Chapter 14: New Year

Never mind Aunt Zhao returning joyfully to the Storage Yard.

Lady Xing, having returned from Rongqing Hall, happened to meet Jia She coming back from the Eastern Courtyard; she vented her fury, recounting everything that had transpired at Rongqing Hall that day.

Jia She heard that the wretched brat had received the favor of Prince Jiaoshun simply for writing a couplet, and was even invited to a literary gathering—making quite a spectacle of himself.

This Prince Jiaoshun is a man of such stature; even I, his father, have been scrambling to curry favor without success—how dare this useless brat befriend him? It’s an outrage.

His bookish brother even claimed the brat is the Jia family’s literary seed, a sign of ancestral blessing.

Then what have all my years of scolding him amounted to? Am I now the villain of the Jia household? The father is the pillar of the son—what fault have I committed?

Thinking of these grievances, Jia She flew into a rage, smashing everything in the room to pieces, rolling up his sleeves to go beat the brat.

But Lady Xing held her husband back, reminding him that Jia Cong was to attend Prince Jiaoshun’s literary gathering on the fifteenth; if he were beaten now,

he would show up with bruises and swelling, bringing shame upon the Jia family—and the old lady would never forgive them. She urged Jia She to calm down and settle accounts with the brat after the fifteenth.

Jia Cong, meanwhile, remained unaware that he had narrowly escaped disaster thanks to Jia Mu’s words in Rongqing Hall.

Daiyu, seeing the arrangement, knew that Tan Chun treasured this calligraphy deeply.

Tan Chun’s room had been opened up by joining three side chambers, giving it a spacious, bright, and brisk feel—perfectly matching her temperament.

Upon entering, one saw a large rosewood-and-marble desk, piled high with master calligraphy scrolls, dozens of precious inkstones, various brush holders, and a brush jar brimming with brushes like a forest.

“Tan Yatou, you just said you asked for that Third Brother Cong’s writing—how truly good is his calligraphy?”

…

On the west wall hung the calligraphy scroll Jia Cong had written—“Xizhou Ci”—exquisitely mounted.

Having been in the Jia household for two years, she had never heard of this Third Brother Cong before; she had first seen him that day in Rongning Hall, yet here in this house was such a person.

Daiyu, raised from childhood under her father’s tutelage, had been steeped in poetry, books, and literature—she was a true gifted lady of the inner chambers.

The group chatted and laughed as they made their way to Tan Chun’s room.

Below the scroll, on a small central table stood a large tripod incense burner; to the left, a rosewood rack held a large Guan ware plate filled with dozens of golden, delicate Buddha’s hands; to the right, a white jade fish-shaped chime hung from a lacquered stand, with a small mallet beside it.

Bao Yu, having left Jia Zheng’s study, went to find his Lin sister; he asked a maid outside Rongning Hall and learned she had gone to Tan Chun’s room, so he hurried over eagerly.

Beside the large desk stood a massive Ru ware flower vase, filled to the brim with white chrysanthemums like crystal balls—strikingly bright and pure.

The refined young man at the hall that day had left a deep impression on her; naturally, she longed to see his celebrated calligraphy for herself.

Tan Chun smiled: “It truly is that good. Third Brother Cong is still so young—how on earth did he master it? Even Prince Jiaoshun, a master himself, holds him in high regard.”

After Jia Cong and Bao Yu left Rongning Hall with Jia Zheng, Daiyu recalled Tan Chun’s unusual expression earlier—and now the mystery was solved.

With such a person vouching for him, Jia Cong’s calligraphy must be genuine.

Both Daiyu and Tan Chun loved poetry and literature; though confined to the inner chambers, they had heard of the Nanxi Literary Gathering in Shenjing and knew Prince Jiaoshun was the foremost literary talent among the nobility.

The moment Daiyu saw the ancient, elegant, and uniquely exquisite running script, her gaze seemed glued to it; she stood before the “Xizhou Ci,” utterly absorbed in studying its every stroke.

Tan Chun had chosen to hang the scroll on the west wall because it caught the sunlight, preventing dampness and insect damage.

The arrangement on both sides perfectly framed the “Xizhou Ci.”

He looked no more than one or two years older than her—how had he ever mastered such brushwork? The writing was truly exceptional; no wonder Prince Jiaoshun treasured it.

Entering the room, she saw the two sisters gathered before a calligraphy scroll, pointing and whispering, their faces filled with delight.

When Bao Yu learned this scroll was the one Jia Cong had given Tan Chun earlier, a wave of distaste rose in him—even though Jia Cong had helped him just moments before in Jia Zheng’s study.

Yet he felt something was off ever since Jia Cong appeared; subtle changes had emerged among the sisters, though he couldn’t quite name them.

…

Firecrackers crackled, bidding farewell to the old year—the Eve of the Lunar New Year in the tenth year of Jiazhao of the Great Zhou had finally arrived.

Zhi Shao had long ago cut out window decorations, and together with Jia Cong, they pasted them on every window—the festive spirit of the New Year came alive.

Now that Jia Cong had some spare cash, he naturally wanted to celebrate with proper New Year flavor.

That day, after leaving Xiao Jindong’s shop, he bought a pair of silver-threaded flower bracelets on the street to give Zhi Shao as a New Year gift—he had never bought her anything before.

He also bought Aunt Zhao a pair of purple copper hand and foot warmers; over the past two years, her age had brought on rheumatism, and cold, damp weather triggered her illness.

As dusk fell, a commotion rose outside, accompanied by the sound of many footsteps moving about.

Jia Cong was reading inside his room when Aunt Zhao entered the courtyard, and Zhi Shao was speaking with her.

“Mama, what’s all the noise out there? Why are so many people coming and going?”

“The old lady is hosting the New Year’s Eve banquet in Rongqing Hall, inviting Master and Lady, and even the respected maids and old women from the Eastern Courtyard—did no one come to invite Third Brother Cong?”

Zhi Shao’s face stiffened; she felt deeply sorry for Jia Cong—even the maids and old women from the Eastern Courtyard were invited, yet the legitimate young master was left out.

Aunt Zhao’s expression darkened, her indignation rising: “No one came to invite Third Brother Cong at all.”

Zhi Shao furrowed her brows and waved her hand toward Aunt Zhao, then pointed toward the room.

She was signaling Aunt Zhao to stop—so Third Master wouldn’t hear and feel uneasy.

But Aunt Zhao stared blankly behind her, forcing a smile: “Third Brother Cong, it’s cold outside—you haven’t put on your coat, be careful you don’t catch a chill.”

Zhi Shao turned and saw Jia Cong standing at the doorway—he must have been there a long time; he’d likely heard most of what was said. Zhi Shao’s heart ached.

Jia Cong smiled faintly: “It’s better not to go. We can celebrate quietly ourselves. Today, I bought you both New Year gifts.”

Zhi Shao took the blue cloth bag Jia Cong handed her, pulled out the gleaming silver-threaded flower bracelets, and beamed with joy, turning them over and over in her hands, unwilling to let go.

Aunt Zhao, holding her set of purple copper hand and foot warmers, hurriedly thanked Jia Cong.

Jia Cong knew she was to spend the New Year’s Eve with her son Guo Zhi, so he told her to return home early.

…

Two full tables were set in Rongqing Hall; at the center sat Jia Mu, flanked on either side by Lady Xing and Lady Wang.

Below them sat Li Wan, Wang Xifeng, Bao Yu, Daiyu, Yingchun, Tan Chun, Xichun, and finally, at the very end, Jia Huan.

Another table had been set up inside the hall for Zhao Yiniang, Zhou Yiniang, and trusted maids like Yuanyang.

Outside Rongqing Hall, in the annex, another table was set for Jia She, Jia Zheng, Jia Lian, and the men from the Eastern Courtyard—Jia Zhen, Jia Rong, and others.

Though it was still far from midnight, firecrackers outside were already exploding without pause.

Inside Rongqing Hall, Jia Mu laughed and chatted; the younger generation offered New Year blessings, while Wang Xifeng directed the maids in serving dishes and changing plates.

What a splendid, harmonious scene of New Year joy.

Tan Chun glanced at her brother Jia Huan, slumped at the end of the table, and frowned—then something occurred to her.

Ah, someone was missing: all of the old lady’s grandchildren were present—except Third Brother Cong.

In past years, Third Brother Cong never showed up at New Year’s gatherings; the sisters had almost forgotten he existed.

But yesterday, the old lady had asked about him, and now everyone in the household knew he had been favored by Prince Jiaoshun and invited to the Nanxi Literary Gathering.

Even if he had been hidden before, he was now out in the open—he was the old lady’s own grandson. Why was he left out of the New Year’s Eve banquet?

Yingchun, though quiet and slow-witted, was Jia Cong’s own elder sister by the same father—closer to him than the other sisters.

These past few days, she had seen his conduct and abilities, and felt even more pity for him.

She too noticed his absence at the table, while her own mother acted as if nothing were amiss.

It was almost certainly intentional—Yingchun felt uneasy about it.

Tan Chun also suspected that Master Jia She and Lady Xing had always despised Jia Cong and had deliberately omitted him.

The old lady had never liked Jia Cong, so she chose not to bring it up, pretending ignorance to avoid awkwardness.

Realizing this, Tan Chun felt injustice on Jia Cong’s behalf—but she could do nothing.

Daiyu, sharp-witted and perceptive, knew Tan Chun had bonded with Jia Cong over calligraphy, and Yingchun was his own sister.

Seeing their expressions, she had no trouble guessing what they were thinking.

As everyone sat lost in their own thoughts, suddenly a maid announced from outside: “Prince Jiaoshun has sent an eunuch to deliver New Year’s Eve gifts to Third Master Cong, thanking him for the sutra he gifted.”

The entire table fell silent again; Jia Mu sighed inwardly—this wretched brat was never still.

In past years, this grandson never showed up during the New Year; she was glad not to see him.

Though he had made a splash yesterday, Jia Mu had seen far grander things—she didn’t take it seriously.

It certainly wouldn’t erase the years of resentment and disdain she held in her heart.

Today, seeing Jia Cong absent, she took it as normal; she knew perfectly well that this daughter-in-law despised him and would never give him a chance to shine.

So she went along with it, pretending to know nothing.

Now, Prince Jiaoshun had sent someone to deliver gifts to Jia Cong—Jia Mu could no longer pretend ignorance.

She turned to Lady Xing: “Why wasn’t he here today? Is he still in the Eastern Courtyard?”

Lady Xing was nearly driven mad—this bastard was becoming a ghost, appearing everywhere he shouldn’t; she must have owed him in a past life, and now he was haunting her, demanding repayment.

New book stage, dear readers, please collect and support.

(End of Chapter)