Chapter Sixty-Five: Paying Birthday Respects

Yan Ming’s journey would take at least a month before any news could return. Traveling in ancient times was no easy feat; not only were there inspection offices along the way, but any stranger arriving in a new place had to register and get stamped at the local yamen, explaining their purpose—much like how, in later times, vagrants were forcibly sent back to their hometowns. The roads were equally unsafe, rife with bandits and thieves. Especially for a lone traveler, it was all too easy to be seen as easy prey. Add to this the poor transportation, and it was clear that traveling in these days was nothing like the leisurely tourism of later generations—it was a true hardship.

Zhen Qian had wanted to assign someone or two to accompany Yan Ming, but was stopped by Wang Qun for a simple reason. Doing so would make Yan Ming think he was not trusted, and moreover, Yan Ming himself had not requested such company. With a somewhat proud and aloof temperament, Yan Ming set out as if merely paying visits to relatives and friends; having strangers tag along would only be inconvenient.

As Madam Xing’s birthday drew near, a wooden box arrived from the Qin family. Upon opening it, they found an assortment of fans—some bamboo, some wooden, and one even made of bone. The snowy white fan surfaces were rather plain, but among them was a small wooden fan adorned with a dozen beautiful feathers, shimmering with a rainbow of colors in the light.

“Sir, what is this?” Xiao Zhu asked curiously, seeing Zhen Qian playing with a peculiar object, opening and closing it and waving it to produce a refreshing breeze.

Zhen Qian handed the fan to the two girls. “This is called a fan, used to cool off in summer. Give it a try.”

Xiao Mei, imitating Zhen Qian, opened the fan and waved it a few times in front of her, then closed it, repeating the process several times. She discovered that this fan was indeed more convenient and easier to carry than the traditional round fans, and its larger surface produced more wind. However, the plain white surface, devoid of any decoration, seemed a bit dull.

At this moment, Xiao Zhu’s eyes fell on the fan adorned with feathers. She picked it up, played with it in her hands, and her eyes sparkled. “Sir, this fan is so pretty—can I have it?”

Zhen Qian snatched the feathered fan from her hands, tapped her lightly on the head with it, and said, “This feathered fan is meant as a birthday gift for Madam Xing. If you want one, wait for the next batch and you can pick whichever you like.”

Hearing it was a birthday gift for Madam Xing, Xiao Zhu pouted. “The rest of the fans are too plain—not pretty at all.”

“What do you know?” If not for knowing that in later times plain fans were the norm, Zhen Qian would have thought these fans needed some embellishment. But scholars and poets would not agree. Unless it was the calligraphy of a renowned master, random drawings would make the fan harder to sell. Patiently, he explained, “Fans like these are meant for you to write beautiful words or paint favorite pictures on the surface. But if someone unknown scribbles on them, it just feels wrong.”

Xiao Mei thought about it and agreed. “But what if you can’t find famous calligraphy, or your own handwriting is bad?”

“There’s nothing to be done then,” Zhen Qian shrugged. “For example, I’d like to inscribe something on a fan, but my calligraphy is embarrassing, so I’d have to ask someone better at it. If I ever get the chance to befriend a talented calligrapher or artist, I’d ask them for help. Still, writing on a fan isn’t about being a master of calligraphy—it’s just a way to express one’s feelings.”

The scholars of this era lacked the pretentiousness of late Qing literati; many had great ambitions—if not aiming for high office, then at least traveling the land as chivalrous heroes.

Naturally, Xiao Zhu and Xiao Mei were uninterested in discussing scholarly tastes. Playing with the folding fan, Xiao Zhu said, “Sir, you’re just going to give this feathered fan as Madam Xing’s birthday present? Isn’t that a bit shabby?”

Xiao Mei also thought that a feathered fan seemed a meager gift. A bamboo frame, a few fine feathers—it was little more than a novelty, worth just a couple hundred coins at most, hardly fitting for Madam Xing and likely to be seen as an insult. “Sir, perhaps you should add something else. Otherwise, Madam Xing will certainly be displeased.”

What did it matter if Madam Xing was unhappy? Whether she made a fuss or got angry, Zhen Qian had anticipated it all.

“You two needn’t worry. I have my own way of handling it,” he reassured them.

Madam Xing’s birthday was a major event in the Zhen household. Zhen Qian was only informed three days prior, the timing suspiciously precise—anyone could see there was something amiss.

As the day approached, the entire household grew busy. While it didn’t reach the level of extravagant decorations, word of the birthday preparations reached Zhen Qian’s ears: one family had prepared a jade Guanyin, another procured fine imperial gauze, someone else had found a lacquer tray from the previous dynasty—each gift far outshone what Zhen Qian had prepared.

Xiao Zhu, returning from gathering news outside, wore a worried look. The thought of Zhen Qian’s gift for Madam Xing left her uneasy. Relations were tense but still outwardly respectful—presenting a feathered fan now was practically an open insult.

That morning, as usual, Zhen Qian rose early, exercised, and stood in the courtyard. Wang Qun approached and whispered a few words. As the chief steward, he never concerned himself with the inner household, but today, with many wealthy ladies coming to pay their respects, he naturally had to greet guests at the door.

“Uncle Wang, go ahead with your duties. I’ll be along shortly,” Zhen Qian replied.

Zhen Qian’s servants had little to do that morning, but Madam Xing still sent a reminder not to wander about the house, lest they offend the visiting ladies.

“You two, come here,” he called to Qin Meng and Wang You. “Do you remember what I told you yesterday?”

“We remember,” they replied in unison. Zhen Qian waved them off, giving no further instructions, and the two quietly slipped out.

Once they had gone, Zhen Qian climbed to his study, washed, and let the two girls fuss over his appearance until he was immaculate. Impatient, he shook himself; in the heat of summer, he wore a three-layered blue silk robe, his hair tightly bound under a headscarf so that it ached. He suspected the girls were taking revenge or wanted to see him make a fool of himself, and grumbled, “Are you trying to make me sweat through my clothes before I even get to the inner quarters...”