Love in Red Dust

The rain had eased slightly when Dingyi made her way back, riding her horse with the umbrella given by the prince slung over her shoulder.

The sky was pitch black by then, and the households along the street had lit their lamps. Passing by the windows, she tilted her head to examine the umbrella in the faint glow. It was of imperial make—yellow-brown cloth coated with tung oil, its ribs lighter and more delicate than ordinary ones. The belongings of nobles emphasized refinement; anything too crude would be beneath them to carry. Commoners like her, on the other hand, wouldn’t think twice about anything, be it an umbrella or even a basket over their heads as they roamed the streets.

Raindrops pattered against the canopy. Gripping the carved handle, she recalled the moment the Twelfth Master had pulled her close—she could still remember the warmth of his touch. Having spent years among the lowest rungs of society, she had no idea what the powerful members of the Imperial Clan were truly like. But as far as the Twelfth Master went, he embodied every good quality she could imagine, so much so that she couldn’t even find the right words to describe him.

Truthfully, his hearing impairment didn’t seem to hinder him much. He couldn’t hear the gossip behind his back, and whether it was praise or slander, none of it reached him. But the world must have felt lonely—no one to converse with face-to-face, likely left to sit in silence. The thought was rather sad.

If only she could enter his residence, Dingyi mused wistfully, twirling the umbrella handle. A girl’s attentiveness could be of use—she could keep him company when he was isolated, so he wouldn’t have to sit alone. A guard as devoted as her, capable of shielding him from danger and engaging in conversation—what more could he ask for? Unfortunately, he didn’t seem interested, and she couldn’t bring herself to impose. After all, he owed her nothing. Getting carried away just because someone showed her kindness would be shameless. At least there was this umbrella—like the operas sang, one act of kindness sowed the seeds for another. This back-and-forth meant there was at least one more chance to meet.

All in all, things had gone smoothly. They’d spoken today, deepening their familiarity, making it easier to approach him next time. If she wanted to follow him north, he was her only connection. The Seventh Prince was also heading to Ningguta, but that one was too dangerous—he’d nearly killed her several times. She’d rather walk there alone than recklessly approach Prince Xian’s Residence.

The clip-clop of hooves echoed as she entered the alleyway, where the sound of a chime struck—dong… dong… dong…—eerie in the pitch-black night. It wasn’t proper to beat gongs or clash cymbals so late, lest it disturb the neighbors. The next day would be livelier, with horn players practicing their tunes, wailing mournful dirges. Another group of monks would chant sutras and perform rituals—commoners’ funerals were no less extravagant than their weddings.

Dingyi led her horse inside, where her master and a few neighbors sat around the table talking. A single oil lamp lit the room, and large tea bowls sat on the table. Seeing her, they asked, “What took you so long? Ma Pijiang left ages ago, and you’re only just returning now?”

She wiped her face with a towel and replied, “He put on airs and refused to come, going on about bad luck and needing to send an umbrella to his son. I had no choice but to agree to make the trip for him.”

Xiazhi strolled to the doorway, arms crossed, and leaned against the frame, eyeing the umbrella. “Wasn’t that meant to be delivered? Why’d you bring it back?”

“Not that one,” she said. “Ma Pijiang’s son works as a cook in Prince Chun’s residence. I delivered it there, but got caught in the heavy rain on the way back and ended up stranded. By chance, I ran into the Twelfth Master, who kindly lent me this. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

Xiazhi sucked in a breath as if his teeth ached. “How’d you run into him again? That’s too much of a coincidence.”And what a coincidence—they even shared the same birthday. If someone spun it into a story, it could easily be turned into an opera. There was no need to explain the details to him, so she casually remarked, "When you deliver something to someone's residence, isn't it natural to run into them?"

Xiazhi kicked a puddle of mud outside the door. "They say noble families are as deep as the sea, but Prince Chun's Residence just looks like a small courtyard—you can meet them as soon as you go in... Let me tell you, making friends is just like a girl getting married—it’s all about matching social status. They’re nobility, and if we force ourselves on them, it won’t end well."

Dingyi shot him a glare. "If we hadn’t befriended them, you’d still be locked up in that dog kennel!" The retort left Xiazhi sulking, but she ignored him and turned to her master. "What happened with Ma Pijiang’s money in the end? How much did he ask for?"

Wu Changgeng tapped his pipe. "Was it you who suggested asking Da Gū Nǎinai for it?"

She blinked innocently. "Yeah, why let her off easy?"

"Other people’s family matters are none of a child’s business." Wu Changgeng coughed deliberately. "He did go to her, but Da Gū Nǎinai said she had no money to give—only her life. In the end, everyone chipped in. One tael wasn’t enough, so they added another string of cash to finally send him away. Poor Uncle Xi, crying here and there, completely at a loss."

Only crying after his wife died—what was he doing earlier? That Da Gū Nǎinai was truly ruthless, enough to make one’s teeth itch. "She’s just refusing to take responsibility! Has Da Nǎinai’s family not arrived yet? If they don’t come soon, once the coffin’s sealed, it’ll all be over."

"Her family’s in Fangshan. They’ve already been notified. The Xi family wanted to bury her quietly, but everyone objected, saying, ‘You can’t do this. A living, breathing girl married into your family and was bullied to death—you can’t just bury her without a word. Her brother, the captain, will smash your skull open.’" San Qingzi spoke with flying spit. "Uncle Xi is the type who can’t handle pressure. After thinking it over, he realized there’d be no one to mediate if they came for revenge later. So, wiping his tears, he set up the benches and asked everyone to help lift the coffin."

San Qingzi’s wife sighed, rubbing her belly. "Women suffer. Once you marry into a household, there are wolves in front and tigers behind. If you’ve fallen on hard times, you should just live quietly, but then comes a meddling sister-in-law. Aunt Xi was such a kind person, always chatting with everyone when she came and went. Who’d have thought she’d end up like this? She was truly pushed to the brink."

San Qingzi muttered, "That’s why I say you women are narrow-minded. What’s the big deal? She dug her own grave—how pathetic is that?"

Dingyi looked outside. The rain had stopped, and the damp paper tassels on the Xi family’s door hung limply. Inside, shadows moved about—neighbors helping with the arrangements. That troublemaker was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding. Not that anyone could do anything to her now. They could only hope her family would come to demand justice. There was no bringing the dead back, but at least they could give her a good beating to vent their anger.Stretching their necks in anticipation, they never thought their hopes would actually come true. A swarm of soldiers poured through the main gate, all with their trousers tied at the ankles and holding torches, standing tall and straight—clearly men of official standing. Behind them came a burly middle-aged man with a thick beard shaved clean, leaving only a shadow of stubble on his chin. Clutching the hilt of his waist saber, he strode purposefully toward Uncle Xi’s house. Perhaps knowing his sister had died under suspicious circumstances, the women of the family had also come—mourning knew no bounds, and the usual restrictions on women leaving the home didn’t apply. Judging by their attire, they were the wife of the battalion commander and the aunts. Before even entering the house, they began wailing at the top of their lungs.

The sound of weeping filled the air instantly, and neighbors with softer hearts couldn’t help but shed tears alongside them. Dingyi and San Qingzi, the couple, squeezed their way in to see. The battalion commander stood before the coffin, trembling all over as he stared at the needle marks on Da Nǎinai’s neck. He turned and grabbed Uncle Xi by the collar, his voice twisted with rage, shaking him violently. “What did you do to our aunt? What did you do?” With that, he swung a fist at him. “I’ll beat you to death, you traitor! Back then, how you came knocking on our door, begging—not for the elder sister but the younger one… You got what you asked for, and this is how she ends up! Why don’t you just die? How dare you still draw breath?”

The battalion commander had thrown all decorum to the wind, his fists flying like millstones. No one dared to intervene—a military man had strength to spare. As for Uncle Xi, he cowered, covering his head. He was useless, and his wife had died in misery—he deserved this beating. The battalion commander struck hard, and before long, Uncle Xi was battered black and blue, kneeling before Da Nǎinai’s coffin and weeping, banging his head against the wooden planks. “You’ve gone and left me behind, just like that, without a care. But what about me? How am I supposed to answer for this? Take me with you—what’s the point of me living anymore? What’s left for me?”

Some troublemakers in the courtyard had somehow dug up Da Gū Nǎinai and pushed her in front of the battalion commander. “You were always picking on Da Nǎinai, driving her to slit her own throat. Now that her brother’s here, why don’t you say something, Da Gū Nǎinai?”

Hearing the insinuation in those words, the battalion commander’s eyes blazed. His sister had been a proud woman—when she returned to her family, aside from asking for help, she never spoke a word of complaint. So it turned out she had been tormented by this sister-in-law until life became unbearable. His foolish sister—if she couldn’t argue or fight, why hadn’t she come home for help? A worthless creature like this could have been tied up and thrown into a pond to end it all—why sacrifice her own life? His eyes burning with fury, he ground his teeth and asked, “Our aunt died because of you—are you happy now?”

Da Gū Nǎinai was no pushover either. Unfazed, she retorted, “That’s unfair, sir. The authorities have already examined the scene—Da Nǎinai took her own life, and no one else is to blame. You’re a man of official standing; you must uphold reason. No one held a knife to her throat—she couldn’t see past her own troubles. Who can she blame for that? Don’t think you can bully us widows and orphans just because you’re a man.”

Her words left the battalion commander at a loss. He couldn’t lay hands on her now, but it didn’t matter—his wife and the other aunts were still there. The battalion commander’s wife came from a lower banner family and was known for her fiery temper. Stirring trouble and making life difficult for others were skills she’d brought from her maiden home. Though she and her sister-in-law had never gotten along before, now that tragedy had struck, blood was thicker than water—she couldn’t let her kin be wronged without consequence. Without a word, she seized Da Gū Nǎinai by the topknot and barked at those around her, “What are you all standing around for? Hit her!”So a flurry of punches and kicks ensued, and Da Gū Nǎinai was beaten until she wailed for her parents. When women resort to physical fights, pulling hair and tearing clothes are their ultimate moves. Da Gū Nǎinai couldn’t handle so many at once and soon found herself in tattered clothes, rolling on the ground, her pale belly fully exposed. The wife of the Battalion Commander stepped on her, sneering sarcastically, “Look at this! Our dear aunt has been driven to the brink, yet she’s managed to keep herself plump! Widowed and living like a bedraggled sparrow, yet she returns to her maiden home acting like the Empress Dowager. Someone, bring me the measuring tape! Since our aunt has no children, I’ll have to find someone to mourn her in sackcloth and filial piety.” As she spoke, she gritted her teeth and dragged the woman under the coffin, forcing her to kowtow. “Wail for the dead, and wail hard! You’ll have your turn carrying the funeral banner and smashing the bowl later. Did you think you could get away with killing someone? Do you take the Dings for pushovers?”

What a chaotic scene! Da Gū Nǎinai had two children, who shrieked for their mother in shrill voices. Onlookers remarked, “These two brats are no good either. Like mother, like children—cut from the same cloth.”

At first, everyone was furious, thinking Da Gū Nǎinai deserved punishment. But seeing her beaten like this, they couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. Dingyi couldn’t bear to watch any longer—this beating might actually kill her. She glanced at Xiazhi and asked, “Are they not planning to stop?”

Xiazhi picked his teeth and said, “They need to vent their anger. After all, a life was lost. This wasn’t the first or second quarrel—she’s been nitpicking every single day. Why should they tolerate it? They don’t rely on her for food. I wouldn’t stand it either.”

Dingyi rubbed her hands together. “Don’t let them kill her. If someone dies, everyone in this courtyard is under Shuntian Prefecture’s jurisdiction.”

Xiazhi waved his hand dismissively. “She won’t die. There’s no blood—just some tearing and pulling. It won’t kill her. Besides, even if she dies, it’s no big deal. The master of the house is a Battalion Commander. If the sky falls, he’ll hold it up.”

With that, Dingyi stopped worrying and took a couple of steps back, planning to slip away quietly. Just as she reached the door, she ran into the funeral director, who said, “Shu, we’ve got work. The Battalion Commander wants another group of horn players. Are you willing to join? Same as usual—just play the horn for half a day, and you’ll get twenty-four coppers.”

Dingyi had done this before when she was out of work—a little extra income. She was good at playing the horn, especially the lively “Joyful Rush” at weddings. She could play with such flair in one breath that all the local musicians knew her.

It wasn’t a respectable reputation, and it was rather embarrassing. But people live to earn money. She didn’t see herself as a woman yet—she didn’t have the luxury. She worked hard now so that one day she could wear skirts and put up her hair. She responded, “I’ll ask my master for permission. Save me a spot—I’ll come.”