Love in Red Dust - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
It was a tradition set in stone—no matter the circumstances, the date for foot-binding was always chosen with the meticulousness of consulting an old almanac.
Dingyi was still only five or six years old, just beginning her education, when she was dragged from her warm quilt by her wet nurse in a daze. Rubbing her eyes and shuffling in her slippers, she stood before the bluestone slab in the courtyard.
Her mother stood by with her hands tucked into her sleeves, her face devoid of expression. "It is time; there is no putting this off any longer today. I should have bound them when you were three, but I doted on you too much and couldn't bear it. Look at you now; if we delay any further, the suffering you endure in the future will only be greater." As she spoke, she nodded and turned away, gesturing to the nannies standing below, "Get to work!"
Dingyi looked up to see two nannies, their lapels pinned with large sewing needles, approach and offer a formal bow. "Don't be afraid, little miss. Your bones are soft, just like damp clay—we can mold them into whatever shape we want." Saying this, she pulled out a pair of red embroidered shoes. The uppers were stitched with golden flowers, looking just like little water caltrop nuts. She held them in her palm and presented them to Dingyi, "Take a look, aren't they beautiful? Once we finish binding, you'll be able to wear them."
Dingyi was still young, and the sight of the "lotus-bud" tips protruding from beneath the nannies' wide trousers terrified her. Every woman around her had bound feet. Her mother was the wife of a metropolitan censor—a position of great status—and even she wore a bright red skirt with cloud-patterned borders that hid her feet completely as she walked. When it came to feet, the Han Banner families were far more fastidious than those under the Eight Banners. The Han people had been obsessed with the "three-inch golden lotus" for thousands of years. Dingyi’s father was originally from Datong, where the style of foot-binding—slender, small, pointed, curved, fragrant, soft, and symmetrical—was famous throughout the empire. This made life miserable for the young girls, as the process was far more rigorous there than anywhere else.
With a sharp clatter, a maid accidentally knocked over a porcelain bowl. The shards were picked up—but what were they to be used for? They were to be bound inside the foot-binding cloths. The shards would cut into the flesh, causing it to fester and rot, forcing the toes to break and the arch to bow so that a pair of "perfect" small feet could be set.
For the sake of vanity, women were capable of anything. Just looking at it was painful enough to make one’s heart ache! Tears welled up in Dingyi’s eyes, her mouth twisted into a trembling pout. "I think... let's bind them tomorrow instead!"
She had been pushing "tomorrow" to "the next day" for two years now. This time, her mother had hardened her heart; no matter what, they had to be bound today.
No one paid her any mind. The nannies removed her shoes, rubbed her tender soles between their palms, and suddenly stuffed them into the gutted belly of a slaughtered rooster.
It was hot and sticky, making the hair on the back of Dingyi's neck stand on end. Both chickens were still flapping their wings; the internal organs were still pulsating with blood and not yet fully dead. A particular part was pressed against the center of her sole, thumping with a life of its own.
She felt as though she had reached a dead end, with no hope of escape. Just as she was sinking into despair, the western sky turned as black as the bottom of a pot. Clouds churned and rolled until they covered the sky above. A maid looked up and exclaimed, "Madam! It's going to pour—a heavy rainstorm is coming!"
Before the words had left her mouth, raindrops the size of mung beans began to smash down relentlessly. Panic ensued, and in the chaos, Dingyi pulled her feet out of the chicken carcasses and bolted. The nannies had such tiny, bound feet that they stumbled as they ran, causing Dingyi to be jostled until she was completely disoriented.
In any case, this torrential downpour was a blessing in disguise; it disrupted the ritual. Released from her shackles, Dingyi sat happily on a wooden stool, watching as some of the household servants disciplined their own children, even cheering them on from the sidelines: "Well taught! Little children must be scolded, just as saplings must be pruned."
The next day, her mother consulted the calendar again. Just as she had prepared the items, a group of people in official yamen uniforms burst through the gates. The leader was a Prince, wearing a formal hat topped with a red tassel. With the distinct cadence of a Beijing storyteller, he shouted clearly, "All women, stay where you are! Tie up all the men!"
Dingyi didn't know what had happened. She tried to peek, but was held down by her wet nurse, who covered her mouth with one hand to keep her quiet. Her mind swirled, and the world around her felt chaotic, as if she had been trapped in an iron barrel. All she could see was the stark white paper on the windows, and the paper-cut of a magpie carrying auspicious grasses still pasted in the center of the lattice.
The wind was howling fiercely, shrieking through the eaves and branches in a way that chilled the heart. Her mother knelt before Prince Zhuang, kowtowing. "There must be some misunderstanding here! Wen Lu’s loyalty to the Master is known to heaven and earth. His promotion was something you, Highness, witnessed step by step. All these years, he has worked meticulously for the imperial court. Even if there were some lapses, it is only human to make mistakes. Your Highness... you are a living Bodhisattva; please, show mercy and save our master's life!"
Prince Zhuang looked down and signaled for his guards to help her up, frowning. "It is not that I do not wish to help, but this matter is explicitly ordered by His Majesty; I have no say in it. Since the order has come from the palace, I must fulfill my duty first; we can discuss other matters later. Just wait. Once the case is cleared, if he was truly wronged, justice will naturally be served."
Dingyi’s father served in the Censorate, a high-ranking official who was used to arresting others. Never did he expect that the tables would turn on him today. Madame Wen begged for a long time. "Where did this start? If you could just give me a hint, it would be an act of great merit."
The Prince wiped his nose. "Last year, the Censorate judged a case that Wen Lu handled, involving several high-ranking officials who were all executed. Now that the case is being reopened, someone has to take the fall... Our two families have a friendship, so let me ask you: why did he insist on crossing people for the sake of petty profit? He promised me he would change, but he didn't listen. Now that things have gone wrong, whether he can save his life depends on his own fate!"
Her father and brothers were taken away. Dingyi felt as if the sky were collapsing. The house was filled with women, each as terrified as if struck by lightning, none able to find a way out. Though young, Dingyi understood everything. With tears in her eyes, she shook her mother’s leg, trying her best to offer comfort. "Madam, don't worry. Father will be back as soon as he gives a whistle." Her mother felt even more heartbroken hearing this and hugged her, weeping until the middle of the night.
Some things are impossible to turn around, just like trying to scoop up water with your hands—no matter how hard you try, it will eventually slip through. Dingyi held a small fishing rod, sitting by the pond to catch goldfish. People came and went behind her, but she didn't dare to look back. The family could no longer support so many people. Her mother sold everything, drained the household coffers, and pulled strings to pay off debts, but her father was still sentenced to execution. Considering it a disgrace to be beheaded at the Caishikou market, he used his own belt to hang himself in his cell. As for her three brothers, the court, in recognition of her father's "minor contributions," granted a show of mercy and sentenced them to military exile, sending them off to dig for ginseng in the Changbai Mountains.
A perfectly happy home, scattered in the blink of an eye—how terrifying! Fortunately, the crimes of the father did not extend to the three clans, so the women were safe. She looked up at the sky, watching a pair of magpies fly by. With her father and brothers gone, what was left of the Wen family now? Tears the size of beans fell, creating two ripples on the surface of the water.
The number of people in the house dwindled, and the rooms grew smaller, moving from large quarters to small ones. In the end, only three people remained. At night, she slept in the west wing with her wet nurse, while her mother slept alone in the main room.
Sweat crawled across her cheeks like worms. She raised an arm to wipe it away; it was too hot to sleep, so she tossed and turned before sitting up. The sound of crackling firewood still echoed in her ears. She turned suddenly to see a fire raging outside—the main room was on fire, and her mother was still inside! She was so frightened she cried out, but the wet nurse slept like the dead. In her desperation, she had no choice but to slap the nurse’s face hard, waking her up. But waking up didn't help; the nurse stumbled off the kang and tripped on the threshold. Dingyi scrambled out to find her mother, but the fire in the main room was too intense; the eaves were twisting in the heatwaves, and her mother was nowhere to be seen.
Everything else was gone; she could not lose her mother too! She broke free and charged forward with all her might. The wet nurse held onto her, but she stamped her feet, crying until her voice went hoarse. "Mother... come out quickly..."
Her chest felt as if it were being crushed by a millstone, the pain so sharp she couldn't breathe. Surrounded by scorching flames, she felt she was going to die right there. In that moment of despair, a cool hand covered her forehead, and a voice called out softly, "Little Tree, whose mother were you dreaming of? She must have been a beauty, looking at that frantic, greedy expression of yours!"
She gasped for air and opened her eyes. The lamp glowed like a bean, and before her was her senior apprentice-brother’s face, backlit by the light.
"Having a nightmare? Screaming and crying like that, it was haunting!" Seeing she was having trouble breathing, her brother opened the cabinet to find a medicine gourd, fed her two pills, and stood before the kang. "You know that criminal Anba Lingwu? He signed his confession the other day, the Ministry of Justice submitted the report, and the Old Emperor has circled his name. He is to be beheaded tomorrow at noon. Looking at you, I assume you won't be able to handle the duty, so you'd better tell Master and stay home to rest!"
She replied that there was no need. "If I'm not there, who will hold the sword for Master?"
Her brother clicked his teeth in annoyance. "Look at you, all high and mighty. As if the 'Red Duty' couldn't be carried out without you!"
She squinted at him. "Why don't you do it then?"
Her brother turned away, his face sullen, covering half of his cheek and muttering, "Why does my toothache have to act up now..."
It wasn't a toothache; it was the pain in his ribs! There was a reason this guy wilted whenever the "holding the sword" duty was mentioned. In this profession, your reputation and skill all relied on a single blade. This sword was eerie—it was usually kept at the Xuanwumen Gate tower, and it was pickier than a nobleman. Before taking it out, one had to offer incense, candles, and paper horses, and kowtow. It could not be touched by anyone who wasn't "clean"—they had to be either extremely yin or extremely yang. Those who had lost their virginity couldn't touch it; if they did, the sword would throw a temper tantrum. No matter how sharp the blade was honed, if it rolled at the crucial moment, failing to sever flesh and bone cleanly and getting stuck in the neck, the executioner's reputation would be ruined.
Having said all that, let us return to the "Red Duty." What is the Red Duty? When a prisoner who has committed a capital crime is beheaded at the Caishikou market, that is called the "Red Duty." The prisoner is reluctant to leave the world of the living, so someone must see them on their way. It doesn't matter; someone is waiting at the execution ground—the one wearing a red kerchief and quick-boots who specializes in this, commonly known as an executioner. An executioner—the profession sounds terrifying, but it is really just a way to earn a living. This trade deals with the King of Hell, and the baleful energy is heavy, so most people dare not provoke it. The work is light and the salary is high; once you get past the stigma, some wouldn't trade it even for the position of a private secretary. Now, Dingyi was apprenticed to the most famous swordsman in the Shuntian Prefecture, Wu Changgeng.
How did a perfectly good girl end up in this profession? That is a long story. To cut a long story short, after her mother burned to death and their small courtyard was reduced to ashes, her wet nurse took her to seek refuge with relatives. They all said that since her family was either dead or exiled, and only she survived, it proved she was "ill-fated," and none of them were willing to take her in. "When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter"—it had been that way since ancient times. With no other choice, she had to follow her wet nurse back to Sanhe County.
The wet nurse’s family wasn't wealthy either. Her parents had passed away, and she lived in a room adjacent to her brother’s. The sister-in-law often bickered with her, and her husband was good-for-nothing, so life was quite difficult. Fortunately, the wet nurse was a shrewd woman. She took Dingyi back and raised her as a boy, having her take their family name, Mu, and giving her the name "Little Tree." Everyone knew that a young girl faced many inconveniences and was easily targeted, while a boy was slightly safer. Even so, the wet nurse’s overbearing husband muttered, "Just a 'boy-girl,' and you treat her like a treasure. The village head has no son; we could just give the boy to them for a better life, and maybe exchange him for two bags of cornmeal. Wouldn't that be better?" If they had known she was a girl, they would have used some scheme to ruin her sooner or later. Selling her as a child bride would have been the best-case scenario; the worst would be selling her into a brothel. People only care about their own flesh and blood; another person’s daughter can be sliced to ribbons and they wouldn't even blink.
The wet nurse truly couldn't bear to part with her. Her own son had died of smallpox two years prior, and her foster daughter was as good as half a son to her. It was a pity her life was short; she fell ill the year the old Emperor abdicated, and passed away right after the new Emperor changed the reign title the following spring. Counting on her fingers, that was five or six years ago, when Dingyi was only twelve. A twelve-year-old half-grown child needed to make a living. She was observant and knew that staying with the Mu family would bring no good, so she kept her head down and helped Wu Changgeng’s mother carry water and push the millstone. Seeing that the child was sharp-witted, they relented and took her on as an apprentice, bringing her to Beijing.