Chapter 172: Treading Snow, Reviving Old Affection

Panxiang Temple, Abbot Abbess Xiushan's meditation chamber.

Sister Miao Yu's face bore concern as she said, "Master, can you truly believe that Jinghui is his former maid, just because of a few words from him?"

Abbot Abbess Xiushan replied, "That young master Jia radiates sincerity—anyone can see how deeply he cares for Jinghui. And Jinghui truly was his former maid."

Sister Miao Yu's heart grew cold at this; she knew her master excelled in primordial divine numerology and possessed extraordinary wisdom—she would not speak so definitively without firm conviction.

"The day after he arrived at the temple, I wrote to my sister at the Niu Ni Temple in Shend Jing, asking her to investigate. I received her reply yesterday."

"The letter confirms that this young master Jia is indeed a son of Lady Rongguo Mansion, and the top scorer in the Yongzhou provincial examination, famed throughout Shend Jing for his mastery of poetry and prose, with considerable renown even in Jin Ling."

"Two years ago, his personal maid Zhi Shao was driven to drown herself by villains—exactly as Jinghui did back then. This is unquestionably true, without a shadow of doubt."

"Master, then is he here to take Jinghui away?"

"Jinghui was always of the mortal world—how could she spend her whole life beside oil lamps and ancient Buddhas? Her karmic ties run deep; that young master Jia is her true destiny. Of course she must go with him."

Yet Jia Cong had unexpectedly found Zhi Shao in Gusu, and now he could not bring her back to the capital—he could only remain in the south for a while longer.

Sister Miao Yu's heart sank at this.

Among the old servants of the Jia household still in Jin Ling, such as Jin Cai, reverence for this Third Master Jia had grown ever deeper.

As for why the Third Master had traveled so far to a nun's temple, though it seemed odd, Jin Cai dared not inquire—she merely selected a sharp-witted boy to carry a letter to Gusu.

This exquisitely crafted water-jade perfume had now swept through the inner quarters of Shend Jing 's noble, official, and wealthy merchant families, becoming a rare treasure in the hands of ladies and young misses.

They asked Jia Cong's senior maid, Miss Wu'er, and learned that the Third Master was currently at Panxiang Temple in Gusu.

Having spent two years in close companionship, Sister Miao Yu had grown deeply attached to Jinghui; now that she heard Jinghui would ultimately be taken away by that Jia man, her heart ached, and her dislike for Jia Cong deepened.

Qu Qu Hongxiu's letter did carry good news: the Japanese water-jade vases Jia Cong had sent back were used to launch a line of premium perfumes.

She also inquired after his situation in Jin Ling, when he would return to the capital, and other trivial matters.

The tone of her letter suggested these trivial matters were, in truth, her real purpose in writing.

She had always known this Third Master Jia from Shend Jing was exceptionally capable—but never imagined he could reach such extraordinary heights.

She had been solitary since childhood, always beside oil lamps and ancient Buddhas; that year, when her master rescued Jinghui on the journey away from the capital, she gained a peer—a younger sister. Jinghui was beautiful and gifted, and Sister Miao Yu regarded her as a kindred spirit.

Though Qu Qu Hongxiu had raised the price of the water-jade-vase perfumes to four times their original cost, as per Jia Cong's instructions, they still sold out instantly upon display.

She was born into a Gusu official family, frail since childhood; her family had bought many substitute bodies for her, all useless—until she herself entered the monastic life at Panxiang Temple, and finally recovered.

Now the Third Master still holds an official post; this letter from Shend Jing might contain important court affairs—Jin Cai dared not neglect it.

Yesterday, the old Jia residence in Jin Ling sent a letter; after reading it, Jia Cong learned it was from Qu Qu Hongxiu.

And recent major events within Jin Ling's walls—rumor says most were orchestrated by this Third Master Jia. When the old Duke was his age, no one had ever heard of such feats.

He also wrote another letter to Master Qian Bin, sending it back to Jin Ling with a boy, asking Master Qian Bin to help gather and purchase Japanese water-jade vases.

These past days, Jia Cong had built a formidable literary reputation across Jin Ling and the six prefectures and one commandery of the south—long since reaching the ears of old servants like Jin Cai.

…

The business of Xiu Niang's Perfume Shop had begun merely as a livelihood for orphans, arranged by him and Qu Qu Hongxiu—but now it had clearly taken shape.

Since ancient times, an official career has been perilous, fortune and misfortune unpredictable; to base all one's future and safety upon it is unwise. But Xiu Niang's Perfume Shop may one day provide many avenues of retreat.

…

Over these past years, the Great Zhou's weather had grown increasingly frigid; in southern regions like Gusu, five or six heavy snowfalls had come since winter began—something unseen in over a decade.

A fierce north wind blew all night; Jia Cong rose early and looked out the window—outside lay a blinding white expanse. Snow had piled half a palm high around the courtyard well and across the ground.

The Mount Xuanmu Mountains were richest in plum blossoms, though the best place to view them was the Plumfall Slope on the mountain's northern side.

Yet many plum trees had been planted around Panxiang Temple; at a glance, light snow fluttered, cold wind carried fragrant blossoms, jade trees piled with snow, each scene uniquely elegant.

Though he was only temporarily residing in Gusu, he never skipped his daily calligraphy practice. After writing a few sheets at random, he heard footsteps crunching through snow outside.

The south was far damper and colder than the north; northern snow was powdery, while in the watery south, snow hardened into translucent ice, chilling to the bone.

Through the window, along the snow-laden path, Jia Cong saw Jinghui carrying a bamboo basket, her wide Buddhist robes fluttering like celestial wings in the cold wind, the fabric swirling to reveal her slender, graceful figure.

Seeing her enter the small courtyard, Jia Cong's heart leapt—he hurried to open the door and stepped out to greet her.

Since arriving at Panxiang Temple, Zhen Ying Lady Lian had thrived; from Abbess Abbess Xiushan down, all held her in high regard, allowing her free access to the inner halls. Last night she had slept again in Jinghui's room.

Jia Cong smiled: "Why are you here? Where's Zhen Ying Lady Lian?"

"She's still asleep. I'm used to rising early. Your copied scroll of 'The Buddha's Sutra on the Emptiness of the Five Aggregates'—my master loves it."

"Yesterday, a devout follower delivered a cartload of bamboo charcoal to the temple. The weather's turned bitterly cold; my master feared you hadn't bought enough firewood, so she sent me to bring you some."

Jia Cong saw the bamboo charcoal neatly stacked in layers within the basket, as if Jinghui had personally selected each piece; her small hand gripping the basket, reddened by the cold wind.

He wanted to reach out and warm her hand—he had done so often back at Donglu Courtyard—but now he held back; if he frightened her away, it would be hard to coax her back.

Abbess Abbess Xiushan was certain Jinghui was Jia Cong's lost maid, and knew he would eventually take her away. As her teacher, she hoped Jinghui might find true happiness.

Lately, she had often sent Jinghui to deliver things; since medicine and acupuncture had failed, she hoped more time together might help Jinghui recover her memories.

Jia Cong ushered Jinghui inside, added more bamboo charcoal to the brazier, and soon the room grew warmly snug.

He recalled how, back at Donglu Courtyard, she had risen early every day, bustling about, attending to his grooming—though she had forgotten everything, her habit of rising early remained unchanged.

Gazing at the neatly stacked bamboo charcoal, he thought of those winters in Donglu Courtyard, when they could only burn stinking firewood for warmth; each time she and Wang Wang Shanbao's wife begged for bamboo charcoal, they returned empty-handed.

Thinking of this, Jia Cong's heart surged—he would never again let her endure such a life.

He then saw Jinghui standing before his desk, studying the characters he had written that morning, her lips curved in a faint smile as she softly recited them aloud.

Stream water washes frozen petals clean, I rise early, seeking poetry.

Where can I find Xi Shi? Willows droop, their hair-like branches sighing.

Silver spoons gleam on algal ceilings, plum-scented gardens, ten thousand tiles like jade in uneven rows.

One tune of Le Tian's verse—wealth and splendor, as when Wu Wang reigned.

Because Abbess Abbess Xiushan had written to Shend Jing to inquire about Jia Cong and Zhi Shao, everyone at Panxiang Temple now knew Jia Cong's poetic fame was extraordinary—he had written two verses that had stirred all of the south.

Even Xing Xing Xiuyan, who often came to the temple to study and write with Sister Miao Yu, now looked at Jia Cong with admiration—but Sister Miao Yu called him frivolous and vulgar, a disgrace to such fine verses.

She had always resented Jia Cong's plan to take Jinghui away; though she realized he might not be wrong, the thought of Jinghui leaving soon filled her with sorrow—and she always blamed him for it.

The third volume's story is nearing its end; this volume lays the foundation for the tale to follow. Thank you, dear readers, for your continued support.

(End of Chapter)