s will.

Live-in sons-in-law were looked down upon. In most households, only the desperate or spineless would take such a role, and their treatment was often little better than that of a servant. Of course, every family was different. Loving couples or capable men might still carve out a place for themselves.

In the Su family, the Old Master cherished old ties and treated Ning Yi decently, so the family did not openly disdain him. Su Tan’er, who had once resisted the match, now treated him with equanimity. But even if their relationship progressed and they became a true couple, it was unlikely she would permit intimacy between Ning Yi and Little Chan. Though the three maids had grown up with Su Tan’er and would likely remain with her all their lives, it was more probable they would be married off to loyal and promising servants, remaining in the Su household forever.

Of course, it was just a harmless prank. Ning Yi might not have thought it through, and Little Chan certainly had not, but she was nevertheless embarrassed. Flushed, indignant, she finally mustered the words, “Young master, you’re… bullying me!”

“Yes,” Ning Yi shrugged, “I’m bullying you. What will you do about it?”

She blinked, fuming, “And now you’re saying things I can’t even understand…”

He laughed merrily by the roadside.

When he first arrived, his mood had been gloomy, but after so many dull days, that gloom had lifted. He almost felt as though he’d come to the past just to tease people—a little trickery over Go with the scholars, a little teasing of the maid. It was, in fact, rather fun.

So they walked home together, Little Chan skipping along behind, timid at first, then chattering away about this and that. As they reached a more prosperous street not far from the Su home, a man suddenly appeared and greeted them, blocking their path.

The Su family was large, and on their way home, they often ran into members of the clan—some greeted Ning Yi, others ignored him, and sometimes they even encountered Su Tan’er herself, as there was a Su cloth shop on the street. Today, a young man emerged from that shop—a dashing figure in his twenties, carrying a folding fan, with two attendants in tow. From afar, he called out, “Brother Ning, what a coincidence!” and approached.

Ning Yi did not recognize him, though he guessed the man must have known the body’s original owner. As he wondered, he noticed Su Tan’er’s carriage parked by the roadside, and saw a small head—Xing’er—peek out from the shop, look their way, and then dart back inside, likely to fetch Su Tan’er.

The young man came closer, smiling. Ning Yi was preparing to greet him when Little Chan tugged his sleeve, whispering nervously, “Young master, that’s Master Xue of the Dachuan Cloth Shop.” Her voice was uneasy.

Ning Yi realized who it was, though he had never met the man. After coming to this era and feigning amnesia, he had gathered some information about the body’s past. There were always certain matters the Su family—maids like Little Chan and Xing’er included—avoided discussing, such as Su Tan’er fleeing on their wedding night and the blow to the head he received.

Even so, after months here, he had pieced together the essentials. The one who had struck him with a brick that night was none other than this very Xue Jin from Dachuan Cloth. Little Chan, uneasy, seemed afraid Ning Yi might take offense or act rashly.

But Ning Yi showed nothing but a calm smile. “Ah, Master Xue. Hello.”

His smile was natural, his manner composed. Xue Jin, on the other hand, looked briefly startled, glanced at his attendants, then smiled, “I hear you were injured and lost your memory on your wedding day. I was there too, but had to leave early—never found the time to visit you afterward. Tell me, did you really lose your memory? Do you not remember me at all?”

Ning Yi appeared a bit embarrassed, offering an earnest, apologetic smile, “The past is all a blur. I hope you’ll forgive me, Brother Xue…”

Xue Jin regarded him with a complicated, suspicious look. At that moment, Su Tan’er, frowning, hurried out from the shop entrance.