Chapter 6: Dead End (6)

Chapter 6: Dead End (Part 6)

The following afternoon, before the sky had even darkened, Zhao Zhao began to wash and dress.

The washing was easy enough; she was truly clean. The dressing, however, was not. She rummaged through chests and cabinets to find a hideous outfit, draping herself in garish, clashing colors. She then smeared rouge and powder onto her face with reckless abandon, not aiming for beauty, but for excess, until her face was a clattering, caked-on mess.

Yao Niang was woken by the commotion. Thinking a thief had broken in, she squinted her eyes open, only to be met by a deathly pale face. Just as she was about to scream, the "ghost" lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Mother, I’m going out on a call tonight. You don't need to leave the door unlatched for me." As the blood-red maw opened and closed, it was revealed to be Zhao Zhao speaking.

"What kind of call is this?" Yao Niang, still shaken, stared at Zhao Zhao’s getup. The more she looked, the more it resembled a paper effigy being dotted with eyes. "Even if no one hired you to sing, you don't have to moonlight as a funeral mourner!"

Zhao Zhao replied, "If a job like that actually came knocking, it would be a blessing. Money is money."

Outside, Xiao Duo’s voice rang out: "Zhao Zhao-er, it’s the Hour of the Rooster! Time to go!" Zhao Zhao answered, exchanged a few quick words with Yao Niang, and rushed out the door, clutching her pipa.

Xiao Duo was standing outside, bored, when a multicolored blur suddenly bounced into his view. He was startled at first, but upon seeing a pair of lively eyes set in that stiff, white face, he clapped his hands in praise: "Good, this is good! It’ll scare away any turtle-bastard that tries anything!"

The two chatted and laughed as they walked outside the courtyard and climbed onto a donkey cart, hurrying toward the Zhao estate.

The road to the Zhao estate was long. The small patch of land within Qingyang County was too narrow to contain a "Great Buddha" like Master Zhao; his mansion sat ten miles north of the county seat.

Once they passed the county gates, they were met with a vast, open landscape where the stars seemed to hang low over the plains. The night wind swept across the fields, carrying the sound of wheat rustling and birds calling—a boundless, endless expanse.

Zhao Zhao had never left the county in all her life, and it had been half a year since Xiao Duo had ventured out. Like two bears emerging from a cave, they craned their necks, looking left and right, finding surprise and vitality in everything they saw, unable to get their fill.

The old donkey pulling the cart, however, did not share their excitement. It buried its head and trotted with such vigor that the one-hour journey was completed in half the time.

In the vast darkness, the Zhao estate gradually emerged. At a glance, it could hardly be called a mere residence; the Zhao family’s buildings stretched on endlessly, draped in red lanterns regardless of the cost, resembling a vast, magnificent sea of fire. It was clear that Master Zhao truly had vast fields, endless wealth, and a small army of servants—he was rich enough to ooze oil.

Stopping the cart at a side gate, Xiao Duo explained their purpose.

The gatekeeper, accustomed to courtesans arriving, lit a lantern to lead Zhao Zhao to the rear quarters. As they walked, he said, "Once we reach the side chamber, just wait patiently. There’s a banquet in the estate tonight, and the Master is drinking at the table; there’s no telling when he’ll rest."

Zhao Zhao pricked up her ears. There was indeed a banquet; she could hear laughter and cheers through the walls, mingled with the shrill singing of a troupe. Even without seeing it, she could imagine the scene of extravagant indulgence. The air was thick with the scent of wine and meat—she couldn't imagine how many chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep had been slaughtered for such a feast. Her stomach rumbled, and she asked the gatekeeper, "What festival is it today?"

If it weren't a holiday, how could they be feasting like this?

The gatekeeper laughed at her "poor person's" way of thinking. He raised an arm and pointed toward the brightly lit front courtyard. "What festival? Today is the twentieth birthday of our Ninth Concubine!"

Zhao Zhao chuckled, "Twenty? A 'Grand Birthday'?"

Wealthy families were truly extravagant; even a concubine’s birthday was celebrated with such ostentation.

The gatekeeper laughed too, lowering his voice. "My Ninth Concubine didn't want a big fuss, but the Master insisted on throwing it for her."

"Is the Ninth Concubine very favored by your Master?"

The gatekeeper shook his head. "Favored? She’s a withered flower long ago. The Master hasn't stepped foot in her courtyard for weeks."

"Then why..."

"Why throw a banquet for her birthday?" The gatekeeper smiled. "The Master has a vast estate and deep pockets. Even if he doesn't care for her, he doesn't mind spending a little silver to buy some liveliness."

By now, they had reached a small courtyard in the rear. The gatekeeper chose a room on the west side, lit a lamp, served tea, and gestured for Zhao Zhao to sit.

From start to finish, he kept his head bowed, not daring to steal a glance at Zhao Zhao’s face—this was the treatment for all concubines in the estate; a courtesan summoned for the night was considered a concubine for the evening.

"The place is small, so please forgive the inconvenience, Miss." Following protocol, he bowed and backed out.

As the door closed softly, Zhao Zhao mocked herself. This place wasn't small at all; it was larger than any room she had ever lived in.

She gently touched the window paper. It felt as delicate as sand, a blinding, snowy white, looking cleaner than the quilts she and Yao Niang shared. Her hand drifted down, brushing over the tables, chairs, the long couch, the paintings on the walls, and the curio shelves. She rubbed them until her skin felt warm, then lifted her hand—there wasn't a speck of dust on her fingertips.

Wealthy families were truly dignified; even a room that sat empty was bright, clean, and spotless. She thought of her own home, with its moss-covered earthen walls and a roof that leaked both rain and wind. It was already dilapidated, but after returning today, it would feel even more unbearable.

Footsteps sounded outside, and a maid knocked on the door: "Miss, the Master wishes to see you."

Without waiting for Zhao Zhao to answer, the maid pushed the door open. Caught off guard by the sight of the garish, pale face, she was stunned into silence. "...You’re the one the Master summoned?"

"Yes," Zhao Zhao replied, keeping her head down.

The maid was at a loss. After a long moment of hesitation, she said without looking back, "Let's go!"

Following the maid out of the courtyard, Zhao Zhao realized the Zhao estate was truly vast—exquisitely and elegantly so. Every step revealed a new scene: pine trees, bamboo groves, water pavilions, and lakeside gazebos. She had heard that the masters outside were rich, but she hadn't expected them to be rich enough to turn their homes into earthly paradises. And this was just Master Zhao; how much more incredible must the truly great figures be?

Walking and marveling, Zhao Zhao followed the maid into the main courtyard. The courtyard was ablaze with light, the blue bricks on the ground washed clean, reflecting the shadows. The maid slowed her pace, moving softly and slowly. Zhao Zhao mimicked her, following her into the front hall.

It was midsummer, and the doors and windows of the hall were all open, catching the breeze from every direction. In the center of the hall sat a long couch, upon which Master Zhao lay sprawled, his eyes half-closed in a drunken stupor.

The maid whispered, "Master, she has arrived."

Master Zhao didn't seem to hear. The maid, her voice as thin as a mosquito's hum, repeated herself.

Only then did the old man lift his eyelids, lazily glancing at Zhao Zhao. Zhao Zhao expected him to be startled, but instead, he laughed, and after laughing, he closed his eyes again and said nothing.

The maid was in a bind, unsure whether to keep the girl there or send her away.

She hesitated, wanting to ask for a sign, but then she saw a pair of soft, boneless hands reach out from behind the couch to knead Master Zhao’s shoulders. Another thin, frail shadow crouched by the couch, removing the Master’s shoes and silently massaging his feet.

The candlelight in the hall was dim, and those people were nothing but blurred, dark shapes; Zhao Zhao couldn't see their faces. She only saw Master Zhao, like an old, fluffy cat, letting out a series of groans as he was kneaded. After the groans, he tilted his head, and a slice of watermelon, chilled in well water, was brought to his lips.

He took a bite of the melon and said nonchalantly, "Leave her."

The maid felt a sense of relief and retreated silently. Zhao Zhao was left standing there, watching Master Zhao, surrounded by stars and moon, receiving meticulous service.

She became the little lamb before the butcher's knife once more, silent and constrained.

(End of chapter)