Chapter 17: The Newly Added Wood Carving

For a moment, Zhou Linian could not grasp He Shanyue's meaning. Before she had time to think deeply, she saw He Shanyue walking toward the door under the moonlight. As she stepped inside, she began to speak

"The day before yesterday—it should have been the day before yesterday. It was just an ordinary day. Several young ladies of the Cheng family walked up to the third floor as usual. They thought today's lesson would be the same as always, mostly some tedious ancient texts and scriptures."

He Shanyue walked to the side of the box again and slowly pulled open the unlocked lid.

"Who would have thought that today's lesson would be very different."

He Shanyue pulled a plain silk handkerchief from her sleeve pocket. With her index finger and thumb pressed together, she began to pull out various items one by one through the cloth. They were objects that, even at a glance, were enough to make one blush crimson—some furry, some slippery, and some brightly colored.

With an expressionless face, He Shanyue continued to pull them out, carefully and meticulously arranging them in order.

"Today's lesson was very different. It was unseemly, but sufficiently useful, especially for young ladies like you who come from humble backgrounds yet possess great beauty—the instructor that day might have opened the session like this."

Zhou Linian gasped several times; her withered chest desperately needed a violent stimulus just to keep her heart beating.

She wasn't stupid; she knew exactly what these things were.

Even if she didn't understand the first few, she could certainly understand the brightly colored erotic illustrations at the end!

He Shanyue did not care whether Zhou Linian understood or not. Keeping her head down, she continued her narration: "Once these items were laid out properly, the instructor would follow the principle of 'great simplicity' and use subtle guidance. The young ladies listening would go from being at a loss to blushing furiously, from covering their faces in shame to lowering their heads in timidness—and no one knew how much they actually understood, how much they remembered, or how much they could actually use—"

"But, water flows both with and against the current, and the north wind has both good and bad qualities. Some people obey, while others would rather die than submit."

"How long can one find happiness by serving others with their beauty? For girls from respectable families to learn poetry, music, or the tea ceremony, one might call it the 'Six Arts' of a gentleman—but to learn these things? I would rather smash my head against a wall and die!"

He Shanyue's voice became intentionally shrill and her pace quickened. After making a running motion with her arms in place, she took several exaggerated strides toward the heavy, sharp corner of the camphor wood box. She clenched her fingers tight and then suddenly flung them open: "Bang!"

"A large hole is smashed into the forehead, and white brain matter flows out along with the bright red blood. The body collapses limp onto the floor, eyes unable to close, staring blankly at the sisters they had known for so long, breathing more out than in."

He Shanyue glanced at the scattered low stools: "The sisters watching would likely be so frightened that they would immediately stand up, frantically kick their stools aside, and scatter like startled birds."

Zhou Linian began to tremble all over, her throat heaving with dry retches: "Th-th-that girl who hit her head... wh-which one was she..."

He Shanyue's expression remained flat: "Whoever is sick is whoever she is."

"Auntie... that Auntie..." Zhou Linian murmured.

Suddenly, Zhou Linian looked up: "How do you know these things! How do you know these scenes!"

He Shanyue looked down at the imaginary spray of blood and brain matter on the floor, then scanned the scattered stools. She leaned down and picked up a gilded pomegranate flower hairpin from a corner.

The hairpin bore congealed blood and even small fragments of flesh.

He Shanyue placed the hairpin in her palm and held it before Zhou Linian's eyes: "I guessed."

Almost everyone who can paint possesses a certain ability: the ability to deduce the cause and effect of a scene based on the existing imagery.

Zhou Linian shook uncontrollably, not daring to look, and even less daring to think.

He Shanyue, unperturbed, gathered those aphrodisiacs—which were as much life-extinguishers as they were passion-inducers—back into the box through the handkerchief. She crouched down to lock it, then flicked the handkerchief away to let the wind carry it off.

"Let's go," He Shanyue said.

"Is she dead?" Zhou Linian raised her eyes, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over her: "Is Auntie dead?"

"She should have died just now." He Shanyue did not stop walking, heading toward the third-floor corridor: "That scream is usually the final cry of a dying person."

Dizzy and nauseous, Zhou Linian moved forward blindly like a walking corpse. When she returned to her room, the dinner box was already on the table.

Upon seeing the tofu inside the box, Zhou Linian let out a "waah" and vomited.

All night long, the right wing of the house was never quiet.

First came the overwhelming sound of vomiting, followed by muffled, suppressed sobbing, and then the sound of pacing back and forth and long periods of standing still.

Wang Erniang, unable to sleep due to the commotion, grumbled curses: "Damn it! If she's not dead yet, just sleep properly! Or is she waiting to die so she can have one long sleep?"

After a while, Wang Erniang opened one eye: "Did you scare her away?"

He Shanyue's eyes were half-closed; she did not answer.

Cowardice meant obedience.

Cowardice also meant fragility.

It wouldn't be a bad thing for her to realize early on that the Cheng residence was by no means a blessed sanctuary, and to take her cats, trees, and wood carvings to find her lover and a real life as soon as possible.

He Shanyue turned over in the dark to face Wang Erniang and spoke, quite rarely: "Whether she goes or stays, whether she leaves or remains, whether she comes or goes—it has never been up to her."

She, he, they, them, it, the masses—all are the same.

Early the next morning, Huang Zhi, her hair tied in two maid buns and wearing the silver cicada He Shanyue had given her, blinked as she told He Shanyue: "...Auntie vomited blood yesterday. It's very bad. A doctor was called, but the medicine doesn't seem to be doing much good. The atmosphere in the house is bad. The Mistress told me to tell you that there will be no classes today."

What use is medicine for a dead person?

He Shanyue looked up. Seeing that Huang Zhi's expression was natural, she handed her a handful of melon seeds and said thanks.

After Huang Zhi left, Ku Huanglian—who shared the same lineage as Zhou Linian—arrived with her chin held high and heels clicking—a sign that the two were on poor terms.

As soon as Huanglian entered, the door slammed shut. Muffled crying and Huanglian's exasperated scolding could be heard from inside. After a while, the door swung open again, and Huanglian walked out in a rage.

Wang Erniang, listening against the wall, put down her melon seeds and let out a cold laugh: "Just as you said. They won't let her resign. They say if she leaves, where will the money for her brothers' dowries, her father's tobacco, and her mother's clothes come from?"

Next door, there was still soft sobbing; through the wall, it felt like the pains of life scratching at one through a veil.

Wang Erniang cursed under her breath: "Damn it."

As evening approached, Huanglian arrived first.

Next door, there was crying, followed by an unbearable silence. After waiting a moment, the door opened wide. Huanglian walked out, not as angry as she had been in the morning, and even nodded to He Shanyue, who was sitting by the door.

He Shanyue stood up and waved her hand with a gentle, kind smile, though her gaze drifted toward the display shelf in the neighboring room.

The various civet cat wood carvings were in different poses: some chasing butterflies, some sleeping lazily, and some sitting upright with paws tucked.

Huang Zhi returned later: "There are no classes tomorrow either. The Mistress said Auntie is barely clinging to life, and since there are many women in the back courtyard, it's best to avoid any clashes."

He Shanyue thanked her again. As if remembering something, she turned to a small drawer on her dressing table, took out a silver leaf about half the size of a palm, and handed it to Huang Zhi.

Huang Zhi was stunned.

What was this for?

She hadn't even said anything yet!

He Shanyue's attitude was polite and her tone sincere: "I was hoping to trouble you to send word to my former workshop, called 'Guoqiao Gu.' I'm currently in Songjiang Prefecture and realized I forgot to bring a few boxes of pigments. Since you are someone close to the Mistress, it would be much more convenient for you to move about."

Huang Zhi stepped back repeatedly: "No, no, I can't! The Cheng family is kind, but they are very strict about people coming and going."

Helping to carry things wasn't impossible.

But they weren't particularly close, and this silver leaf was something that had been promised from the very beginning!

She, Huang Zhi, could help carry things.

But it would cost extra.

He Shanyue looked surprised: "Is that so? I am truly sorry to trouble you!—"

He Shanyue explained: "It's just that Huanglian from the Mistress's room also came by just now and brought a beautiful civet cat carving for Miss Zhou—oh, that new one sitting upright with its paws tucked—I thought it might be possible to bring things into the inner courtyard!"

Hearing this, Huang Zhi narrowed her eyes: "Huanglian, was it?"

He Shanyue smiled: "Yes, indeed. It was Huanglian. Miss Zhou was feeling homesick, so Miss Huanglian brought a carving in, and Miss Zhou stopped crying. It seems the sisters from the same clan are indeed closer."