On the morning of the fifteenth, Bai Lan rose on his own before Sanleng called him. It wasn’t entirely because it was his day off—after a half-month in the estate, early rising had become habitual. Morning in summer had its benefits: it was genuinely cool.
He changed into a light teal outfit, slung a small pouch across his waist to carry some items, and prepared to leave.
Sanleng was delighted, too. Though it wasn’t her day off, she would accompany Bai Lan—a sort of personal holiday.
Despite being more mature than children his age, having grown up following estate rules, Bai Lan was still twelve or thirteen and naturally playful.
The master and servant left without eating at the estate. Usually transported by carriage, this was Bai Lan’s first time walking outside the estate. Though the Lihua Garden opened onto the bustling Zhuque Street, simply walking along the lake took a good incense stick’s worth of time. Once out, he plunged straight into the noise and life of the city.
He had expected the early hour to mean emptier streets, but Zhuque Street was already bustling. Shops had opened, street vendors shouted, and people flowed like a river.
“It’s so lively already at this hour!”
Sanleng smiled. “Zhuque Street is always busy. The curfew has been lifted in recent years, so it’s lively from morning till night.”
Bai Lan had only wandered the northern parts of the city before, near the herb shops. Trips to town from the village took half a day, so his visits were usually rushed errands. He had heard of Zhuque Street’s fame but had never been here, partly due to timing and partly because it was a wealthy district, too expensive for ordinary villagers.
The rumors had not been exaggerated. Bai Lan and Sanleng walked along with the crowd, and Zhuque Street stretched wide before them, lined with elegant teahouses, restaurants, silk and jewelry shops. The pleasure quarters, which had been alive with music and laughter all night, were now quiet as the attendants cleaned and tidied.
Along the way, they passed prized horses and ornate carriages, youthful men indulging in leisure, young ladies lightly fanning themselves, and groups of well-to-do sons walking arm in arm—Bai Lan could hardly take it all in.
“Master, let’s head straight to South Gate Temple. That area is spacious, full of vendors with every sort of novelty. The food there is abundant and reasonably priced.”
Bai Lan nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes!”
They followed Zhuque Street to its end, emerging into an open space as Sanleng had described. Stalls stretched across the plaza outside South Gate Temple. In cooler seasons, vendors laid their goods directly on the ground; now, under the summer sun, each stall had a small umbrella for shade. Disorderly yet somehow orderly, the scene was vibrant.
Bai Lan barely noticed the street itself; his attention was caught entirely by the food. One stall sold “crispy abalone snails,” the next “lamb head with rich broth,” then spiced chicken skin, lamb spine meat… chicken, duck, goose, rabbit for fifteen wén a serving, while spicy roasted quails went for just three or four wén each.
They sampled everything nearby, Bai Lan holding up a lamb rib. “Delicious!”
“How can there be so many tasty things?” he exclaimed.
After over an hour of eating, their bellies rounded, they moved on from the food stalls to the shops selling daily goods: toys, painted fans, silk paintings—an overwhelming array. Among the common items were exotic spices, curios, and even small rabbits and birds, rare creatures all.
Bai Lan unfolded a bamboo-handled fan, half-covering his face. Turning to Sanleng, who was inspecting some fragrant sachets, he asked, “Do I look like Ning Muyan waving a fan?”
Sanleng burst out laughing. “Master doesn’t use a folding fan.”
“Why not?” Bai Lan asked curiously.
“Perhaps he feels it would make him seem indulgent and frivolous,” she replied.
Bai Lan pouted and put the fan away. Spotting some animals nearby, he darted over to pet a white-haired Shih Tzu and some kittens. The two wandered tirelessly, wishing they could visit every stall.
South Gate Temple was indeed an excellent place. If not for rain, the stalls were busy every day. Each vendor offered something new or seasonal—food, toys, clothes, jewelry—so even locals visiting daily would never find it dull.
Elsewhere, at a riverside teahouse near South Gate Temple, two young men sipped tea.
“Ever since your marriage, it’s rare to see you out. What brings you to invite me today?”
“My household affairs have been busy, and I must prepare for the provincial exams—it’s hard to leave,” said Qi Zhuo with a smile.
Ning Muyan chuckled lightly. “Busy, or reluctant to leave the warm and tender company of your beloved?”
“You dare tease me now,” Qi Zhuo replied with a wry smile.
Setting down his cup, Ning Muyan said, “Your marriage was well-matched, and you have long awaited it. Now that your wish has been fulfilled, why the melancholy?”
“I married Wei Yan barely a year ago. We are harmonious, yet my mother, thinking of Qi family succession, constantly urges us to have children soon.”
“I see. As an only son, it’s understandable your parents worry about the family line. That’s why your marriage was arranged before the provincial exams. Yet children cannot be summoned by urging; they come by fate.”
“Wei Yan and I feel the same. We are young; there’s no need to rush. I even discussed it with my mother. Outwardly, she agreed we should decide for ourselves, but she pressured Wei Yan behind the scenes. Recently, she even arranged for two concubines to be brought into the house.”
Qi Zhuo’s mouth tightened; he shook his head and drained the cup of flowing-scent wine.
“I asked my mother—she claimed Wei Yan handled it herself. How could I not know who instructed it? Had my mother done it personally, it would have been easier to bear. Instead, she lets Wei Yan act, adding insult to injury.”
“Traditionally, a matriarch arranges concubines and secondary wives for her husband. Refusal invites gossip. Once they are in the household, leave them be for now. Keep your mother calm, and later find a pretext to send them away.”
Qi Zhuo regained some composure. “You are the only one who will speak to me like this.”
“I will not meddle with newcomers. Sending them away is inevitable; it is worse if I refuse and my mother blames Wei Yan. For now, it seems following your mother’s wishes and having a child soon is the practical solution.”
“Sometimes I wonder—if I were a humble farmer, not born into a wealthy household, perhaps I would not bear such worries.”
Ning Muyan replied, “A farmer struggles for livelihood, powerless to protect the one they love.”
Qi Zhuo laughed bitterly. “You are fortunate, Muyan, not entangled in these matters.”
Ning Muyan glanced out the window at the bustling street. “I am yet more fortunate than you. Some have already secured their beloved, others are still wandering.”
Qi Zhuo, puzzled, smiled. “You mean to console me?”
“Take Wei Yan out when you have time. A walk will lift your spirits. Next month there’s a temple fair—go and see it.”
Qi Zhuo looked surprised. “You, who never believed in spirits, now even know the temple fair schedule?”
Ning Muyan frowned slightly. “Is that so?”
Qi Zhuo could not fathom him, shaking his head.
“I shall not keep you today. Another day, we shall meet at the estate.”
With that, Ning Muyan rose.
Qi Zhuo thought to himself that it was rare to meet again, yet before he could say much, Ning Muyan was already preparing to leave. Knowing how busy he was, Qi Zhuo didn’t press further. “Very well,” he said.
Meanwhile, Bai Lan and Sanleng had wandered into an area with many herbal stalls. Bai Lan crouched before one, inspecting the fresh roots and leaves. “Look at these,” he murmured, “they’ve clearly just been dug up from the mountains.” His eyes sparkled with interest—this was his element.
The vendor, eager to sell, exclaimed, “Master, you have a sharp eye! These are fresh herbs; see, the soil on the roots hasn’t even dried in this heat.”
“This is wonderful,” Bai Lan said, scanning the stalls. It seemed that South Gate Temple offered anything one could wish to buy.
“I don’t need any, I already have these herbs at home.”
“Yes…” the vendor mumbled but didn’t lose heart. With a flourish, he presented a jar. “You seem like a connoisseur. How about this mortar set? Marble, beautiful patterns, sturdy and long-lasting!”
Bai Lan’s eyes lit up. He picked up the heavy mortar, feeling the cool marble in his hands. The craftsmanship was excellent; he almost didn’t want to put it down.
“Master, we already have one at home, though made of wood. The effect is the same.”
“My father’s wooden mortar has been in use for two years; it’s cracked and no longer reliable. But he won’t replace it. This one is perfect—I want to bring it back for him,” Bai Lan said.
Sanleng smiled warmly. “Master is truly filial!”
“How much is it?” Bai Lan asked.
“For a connoisseur like you, I won’t bargain—three qián of silver.”
“Three qián!?” Bai Lan checked his pockets. Forgetting the money spent on earlier snacks, he had no hope of affording this—three hundred wén, a significant sum.
“Can you make it cheaper?” he asked.
The vendor tapped the jar. “I didn’t quote you a price; marble isn’t cheap! I’ll even throw in two stalks of angelica for free.”
Sanleng tugged gently at his sleeve. “Master, how much more do you need? I can contribute a few dozen wén from my allowance.”
Bai Lan chuckled wryly. “Still not enough.”
Sanleng scratched his head. Though willing to help, his own allowance was small and mostly held by his father to be saved as dowry money, so he lived frugally.
“Fate lets us meet, but then cruelly separates us,” Bai Lan sighed, clutching his chest. “Well… next time.”
Before he could finish, a voice came from above: “Wrap it up.”