The Mystery of the Song Dynasty Painting (18 page)

Niang laughs harshly. ‘You should count yourself lucky if he does choose to marry you. The Ye family is one of the richest in Bian Liang. Don’t forget that most husbands want a pretty bride who is skilled in the art of pleasing men. Not only are you strong-willed and bad-tempered, you’re not exactly good-looking or submissive, to put it bluntly.’

‘All the more reason you should let me stay the way I am. Besides, I don’t want to get married. Don’t my wishes count for something?’

‘Frankly,’ she says with a cruel smile, ‘your wishes count for nothing. I’m warning you not to be too familiar with that Ah Zhao any more. You’re no longer a child but a young woman of marriageable age. The reputation of our entire Zhang family is at stake. So are your chances of making a good marriage. If your Baba ever finds out you are bringing dishonour to his name by being too friendly with a servant boy, he will send him away – perhaps even throw him in prison. Now go and tell your brother to come to my room. I want to talk to him.’

14

Baba’s Birthday Party

I hesitate for a long time before daring to visit Ah Zhao the next day. Finally, I decide to wait until Gege comes home from university. From my window, I watch Gege enter the gate and dismount his horse, then I dash down to our playroom to see what Ah Zhao is doing. I find him hunched over a sheet of paper with brush in hand, deep in concentration. Almost immediately, Gege saunters in with an oblong-shaped, red cardboard box.

‘Oh, Little Sister! You’re here too. Didn’t Niang talk to you yesterday about your upcoming marriage?’

Ah Zhao looks up with a startled expression, but says nothing. I see he has outlined on paper the half-moon shape of the Rainbow Bridge, with a big boat approaching from the right.

I make a face at Gege. ‘Yes – what about it?’

Gege frowns. ‘You seem to be spending a lot of time in here nowadays. I’m sure Ah Zhao has better things to do than talk to little girls.’

Ah Zhao remains silent as I stare at Gege, hardly able to believe my ears. ‘Oh sorry,
Niang
– for a minute I thought you were my brother Gege, but now I hear you speak I see it’s you. Or is your name
Ah Wang
, the spy?’

Gege looks uncomfortable for a second, then laughs.

‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘I have something to show you both – look at this!’

Running down the middle of the red box is a two-inch strip of gold paper transcribed with beautiful calligraphy.

‘What’s inside?’ Ah Zhao asks.

‘It contains an invitation to Baba’s fortieth birthday party. Baba commissioned Teacher Lai to write his invitations for him, and it took him five whole days to complete them. I brought this one to show you before Little Chen delivers them. Impressive, isn’t it?’

‘Who is it addressed to?’ Ah Zhao asks.

‘Let me see.’ Gege scrutinizes the characters. ‘It says General Tong Guan, Bureau of Military Affairs, Military Advisory Office.’

‘Tong Guan?’ Ah Zhao and I exclaim in unison.

‘Wasn’t he the eunuch who came here and gave me the letter from the Emperor?’ Ah Zhao asks. ‘Has he been promoted to military general?’

‘It sure seems like it! General Tong Guan, it says here,’ Gege replies, studying the invitation.

‘Isn’t a eunuch a servant in the Emperor’s Palace?’ I ask. ‘How can a servant turn into a general, all of a sudden?’

‘Anything is possible. It all depends on the Emperor. What the Emperor wants, the Emperor gets,’ Gege says.

‘How do boys become eunuchs in the first place?’ I ask.

‘They get castrated,’ Gege answers tersely.

‘What’s castration?’

‘Don’t you know anything? Castration means you get your
san bao
(three treasures: three male organs consisting of penis and two testicles) cut off so you’re no longer a man.’

‘Isn’t that what the farmers do to their bulls? Nai Ma once told me that after bulls get their male organs cut off they become obedient and mild-tempered. Only then can they be trained to pull carts or work in the fields. Not before.’

‘Nai Ma is correct. But eunuchs get to be servants in an Emperor’s Palace, instead of pulling carts and working in the fields.’

‘Why would any boy want to become a eunuch?’

‘The Emperor employs only eunuchs to serve his wife and concubines, so there are obvious advantages…’

‘Like what?’

‘Eunuchs are with the Emperor and his women day and night. Being close to the seat of power, they become powerful themselves. That’s probably how Tong Guan became a military general.’

‘Enough about eunuchs! Let’s see the rest of the invitation,’ Ah Zhao says.

Gege opens the red box and shows us the booklet inside. On the cover page is Baba’s name, as host, followed by seven more pages of elegant handwritten notes. Since Ah Zhao can’t read, I read the contents to him.

The invitation begins by saying that Baba will be preparing a modest meal of fifteen courses at his humble home during the sundown hour on the Eleventh Day of the Seventh Moon. A list of the guests’ names appears, together with their titles and accomplishments. This is followed by a description of the menu and the programme of celebration. It ends by saying that Baba and his guests are looking forward to exchanging new ideas on art, calligraphy, music and poetry with the recipient during the forthcoming celebration of his fortieth birthday.

Gege looks at the guest list.

‘These men are all Baba’s most successful friends, and many have high positions in the government. Baba pointed some of them out to me when he took me to watch Emperor Huizong’s coronation ceremony four years ago.’

‘What about their wives and children? Are they invited?’ I ask.

‘Of course not! Women don’t count. Their names aren’t even mentioned on the invitations.’

‘What about you, Gege?’

‘Baba says I am still too young. My friend Cai You isn’t invited either. However, the party will be held in the courtyard, unless it rains. So we’ll have a perfect view from the window in my room.’

On the day of the banquet, the house is full of delicious cooking smells. Everyone is busy preparing for the feast. When it’s time, Baba dispatches his house servants to position themselves on the road and greet everyone with a personal card of welcome.

All the men arrive wearing official hats and handsome silk robes, mostly red, green and blue. One elderly man is clothed in a purple silk gown. He carries a walking stick and looks very distinguished, with his full head of grey hair and luxurious flowing beard.

Gege and I peek from the upstairs window of his bedroom as they alight from their carriages. Gege whispers that the elderly man is Cai You’s father, Cai Jing, the Prime Minister.

‘Why is he the only one wearing purple?’ I ask. ‘The other guests are wearing red, blue and green robes.’

‘Only the highest grade of mandarin officials are entitled to wear the colour purple. Prime Minister Cai Jing outranks everyone else here tonight.’

‘What about the other colours?’

‘Different coloured robes indicate a separate status. After purple comes red, then green. The lowest grade of mandarin officials wears blue.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Ever since the Tang Dynasty, four hundred years ago. The first Tang Emperor decided on the colours worn by the different ranks of mandarin officials. The Song Emperors followed this custom when they conquered the Empire.’

‘I see Cai Jing has attached a lift to his shoes, to make himself taller.’

‘Look at the cap on his head – the stiffened bamboo strip on each side can be bent straight, crossed or curved. Cai Jing wears his with the bamboo straight. This again shows he’s of the highest rank.’

The servants have placed a large square table and padded bamboo stools in the courtyard. Hundreds of flickering lanterns line the walkways and cast a magic glow over the flowering trees and banquet settings. Baba comes out in a red robe to greet his guests. Hands clasped within his loose flowing sleeves, he bows slightly to each visitor while raising and lowering his hands and muttering
qing, qing
(please, please) over and over.

He now takes a stool with both hands and places it in the position of honour, facing south in front of the table. The stool is spotlessly clean, but he brushes off imaginary dust with his hands and invites his guest of honour, Prime Minister Cai Jing, to sit. The Prime Minister duly lifts a stool of his own, dusts it off in a similar fashion and places it opposite himself, for Baba. All the other visitors are then seated round the table, according to rank and age.

Baba places a bowl of rice wine on a silver tray, holds it with both hands, faces south and pours the wine on the ground as an offering to his dead ancestors. He returns to the table, bows to Cai Jing and offers him the second bowl of wine, which Cai accepts with both hands.

Ah Wang and his helpers bring out more ewers of wine. Each ewer is cradled by a delicate, lotus-shaped porcelain bowl filled with hot water to keep the wine warm. The servants follow Baba and place a pair of chopsticks and a bowl of wine on a plate in front of each guest. Everyone rises to his feet, bows to Baba, wishes him a happy birthday and takes a sip of wine.

A beautiful woman dressed in a green silk blouse and pale blue skirt enters and plays the lute, while the men are eating and drinking. She’s a professional entertainer, hired for the occasion, and I have never seen her before. Her hair is elaborately coiffed into a tall bun with pins and combs shaped like butterflies and flowers. Her face is heavily made up with powder and rouge. Throughout the meal, this musician is the only female in the room, among all the men.

There’s a knock at our door and Nai Ma brings us each a bowl of fried rice for dinner.

‘Come, Young Master, it’s not enough to watch others eat. You must eat too,’ she says. But we’re too interested in the scene below to eat. When Nai Ma tries to insist, Gege shoos her away.

In the courtyard garden, the dishes are being served one by one: five kinds of dumplings (each with a different filling), roasted piglet, seasoned duck eggs, sautéed shrimp, goose liver, crab rolls, deer tongue, frogs’ legs with beans, bear’s paw, pickled vegetables, onion and vinegar chicken, bean curd with rice, steamed carp, quail soup and long life noodles. At the end of the meal, Ah Wang brings bowls of hot tea and individual little dishes of fresh fruit: grapes, sugarcane, jujubes (Chinese blackthorns), pomegranates, crab apples, red oranges, melons, pears and plums. After dessert, he clears the table. The men sit around and begin to converse in earnest.

Baba calls for a long scroll of paper, writing brushes, ink-sticks, water bowls and ink-stones. Everyone rolls up his voluminous sleeves as Baba grinds the ink-stick with water to make fresh ink.

‘Look at Prime Minister Cai Jing’s hands!’ Gege whispers to me. ‘The nails on his little fingers are at least three
cun
long! They’re all curled up!’

‘How disgusting! It must’ve been years since he cut them! Why is he so lazy?’

‘He’s not lazy. He keeps them long like that to show the world how privileged he is. No manual labour for him, that’s for sure! He uses his hands only for writing.’

‘What are they doing, Gege?’

‘They’re going to practise the
san jue
(three perfections) together: painting, calligraphy and poetry. Each will create an image or a verse to match and bedazzle the rest. Shhh! Quiet now! I want to hear what they’re saying.’