Peony in Love (29 page)

“You must go farther away,” Madame Wu instructed the matchmaker. “Look for someone who has simple tastes and can keep me company in my old age. I don’t have many years left.”

The matchmaker got in her palanquin and traveled to the countryside. A few rocks pushed here and there on the road caused her bearers to follow my directions to Gudang. The matchmaker made inquiries and was shown to the Qian house, where two literate, bound-footed women lived. Madame Qian was remarkably composed and answered all questions about her daughter truthfully. She pulled out a card that recorded Yi’s matrilineal ancestors for three generations, including her grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s titles.

“What has the girl learned?” the matchmaker asked.

Madame Qian listed her daughter’s accomplishments, and then added, “I’ve taught her that a husband is the sun; a wife is the moon. The sun does not change in its fullness, but a woman waxes and wanes. Men act on their wills; women act on their feelings. Men initiate and women endure. This is why men visit the outside realm, while women remain inside.”

The matchmaker nodded thoughtfully and then asked to see Yi. During the time it took for a single candle to burn down, Yi was brought in and inspected, a dowry was negotiated, and a possible bride-price discussed. Master Qian was willing to give five percent of his silk crop for five years, plus one
mou
of land. In addition, the girl would go to her new home with several trunks of bed linens, shoes, clothes, and other embroideries—all silk, all made by the bride.

How could the matchmaker not be impressed?

“It is often better for a wife to come from less standing and wealth so that she will more easily adjust to her new position as daughter-in-law in her husband’s home,” she observed.

When the matchmaker returned to Hangzhou, she went directly to the Wu compound. “I have found a wife for your son,” she announced to Madame Wu. “Only a man who has already lost two wives would be willing to take her.” The two women studied the times of birth for Ren and Yi and compared their horoscopes, making sure the Eight Characters were well matched. They discussed what a bride-price might be, considering that the father was only a farmer. Then the matchmaker went back to Gudang. She delivered silver, jewelry, four jars of wine, two bolts of cloth, some tea, and a leg of mutton to seal the agreement.

Ren and Qian Yi married in the twenty-sixth year of Emperor Kangxi’s reign. Yi’s father was relieved to be rid of his unwanted and useless daughter; her mother smiled at the reversal of fortune for her natal family line. I had many words of advice I wanted to give Yi, but at the moment of parting I let her mother do the talking.

“Be respectful and cautious,” she advised. “Be diligent. Go to bed late and wake up early as you’ve always done. Make tea for your mother-in-law and treat her kindly. If they have domestic animals, feed them. Take good care of your feet, arrange your clothes, and comb your hair. Never be angry. If you do these things, you will have a good name.”

She held her daughter in her arms.

“One more thing,” she said gently. “This has happened very fast and we can’t be sure the matchmaker has been completely forthright. If your husband turns out to be poor, don’t blame him. If he has a clubfoot or is simpleminded, don’t complain, become disloyal, or change your heart. You now have no one to rely on but him. The water is spilled and you can’t take it back. Contentment is just a matter of chance.” Tears streamed down her face. “You’ve been a good daughter. Try not to forget us entirely.”

Then she pulled the opaque red veil down over Yi’s face and helped her into the palanquin. A small band played, and the local
feng shui
man tossed grains, beans, small fruit, and copper
cash
to propitiate baleful spirits. But I could see there were none of those, only me, happy, and village children who scrambled for the corporeal treats to take home. Yi, who had no choice in any of this, left her home village. She had little expectation of love or affection, but she carried her mother’s bravery in her heart.

Ren’s mother greeted the palanquin at the front gate. She couldn’t see the girl’s face, but she inspected her feet and found them more than adequate. The two of them swayed together through the compound to the bedchamber. Here, Madame Wu placed the confidential book in her daughter-in-law’s hands. “Read this. It will tell you what you need to do tonight. I look forward to a grandson in nine months.”

Hours later, Ren arrived. I watched him lift Yi’s veil and smile at the beautiful girl. He was pleased. I wished for them the Three Abundances—good fortune, long life, and sons—and then I left.

I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes I’d made with Ze. I wouldn’t live in Ren and Yi’s bedchamber, where I might be tempted to interfere in ways I had in the past. I remembered how Liniang had been drawn to the plum tree she’d seen in the garden:
I should count it a great good fortune to be buried beside it when I die.
There she thought she might marshal her fragrant spirit through the dark rains of summer and keep company with the tree’s roots. When she died, her parents honored her wishes. Later, Sister Stone put a sprig of flowering plum in a vase and placed it on Liniang’s altar. Liniang’s ghost had responded by sending a shower of plum petals. I went to the Wus’ plum tree, which hadn’t bloomed or borne fruit since I died. Its neglect suited me. I made a home for myself beneath the moss-covered rocks that surrounded the tree’s trunk. From here, I’d be able to watch over Yi and Ren without intruding too much.

YI ADAPTED QUICKLY
to being a wife. She had more wealth now than she ever could have imagined, but she showed no signs of extravagance. From childhood she’d sought inner calm, not outer beauty. Now, as a wife, she strove to be much more than just a pretty dress. Her charm was completely her own: Her skin was smoother than jade, each step she took with her lily feet was so dainty it seemed to cause other flowers to bloom, and her swaying gait was so soft that her skirts swirled about her like mist. She never complained, not even when loneliness for her mother overpowered her. At those times—instead of crying, yelling at the servants, or throwing a cup—she spent the day sitting at a northern window, practicing being quiet, with nothing but a single incense burner—and me—to keep her company.

She learned to love Ren and respect Madame Wu. There were no conflicts in the women’s rooms, because Yi did all possible things to make her mother-in-law happy. Nor did Yi complain about the women who had preceded her. She didn’t taunt us for dying so young. She didn’t try to hurt the dignity of our memories. She preferred instead to entertain her husband and mother-in-law with her singing, dancing, and zither playing, and they enjoyed her innocence and lively manner. Her heart was like a great road with room for everyone. She treated the servants well, always had kind words for the cook, and dealt with tradesmen as though they were her kinsmen. For all this, she was appreciated by her mother-in-law and doted on by her husband. She had good food to eat, embroidered clothes to wear, and a much better house in which to live. However, she was not yet educated enough for this household. Now that I had access to Ren’s library, I could teach her properly. But I was not alone in my efforts.

I remembered back to how my father taught me to read and understand, so one day I pushed Yi into Ren’s lap. Beguiled by Yi’s innocence and sincerity, Ren helped her by asking about her reading, forcing her to think and criticize. Yi became a conduit between Ren and me. In our education of her, we were one. She grew to be more than proficient in the classics, literature, and mathematics. Ren and I took pride in her growing knowledge and accomplishments.

But some skills still evaded her. Yi continued to hold her calligraphy brush awkwardly, causing her strokes to be shaky and unsure. Madame Wu stepped in, and through her I drilled Yi on all the lessons Fifth Aunt had taught me, using
Pictures of Battle Formations of the Brush;
Yi improved just as I had all those years ago. When she sometimes recited poems like a parrot with no sense of their deeper meanings, I knew my efforts still weren’t enough. I remembered Ren’s cousin. I went out and brought Li Shu home, and she became Yi’s tutor. Now when Yi recited, she opened our hearts to the Seven Emotions and transported us to remembered and imagined places. Everyone in the household grew to love her even more.

Not once did I feel jealous, not once did I want to eat Yi’s heart or pull off her head and limbs for Ren to find, and not once did I try to reveal myself to her or visit her in her dreams. But by now I could do almost anything, so when they woke in the morning, I cooled the water they splashed on their faces. When Yi did her hair, I became the teeth in the comb, effortlessly separating each snarl, tangle, and strand. When Ren went out, I cleared his passage, pushed aside obstacles, eliminated dangers, and brought him home safely. During the dog days of summer, I enticed a servant to tie a watermelon in netting and lower it into the well. Then I went down into the darkness, seeped into the water, and chilled it even more. I loved watching Ren and Yi eat the melon after dinner, enjoying its refreshing qualities. In all these ways I thanked my sister-wife for being good to my husband and Ren for finding happiness and companionship after so many lonely years. But these were minor things.

I wanted to thank them in a way that would give them the deep-heart happiness I felt when I saw Yi sitting on Ren’s lap or listened to him explain the hidden meaning of one of the Banana Garden Five’s poems. What was the one thing they could want? What was the one thing every married couple wanted? A son. I wasn’t an ancestor and I didn’t think I could give this. But when spring came, something miraculous happened. The plum tree blossomed. I had come so far in my own learning that I made it happen. When the petals fell and fruit began to form, I knew I could make Yi pregnant.

Pearls in My Heart

I REMAINED TRUE TO THE PROMISE I’D MADE AND STAYED
out of the bedchamber when they were making clouds and rain, but I kept track of the doings in that room in other ways. Certain nights are inauspicious and potentially dangerous for clouds and rain. On nights that were exceptionally windy, cloudy, rainy, foggy, or hot, I made sure that Yi sent Ren out to visit friends, gather with poets, or give a lecture. On nights threatened by lightning, thunder, eclipses, or earthquakes, I gave Yi a headache. But these nights were rare, so most evenings as soon as the rustling of the bed linens stilled, I slipped through a crack in the window and into the room.

I made myself very small, entered Yi’s body, and got to work, looking for the right seed to bring to the egg. Making a baby isn’t just about clouds and rain, although from the giggles and moans I heard as I waited outside the window, I knew Ren and Yi had fun and brought pleasure to each other. It is also about the union of two souls to bring another soul back from the afterworld to begin a new life in the earthly realm. I searched and searched in the sea of frantic swimming until, after several months, I finally found the seed I wanted. I guided it as it swam to Yi’s egg and entered it. I made myself smaller still so I might comfort the new soul as he arrived in his temporary home. I stayed with him until he traveled to the wall of Yi’s womb and embedded himself. Now that he was safe, I had other practical matters to attend to.

When Yi’s monthly bleeding didn’t come, great happiness infused the household. Just under that joy, though, was creeping worry. The last pregnant woman in the compound had died, suggesting evil spirits were after her. Everyone agreed that Yi, with her weak constitution, was particularly vulnerable to mischief committed by netherworld creatures.

“You can never be too careful about previous wives,” Doctor Zhao said, when he and the diviner came for one of their regular consultations.

I agreed, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that Ze was in the Blood-Gathering Lake. However, what the diviner said next chilled me.

“Especially when one of them was not properly married in the first place,” he mumbled ominously, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

But I loved Yi! I would never do anything to injure her!

Madame Wu wrung her hands. “I agree,” she said. “I’ve been worried about that girl too. She took her vengeance on Ze and her baby. Rightfully, perhaps, but it was a hard loss for my son. Tell us what to do.”

For the first time in many years, I burned with shame. I hadn’t known my mother-in-law blamed me for what had happened to Ze. I had to win back her respect. The best way to do that was to protect Yi and her baby from the fears that infested the household. Unfortunately, my job was made more difficult by the instructions that the doctor and the diviner left and by a patient who was tenacious and uncooperative despite her frailty.

The servants made special charms and remedies, but Yi was too modest to accept things from those who had less than she did. Madame Wu tried to keep her daughter-in-law in bed, but Yi was too dedicated and respectful to give up making tea and meals for her mother-in-law, washing and repairing her garments, supervising the cleaning of her room, or bringing hot water when she bathed. Ren tried to coddle his wife by feeding her with his chopsticks, rubbing her back, and propping her pillows, but she wouldn’t sit still for his goodness.

From my perspective—as a ghost who lived in the world of demons and other creatures who could cause harm—I could see that these things did nothing to help or protect her. They did, however, embarrass Yi, and make her anxious.

Then, one late spring afternoon during an unseasonable cold snap, I was so frustrated that after the diviner had pushed Yi from her bed to move furniture to build a barrier between her and me, had made her sick to her stomach by burning too many sticks of incense at one time in an effort to drive my spirit from the room, and had poked at her head with his fingers so hard to activate protective acupuncture points that would help guard against me that Yi was left with a throbbing headache, I shouted in disgust, “
Aiya!
Why don’t you just order a ghost marriage and leave her alone?”

Yi started, blinked several times, and looked around the room. The diviner, who had never once intuited the truth of my presence, packed up his bag, bowed, and left. I stayed in the room by the window. I planned to hold my post all day and night to protect the two people I loved above all others. During the afternoon, Yi rested in bed. She nervously worried the quilt with her fingers, deep in thought. By the time a servant brought dinner, Yi seemed to have reached a conclusion of some sort.

When Ren finally came to the bedroom, Yi said, “If everyone is so concerned that Sister-wife Tong wishes to injure me, the two of you should be joined in a ghost marriage so she can be restored to her proper place as your first wife.”

I was so taken aback that at first I didn’t understand the implication of her words. I’d made the suggestion in a moment of supreme annoyance. It hadn’t occurred to me that she would hear it or take it seriously.

“A ghost marriage?” Ren shook his head. “I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

I stared hard at him, but I couldn’t read what was inside his mind. Fourteen years ago when Ze was dying, he’d said he didn’t believe in ghosts. At the time, I thought he was trying to keep Ze calm. But did he really not fear
or
believe in ghosts? What about when I’d visited him in his dreams? What about when I’d given him a good bed companion and an obedient wife with Ze? And how did he think his recent loneliness had been cured? Did he think the miracle of Yi was a matter of preordained fate?

I may have had doubts about Ren, but Yi didn’t. She smiled at him indulgently.

“You say you’re not afraid of ghosts,” she said, “but I feel your apprehension. I look around and see fear everywhere.”

Ren got up and crossed to the window.

“All this panic is not good for our son,” Yi went on. “Arrange a ghost marriage. It will calm the others. If they are soothed, I will be able to grow our baby in tranquillity.”

Hope overpowered my wounded feelings. Yi, my beautiful, kindhearted Yi. Was she really suggesting this not for herself but to bring peace to the household? Nothing was going to happen to this baby, of that I was sure. But a ghost marriage? Was it going to come at last?

Ren’s hands gripped the windowsill. He looked wistful, optimistic even. Did he feel me at all? Did he know how much I loved him still?

“I think you are right,” he said at last, his voice in the distant past. “Peony was meant to be my first wife.” This was the first time he’d spoken my real name in twenty-three years. I was stunned, ecstatic. “After she died, we should have been married in the manner you’ve suggested. There were…problems, and this ceremony didn’t happen. Peony…she was—” He took his fingers away from the sill, turned to face his wife, and said, “She would never harm you. I know that, and you should too. But you are right about the others. Let us have a ghost marriage and remove the impediment the others think surrounds you.”

I covered my face and silently wept in gratitude. I had waited—
longed
—for a ghost marriage almost from the moment I died. If this came to pass, my ancestor tablet would be brought from its hiding place. Someone would see it wasn’t dotted and finally fill in what was missing. When that happened, I would no longer be a hungry ghost. I would finish my journey to the afterworld and be transformed into an ancestor, the honorable and venerated first wife of the second son in the Wu clan. To have this be suggested by my sister-wife filled me with more happiness than I could have ever thought possible. To have Ren—my poet, my love, my life—agree was like having pearls poured into my heart.

I ATTACHED MYSELF
to the matchmaker and went with her to the Chen Family Villa to observe the negotiation for my ghost bride-price. Baba had finally retired and come home to the one place he could enjoy his grandsons. He still looked proud and sure, but just under that I sensed that my death continued to haunt him. Although he couldn’t see me, I knelt before him and performed obeisance, hoping that some part of him would accept my apologies for ever having doubted him. When I was done, I sat back and listened to him try to negotiate a new—and higher—bride-price than the one he had agreed to when I was alive, which at first I didn’t understand. The matchmaker sought a lower one by appealing to his sense of
qing.

“The Eight Characters were matched for your daughter and the second son of the Wu family. They were a match made in Heaven. You shouldn’t ask for so much.”

“My price stands.”

“But your daughter is dead,” the matchmaker reasoned.

“Consider the increase interest on time passed.”

Naturally, negotiations failed and I was disappointed. Madame Wu did not like the matchmaker’s report either.

“Order me a palanquin,” she snapped. “We are going back there today.”

When they reached the Chen Family Villa and stepped from their palanquins into the Sitting-Down Hall, servants hurriedly brought tea and cool cloths to refresh their faces from the journey around the lake. Then the two women were led through courtyard after courtyard to my father’s library, where he lounged on his daybed with the youngest of his grandsons and nephews climbing over him like tiger cubs. He sent the children off with a servant, strode to his desk, and sat down.

Madame Wu sat in the same chair across from my father’s desk that I used to occupy. The matchmaker took a spot just behind her right shoulder, while a servant came to stand by the door to await my father’s commands. He smoothed his forehead and ran his hand down the length of his queue just as he had when I was a young girl.

“Madame Wu,” he said. “It’s been too many years.”

“I don’t go on excursions anymore,” she replied. “The rules are changing, but even when I did, you knew that meeting with men was disagreeable to me.”

“You have served your husband and my old friend well in this regard.”

“Friendship and loyalty are what brought me here today. You seem to have forgotten that you promised my husband that our two families would be joined.”

“I never forgot that. But what could I do? My daughter died.”

“How could I not be aware of this, Master Chen? I’ve seen my son suffer from this loss every day for over twenty years.” She leaned forward and tapped a finger on the desk as she spoke. “I send a go-between to you in good faith and you send her back to me with outlandish demands.”

Baba negligently leaned back in his chair.

“You’ve known all along what needed to be done,” she added. “I came to you many times before to negotiate.”

She had? How had I missed that?

“My daughter is worth more than what you’ve offered,” Baba said. “If you want her, you’ll have to pay for her.”

I sighed in understanding. My father still valued me.

“Fine,” Madame Wu said. She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. I’d seen her irritated with Ze, but women weren’t allowed to get angry at men. “Just know that this time I won’t leave until you agree.” She took a breath, and then said, “If you want a higher bride-price, I will need some additional items for her dowry.”

This seemed to be exactly what my father wanted. They bartered. They traded. He made a higher demand for the bride-price; Madame Wu reciprocated with an even more outlandish one for the dowry. They both seemed very familiar with the offerings, which was shocking because it meant they had had this conversation many times before. But then the whole thing shocked me…and surprised and delighted me.

When it seemed they’d finally reached an agreement, my father suddenly threw in something new.

“Twenty live geese delivered ten days from now,” he said, “or I won’t agree to the marriage.”

This was nothing, but Madame Wu wanted something more in exchange.

“I seem to remember that your daughter was meant to come with her own servant. Even now someone will have to care for her through her ancestor tablet when it comes to my home.”

Baba allowed himself a smile. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

He motioned to the servant standing by the door. The servant left the room and returned a few minutes later with a woman. She came forward, dropped to her knees, and kowtowed before Madame Wu. When she looked up, I saw a face worn by hard circumstances. It was Willow.

“This servant recently returned to our household. I made a mistake when I sold her many years ago. It’s clear to me now that her destiny has always been to care for my daughter.”

“She’s old,” Madame Wu said. “What am I going to do with her?”

“Willow is thirty-nine. She has three sons. They stayed with her previous owner. His wife wanted sons and this one gave them. Willow may not be much to look at,” Baba said practically, “but she could serve as a concubine if you need one. I can guarantee she will produce grandsons for you.”

“For twenty geese?”

My father nodded.

The matchmaker grinned. She would make a good profit from this. Willow crawled across the floor and put her forehead on Madame Wu’s lily feet.