Love in Red Dust - Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Her switch to women's attire truly shocked quite a few people. In the past, whenever someone mentioned Mu Xiaoshu, they thought of someone entirely different. Having seen her every day in long robes and mandarin jackets, nobody ever considered her a woman. But now, with her hair coiled up and wearing a lined jacket, she stood there as a beautiful young woman, with a figure that showed off every curve. She was not the sort of fragile noble miss who would topple at a touch; her softness was imbued with a spirited, heroic aura, and her charm lay precisely in that chivalrous spirit. Having seen all the flowers in the world, this was the one that made one's heart surrender.

The Seventh Prince muttered that it was preposterous. Dingyi anticipated he was about to cause trouble and braced herself. But he didn't. He walked over, brushed his hand against the sable fur on her shoulder, and said, "You didn't want me to take you, preferring instead to let the Twelfth Prince spend his money. This child—truly a child who turns her elbows inward, saving me silver! But your head is bare; didn't your Twelfth Prince buy you any head ornaments? That’s just as well. Where is the hairpin I gave you last time? It would match this outfit perfectly. Put it on and let your Twelfth Prince take a look."

Dingyi said sheepishly, "That hairpin isn't with me. Last time, you insisted I keep it even though I told you not to, so it’s just been sitting idle in my things." She held up two fingers to measure. "It has such huge filigree flowers and such long dangles..."

Before she could finish, the Seventh Prince pulled the jade hairpin from his own hair and inserted it directly into her bun, saying triumphantly, "If you don't like those clanking trinkets, use this one. This is top-grade blood jade, a unique piece, I’d say. The artisan who made it is long dead, so you won't find a second one. I’m giving it to you; it’s hard to compare with this outfit, but make do for now. A girl must wear jewelry; only then does she look expensive. One look—" He gave a thumbs-up. "—and you can tell she’s from a great family, someone who can walk in and out of the grandest manors at will."

This was clearly an attempt to compete. Beijingers have a habit of false humility. For instance, the Seventh Prince’s words about the hairpin being inferior to the outfit were just a roundabout way of praising himself. It was already a one-of-a-kind piece; no amount of fur skirts or jackets could rival it. He had learned to be clever this time, not flaunting his status as "number one in the world," but instead saying "This of mine is not much, can't compare to others"—yet he was already comparing. Taking a small step back was actually a giant leap forward; it was advance through retreat.

Everyone knew there were hidden undercurrents beneath the surface. Dingyi stiffened her neck, ready to reach up and remove it. She hadn't intended to become entangled with anyone, so she couldn't accept such a gift, fearing she would never be able to repay the favor. She said, "It’s too precious, I can’t accept it..."

The Seventh Prince pressed her hand down, looking her over from left to right with a satisfied expression, as if both the person and the ornament were already his. He didn't listen to her persuasion at all, nodding incessantly. "I didn't misjudge you; you’ve really given me face! When we return, follow me to the Old Mansion so the Second Sister-in-law can take a look. She’s good at matchmaking; I’ll ask her to speak for us." His self-righteousness had not diminished in the slightest.

The so-called "Old Mansion" referred to the Forbidden City, and the "Second Sister-in-law" naturally referred to the Empress. There was a saying about the Empress: the former "Meat Empress" had transcended the world, while the current "Vegetarian Empress" was rolling in the dust of the mortal world. She was obsessed with the marriages of the imperial clan; playing matchmaker had become the greatest joy of her flourishing life. To live to such a state was, in its own way, reaching a certain enlightenment.

Dingyi looked at the Twelfth Prince, who glanced coldly at the Seventh Prince. "The Second Sister-in-law already played matchmaker for you once. Do you have the face to bother her again? At the last great banquet, she and the ladies of the household talked to me about it, but I didn't agree. I’ll go make the proposal myself this time; my chances of success are much higher than yours. Brother, you should put this heart of yours to rest. Since you’ve started a family, focus on your career. Stuck among women and unable to get out—if you feed a camel jasmine flowers, will it ever get full?"

The Seventh Prince hadn't expected Old Twelve to openly clash with him like this. They were like two people staring at a cluster of fresh lychees, both swallowing their saliva. Previously, they had maintained a facade for the sake of appearances, but now that the shells had been peeled, neither was willing to concede an inch.

He rolled his eyes at him, annoyed by his sharp tone, and deliberately turned his back on him, smiling bashfully at Xiaoshu. "Let's eat early and go to the lantern festival! Don't listen to Old Twelve’s nonsense; he just can't stand to see us happy. He’s doing everything he can to smear me in front of you. If you believe him, you’ll be playing right into his hands."

Whether he was being smeared or not, she knew. Dingyi shook her head. "I already promised the Twelfth Prince we’d go to the festival ourselves. If you have no one to accompany you, Seventh Prince, take that Jin with you!"

Na Jin and the Seventh Prince were inseparable. The Seventh Prince glanced at that fat face from afar and quickly averted his gaze. "Let’s all go together then! The lantern festival is crowded with all sorts of people; an extra person means an extra pair of hands to help!"

And so it was decided. There would be a tail following them wherever they went, and even if they were unwilling, they couldn't shake him off.

There was no helping it. Everyone ate, cleaned up, and went about their business.

Ice sculptures in the north were famous, blooming like flowers in the extreme cold. Everyone knew what an ice lantern was. The lantern market in Suifen was beautiful, spread out over the widest part of the frozen Suifen River. The freezing in this month was severe; the solid ice underfoot was several yards thick, forming a natural, unpainted stage. People walked on the ice, weaving through the myriad ice mountains that stood like a forest. If you lit a red lantern here, that section turned red. If you lit a blue one there, that area turned blue. After wandering from one place to another, you’d look up and find, so you are here too, and even complete strangers could share a smile.

Dingyi’s love for this world of glass had been deeply rooted in her heart since childhood. She remembered when she was only four or five, during the New Year, when Shichahai had frozen over. Her three older brothers had found an ice sled and wanted to take her out to play. That sled was a small thing, only three feet square, but carved quite realistically, with layers of rolled-up clouds like the chariot the Queen Mother of the West rode when touring the theaters. The bottom was fitted with sharpened steel instead of ice blades, and a small flag was hoisted high on a pole with "Great Great Great King" written by hand. Her three brothers formed a circle, pushing the sled for each other, and Dingyi sat on it, hearing nothing but the whistling wind as they darted back and forth, along with her own uncontrollable screams.

Now, everything was far away. The memory of childhood flashed by; she reached out to catch it, only to find her hands empty, unable to pick up the pieces.

She bought a lantern at a small stall by the river—a simple bamboo frame covered in colorful paper, hung from a small stick by three strings. She carried it, walking and stopping to look around. Everyone passing by was a stranger. She felt dazed, a sense of desolation rising within her for no reason. Turning back, she saw a familiar face amidst the fading lights; blurred by the riot of colors, he looked somewhat ethereal.

The Seventh Prince was an expert when it came to having fun. He skated well, and instead of waiting for them to find a way to ditch him, he found a place to place bets, put down a tael of silver, and started challenging others. Hongce sometimes felt this man was truly unfathomable. Clearly, he had rolled up his sleeves and made up his mind to snatch someone away, yet he’d get distracted by something new and vanish without a trace. To borrow a phrase from the Retired Emperor, "This man is like a dog trying to bite the moon—no place to get his teeth in, but it’s quite marvelous!"

Old Seven went off to compete with others after changing his shoes, sliding away with nimble limbs like a bird skimming across the water, vanishing in a flash. Dingyi was a bit worried. "We’re strangers in a strange land, and the Seventh Prince is too fond of play. What if something goes wrong? Those armored soldiers aren't to be trifled with."

Hongce said, "He knows his own limits. He’s not a child who needs someone to hold his hand." He then squeezed her fingertips and asked if she was cold. "There’s a stall up ahead; let’s go sit there and wait for him."

It was a small hut enclosed with felt, blocking the wind on three sides and welcoming customers on the fourth. In such a snowy, icy world, watching the people come and go while drinking a hot bowl of tea was a decent pastime.

Dingyi ordered two hanging-oven sesame flatbreads and pulled him to sit by the stove. The stove was for heating tea; red charcoal glowed beneath a large tea kettle. She squinted and hugged her legs, the firelight filling her embrace. A faint scent of the bread wafted over; she took a deep sniff and said, "The longer I wait, the hungrier I get. The flatbreads here are different from the ones in our city; they’re huge—one is worth two... Pardon me, please add more sesame seeds."

The boss was a little man over sixty with very red cheekbones; by the look of him, he wasn't a local. He readily agreed, his three fingers acting like a scoop as he pinched up a handful and sprinkled it over. Immediately, a fragrance filled the air. He poured two bowls of butter tea to go with it; the tea was thick and rich. Hongce took a sip and praised it with a smile, "The flavor of Khalkha."

The boss was very surprised, brushing the flour off his hands as he said, "So this master has been to Khalkha?"

He replied calmly, "I passed by while doing business and drank their tea. Once you’ve had it, you remember it for a lifetime. Khalkha is a long way from Suifen River; did you come such a long way here to make a fortune, old man?"

The old man spoke in a local Northeast dialect, but his tongue couldn't quite wrap around it, and his pronunciation retained the indistinct tones of Mongolian. He shook his head and said, "No choice. The twelve tribes of Khalkha were fighting among themselves, carving up land and territory, causing such a ruckus that the herders didn't even dare to go to the pastures. The path to survival was cut off; was I supposed to stay there and wait for death? So, I sold all my livestock. My daughter married here in Suifen, so I moved the whole family here to make a living."

Hongce frowned. "Is Khalkha recently unstable? I have trade connections there, but I hadn't heard of such a thing."

The old man opened the furnace, reached in with fire tongs, and clamped two flatbreads. He placed them on a plate, poured a dish of sauce and a dish of chili on the side, and replied while busy with his hands, "You’re just passing through. Those in business fear shaking their foundations, so reporting the good and hiding the bad happens. On the surface, it’s a picture of prosperity; the Governor of the garrison writes memorials to the Emperor here saying everything is wonderful. Let it be wonderful. As long as the Emperor is sure Khalkha won't rebel, he doesn't care if they beat each other’s brains out."

Hongce, for his part, had been inextricably linked to Khalkha his whole life; whenever he heard that something had gone wrong there, his heart was inevitably filled with worry. Seeing he was weighed down by worries, Dingyi pressed his hand with a warm, loving gaze and a warm smile, feeding him a piece of bread as she comforted him: "If the sky falls, there are taller people to hold it up. Once this business is finished, visit the garden more often. Though father and son are the closest of kin, if you grow distant, it won't be sweet. I don't understand anything else, but I do know the old saying: 'Harmony in the family leads to prosperity in all things.'"

He had thought of this too, but because of his pride, he was unwilling to lower his head. He felt aggrieved in his heart; after ten years in Khalkha, he felt he had eaten enough bitterness that he couldn't eat anymore. How much worse could it get? But he didn't want to worry her, so he said lightly, "I understand. I didn't think things through when I was young, but I understand a bit more now. I’ll do as you say later."

The two exchanged a smile, plain and tender. It was nearly ten o'clock at night when they left the flatbread stall. It was New Year's Eve, and every household was setting off firecrackers, the thrilling explosions of the double-bang firecrackers resounding one after another. Wealthy families were setting off fireworks; brilliant, eye-catching patterns bloomed in succession against the pitch-black night sky. They stood side-by-side watching, the firelight reflecting in each other’s eyes, and they squinted, afraid that the moment wouldn't last. Dingyi tightened her wrap and said it was wonderful. "We are together on this New Year's Eve; I want us to be together for every New Year to come."

He opened his cape and tightly wrapped her within his wings, bowing his head to whisper in her ear: "As long as you are not tired of me, I will be with you for every year to come."

Such affection shouldn't be met with any more doubt, but for some reason, she felt the future was impossibly remote. Even though he was right in front of her, she still couldn't touch him. She lifted her face, pressing her lips against his jaw. "I keep feeling like I’m dreaming. The day I wake up, you’ll be gone."

Once in love, one must adapt to sudden bouts of insecurity. She knew she was being a bit silly. Avoiding his gaze, she spoke as if to herself, hugging him tighter. She called his name, and he could feel the vibration of her voice but couldn't see what she was saying. He felt a bit anxious. "Dingyi..."

She collected herself and lifted her head, her smile more dazzling than the fireworks. A fireball suddenly shot up from the flat ground, and she pointed it out to him. The fireball burst in mid-air, scattering sparks in a shower of light as they fell. They stood beneath that sea of flowers, the surrounding figures fading—thin, even transparent. The world only had the two of them. Recalling this years later, it still made her heart tremble.

The fireworks subsided, and another show began. From out of nowhere, a Yangge dance troupe appeared, artists dressed in bright red and green with red silk ribbons tied around their waists, stepping on wooden stilts two feet high as they approached from afar. It was probably what they called "Singing the Village Ground"—commoners spontaneously gathering to walk the streets during the farming off-season or happy occasions. Stilts and acrobatics were inseparable; while dancing with their long sleeves, they sang, "Saying virtue, speaking of virtue, don't know where virtue hides. Beijing city is renamed Shuntian Prefecture, outside the city lies Wang Family Village..."

Most of the performances in the pear gardens of Beijing were Beijing operas or eight-cornered drums. These local small troupes rarely had a chance to perform. A group of people surged forward in a caravan, like incense-bearers during a festival—a massive team extending for half a mile! There were so many people, singing and dancing, the sounds of gongs and drums deafening. Everywhere she looked, there were deathly-white faces and fiery-red rouge. Dingyi panicked, swept into the flow of people. All she could see around her were heavy masks and makeup, and the shrill singing: "Old Lady Wang is thirty-three years old, gave birth to three young sons in one litter, one year, two years, held in mother's arms, three years, four years, never leaving mother’s side..."

A buzzing sound filled her brain. The Twelfth Prince was gone. She had fallen into the heart of the sea, unable to find the shore in any direction. She grew anxious, crying out, "Master Jin, Jin Yangxian..." Suddenly, she remembered he couldn't hear her. He was out of her line of sight, and she couldn't reach him anymore.

There were too many people, increasingly surging in one direction like wave after wave of a tide, drowning everyone in confusion. Hongce struggled to search the sea of people for her silhouette, but she was nowhere to be found! He had no choice but to shout her name as loudly as possible, but even if she had responded, he couldn't distinguish her position. He had no other way but to wait where he was.

He let his hands drop, feeling defeated. He had lost her, and his heart was in chaos. He hoped she hadn't gone far, but a vague, ominous premonition seized his heart with an invisible hand, leaving him unable to breathe. He spent a great deal of effort to break free from the crowd. The performers' act was also reaching its finale—no beginning, no end, just gradually drifting away. He looked around in panic; a gust of wind rolled by, feeling like the desolation that inevitably follows prosperity. After searching everywhere, there were no results. She was gone.