Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

  Now it was the Old Lady of the House’s turn. She refused to stay in bed, preferring her ke-ting. Every day her sewing was set before her and, although she did not work, she patted it as if it would complete itself. As Chi Lin stitched, the Old Lady would grunt and comment on the work, mostly criticism of a kindly nature, but sometimes praise.

  “You must teach that stitch to my granddaughter to improve her concentration,” she would say.

  When the Old Lady referred to my granddaughter, she always meant Sapphire. She had no fears for the other two, but worried about the young one’s future. Sapphire was growing in body, but not in mind. She remained a frail, moody child, often sitting for hours alone in the shadow of the Silver Silence’s walls, twisting the diminutive robes of her dolly. At other times, she fought with Po Bo or little Butterfly, showing a mean spirited side that could only be curtailed by Chi Lin’s sterner hand. Purple Sage set aside time each day trying to train the girl up to become a woman – sewing instructions, singing practice and telling her stories, reading from the ever growing collection of books in the Silver Silence. Sometimes the child would smile and caress her auntie. At other times she would throw small tantrums demanding a better story or sweets from the kitchen. It was not an easy course. Sapphire’s future was worrisome.

  When the Old Lady muttered No bound feet this was a different instruction for Purple Sage. Chi Lin had learned that, in the household, marriage arrangements for the children fell outside the sphere of mothers and definitely beyond the realm of men. As such, the Old Lady of the House would be the prime mover, but in her current condition, she could do no more than consider and advise the one person of the house who would manage it – the Fourth Wife.

  Chi Lin knew nothing of arranging marriages. Her own was arranged according to plan – the mei-ren or broker approached her father stating that Wu Hung-lin decided to take an additional wife and the sky signs were favorable toward the Chi’s second daughter. The fact that the first daughter was destined for a life of charity in the monastery quite cleared the way for this new alliance. Chi Ming agreed to have tea with Wu T’ai-po where the bride’s price was given, if acceptable. It was declared there was no need for the groom to see Chi Lin before the ceremony and the dowry was sent. Of course, Chi Lin received the purple flower and had to decide on her course to be a ghost bride or retreat to a monastery like her sister had. Beyond this, Chi Lin knew nothing of arranging a marriage. In fact, she had no idea that she would steer this course until Willow took her aside one day before she took up the stitch beside her mother-in-law.

  “Mistress,” Willow said. She had become Chi Lin’s close friend despite the difference in their status. “I shall caution you that today my mistress is in a mood to discuss the First Son’s connubial future.”

  “I will listen with respect,” Chi Lin replied.

  “You misunderstand me, mistress. She is enlisting you to commence arrangements.”

  “Me?”

  “You are not his mother and you are not a man,” she replied. “These are the qualifications for a go-between.”

  “Oh,” Chi Lin responded.

  She had never given this much thought. The only time she had considered Wu Lin-kua’s marital future was when he bragged that he would have sixteen wives when he was Master of the House. She had also suggested he gain experience in the pleasure house, but she never knew whether Pang Guo-ta ever followed through with her suggestion. So she proceeded to her seat beside her ailing mother-in-law and waited for her cue. It did not come. Nor was it broached on the next day or the next, so Chi Lin assumed the Old Lady had changed her mind and would keep to her own schedule for these things. But finally, the matter was broached.

  “No bound feet,” the Old Lady muttered.

  “Yes, mother-in-law,” Chi Lin said. “Our feet are not bound.”

  “No, child. You miss my meaning. Choose them with no bound feet.”

  “Choose whom?”

  “The wives of my grandsons,” the Old Lady replied, annoyed at the missed meaning. “I can give little guidance other than this.”

  Chi Lin knew the time had arrived, so she listened intently.

  “Wu Lin-kua needs to marry. He is inclined to do it, and I fear his inclinations. His mother is useless to guide him well. He listens to me respectfully, but knows my time is near. Respect for a living grandmother is more binding than to an ancestral grandmother to whom he might thank for guidance and honor with red paper prayers, but still do what the living do. As for my husband, it is improper for his intervention in these matters. So it falls to you, his Auntie to guide the arrangements.”

  Chi Lin nodded reverentially to her mother-in-law. This was the first time she heard that Wu Lin-kua had been considering marriage on his own terms and had no knowledge of this choice. She had not spoken to Jasmine in over a moon and, even if she had, she doubted the First Wife would have broached the matter.

  “I am new to such arrangements,” Chi Lin said softly.

  “You must seek Ying Ling, the mei-ren. She is best. There are others, but they have proved misguided in at least one instance in our family affairs.”

  “Ying Ling will know?”

  “You must take care with her, my child. She is a powerful mei-ren and can paint pretty words for the right price. But we do not need pretty words. The first wife of a first son must be a connection that lasts for a generation. The sky must be correct, the omens perfect. There can be no question of impropriety and there must be no bound feet.”

  “No bound feet,” Chi Lin repeated.

  “My feet are unbound and I gave my husband three sons. Jasmine’s feet are unbound and she gave my son two sons. Your feet are unbound and . . . well, you have blessed us. The other wives were dainty-footed and only daughters came forth.”

  Chi Lin saw the point and the logic, although her own mother had unbound feet and she had two daughters and a crippled son. Still, if this is what was required for the House of Wu, she would follow the course.

  “Ying Ling will recommend a score of county daughters, but take care. She is looking for the best commission on her choice. She thrives on silver and, if she makes a good match, it is deserved, but try to think of our family’s best interests, even if the girl be one eyed and hunched-backed.”

  Chi Lin shuddered. She would never saddle Lin-kua with such a wife, but she understood the point and the deep responsibility. What she did not understand was Lin-kua’s mind, and for that she needed more than her mother-in-law’s guidance.

  2

  Wu Lin-kua had been introduced to the pleasure house called The Sojourn of Heaven’s Eye as had his brother, Wu Chou-fa. Both lads liked the women that they had and compared experiences as only brothers could, with many references to passionate moments and to quirks in women’s anatomy. The women they had been coupled with were young at first, but as Lin-kua sprouted, he had the choice of the house having an allowance of silver ingots greater than most patrons. Before he set foot in the place, his teacher P’ing Chin would read him passages from the famous saints of Taoist and Buddhist lore, especially of Ch’ang P’ang, a prolific philosopher who could hold a woman on his lap for hours without becoming aroused. Lin-kua laughed at this as no accomplishment, but perhaps a sign that Ch’ang P’ang’s priorities were askew. But P’ing Chin would put it to the point, that it was the priority of a virtuous man to know when arousal was necessary and when not; that knowing the Classics and maintaining the fundamental relationships between male and female was a higher virtue than mere passion and self-indulgence. Lin-kua would acknowledge the point, and then proceed with a journeyman to plow his passions as he saw fit, perhaps thinking of a Classical passage in the culmination – something along the lines of a battle on a parapet releasing vessels of hot oil.

  Chi Lin was not averse to men seeking comfort in the pleasure house. It was natural and not for a ghost wife to say otherwise. Had she not encouraged Pang Guo-ta to take the first son to the Soujourn of Heaven’s Eye? But now she learne
d that Wu Lin-kua had fixed his passions on a specific pleasure woman – Cinnamon Rose, a rare treasure who sang like a golden finch and played the p’i-p’a like an immortal. These were not faults because she cultivated them to enrich both the Sojourn and her apartment, which had become particularly stellar since Wu Lin-kua’s attentions were showered upon her. Such attraction was beyond an Auntie’s business unless that Auntie needed to find the first son a wife and that first son announced he had set his cap upon this useless bauble. No bound feet. The echo was loud in Chi Lin’s head.

  Jasmine knew of these things and had argued with her son over his choice. He remained respectful of his mother, but pointed out that her voice did not count in this issue. It would be his grandmother who had the heaviest sway. When he broached the issue with the Old Lady of the House she listened as only a woman in the throes of illness could – in silence and in pain. Her only response was No bound feet. Lin-kua respectfully bowed to his grandmother, made no reply or argument, but was ready to follow his own course.

  “So, as you can see,” Willow said to Chi Lin, “the First Son has already made up his mind on the issue.”

  “But he cannot arrange it himself.”

  “Of course not,” Willow said. “Even Cinnamon Rose needs to follow the rules.”

  This was true enough. So, with great anxiety, Chi Lin sent Wu Lin-kua a coin shaped bun. Po Bo delivered it with a message that Mistress Purple Sage had been instructed to call for the mei-ren and asked to discuss the matter with the First Son. Lin-kua was to come to the Silver Silence the next day with his usual present for his Auntie – a book; this time a collection of poems by Su T’ai-po, Chi Lin’s favorite poet.

  The Silver Silence was warm, it being the sixth moon. Her usual course would be to converse on the verandah, but in her new responsibility she wanted to maintain an appropriate atmosphere and meet with Lin-kua inside the hall. She had a chair set under a bower of scented tzi di-xiang, the purple beards infusing the pavilion to the exclusion of other aromas. It would put Lin-kua at ease, she suspected and perhaps in the best mood for the subject. Previous interviews between nephew and aunt had been casual, filled with informal banter. Perhaps this would ease him into the connubial subject without the usual male reticence before women.

  “This is my favorite poet, master,” Chi Lin said, nodding thanks, but putting the book aside immediately.

  Wu Lin-kua sat in an unlikely spot, on a cushion purposely placed in the hall for subservience. Mi Tso-tze served him a bowl of rice wine, which he imbibed quickly, his adolescence still evident despite his prowess in the hen house.

  “I knew you would like Su T’ai-po, Auntie,” he said. He looked about, setting the bowl down. “Why are we sitting in here and in such a manner? It is hot and the scent is overbearing.”

  “Perhaps so, master,” she replied. “But I am representing the household today.”

  “You are arranging my marriage with Cinnamon Rose,” he stated enthusiastically.

  “I am arranging your marriage to whomever the gods see fit.”

  Wu Lin-kua jumped to his feet.

  “You are going to side with my mother and grandmother. For that I cannot stand.”

  “You are standing, as I can see. And I did not say you could not marry whom you desire. I said Heaven needs a voice and we must consult the mei-ren.”

  Lin-kua frowned, more adolescence breaking through now. He sat again with a thump. Tso-tze filled his cup again and he drank it quickly, almost choking.

  “You will call the mei-ren, Auntie?”

  “It is my responsibility to do it . . . for you, your brothers and your sisters. So accept the practice as you accepted your first top-knot.”

  Chi Lin waited, and then stood.

  “Perhaps it is hot in here.”

  She went to him, gave him her hand, and then walked him onto the verandah, where a warm breeze blew the floral stink away. As warm as it was, it was still refreshing compared with the hall.

  “You once told me that when you were Master of the House, you would have sixteen wives, many from the pleasure house.”

  “I was a child then,” he said, almost laughing. “Of course a man cannot afford that many wives.”

  “But even if you were to have five wives, you would still need a first wife — a woman to give you sons and establish a proper relationship for the ancestors to witness.”

  This was a truth incontestable – a P’ing Chin truth.

  “But who is to say,” Lin-kua said, “that a wife from the pleasure house cannot be a fine woman, a bearer of sons and a worthy mate for the master of a great house.”

  Chi Lin smiled. This was the nub of the issue. What she said next could either anger him or persuade him. But she did not mean to do either. She wanted to set seeds in his mind so he could consider the issue like the future Master of the House. She offered him a seat, which he took. Tso-tze brought the wine bowl, which, this time, he declined. There were distractions now in the courtyard – Po Bo supervising the gardeners stringing rows for pea vines, little Butterfly feeding Raisin Cake fried dough and Sapphire singing a melancholy song by the pool. These were distractions slipped into Lin-kua’s mind as only a good Auntie could.

  “Let us consider these things, Master Lin-kua,” Auntie Purple Sage said. “A first wife is for the family, just as the marriage is for the family. It is a contract between families. Now I cannot say that Cinnamon Rose has no family, but will Heaven and our ancestors be content with the dowry of a working girl? I will not say that they would not be, because I am not a potent mei-ren like Ying Ling. But a pleasure house woman taken as a wife is a good thing, I would say. My husband, your father, took two into his household.”

  “That is so, Auntie,” Lin-kua said. “It is my thinking exactly.”

  “But consider. Were they first wives?”

  “No. But my mother, the First Wife has brought little connection to . . .”

  Chi Lin held her hand up, frowning.

  “Take care, Master Lin-kua. One does not speak of one’s mother in such terms. The First Wife is always the First Wife and must be respected. Her opinions may not be law, but they are to be considered.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Thought sometimes must be confined to private circles attended to by only the spirits of slumber. Now consider Lotus. Think of her. Suppose she were your father’s first wife.”

  Lotus was talented and a beauty, her delicate charms an apparent draw for Wu Hung-lin. Chi Lin recalled the Autumn Moon Festival when Lotus, balanced on her bound feet, climbed the moon tower stairs and sang her song to Chang-O. It was unparalleled. But the years had not been kind to Lotus. She rarely left Crimson Blossom Pavilion now. Her delicate palate craved fine foods, beyond the balance she could maintain upon her tiny feet. A steady stream of buns and meats and noodles and rice came to her at all hours of the day and night. She drank much plum wine and found little solace in moving. In fact, she abandoned her chair and reclined on a couch, where her handmaidens waited upon her, feeding her even when the morbid sense to move overcame her. This was the image Chi Lin meant to inject into Wu Lin-kua’s mind to weigh in upon his choice of a pleasure house woman as First Wife. Chi Lin loathed to do it because Lotus was a sweet person, useless as a dumpling set on a fine platter, but inoffensive otherwise. She had performed her duties in her time and gave her husband children, albeit daughters.

  Wu Lin-kua fell silent. It was clear to Chi Lin that he thought of a gross, inert Cinnamon Rose perched on a grand couch in the Jade Heart’s ke-ting.

  “There is no reason not to take Cinnamon Rose as a wife, Master Lin-kua, as Heaven admits as much. But if not a first wife, perhaps a second or a fifth.”

  Chi Lin grinned, nodded, and then stood. The interview was over and on her terms. Wu Lin-kua was deep in thought, no longer distracted by his own force of mind or the clatter in the Silver Silence’s courtyard. Chi Lin knew it was time to call the mei-ren.

  3

  Ying Ling arriv
ed in a wide chair carried by four porters and brought to the Blue Fountain Hall, a small communal pavilion used for such matters concerning marriage and funerals and such. Chi Lin had arranged a chair and table for the mei-ren and asked Mi Tso-tze to serve and Willow to stand nearby. Jasmine was invited but declined to attend. The Old Lady was not well enough and the Master of House would appear at the door, raise a cup to the mei-ren, and then depart, as was the custom. More than likely the rest of the household would eavesdrop from strategic places, but Wu Lin-kua was ordered to stay away.

  Ying Ling wore a red and silver robe dotted with orange and green beads. She sported crystal strands in a riot of colors. Her face was powdered white, her lips painted ruby, her eyebrows accentuated in turquoise and her hair, streaked white, draped over her shoulders. Five peacock quills braced her head. Chi Lin was astounded at the sight, but the more color the mei-ren wore, the more successful she had been. This was a good sign if Chi Lin could reckon by this rainbow.