After eating those shepherd’s purse spring rolls, Xie Qi felt full and warm, so much so that he had a restful night, sleeping soundly without dreams.
The next morning, he was awakened not by habit but by the ever-tightening sound of rain outside.
He propped open the window and saw that the rain was falling heavily.
The eaves dripped ceaselessly, and his two bookboys, Yan Shu and Qiu Hao, along with other servants, sat under the corridor watching the rain.
They stretched out their hands to catch the raindrops, playfully splashing each other, laughing and chasing about.
Through the half-opened carved wooden study window, Xie Qi quietly watched the servants’ playful laughter and the falling rain for a while.
By midday, the rain still hadn’t stopped.
Everything was damp, and the wind had grown colder.
Xie Qi had spent half the day reading, practiced writing dozens of large characters, and even completed the essays and policy discussions assigned by the scholars.
Yet, staring at the endless rain, he suddenly found himself at a loss for things to do.
He threw on a white silk robe and strolled out to the corridor, gazing into the distance.
Far away, his mother had already ordered the servants to cover the reed shed with rain tarps and had a large pot of ginger honey tea brewed for the monks who sat inside chanting scriptures.
The sound of their chanting, softened by the rain, mixed with the lingering scent of sandalwood, creating an ethereal, almost otherworldly atmosphere.
Closer, the rough laborers responsible for sweeping the courtyard had donned straw raincoats and bamboo hats, replacing their usual footwear with wooden clogs.
They wielded long bamboo hooks, carefully clearing the rain gutters under the corridor, which were overflowing from being clogged with fallen leaves.
Xie Qi pulled his robe closer around himself and, all of a sudden, thought of Madam Shen.
Yesterday, when she left with the gatekeeper, Xie Qi had stood silently in the stone pavilion, watching her departure.
Once she stepped past the gates of the Xie residence, those thin, frail shoulders of hers would have to bear the weight of a carrying pole.
Behind her, her two younger siblings followed closely.
They would have to rely on nothing but their own legs to make the long journey back to Jinliang Bridge.
Today, it was raining again, and the roads were muddy—it would surely be an even harder journey.
The Xie family had produced great scholars for generations and was renowned for its literary traditions.
They had even preserved the refined customs of the Wei and Jin dynasties, with a penchant for philosophical discourse and Buddhist practices.
By the time Xie Qi was ten, he had already begun traveling with his uncles—intellectuals devoted to scholarship—to explore the world’s landscapes, study its knowledge, and comprehend the ways of life.
As a result, though still young, he had witnessed much of the suffering in the world.
He did not possess the arrogance of some aristocratic sons who were disconnected from the realities of common life, nor was he ignorant of the toil it took to earn a single meal.
In fact, he was more understanding than most when it came to the struggles of those who labored for their daily sustenance.
However, Xie Qi seemed to have been born under a streak of misfortune—what should have been ordinary journeys frequently turned into perilous, life-threatening adventures.
Every trip he took became an unexpected trial, leaving his uncles exasperated and burdened with unforeseen difficulties.
Yet, he also inherited his mother Xie Shi’s open-minded optimism.
Had it been any other mother, knowing that her son repeatedly encountered danger, she would have long forbidden him from setting foot outside.
But his mother merely sat by candlelight, sewing, smiling as she said, “Jiu-ge’er, don’t be afraid. You always encounter misfortune, but haven’t you always come through it safely?
These extraordinary experiences are ones that others may never have in their entire lives, yet you alone possess them. Besides, when has life ever been perfect? Disappointments and regrets make up eight or nine parts of it.
Everyone wishes for smooth sailing, but if things don’t go their way, should they just stop living? Never let setbacks dishearten you. I have always believed that fortune and misfortune are intertwined.
As long as you do good and have no regrets, one day, you will find your way to good fortune, and life will go smoothly for you.”
Thinking of this, Xie Qi couldn’t help but smile.
Yes—do what is right, and don’t worry about the future.
The outcome didn’t matter, only a clear conscience did.
With that, he called over Yan Shu, who was dripping wet from playing in the rain, and instructed him carefully, “Go find Zhou Da, who manages the carriages and horses. Ignore Third Aunt’s complaints about not having enough hands—just have them free up one of my carriages.
Then tell Zhou Da to keep an eye on the time and take the carriage to fetch Madam Shen. Even though we paid her to prepare the vegetarian pastries, we shouldn’t make her carry a heavy load and walk all the way here in the rain.
Grandfather’s memorial service is meant to be an act of prayer and goodwill—we hope that everyone involved can share in that blessing and find peace. It wouldn’t be right to let someone else struggle for it.”
Yan Shu nodded, responded with a quick “Yes, sir,” grabbed an umbrella, and dashed off.
Halfway there, he suddenly remembered something, turned back to his own quarters to fetch his straw raincoat, and even borrowed a larger one from Qiu Hao, his roommate.
He took them both to Zhou Da, who was in the stable grooming the horses, and explained everything in great detail.
Meanwhile, Xie Qi returned to his room and played a game of chess against himself.
Not long after, Yan Shu came back, setting the umbrella by the door, casually munching on a handful of roasted beans he had taken from Zhou Da.
“Jiu-ge’er, everything’s settled,” he said between bites.
Xie Qi nodded, satisfied, and let the matter rest.
Soon after, a servant arrived with a message from his father, summoning him to the front hall to meet some guests.
With little choice, Xie Qi sighed and got up.
His father was good in many ways—except for his love of vanity.
Yan Shu fetched a large umbrella, and as they stepped outside, he muttered, “It must be another round of guests showering him with flattery, making Master so pleased with himself that he forgets where he stands.”
Xie Qi shot him a cool glance, and Yan Shu immediately grinned, raised his hand to his lips, and mimed zipping them shut.
But his silence didn’t last long.
They had barely walked a few steps into the rain, the steady drumming of raindrops against the umbrella filling the air, when Yan Shu couldn’t resist sharing a joke.
“Jiu-ge’er, did you hear? Before we returned from Chenzhou, another guest came asking to meet our esteemed ‘Kylin Son’. Master had no choice but to summon Third Young Master. But guess what?
The night before, Third Young Master had been drinking at a brothel all night. The servants had to drag him up in a hurry, and he stumbled into the hall, barely able to stand. Just as he was about to offer his greetings, he opened his mouth—only to vomit all over the guest…”
Xie Qi’s lips twitched.
He could already picture his father’s face in that moment—his beard bristling in fury, utterly horrified.
“Master… Master was so startled he jumped onto the table!”
Yan Shu couldn’t hold back his laughter.
That day, Xie Qi’s father had dressed especially well to meet his guests, wearing a freshly tailored cloud-gauze robe with wide sleeves.
The soaring cranes embroidered on the fabric had taken two seamstresses over half a month to complete.
Yet, when his son suddenly vomited all over the floor, his first reaction wasn’t to assist the guest but to protect his robe—instinctively leaping onto the table to keep himself clean.
Xie Qi shook his head, half amused, half exasperated.
“No wonder when we got back, I heard that Ah-Xiong had been confined to the courtyard. So he was punished for this.”
“As if that could keep Third Young Master in,” Yan Shu shrugged.
“The very next day, he climbed over the wall and left.”
Then, remembering something, he took another handful of roasted beans and munched happily.
“Otherwise, how would he have happened to buy Madam Shen’s pastries and bring them back?”
As they approached the second gate leading to the outer courtyard, Xie Qi reminded him, “Once we enter the outer hall, stop eating. If the other branches see, they’ll run to Mother and get you scolded.”
Yan Shu hurriedly poured the remaining roasted beans into his mouth.
Though Xie Qi’s grandfather had passed, his great-grandmother was still alive.
According to Song dynasty customs, families did not split as long as their parents were living.
As such, the Xie family remained a large, joint household where the three branches of cousins lived together.
The younger generation all carried the same generational name, “Shi,” and though Xie Qi was often called “Jiu-ge’er,” he actually had only one biological brother—Xie Chi, who ranked third among the siblings in the family.
With so many people under one roof, conflicts were inevitable.
Among the other branches, two of his older cousins had already left the family school and gone to take minor government posts elsewhere.
Though these were trivial positions, they still carried official titles, and outsiders often made snide remarks about how they seemed more successful than the main branch’s sons.
This was why the third aunt constantly vied for control of household affairs from Xie Qi’s mother, and why his father wanted him to establish a name for himself—to build official connections, succeed in the imperial exams, and bring both prestige and influence to their branch.
To restore the standing of the main family.
“It’s been two days since I last saw Ah-Xiong,” Xie Qi mused.
His brother had mentioned something about going to Pearl Curtain Alley, which likely meant he had spent the past two nights at some courtesan’s house.
He sighed.
These past two years, Xie Chi had been drowning himself in wine, drinking until he passed out, only to wake up and drink again.
He would sometimes go missing for days on end.
Their mother didn’t intervene.
With her head down, busy at her abacus, she simply said, “Let him drink. If he drinks himself to death, then so be it.”
Xie Qi sighed again.
If his brother kept living recklessly like this, he’d surely face another beating when he returned.
As he rounded a long corridor, he reached the front hall, where he could already hear the guests discussing poetry and essays in measured tones.
Xie Qi sighed once more, pausing briefly before stepping inside to play the role of his father’s prized showpiece.
The rain grew heavier, the water streaming off the eaves forming continuous curtains.
The Xie household was engulfed in misty rain, as was the entirety of Bianjing.
Many street vendors hastily packed up their stalls, and the Bian River beneath Jinliang Bridge had risen noticeably.
In the narrow lanes of Yangliu East Alley, the rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess, with puddles forming in every low-lying spot.
Early in the morning, Shen Miao had woken with a start at the sound of rain.
She rushed to the kitchen, fumbling to find an oilcloth, only to discover it missing.
Panicked, she ran out into the courtyard—only to find that Ji ge had already taken care of everything.
He stood beneath the leaking eaves, quietly reciting his lessons.
As she looked around, she saw that the clay stove, still drying from before, had already been covered tightly with an oilcloth, weighed down with old roof tiles to keep it from blowing away.
Even the little chicks in the yard had been gathered into a dry corner, placed under a woven bamboo cover he had found from somewhere.
Now, the three of them huddled together, chirping softly as they preened their feathers.
Shen Miao leaned against the doorframe, exhaling in relief.
Hearing her footsteps, Ji Ge turned and saw her standing there, her long hair loose, still dressed in only her inner robes.
Smiling, he said, “Ah-Jie, go put on a coat. It’s raining today—the air is much colder.”
“When did you get up? I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Around the second watch,” he replied.
Shen Miao blinked.
She had slept through the entire morning without realizing it was already the time of the morning meal.
The sky was so dim from the rain that even Aunt Li’s rooster hadn’t crowed.
No wonder she had overslept.
But with the rain pouring like this, the morning market was out of the question.
There was no way to light the charcoal fire either.
Perhaps it was a good day to take a break.