Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

  Together they pushed aside the ironwood cover and peered in. There, in her fine white silk shroud, Snapdragon was laid to rest, her useless eyes shut, her lips closed and her hands lost beneath the coverlet.

  “Poor lady,” Chi Lin said. “She served me well.”

  Then suddenly, Raisin Cake scampered in, barking wildly, pouncing on Lao Lao’s body. That body roused, pushing the dog away.

  “Can I not sleep without that demon bark disturbing my rest?”

  “Lao Lao.”

  “Mistress Purple Sage,” Lao Lao said, trying to stand, but not quite making it. “You have survived the foul weather. I am glad of it.”

  “I am glad that you too are here and alive. I thought you were . . .”

  “I may have almost reached the Yellow Springs. But as my boat came to shore, that damn dog brought me back.”

  Chi Lin laughed, but then frowned.

  “Poor Snapdragon.”

  “Poor Snapdragon?” Lao Lao said. “Help me up, little Monkey. Give me your back.” Lao Lao managed to stand and hover over the coffin. “Old woman,” she shouted. “The storm is passed and our work is not done.”

  Snapdragon just lay there as dead as she was. Chi Lin patted Lao Lao’s back.

  “I am sorry, Lao Lao.”

  “Sorry?” He clapped over Snapdragon’s body. “Wake up. You are blind, not deaf.”

  Suddenly, her eyes opened. Her shoulders wiggled. Her head shook.

  “Snapdragon?” Chi Lin said, astounded.

  “Is that you, death, come for me,” the old lady croaked. “If so, your voice is sweet and much like my mistress’. It will be nice to have your company in the boat. But do take care not to spoil my fine white silk shroud.”

  “Silly old woman,” Lao Lao snapped. “That is your mistress, Purple Sage.”

  “Death has not claimed me?”

  “Not today,” Chi Lin said.

  “Up with you, old woman,” Lao Lao commanded. “Help me get her out, Monkey.”

  Po Bo helped lift Snapdragon up and out of the coffin, where she sat beside it reaching for Chi Lin.

  “That was a fierce storm, mistress,” she said. “I remember one like that when I was a child. Took my brother, it did. I thought I would see him today, but now I must wait my turn. Everyone must wait their turn.”

  Lao Lao reached into the coffin.

  “Help me, Monkey.”

  “But she is out.”

  “No. I mean, she is, but not these.”

  Chi Lin looked at the bottom of the coffin. There, in a neat stack and as dry as can be were the silk gift robes she was making for the children.

  “I put them there for safety, mistress,” Lao Lao said. “Such finery could not be chanced even under Gao-lin’s fine roof. Under my old lady and her shroud and inside an ironwood coffin, they would brave the storm well.”

  Chi Lin grasped Lao Lao’s hand.

  “I am lucky to have such servants,” she said. “And Heaven has granted that you and Snapdragon live. What better end to happenstance could there be?”

  Lao Lao, flustered, turned away and hid his face. Then he became agitated.

  “That damn dog should stop doing its business in the courtyard,” he shouted. “I will get the broom.”

  He was gone. Chi Lin lifted the robes into her arms, and then sought the bamboo box.

  2

  The Silver Silence Hall was unscathed inside, only some damage to the outer porch, but nothing irreparable. The courtyard was strewn with debris and the decorative cabbage pots were smashed. Shrubbery was tumbled and the aforementioned Thuja tree was downed over the gate. But inside was as if nothing had happened. Chi Lin wondered whether the robes Lao Lao carefully stored in Snapdragon’s coffin would have been just as safe, if not safer, left where they were. But it was the custodian’s job to be vigilant. Nonetheless, Chi Lin checked the crack in the bedpost for the silver ingot just in case a squirrel might have sought safety there and decided the shiny thing was a good find. The last remaining ingot was still there.

  In the morning, the Master of House arrived in Purple Sage’s courtyard, an odd thing since he disliked coming to the Silver Silence for the memories it provoked. Four porters carried a chair, her mother-in-law’s grand chair. Chi Lin at once made herself presentable and came out.

  “My lord,” she said curtsying. “Welcome over my threshold.”

  “Thank you, Purple Sage, but I shall not cross it.” He dismounted, for he was astride his grand black stallion, a war horse gift from the Third Son,

  “There has been much damage, but I see the Silver Silence has been spared.” Lao Lao, Snapdragon, Mo Li and Po Bo stood by the servant’s quarter, bowing reverentially. “I see the old ones have survived, a good omen for you, my daughter-in-law. But I need your presence on a tour.”

  “Yes, father-in-law.”

  “I know you just came from a tour, but this one is different.”

  “I understand, father-in-law.”

  Mi Tso-tze fetched a fan and a better robe – the purple one she used for touring, which had been carefully cleaned and dried.

  “Wear black, my child,” Wu T’ai-po said. “I dare not don the white yet, but since this storm came from the east, a good northern black is more appropriate than your ghostly purple.”

  Mi Tso-tze disappeared, returning with a silver trimmed black robe, which was perhaps too festive to the occasion, but fit the Master of the House’s directive. Chi Lin donned it, gathered her fan and climbed into the chair, a larger chair for her. Wu T’ai-po returned to the saddle with some trouble, age having stolen his nimble mounting days.

  Soon the chair joined the whole party – all the journeymen, mounted and arrayed by household rank. Chi Lin was glad that the horses had survived, the stables located in the western portion of the estate. Her contentment faded when they reached the main road, which was strewn with boughs, birds, people collecting their dead, furniture, and even boats blown ashore although the sea was twenty li away. She even noticed her touring chair, ripped apart and blown into the sewage ditch. The ground was a slippery screed, the horses managing, but the porters slipping, making the ride jittery. But Chi Lin managed to stay fast, the seat being cushioned and the arms being high.

  Wu T’ai-po’s procession rode past the Ya-men. The building had survived, only some roof tiles missing and the city god crashed and splintered across the gateway. Although that did not bode well, at least he did not injure anyone. Emerging as the procession passed, Ai-lo Wun-kua and Po T’ai-kuan came forward to greet Wu T’ai-po.

  “How has the House of Wu fared?” Po T’ai-kuan called

  “We shall be donning the white for Yu Lan-hua, my son’s third wife, who has passed to the Yellow Springs.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” the superintendent replied.

  “Otherwise we have repairs in the house to be made,” Wu T’ai-po said. “But I fear my tenants and our monopoly have suffered worse. I go to inspect”

  “Do you need my assistance?” Ai-lo Wun-kua asked. “I can be in the saddle immediately.”

  “No need, Commissioner,” Wu replied. “Let me assess what is mine before I turn to the Emperor’s good temper. I shall report well.”

  Ai-lo Wun-kua bowed, and then his eye caught Chi Lin’s.

  “I shall await the report. We have been most fortunate in the Ya-men. Everyone has weathered the storm.” He looked directly at Chi Lin. “Everyone.”

  Chi Lin was gladdened to know that her father had not attempted to return home and was safe inside the Ya-men. She was also sure her father-in-law had caught the inference. But he did not protest.

  “The marketplace,” Po T’ai-kuan said. “There is much sorrow there. Collapsing stalls and gone roofs exposed many to the wind’s terror. I suggest you stay clear of it in case the town’s mood should shift.”

  Wu T’ai-po nodded his thanks for the warning and proceeded toward his monopoly holdings.

  What Chi Lin saw plunged her heart into sorrow’
s depths. The tenancies were shorn of buildings, few walls standing and no roofs intact. The ji-tzao were inoperative, the filters blown apart, the evaporation towers fallen in heaps. Only one stood, and that one leaned at a precarious angle. The silk ji-tzao were in shambles also, mulberry trees crushed or naked, the tenting blown apart and the worms, no doubt, drowned. Chi Lin assumed they were much like the silk ji-tzao at home, except she could not bring herself to visit that one after the storm. Now she hoped it had fared better than these. But the worst sight were the children, many dead on the roadside, and others crawling about in the mud.

  “Halt now,” she said.

  The porters obeyed, but hesitated. Then Wu T’ai-po turned, questioning their actions.

  “What is this, now?” he asked.

  “Halt and let me down,” Chi Lin repeated.

  Her father-in-law nodded in agreement and the chair was lowered. Chi Lin jumped into the mud, slogging to the nearest child, a girl it would appear, who could not find enough purchase to take more than a few steps before falling. Just beyond her were adults, not much better balanced and just as desperate.

  Chi Lin reached the girl, clutched her, and then wiped her face.

  “Do not be afraid,” she said. “It is over.”

  “It is over,” the girl murmured. “It is over, but my house is gone and my brother is dead.”

  Chi Lin clutched her to her chest, the black robe now sullied as if a dozen oxen had shat on her. The adults did not approach. They were in a haze as if they did not know where they were or what they did. Chi Lin thought that this must be the state of things throughout the tenancy. It broke her heart. Then her father-in-law was beside her.

  “You are meddlesome again, daughter-in-law,” he said.

  “We must do something,” she said.

  “I am. I am assessing the situation.”

  “So am I,” she muttered. “This child needs shelter and food and comfort. I know she is only a girl, but we cannot be so heartless as to let her die here by the roadside.”

  “She shall not die,” her father-in-law said. “At least not today and not by the roadside.” He hunkered down beside her. “I am responsible to the Emperor for his salt and to my family for the monopoly. Therefore I must assure the well-being of my tenants. But there is much work. We will take this girl back to the house. But no more waifs in the passage. No more. The others need to await my plan.”

  Chi Lin hugged the girl, but looked to her father-in-law. She knew that his kindness could only stretch so far before becoming empty words.

  “You have a plan, father-in-law?” she prodded.

  “Yes,” He shook his head. “You are a meddlesome woman, Mistress Purple Sage. You once suggested that the monopoly could be served by better accounting and management. In fact, you proposed your own family as a good rallying point for such a change. I have considered it many times, but my old lady thought it a poor suggestion and did not wish to further extend our patronage to the Chi clan.”

  Chi Lin bowed her head. Of course her mother-in-law was correct. The monopoly must be jealously guarded from falling into the hands of other households.

  “I understand, my lord. I am a mere woman and do not know about these things.”

  “That is correct. However, under these horrific circumstances, the Wu Household needs help. So, I will be calling on your brother to do an accounting of damage and extend a contract to your Chi cousins to manage the ji-tzao affairs with some gain to them, but much more for the Wu.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Do not thank me. Thank the tai-feng. But not too much because it might return the gratitude and I cannot afford that.”

  3

  The little girl’s name was Yu Li. Chi Lin brought her into the Silver Silence, turning her over to Mi Tso-tze for cleaning and dressing. The girl wept for her parents, perhaps, but Chi Lin thought not, because her parents were oblivious to her departure. It was more likely that she wailed for her brother. Still, once warmed, clothed and fed and put to bed near Tso-tze’s partition, she quieted and even became curious. She struck up a playful liking for Raisin Cake. She did not talk much except to Po Bo, who, curious monkey that he was, asked her a dozen questions about her life, none of which she answered, but in turn she laughed at his jokes. Chi Lin thought that was something, at least. In time, Chi Lin named Yu Li little Butterfly and taught her to sew and help with Tso-tze’s chores. As it turned out this little mud-packed waif never left the Silver Silence and never questioned it for the remainder of her life.

  Purple Sage was weary after tai-feng. She was content that her brother, Chi Sheng, would handle the ji-tzao books and accounting, although he could never enter the Wu house in his crippled condition. But arrangements would be made to deliver the necessary materials to his brush. She was also delighted that her cousins would become foreman and work to restore the ji-tzao to full operation. Cousin Chi Fa was never her favorite, but he was industrious as were his brothers. It was a good match to her mind. They would energize the journeymen, the pao-t’ien and the tenant families to bury their dead, clean up the waste, restore the filters and flow and rebuild the evaporation towers. Yes, it was a good match to Chi Lin’s mind.

  After a week, it was announced that the family would don the white for three moons in mourning for Yu Lan-hua, Orchid. This meant a cessation of the New Year celebration, but it had to be done. It also meant that the New Year robes for the children would be set aside for a time after the Lantern Festival. But before Chi Lin packed them away, she asked Po Bo to carry the box to the family shrine. There she burned incense to her husband and to Guan-yin. She had already donned the white and the shrine was draped in white silk also.

  “We are all sad at Orchid’s departure,” she told Wu Hung-lin. “Only you shall see her now at the Yellow Springs. May she delight you as even she did in life.”

  At this, she turned to Po Bo, who understood and departed. She carefully opened the bamboo box and withdrew the appropriate yellow robe.

  “See what I have made for Wu Lin-kua, my lord. It shimmers in the sunlight as if made for an imperial prince. But I was careful to use appropriate yellow and not proscribed. I embroidered a tiger, because Lin-kua is fierce like one and will be a noble Master of the House in time.”

  She bowed and set it aside, and then withdrew the fawn robe.

  “Wu Chou-fa shall have this one, the color of earth because his soul is practical and his mind is sharp. He does well with the brush and so I have embroidered a crane with a crimson comb. His voice is destined to be heard.”

  She bowed again, setting the fawn robe aside. Then withdrew three more robes from the box.

  “And these are for your daughters, my lord. I have not completed the embroidery, but know this. Their beauty embarrasses the sun and they will cost you a mighty dowry. You should be pleased by this.”

  She set these aside also, and then slowly withdrew the last robe – a wee melon colored garment. She spread it before the effigy.

  “And this robe is for Wu Ming-kuan. It is light like his smile and, as you can see, I have embroidered a sea-bird. It was not originally a sea-bird, but a woodland bird. But he has told me that he wants to go to sea and I think it is a fine thing and so I have changed it to a sea-bird, to fly away from here and be free over the open waters and above the horizon. Yes, my lord. He is the free spirit of my heart. He is . . .” She bowed. “He is the child who fulfills your most humble servant’s love for her most noble husband.”

  And she was Wu Ming-kuan’s Auntie.

  Part Two — The Crane Queen (1376 — 1405)

  Chapter One

  The Salt Goddess

  1

  Twenty-four summers had past, the passage of time having treated Chi Lin kindly. It was the second year of the Chien Wen Emperor’s reign, the Hung Wu ruler having departed to the Yellow Springs. There were many who were glad to see his departure, but few who said so kept their heads. The Ming founder was a despot, without a doubt, his word la
w and his actions heavy on many households. He had built an edifice of rule, but upon his own shoulders, the council of state being relegated to a lesser role. One would think the Hung Wu Emperor would leave his empire to his sons, but he mistrusted his sons and designated his young grandson his successor – the Chien Wen Emperor. To such things Chi Lin paid no mind at first as they held little sway over her daily chores and her growing influence. But that would change.

  Many changes had occurred in the household – many people passing including the Old lady of the House and the Master. Wu Lin-kua was Master now with his own Lady of the House. Wu Chou-kua was ensconced in Wu Liang-tze’s old villa, his sisters both married and away. But the details of these events are at the heart of Chi Lin’s influence and will make for a fine tale. Wu Ming-kuan was still on hand, but at school in nearby port of Lin-t’ao, where he studied ships and navigation. Lao Lao and Snapdragon had both passed to the Yellow Springs, Po Bo becoming the custodian of the Silver Silence. As for the Silver Silence, it had emerged as the center of the House – Chi Lin’s pulse being the heart. Yes, much had changed, but Chi Lin was steady and predictable, never surprising anyone with her resourcefulness or her allegiance to family matters. There may have been many more servants in the Silver Silence, but it was still common to see Chi Lin on the verandah sewing shoes or walking with Mi Tso-tze to inspect the silk ji-tzao. Chi Lin still paid her respects to the First and Second Wives, and was diligent at the family shine; and she went to the Jade Heart Hall when summoned by the new Master, but more than likely, Wu Lin-kua paid his Auntie visits for advice. There were new wives and young children underfoot, but all respected Auntie Purple Sage. It was a wonder that this ghost bride had come full circle within the house despite resentment from Jasmine, which never had changed.

  Purple Sage’s anchor was set in the Chi family’s new alliance with Wu, the Master of the House having taken Chi Lin’s suggestion to employ her family as foremen for the salt ji-tzao to assure accurate accounting and increased production. But it went beyond that. After the tai-feng and the severe damage wrought by the catastrophic winds, the Chi undertook their commission as nothing short of a reestablishment of the monopoly. Chi Lin recalled the day.