Explore Chapter 1 of '啼笑因缘' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
For centuries, Beijing had been held in high esteem, but now renamed Peiping, it had lost the honorable designation of 'the model city of the nation.' Yet it retained many grand edifices and longstanding cultural achievements, still worthy of nostalgia. Its climate, in particular, was peerless, a treasure no other city could purchase with wealth. Here, unlike the bitter cold beyond the Great Wall or the sweltering heat of the Jiangnan region, for three hundred and sixty days, save for a few windy and dusty spells, the weather remained clear and bright. As for rain, muddy streets and damp, mildewed houses confining one indoors for days were the bane of southerners. But in Peiping, rain was a welcome sight, for it might not fall for ten or twenty days, and after a shower, it cleared instantly, leaving skies pristine and dust settled, the city air remarkably fresh. Homes in Peiping contrasted with those in the south: though houses might be modest, courtyards were invariably spacious, and the term 'courtyard' was seldom used. With every family enjoying ample yards, trees abounded everywhere. After the rain ceased, if you went to the Western Hills and gazed down upon the old capital, towers and palaces lay half-hidden amid clusters of verdant trees, making one appreciate the northern rains. Southerners dreaded rain, most of all the early summer rainy season. From the start of the fourth lunar month to mid-fifth month, rain fell almost daily. But Peiping remained sunny, and with cooler temperatures, it was just after the crabapple blossoms and during the lush willow season-a golden age. Even those disinclined to travel would find themselves drawn to visit the Three Lakes or stroll in the parks. Thus, people from elsewhere waited until April, when trees throughout Peiping donned their green mantles, before coming to tour. It was at this time that a young man, fond of travel, journeyed from Shanghai to visit Beijing.
This was three years before Beijing was renamed Peiping, around late April. He resided in an exquisitely appointed upper chamber. The house was painted in vermilion, with a corridor supported by four red pillars reaching the ground. Beyond the corridor lay a vast courtyard, where a wisteria trellis was suspended in mid-air, its blossoms resembling fluffy balls hanging in clusters amid pale yellow leaves. Along the steps by the corridor, numerous pots of oleanders were arranged, their flowers blooming in dense clusters on the branches. The young man, Fan Jiashu, leaned against a red pillar, watching the wisteria blossoms sway in the wind, brushing off bees that alighted upon them, only for the insects to circle back-a delightful sight. In his hand, he held an open yet rolled-up book, clasped behind his back. The courtyard was profoundly still, save for the incessant buzzing of bee wings. Sunlight filtered through the wisteria trellis, casting a dappled pattern upon the ground. A breeze stirred, setting the pattern astir and carrying with it a delicate scent that clung to one's sleeves. Fan Jiashu felt utterly content, standing motionless.
Just then, a houseboy approached and said, "Young Master, it's Sunday. What are you doing home alone?" Fan Jiashu replied, "I've seen all the famous sights in Beijing. Your master and mistress wanted me to go to the Western Hills yesterday afternoon, but I went the day before and had no desire to go again, so I stayed behind. Liu Fu, can you take me somewhere to enjoy myself?" Liu Fu grinned. "Our master's got a regular habit for the Western Hills: off Saturday afternoon, back Monday morning. Miss it this time, and he'll just ask you again next. It's the foreign style, don't know why he's taken to it. But truth be told, Saturdays and Sundays are when the top actors show up at the theaters, and the cinemas roll out new pictures-prime time for fun." Fan Jiashu said, "Having grown accustomed to foreign-style houses in the Shanghai concessions, I find Chinese dwellings more elegant. Look at this lovely courtyard: red windows paired with white gauze curtains, facing this trellis laden with flowers-like a painting. Reading at home isn't so bad either." Liu Fu said, "I know Young Master appreciates scenery. There's the Waterside Pavilion at Tianqiao, which might be worth a visit." Fan Jiashu asked, "Isn't Tianqiao a gathering place for the lower classes?" Liu Fu replied, "No, it's surrounded by water, with flowers and pavilions at its heart, and even comely maidens singing there." Fan Jiashu said, "How is it I've never heard of such a place?" Liu Fu chuckled, "I wouldn't dream of deceiving you. There are flower sheds and trees there as well. I'm quite fond of going." Hearing his enthusiastic description, Fan Jiashu said, "It's rather tedious at home. Hire a rickshaw for me, and I'll go at once. Is there still time now?" Liu Fu said, "Plenty of time. There are teahouses and restaurants there, so you can rest if thirsty or hungry." With that, he went out the main gate, hired a rickshaw for Fan Jiashu, and sent him off alone to Tianqiao.
Ordinarily, when Fan Jiashu went out sightseeing, his host and cousin Tao Bohe accompanied him, which felt somewhat restrictive. Today, free to roam on his own, he found it more pleasurable and did not mind the solitude, riding straight to Tianqiao. Upon arrival, the rickshaw halted amid a tumultuous cacophony of clappers, huqins, and gongs. Before him, a row of three or four wooden street stalls displayed red paper signs inscribed in gold or black characters, announcing such curiosities as "Dog Meat Jar," "Baby Sheng"-a young male role in opera-or "Narcissus and Little Peony Co-perform 'Sawing the Clay Pot.'" After paying the fare, he walked over and saw numerous stalls clustered around the gateways. Right before him stood a large flat-wheeled cart, its board piled with dark chunks, each the size of a rice bowl, swarms of flies buzzing incessantly above. Two gleaming cleavers lay amidst the meat. A man beside the cart grabbed a chunk and hacked away at it on a wooden board, producing a pile of purplish slices which he then served on a scrap of grimy, tattered newspaper-likely selling spiced beef or stewed donkey meat. Another stall featured a large iron pot on the ground, filled with dark, elongated strips coiled within, resembling skinned dead snakes, a foul and fishy stench rising from the pot. This, it turned out, was boiled sheep intestines, a northern delicacy. Fan Jiashu frowned and turned to see several earthen alleys flanked by reed sheds. In the distance down two alleys, colorful garments hung in the sheds-probably the famed Used-Clothes Street. A nearby narrow alley teemed with people. At its entrance, a heap of old shoes lay on the dusty ground. Here and there were miscellaneous goods stalls littered with kerosene lamps, enamel basins, and copper or ironware. Beyond this, to the south were reed shed shops, and to the north a broad ditch filled with black sludge and flowing blue water, emitting a putrid odor. Fan Jiashu reasoned that the Waterside Pavilion, renowned for its flora, surely could not be here. He turned back onto the main street and inquired of a policeman, who directed him southward, noting that the Waterside Pavilion lay on the west side of the road.
Beijing was laid out as a square city, with streets running north-south and east-west, and residences arranged in quadrangular courtyards. Thus, everyone here, young or old, understood the four directions, speaking not of left or right but of east, west, south, and north. Following the policeman's directions, Fan Jiashu walked straight ahead, passing the reed sheds and stalls until he reached an open field. On the west side of the road was a ditch, murky but not foul-smelling. Across the water stood sparse willow trees about ten feet tall. He could not cross directly; at the northern and southern ends were two flat-plank bridges, each with a small reed shed where a table was set, guarded by two policemen. Those wishing to cross paid four coppers on this side for a small red ticket-this was the admission. Fan Jiashu, having come this far, felt obliged to see it and paid four coppers to cross the bridge. On the other side, shallow pits were dug in the flat ground, planted with water taro and the like, but no garden to speak of. Beyond the pits were five or six large reed sheds housing many tea seats. Each shed hosted a variety performance. Fortunately, the patrons were mostly of middling or better sort, not emitting unpleasant odors. Passing through these sheds and crossing another ditch, he found a shallow pond with newly sprouted lotus leaves. Beyond the pond stood a wooden house, with four or five green trees slanting outside and a pumpkin trellis beneath, entwined with melon and bean vines. The wooden house was painted blue, adorned with two Xiang-style bamboo curtains. Carried by the wind, the distant strains of pipes, strings, and bamboo instruments reached him. This place, he thought, held some charm, and he decided to approach.
Fan Jiashu followed a path. The wooden house opened southward, facing the red walls and ancient cypresses of the Altar of Agriculture. Inside, dozens of tables were arranged, with a low stage to the north where seven or eight gaudily attired drum-song girls sat, taking turns singing. Fan Jiashu intended to sit and rest briefly, but all seats were occupied, so he turned back. So this was the famed "Waterside Pavilion"-nothing more. Such scenery hardly seemed worth lingering over. Having entered from the east, he decided to exit west. As he passed, he saw a row of tea sheds. Beyond them, clamorous voices rose. In the distance, there were drum-song performers, acrobats, wrestlers, ventriloquists, and cross-talk comedians. To the left, a cloth tent was encircled by a crowd; to the right, a wooden shed drew another circle. This was the true lower-class club. On a northern earthen mound, a ring of people roared with laughter. Fan Jiashu stepped forward to look. A bamboo pole held up a piece of tattered blue cloth, dirty as a child's diaper. Beneath it, a small table was surrounded by three or four children playing gongs, drums, and huqin. The blue cloth lifted, and out came a dark-complexioned man in his forties, wearing a half-length gray cloth gown loosely tied with a straw rope around the waist. On his head was a hat made from a cigarette paper box, with a black beard dangling from his mouth-actually just forty or fifty horsehairs. He strode to the table, glared, and the onlookers cheered. He reached up, removed the beard, and said, "I haven't even sung yet. How can you cheer? The huqin is rushing me; I barely have time to speak." Immediately, he reattached the beard and began singing, eliciting another round of laughter.
Fan Jiashu stood watching for a while until he felt weary. Glancing back, he noticed a relatively clean teahouse and stepped inside, finding a seat. A red paper strip on the pillar read in large characters: "Water fee: one coin per person." Fan Jiashu found this incredibly cheap, unlike any teahouse he had ever encountered. A waiter approached, placing a white porcelain pot on the table, and asked, "Sir, did you bring your own tea leaves?" Fan Jiashu replied, "No." The waiter said, "Then shall I brew you a four-hundred-copper pack? Scented tea or Longjing tea?" In Beijing, tea was not sold by weight but by packet. A packet weighed about one qian. Usually priced in coppers, it was abbreviated as "a few hundred per pack"-a hundred meaning one copper coin. Tea was not distinguished by name; scented tea, perfumed with jasmine, was simply called "scented tea," while unscented tea without flowers was collectively termed "Longjing tea." Although Fan Jiashu was from Zhejiang, having been here for days, he understood this custom. He answered, "Longjing tea," and added, "Your water fee is only one copper, yet you charge four coppers for tea leaves?" The waiter chuckled, "You're from the south, so you don't get it. If you bring your own leaves, we charge just one coin. But if you drink our tea and we only charged one coin for water, we'd be selling our own shirts!" Fan Jiashu laughed at this and said, "If all customers brought their own leaves, and you only collected one coin each, wouldn't you lose money?" The waiter pointed to the backyard and smiled, "Look! We don't rely on selling water here."
Fan Jiashu looked into the backyard. Two wooden racks held various weapons, with stone weights and locks haphazardly placed, along with a thousand-catty barbell. Another building in the yard housed a group sipping tea and chatting. A horizontal plaque above the door read: "Meet Friends Through Martial Arts." Just then, someone emerged, took a weapon from the rack, and practiced in the yard. Fan Jiashu realized this was a martial artists' club. Back in school, he had a martial arts instructor and had always been interested. Now, encountering such a club with plenty to observe, he was delighted. He shifted his seat closer to the backyard railing. First, he saw a few burly men practicing with knives and staffs. Finally, an elderly man around fifty appeared, wearing a purple-patterned cloth shirt tied with a wide belt, from which hung a tobacco pouch and small purse. Below were black trousers, with leg wrappings fastened near the knees. From afar, he flexed his arms, brimming with vigor. Up close, he had a long face, a high nose, and a sparse mustache. Upon entering the yard, he rolled up his sleeves, planted his feet firmly, lifted a stone lock in each hand, juggled them a few times, then raised them high, lowered, and raised again. Each stone lock weighed about seventy or eighty catties, so two totaled over a hundred catties. The upward lift was not too astonishing, but then he swung both hands down, and with his right hand, he hurled one lock skyward, sending it flying over the roof ridge. Fan Jiashu gasped in surprise. As the lock descended just past the ridge, heading straight for the old man's head, the man did not budge, merely tilting his head slightly left. The lock landed steadily on his right shoulder. Simultaneously, he tossed the left lock, catching it on his left shoulder. Fan Jiashu inwardly marveled. The old man, nonchalant, gently dropped both locks to the ground. The young onlookers cheered, with two shouting praises. The old man responded with a faint smile.
Then, a robust man sitting on the barbell's wooden bar laughed, "Uncle, you're in high spirits today. Show us the big stuff." The old man said, "You try first and let me see." The man indeed turned, gripped the bar with both hands, lifted the barbell slowly until level with his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and flushed red. He quickly bent to set it down, chuckling, "I'm tired today, even worse than usual." The old man said, "Watch me." He stepped forward, first held the barbell level with his abdomen, paused, then reversed his grip and lifted it overhead, pausing at chin level before extending his arms fully above his head. The barbell had two large stone disks at each end, resembling millstones, with a wooden bar as thick as a teacup inserted through their centers. Each stone disk weighed at least two hundred catties, and with them fixed at both ends, it required immense strength. Lifting this demanded five or six hundred catties of force. Fan Jiashu could not help but slap the table and exclaim, "Bravo!"
Hearing the praise, the old man set down the barbell and looked at Fan Jiashu. He wore a blue silk-lined gown, with a fountain pen holder pinned to the front. His fair face bore tortoiseshell-rimmed round glasses, and though his hair was neatly parted, it curled slightly tousled-clearly a noble-style university student. Why was he here? The old man could not help but glance at Fan Jiashu twice. Thinking the man meant to greet him, Fan Jiashu stood up with a smile. The old man grinned, "Sir, do you enjoy this too?" Fan Jiashu replied, "I do, but I lack such strength. That barbell-amazing you can lift it. Are you over fifty?" The old man smiled faintly, "Fifty? I'm looking to the next life!" Fan Jiashu said, "So you're past sixty. Rare to see such strength at that age! May I know your surname..." The man said his surname was Guan. Fan Jiashu poured a cup of tea and sat down to chat, learning his name was Guan Shoufeng, from Shandong, making a living as a surgeon in the capital. He asked Fan Jiashu's name and why he came to such a teahouse. Fan Jiashu gave his name and added, "I'm from Hangzhou. I came to Beijing to take university exams and am currently tutoring. I'm staying with my cousin in Dongsi Santiao Hutong." Shoufeng said, "Mr. Fan, what a coincidence-we're neighbors! I live in that hutong too. What's your house number?" Fan Jiashu said, "My cousin's surname is Tao." Shoufeng said, "The Tao residence with the red gate? That's a grand household. I heard the master and mistress are overseas." Fan Jiashu replied, "Yes, that's my uncle. He's a consul-general and took my aunt abroad. My cousin Tao Bohe now works at the Foreign Ministry. But though the family is comfortable, it's not exactly a grand mansion. Where is your home?" Shoufeng laughed heartily, "Our kind of folk don't talk of 'home' in such terms. I live in a crowded, multifamily compound. Being from the south, you might not understand what that means. It's a courtyard packed with over a dozen families, all sorts of trades. How could such a place warrant 'home'?" Fan Jiashu said, "That doesn't matter. A person's worth isn't defined by their dwelling. I'm fond of martial arts too. Since we live in the same hutong, I'll surely visit you one day, Uncle."
Hearing this address, Shoufeng stood up, ruffled his hair with his hand, then clasped his fists and bowed repeatedly. "My good sir, how should I address you? I dare not accept such honor. If you don't mind, I'll visit you someday." He added, "As for tales of the martial arts world, if you care to listen, there's plenty..." Patting his belt, he said, "But please, don't call me that." Fan Jiashu said, "You, elder, merely lack money for fine clothes, food, or grand affairs. Does poverty strip away your years? I'm only twenty. You're over sixty, forty years my senior. Calling you Uncle among peers is no courtesy." Shoufeng slapped the table, turned to the tea-drinkers, and said, "This gentleman is straightforward. I've never seen such a young master." Fan Jiashu also found the old man candid and chatted with him awhile. As the sun set behind the Western Hills, he paid for the tea and headed home.
Back at the Tao residence, the houseboy Liu Fu came to serve tea and asked, "Young Master, how was the Waterside Pavilion?" Fan Jiashu said, "The Waterside Pavilion was all right, but I met an old martial artist at a small teahouse and had a good chat. I want to learn some skills from him. He might visit me in a day or two." Liu Fu exclaimed, "Ah, Young Master! You're new to these parts and don't know the lay of the land. Tianqiao's where every kind of lowlife congregates. Why bother making friends with them?" Fan Jiashu replied, "What's the harm? Though Tianqiao has many lower-class people, that doesn't mean there are no good folks. The old man is forthright and speaks sensibly." Liu Fu smiled faintly, "Who in the vagabond life doesn't know how to talk?" Fan Jiashu said, "You haven't met him, so how would you know his character? I suppose you only consider those with cars and bodyguards as good people." Liu Fu dared not argue further and left with a smile.
The next morning, the hosts Tao Bohe and his wife returned from the Western Hills. Tao Bohe rested briefly in the main room before hurrying to his office. Mrs. Tao had an appointment in the morning and went out. Fan Jiashu alone at home felt rather bored. Thinking he had promised to visit the old man, he decided to fulfill it today while free. Regardless of the man's status, he should not break his word or appear disdainful. Yesterday, Guan Shoufeng mentioned living at the east end of the hutong, in a dilapidated gatehouse with two locust trees-easy to find. So, taking some spare change, he set out.
Reaching the east end of the hutong, he indeed found the place. Knowing Beijing custom, one must knock before entering, regardless of whether the gate was open. With no iron ring, he simply rapped twice. A girl of about eighteen or nineteen emerged, her hair tied in a horizontal bun at the back with short bangs in front. Her round face wore simple blue clothes, contrasting with her fair skin. A red thread adorned her hair, and she held a piece of white cross-stitch cloth. Seeing Fan Jiashu's fine attire, she asked, "Who are you looking for? This is a crowded, multifamily compound, not a private residence." Fan Jiashu said, "I know it's a crowded, multifamily compound. I'm here to see someone surnamed Guan. Is he in?" The girl sized him up and smiled, "I'm surnamed Guan. Are you Mr. Fan?" Fan Jiashu said, "Exactly. Uncle Guan..." The girl quickly interjected, "He's my father. He mentioned you last night. He's home. Please come in." She led him to a south-facing room and called, "Dad, come quick! Mr. Fan is here." Shoufeng pushed the door open, clasping his hands repeatedly. "Oh my! This is too much. There's hardly any place to sit." Fan Jiashu smiled, "No worries. I said yesterday we shouldn't stand on ceremony." Guan Shoufeng then ushered him inside.
Fan Jiashu glanced around the room. A portrait of Guan Yu hung centrally on an old altar table, set with a set of iron offerings. Bows, arrows, knives, and staffs adorned the walls, along with two badger pelts. Bundles of dried medicinal herbs and two dried gourds hung along the lower wall. To the west stood a square old wooden table piled with bowls and jars, with a clay stove beneath. To the east, a bed was arranged, its bedding simple but clean. A red cloth curtain, now half-gray, screened off an eastern room. Clearly, father and daughter occupied these two rooms. Shoufeng invited Fan Jiashu to sit on the bed. The girl went inside and brought out a teapot. She smiled apologetically, "Unfortunately, the stove's out. I'll fetch water from the teahouse across the way." Fan Jiashu said, "Don't trouble yourself." Shoufeng laughed, "When a noble guest descends to humble quarters, can we not offer tea?" Fan Jiashu replied, "It's not that. Friendship isn't about food and drink. As long as we get along, tea matters little. Frankly, if I sought refreshments, I wouldn't come to a crowded, multifamily compound. No water needed." Shoufeng said, "Alright, we'll skip it."
Thus, the girl stood holding the teapot, caught in a dilemma. Feeling it improper to offer no tea, she went to the small teahouse and brewed a pot. After searching, she found a teacup and a small rice bowl, poured tea, placed them on the table, and said softly to Fan Jiashu, "Please have some tea." Then she retreated to the western room. Shoufeng chuckled, "No need to drink this. We lack not only tap water but even sweet well water. This is bitter well water, slightly salty." The girl called from inside, "No, it's from the teahouse at the hutong entrance-tap water." Shoufeng laughed, "Even tap water won't do. Our tea leaves are too poor!"
As they spoke, Fan Jiashu had already taken a sip. He smiled, "One must adapt to circumstances. When salty water is all there is, drink it. When sweet water is available, practicing with salty water is fine. Uncle Guan simply lacked opportunity. Had you been born fifty years earlier, with such skill, you could have been an official or a镖局 escort, securing food and clothing. As for us youngsters, with no ability, relying on ancestral wealth for fine clothes and food, we lack the peace of mind you have, earning a bowl of salty water through your own efforts." At this, with a thud, Shoufeng slammed his large palm on the table, nearly toppling the teacups. He threw back his head and laughed, "You've made my day! My little brother! No one has ever spoken so aptly to me." Turning, he called out, "Xiugu, fetch my money pouch. I want to treat Mr. Fan to a drink and befriend such a fine fellow." The girl called from inside, then brought out a small blue cloth pouch. She smiled, "Don't take Mr. Fan to that Shandong two-meat eatery. Here's a yuan I earned today from sewing-take it too." Shoufeng grinned, "Mr. Fan, you hear? Even my girl is eager to have you as our guest. Don't be polite." Fan Jiashu smiled, "Well, I'll accept your hospitality." Guan Shoufeng tucked the pouch into his clothes and led Fan Jiashu out. At the hutong entrance was a small shop with a narrow front: a coal stove inside, a large pot steaming atop it, looking like a dark alley. Shoufeng pointed, "This is a Shandong two-meat eatery, only selling noodles and steamed buns. My daughter feared I'd bring you here." Fan Jiashu nodded with a smile.
On the main street, Shoufeng found a small Sichuan restaurant, and they entered together. After seating, Shoufeng first said, "Start with a catty of huadiao wine." To Fan Jiashu, he added, "I don't know southern dishes. You order. Don't overorder-we can't finish it-but don't underorder either. Being overly polite and ending up unsatisfied is pointless." Recognizing his straightforward nature, Fan Jiashu followed his advice. Soon, wine and dishes arrived, with small cups before each. Shoufeng said, "Mr. Fan, can you drink? If yes, I'll toast you three large cups. If not, just one. But be honest." Fan Jiashu said, "I can manage three large cups." Shoufeng said, "Good! Let's drink our fill. If I hold back, I'm an old fool." Fan Jiashu smiled and joined him in three large cups.
After several cups, the old man, elated, spoke freely. He confessed that in his youth, he had been a bandit beyond the pass for over a decade. Pursued by government troops, his wife and two sons were killed. He escaped to Beijing with only this daughter, Xiugu, renouncing his past to become a good man. As a bandit, he had never killed anyone, yet still met with the ruin of his family and the death of his loved ones. Killing was out of the question, so in Beijing, he turned to surgery, saving lives to atone. Xiugu came to Beijing at age two and was now twenty-one. He had been a good man for twenty years. Fortunately, it wasn't peak hours, and the upstairs was empty, allowing Shoufeng to speak his heart out. After his tale, his face resembled the Guan Yu idol at home.
Fan Jiashu said, "Uncle Guan, didn't you say we'd drink till drunk? I'm nearly there. How about you?" Shoufeng suddenly stood, swayed slightly, pressed his hands on the table, and laughed, "Three catties-should be drunk. Drinking should be just enough. Vomiting afterward is sinful and pointless. Enough! Let's go back. We'll drink again when we have money." The waiter tallied the bill. Shoufeng took out his pouch, finding ten extra strings of coppers, which he spilled on the table as a tip. Fan Jiashu accompanied him downstairs and offered to hire a rickshaw on the street. Shoufeng swung his arm, grinning, "Little brother! Think I'm drunk? Nonsense!" He strode off with head held high.
From that day on, Fan Jiashu often met with him, treated him to drinks several times, and bought fabric for Xiugu to make clothes. However, Fan Jiashu frequently visited Shoufeng, but Shoufeng never returned the visits. After three days without seeing him, Fan Jiashu went again to find father and daughter had moved away. Neighbors in the compound said, "We don't know. His daughter mentioned returning to Shandong." Fan Jiashu had considered the old man a rare gem in the dusty world, and his sudden disappearance was particularly puzzling, leaving Fan Jiashu with a sense of loss.
One day, with fine weather and no wind or dust, Fan Jiashu went to the old teahouse at Tianqiao to trace Guan Shoufeng. According to the teahouse, he had come once, sighing deeply, and never returned. Hearing this, Fan Jiashu grew even more curious. He slowly left the teahouse and wandered along the variety show grounds outside. Heading south led to the outer altar of the Altar of Agriculture. In April, reeds in the altar grew about a foot tall, a stretch of green extending to the distant city walls. Within the reeds, yellow boundary lines marked paths from the outer altar. Two main roads inside were flanked by ancient cypresses arranged haphazardly. Among them stood a bell tower soaring into the sky. Below it lay an open space where scattered groups gathered. Fan Jiashu approached slowly.
Upon reaching, he saw more variety acts. On the bell tower's foundation sat a man in his forties, strumming a sanxian. His sallow, small face was covered in stubble, with thick eyebrows and deep-set eyes-rather grubby. His black cloth gown showed streaks of yellowish-brown. Despite his playing, no one listened. Fan Jiashu noticed his anxious demeanor, left hand dancing over the strings busily, the tune quite pleasant. Thinking such skill deserved attention, he felt sorry for him and stepped forward. After playing awhile with no audience, the man set down the sanxian and sighed, "These days..." Before he could continue, Fan Jiashu, sympathetic, took out a handful of coppers and smiled, "Let me give you your first take of the day." The man accepted the money, forcing a bitter smile. "Sir, you're truly kind. Honestly, it's not usually like this. My niece hasn't come today..." He shaded his eyes with his right hand, looking into the distance. "She's coming! Don't leave, sir. Listen to her sing-you won't regret it."
As he spoke, a girl of sixteen or seventeen approached, her face slightly pointed but fair with a rosy flush, delicate and clear. Her hair, cut evenly at the eyebrows, peeked through a sparse net, revealing pale skin. She wore an old blue cotton gown, neat and clean, carrying a small drum and a bamboo drum stand. Approaching, she asked the man, "Uncle, any business?" He nodded toward Fan Jiashu, "If not for this gentleman's two strings of coppers, I'd have earned nothing." The girl smiled and nodded at Fan Jiashu, setting up the drum stand while scrutinizing him from head to toe, her expression tinged with surprise-wondering why such a person would frequent this place. The sanxian player took two drumsticks and a pair of clappers from a blue cloth bag, handing them to the girl. As she took the sticks, before even striking the drum, seven or eight people gathered to watch. Fan Jiashu, curious about her singing, remained.
Soon, the girl began with drum and clappers. The sanxian player first played an introduction, then stood and smiled, "My niece is new to these ballads. If she sings poorly, please bear with us. We're just getting by. Feel free to sit on the grass or steps. She'll start with 'Daiyu Laments the Autumn.' It's a story from Dream of the Red Chamber. Not claiming excellence, but she suits it." He sat back on the stone steps and played. The girl resumed drumming, her eyes unconsciously drifting toward Fan Jiashu several times. Earlier, Fan Jiashu had guessed her cleverness. Despite humble attire, she had a delicate charm that captivated. Now her lingering gaze seemed to acknowledge his sympathy, making him reluctant to leave. About twenty listeners sat on the grass and steps. Fan Jiashu, too shy to sit, spotted a leaning old cypress, propped a foot on it, and rested his head on his hand, watching her sing.
The sanxian player accompanied her. Encouraged by Fan Jiashu's earlier coins, he played with extra fervor, each note plaintive and sorrowful. The girl lowered her gaze, singing softly. Two lines went: "In the desolate Xiaoxiang Courtyard, west winds rustle the green gauze windows. Lonely Miss Lin by the window ponders, who knows a maiden's heart at such an hour?" As she drew out the last note, her eyes, beneath long lashes, turned toward Fan Jiashu again. Initially, he hadn't suspected any intent, but this phrasing seemed directed at him, stirring his heart.
This drum-singing was popular, but her rendition was melodious, and the sanxian's mournful strains hushed the crowd, all listening intently. After finishing, some stood, brushed off dust, and ambled away. The sanxian player quickly set down his instrument, took a small willow-twig tray, and collected money. Some gave one coin, others two-totaling just over ten. Since Fan Jiashu stood farther and had already given two strings, the man hesitated to approach. But shaking the tray, finding it too light, he smiled distantly and walked over. Fan Jiashu knew his purpose and reached into his pocket. Unfortunately, he had spent all his change, leaving only silver dollars. Not wanting to refuse, he unhesitatingly tossed one into the tray. The clink of silver against copper rang out. The sanxian player, overjoyed by such generosity, forgot himself, transferred the tray to his left hand, crouched slightly, and bowed deeply with his right hand in salute.
Meanwhile, the girl showed great astonishment, leaning on the drum stand, staring fixedly at Fan Jiashu. He hadn't meant to flaunt wealth, and her gaze suggested misunderstanding, making him uneasy. The sanxian player's stubbly beard seemed to bristle with joy as he thanked Fan Jiashu profusely. Taking the money, the girl stepped forward, glanced sidelong at Fan Jiashu, and whispered to the man. He nodded several times and asked, "What's your surname?" Fan Jiashu said, "Fan." As he answered, he saw the girl turning to pack the drum, seemingly embarrassed. With onlookers still lingering, his silver dollar had drawn enough attention; further conversation seemed improper. After speaking, he walked away.
From the bell tower to the outer altar gate was about half a mile. Fan Jiashu strolled slowly. Nearing the gate, someone suddenly called from behind, "Mr. Fan!" Turning, he saw a plump middle-aged woman hurrying forward, raising an arm and waving in the sunlight. Fan Jiashu didn't recognize her and wondered how she knew his surname. Puzzled, he stopped to hear her out. Who was she? The next chapter will tell.