After Jia Lian had gone south to escort Lin Daiyu to Yangzhou, Wang Xifeng found the days unusually dull. At night she would only exchange a few words and jokes with Ping’er before turning in without much spirit.
One evening, the two women sat by lamplight beside the brazier, idly working at embroidery until they grew tired. The quilt had already been thickly scented; they lay down and, counting the days of the journey, guessed where Jia Lian might have reached by now. Before long it was already past the third night watch. Ping’er had fallen sound asleep. Xifeng herself was just drifting off when she seemed to see Qin Keqing come in from outside.
Smiling, Qin said, “You sleep soundly, Aunt. I am leaving today, and you will not even see me off. We have always been close, and I could not bear to go without saying farewell. There is also one wish on my mind. I must entrust it to you, because others may not be able to make use of it.”
Half dreaming, Xifeng asked what it was. Qin replied, “You are a heroine among women; even men in official caps and belts cannot surpass you. Yet how can you not understand two common sayings? ‘When the moon is full, it begins to wane; when water is full, it spills over.’ And again, ‘The higher one climbs, the harder one falls.’ Our house has flourished brilliantly for nearly a hundred years. If one day joy turns into grief, and the old saying ‘when the tree falls, the monkeys scatter’ comes true, would that not make a mockery of a family long famed for poetry and learning?”
These words struck Xifeng with awe. She hurriedly asked whether there was any way to preserve the family against such danger.
Qin gave a faint, cold smile. “How foolish, Aunt. Fortune and disgrace rise and fall in cycles; no human effort can keep prosperity forever. But one may still make plans during times of glory so that the family estate can survive decline. At present everything seems in order, yet two matters remain unsettled. If they are handled now, the family may remain secure far longer.”
When Xifeng asked what she meant, Qin answered plainly. The ancestral graves were indeed honored with sacrifices through the four seasons, but there was no permanent source of income set aside for them. The family school existed as well, but had no fixed support. In prosperous times, these expenses could always be met; in hard times, where would the money come from? Better, she said, to purchase more fields, houses, and land near the ancestral burial grounds while the family was still rich. The income from those estates could be reserved for sacrifices and for the school, which could also be established there. Rules should be agreed upon with the whole clan, old and young, so that each branch would in turn manage the lands, rents, offerings, and school support for a year at a time. That would keep things circulating fairly, prevent quarrels, and avoid the ruin that came from pawning or selling clan property.
She went further: even if the family later fell into official disgrace and household goods were confiscated, sacrificial property of this kind would not easily be swept away. And if descendants had to retreat home to farm and study, they would still have something to fall back on, while the ancestral rites would continue unbroken. To assume present splendor would never end, she warned, was no long-term plan.
Then came a darker hint. Another extraordinary happy event would soon arrive, she said, making the family’s prosperity blaze all the more fiercely, “like oil poured upon flames and flowers added to brocade.” But such splendor was only momentary, such joy only temporary. One must never forget that every grand feast eventually disperses. If no thought were given to the future now, regret later would be useless.
Xifeng quickly asked what this coming happy event might be. Qin only said that heaven’s secrets could not be disclosed. Still, since they had been so close, she would leave her with two lines to remember:
After the Three Springs have passed, all fragrant blossoms are spent;
each must seek each one’s own gate.
Xifeng wanted to press further, but at that very instant the clapper at the inner gate struck four times in urgent succession—the signal of death. She woke with a start. A servant came in with the news: “The young mistress of the Eastern Mansion, wife of Rong, is gone.”
Cold sweat broke over Xifeng. Recovering herself, she dressed in haste and went at once to Lady Wang.
By then the whole family knew. Everyone was stunned, and many were suspicious beneath their grief. The elders remembered Qin Keqing’s filial conduct, those of her own generation recalled her kindness and harmony, the younger members her gentleness, and even servants old and young could not forget how she had pitied the poor, respected the lowly, and shown compassion to both old and young. There was weeping everywhere.
Baoyu had also been lonely in recent days since Lin Daiyu’s departure. He was no longer interested in games or company and had been going to bed early each night in a listless mood. When he heard in his sleep that Qin Keqing had died, he leapt up in shock. It felt, he said, as though a knife had stabbed his heart; at once he spat out a mouthful of blood.
Xiren and the others rushed to support him, frightened and ready to report to Grandmother Jia and summon a doctor. Baoyu only smiled faintly and said there was no need to panic: it was merely violent grief driving the blood out of its proper course. He insisted on getting dressed and going over at once. Grandmother Jia tried to stop him, saying the dead had only just passed, the place would be unclean, and the night wind was too strong. He would not listen. She finally had a carriage prepared and sent plenty of attendants with him.
When he reached Ningguo House, the gates stood wide open, lanterns blazed on both sides as bright as day, people rushed in confusion, and the sound of mourning shook the place. Baoyu hurried to the room where the coffin would be laid out and wept bitterly. Afterward he went to see Lady You, only to find that her old stomach ailment had flared up and she was bedridden. He then came out to see Jia Zhen.
Many members of the Jia clan had already gathered, led by Jia Dairu, together with an array of kinsmen from near and far. Jia Zhen was drowned in tears. He lamented to them that everyone knew this daughter-in-law had been worth ten sons, and now that she had stretched out her legs and gone, the senior branch might as well be extinguished. The others could only urge him that grief was of no use now and that arrangements had to be discussed. Jia Zhen slapped his hands together and declared that there was nothing to discuss except spending everything he had.
Soon Qin Ye, Qin Zhong, Lady You’s female relatives, and her sisters arrived as well. Jia Zhen assigned Jia Qiong, Jia Chen, Jia Lin, and Jia Qiang to receive the guests. At the same time he ordered the Bureau of Astronomy and the yin-yang specialists to be summoned to select an auspicious date. The spirit would remain for forty-nine days, and obituary notices would be formally sent out three days later.
For those forty-nine days, one hundred and eight Buddhist monks were to recite the Great Compassion Repentance in the main hall, transferring merit to the newly dead and the departed spirits, in hopes of easing the deceased’s sins. Another altar would be set up in Tianxiang Tower, where ninety-nine Complete Perfection Taoist priests would conduct a forty-nine-day rite to dissolve grudges and wash away karmic stain. The coffin would then be placed in Huifang Garden, where another fifty eminent monks and fifty eminent Taoists would continue services before the spirit altar according to the seven-week mourning cycle.
Jia Jing, when he heard that his eldest grandson’s wife had died, showed no interest. He considered himself already on the verge of transcendence and would not return home to be sullied by worldly dust and lose the fruits of his spiritual discipline. Everything, therefore, was left to Jia Zhen.
With his father refusing to interfere, Jia Zhen gave full rein to extravagance. When he inspected coffin boards, none of the cedar planks seemed good enough. By chance Xue Pan had come to pay his respects, and when he saw the search for fine timber he said his family’s wood shop still had a set of precious boards, from a rare timber brought long ago from Iron-Net Mountain beyond the seas. A coffin made from it, he said, would endure for ten thousand years without decaying. It had originally been intended for Prince Yizhong, but after the prince’s downfall it had never been taken away. It remained sealed in the shop, and no one dared even make an offer.
If Jia Zhen wanted it, he could have it brought over.
Jia Zhen was delighted beyond measure and ordered it fetched immediately. When people inspected it, the sides and base were each a full eight inches thick; the grain resembled areca, the fragrance sandalwood and musk. Tapped by hand, it rang clear like metal or jade. Everyone marveled.
Jia Zhen asked the price. Xue Pan laughed and said that even a thousand taels of silver might not buy such a thing elsewhere. There was no need to speak of price; let the workmen be rewarded a few taels and that would do. Jia Zhen thanked him repeatedly and at once had the boards sawed, assembled, and lacquered.
Jia Zheng tried to warn him that such a coffin was perhaps not fitting for an ordinary person, and that first-rate cedar would be more than enough. But Jia Zhen, who in that moment wished he could die in Qin’s place, was in no mood to listen.
Then another startling report spread through the household. Qin Keqing’s maid Ruizhu, unable to bear her mistress’s death, had dashed her head against a pillar and died as well. The whole clan regarded this as extraordinary and praised her devotion. Jia Zhen therefore ordered her buried with the honors due a granddaughter, and her remains were placed together in Dengxian Pavilion in Huifang Garden.
Another little maid, Baozhu, saw that Qin Keqing had left no child behind. She willingly offered to become her adopted daughter and swore to undertake the mourning duties of a daughter, including the ritual laments and leading the bier. Jia Zhen was overjoyed and immediately ordered that everyone address Baozhu as “Miss” from that day on. She carried herself before the spirit as an unmarried daughter in deepest grief, almost beside herself. The family and household servants alike followed the old forms carefully, and no one dared behave carelessly.
Still, Jia Zhen had another worry. Jia Rong held only the low student status of a supervised scholar, and on the funeral banners and registers that would not look grand. Even the ceremonial retinue appropriate to such a rank would be meager. This sat badly with him.
As luck would have it, on the fourth day of the first seven-day mourning period, the eunuch Dai Quan from the Palace of Great Brightness first sent sacrificial offerings, then arrived in person in a great sedan chair with parasol and gongs to present his respects. Jia Zhen received him with all courtesy and had tea served in Doudfeng Pavilion. He had already made up his mind and took the opportunity to raise the matter of securing an official post for Jia Rong.
Dai Quan immediately understood and smiled. He guessed it was for the sake of greater splendor at the funeral. Jia Zhen admitted as much. Dai Quan replied that the matter was fortunate: there happened to be an excellent opening. Of the three hundred Imperial Guard Commanders of the Dragon-Prohibition Guard, two posts were vacant. Only the day before, the younger brother of the Marquis of Xiangyang had sought his help and had already sent fifteen hundred taels of silver to his home. Old connections being what they were, Dai Quan had casually agreed out of respect for the man’s grandfather. One vacancy still remained. The military commissioner Feng from Yongxing had also wanted to purchase it for his son, but Dai Quan had not yet given him an answer. Since this was a matter for one of “our own children,” Jia Zhen should quickly produce a formal résumé.
Jia Zhen at once ordered the study servants to prepare Jia Rong’s credentials respectfully. Before long a boy returned with a red paper. Jia Zhen read it and handed it over. It stated that Jia Rong, age twenty, was a government student from Jiangning County in Jiangning Prefecture of the South. It listed his great-grandfather Jia Daihua, formerly Commander of the Capital Camp and hereditary first-class General Shenwei; his grandfather Jia Jing, a successful metropolitan graduate in the yimao year; and his father Jia Zhen, hereditary third-rank General Weilie.
After looking it over, Dai Quan passed it back to a confidential page and instructed him to deliver it later to an official surnamed Zhao at the Ministry of Revenue with his compliments, have a warrant drawn up for a fifth-rank Dragon-Prohibition Guard command, and attach the résumé. He would come the next day to collect the silver and send the matter through.
When Dai Quan rose to leave, Jia Zhen escorted him to the gate and asked whether the money should be paid at the ministry or delivered to Dai Quan’s residence. Dai Quan said plainly that going through the ministry would only cost more; better to settle it at twelve hundred taels and send it directly to his house. Jia Zhen thanked him profusely and promised that once the mourning period was over he would personally bring his son to pay his respects.
No sooner had Dai Quan gone than more visitors arrived. It was the wife of the Marquis Zhongjing, Shi Ding. Lady Wang, Lady Xing, and Xifeng had only just welcomed her into the upper rooms when offerings from three other noble houses were already set before the spirit. Soon their carriages drew up as well, and Jia Zheng and the others had to receive them in the main hall. The flow of relatives and friends coming and going was beyond counting. During those forty-nine days, the street before Ningguo House became a white river of mourners, with officials and attendants filling it in endless movement.
The next day Jia Zhen had Jia Rong put on auspicious formal dress and go collect the official warrant. Everything used before the spirit—offerings, attendants, and ceremonial objects—was arranged according to the protocol for a fifth-rank post. On the spirit tablet and memorial papers Qin Keqing was styled as “the honored lady of the Qin family married into the House of Jia, by imperial grace.”
The street gate of Huifang Garden was thrown open. Music pavilions were erected on both sides, where two troupes of performers played at appointed times. Ceremonial guards stood in ranks with blades and axes displayed in full array. Outside the gate rose two vermilion signboards with gilt characters proclaiming Jia Rong’s title as an Imperial Guard of the Dragon-Prohibition Guard charged with protecting the inner court.
Across from this stood the high ritual platform. The proclamations for the monks and Taoists were posted there, announcing in grand language the funeral of Qin, honored lady of the Jia family and wife of the heir-descended grandson of the Duke of Ningguo, together with the names and offices of the Buddhist and Taoist ritual superintendents conducting forty-nine days of ceremonies for the washing away of sins, averting disaster, and securing peace. The rest of the flowery formal wording need not be repeated.
Yet even with all these arrangements satisfying his desire for splendor, Jia Zhen remained uneasy. Lady You’s illness prevented her from managing the women’s side of the household, and with so many titled ladies coming and going, he feared any lapse in decorum would invite ridicule.
At that moment Baoyu, who was nearby, asked why he still looked troubled when everything else seemed in order. Jia Zhen explained the difficulty: there was no capable person inside the household to oversee affairs. Baoyu laughed and said that was easy enough. He could recommend someone to take charge for the month, and the work would certainly be handled properly.
Jia Zhen eagerly asked who it was. Seeing many guests around them, Baoyu leaned close and whispered a few words in his ear. Jia Zhen was instantly delighted. He stood up at once and said it was exactly right, and that he would go immediately. Pulling Baoyu along, he took his leave of the others and went to the inner quarters.
That day was not one of the principal mourning dates, so there were relatively few visitors inside: only a few close female relatives were present, with Lady Xing, Lady Wang, Xifeng, and other women of the clan sitting together. When word came that “the master has entered,” the women servants scattered in alarm and hid themselves; only Xifeng rose calmly.
Jia Zhen himself was unwell and weakened by grief. Leaning on a cane, he paced in. Lady Xing and the others told him he ought to rest and asked what business had brought him in. He tried to kneel in greeting and apology, but they had Baoyu support him and bring a chair. He refused to sit. Forcing a smile, he said he had come to beg a favor of his two aunts and his younger cousin-sister.
When they asked what favor, he said openly that now his grandson’s wife was dead and his own wife bedridden, the inner household could no longer keep proper order. If only his younger cousin-sister would lower herself to manage matters here for a month, he could finally set his mind at rest.
Lady Xing smiled and said that if it was Xifeng he wanted, then he should speak to Lady Wang, since Xifeng was in her household. Lady Wang hesitated. Xifeng was still young, she said; what experience had she ever had with an affair of this scale? If she handled it badly, people would laugh. Better to trouble someone else.
Jia Zhen, however, pressed the matter. He said he understood Lady Wang’s real concern: she feared Xifeng would be overworked. But as for inability, he guaranteed she could manage it. Even if she made some small mistake, people would still judge it well enough. From childhood, he said, she had shown decisiveness and a talent for command even in play, and since her marriage she had only become more seasoned and capable in managing the affairs of her own house. He had thought over the matter for days; aside from her, there was no one else. If Lady Wang would not consider his sake or his wife’s, then she should at least consider the dead.
As he said this, tears rolled down his face.
Lady Wang’s concern had indeed been that Xifeng had never handled funeral affairs and might make a disgrace of herself. But seeing Jia Zhen plead to this extent, she began to waver. She glanced at Xifeng.
Xifeng, for her part, had always loved taking hold of business and displaying her ability. Although she managed her own household competently, she had not yet had the chance to oversee a major wedding or funeral, and secretly feared others might not fully acknowledge her powers. To encounter exactly such a task was, in truth, what she had been waiting for. At first Lady Wang had refused, but now that Jia Zhen’s appeal had become so earnest and Lady Wang was softening, Xifeng spoke up herself.
“Since elder brother has asked so sincerely,” she said, “Madam may as well agree.”
Lady Wang asked quietly whether she was truly capable. Xifeng answered at once: “What is there that I cannot do? Elder brother has already settled the major affairs outside. It is only a matter of watching over the inner side. If there is anything I do not know, I can ask Madam.”
That sounded reasonable. Lady Wang said nothing more.
Seeing Xifeng agree, Jia Zhen smiled again through his grief. There was no time, he said, to stand on ceremony; in any case he could only beg his younger sister to work hard on his behalf. He began bowing to her in gratitude, while she hurriedly returned the courtesy.
He then took from his sleeve the tally-token of Ningguo House and told Baoyu to give it to Xifeng. He added that she should do as she saw fit. Whatever she needed, she had only to use the tally to requisition it; there was no need to ask him. He begged only two things of her: first, that she should not try to save him money out of consideration, because appearance mattered above all; second, that she should treat the servants here no differently from the ones in her own house, and not be timid from fear of provoking complaints. Beyond those two points, he said, he had no further worries.
Xifeng did not dare take the tally at once and looked toward Lady Wang. Lady Wang told her that since her elder brother had spoken so, she should indeed look after things—but not act entirely on her own authority. If anything came up, she must send someone to consult Jia Zhen and Lady You. Baoyu had already taken the tally from Jia Zhen and all but forced it into Xifeng’s hands.
Jia Zhen then asked whether she would stay at Ningguo House for the next few days or come over each day from home. If she meant to travel back and forth daily, it would be even more exhausting. Better, he suggested, to have a courtyard prepared for her there so she could stay comfortably.
Xifeng smiled and refused. Her own household could not do without her either; coming over every day would be better.
Since she had decided, Jia Zhen could only let the matter rest. After a little more conversation he withdrew.
When the women later dispersed, Lady Wang asked Xifeng how she intended to proceed. Xifeng replied that Madam need only return home in peace; she herself would first sort out the beginnings of the matter before coming back.
Then Xifeng went alone to sit in a three-bay side room and began to think through the real disorder of Ningguo House.
Five faults immediately presented themselves to her mind:
- The household population was too mixed and confused, making loss and theft easy.
- No task had a clearly responsible person, so when deadlines came everyone shifted blame.
- Expenses were excessive, and false claims and wasteful disbursements were sure to occur.
- Labor and authority were unevenly distributed; some bore hardships while others enjoyed ease.
- The family servants were spoiled and unruly: those with standing would not submit to discipline, while those without standing had no chance to advance.
These five abuses, she saw at once, were the settled habits of Ningguo House. How she would set about correcting them was a matter for what followed.