Volume Two The Quiet Affairs of the Mountain Household
Mount Wuyi was a thousand li away from Pujiang. Zhenzhen rode day and night, taking many days to reach the foot of the mountain. By then, her horse was utterly exhausted, and a fierce snowstorm raged in the mountains. Seeing the slippery mountain path and the horse’s inability to proceed, Zhenzhen left the horse at a farmer’s house at the base and shouldered her luggage to continue on foot.
Zhao Huaiyu had said that Mr. Wenqiao lived at the Woodcutter Inquiry Post on Yinping Peak. After asking for general directions at the foot of the mountain, Zhenzhen entered the mountains. Mount Wuyi, with its crimson cliffs and emerald waters, winding streams, and picturesque scenery, was originally breathtakingly beautiful. But now, in the depths of winter, with the snowstorm at its peak, the rugged mountain paths were treacherous, and Zhenzhen had no mind to admire the scenery. Following the Nine-Bend Stream, she saw a peak towering steeply, square and screen-like, which she guessed must be Yinping Peak. She began climbing with all her strength, feeling the steepness of the terrain and the dense, endless forests. She lost count of how many times she slipped and tumbled before reaching the mountainside. Looking around, she saw only misty clouds and water, with no sign of human presence.
Zhenzhen had been traveling alone for most of the day, and her food and water were nearly exhausted. Now cold and hungry, she faced snow over a foot deep, with no buildings or houses in sight. Glancing around, she noticed what seemed to be a cave not far away. Struggling forward, she hoped to take shelter from the wind and snow inside. But after a few steps, she felt dizzy and lightheaded, her knees giving way as she collapsed into this icy, crystalline world veiled in cold mist.
Her consciousness fading, on the verge of fainting, Zhenzhen suddenly heard a sharp cry and sensed a bird circling down from the sky, landing in front of her.
Slowly opening her eyes, her gradually clearing vision revealed a crane with a crimson crown and snow-white feathers. The crane had a slender, graceful neck and pristine plumage, with only its neck, tail, and feet in black. In its long beak, it held a branch of red plum blossoms, the flowers a vivid vermilion similar to its crimson crown. A few specks of snow rested on the petals, shimmering brilliantly against the red blossoms.
Holding the plum branch, the crane gazed quietly at Zhenzhen with its deep, luminous brown eyes, its expression profound and almost human. After a moment of mutual staring, the crane neither turned away nor retreated. Their eyes remained locked for a long while until Zhenzhen finally sighed and said, “Are you female or male? If you’re male, isn’t it a bit shameless to stare so boldly at a young woman?”
The crane remained silent but took a step forward, lowering its head to shake the snow from one of the plum blossoms onto Zhenzhen’s lips.
The cool, light specks landed on her nearly chapped, frozen lips. Instinctively, she pursed them, feeling as if kissed by the snow.
While Zhenzhen was still dazed, the crane dropped the plum branch, spread its wings with a cry, and began to dance. After a moment, it stretched its neck, spread its wings, and soared into the sky.
Zhenzhen lifted her gaze to follow its flight, but her head felt unbearably heavy again. Darkness enveloped her vision as she collapsed to the ground. Before losing consciousness, she faintly heard footsteps approaching—the soft sound of shoes treading on snow, occasionally punctuated by the snap of broken twigs. Step by step, the unhurried rhythm drew nearer.
When the person reached her, Zhenzhen mustered all her strength to open her eyes. Unable to lift her head, she could only see the visitor’s black wooden shoes adorned with cloud patterns and the hem of a wide, crane-feather-white cloak.
The figure in the crane-feather cloak stood silently before her but did not lower their head to speak. Zhenzhen, now without even the strength to utter a sound, closed her eyes and sank into a long, deep faint.Before Zhenzhen regained consciousness, she first caught the scent of delicate plum blossoms. Opening her bewildered eyes, she found herself lying fully clothed on a bed with four black-lacquered corner posts. Above the posts, slender wooden strips of the same color were crisscrossed to form a canopy in a large grid pattern, covered with fine, soft, and pure white mulberry paper. The canopy looked like floating clouds and mist.
Glancing around, she saw that three sides of the bed were also enclosed by mulberry paper screens, leaving only the side for getting in and out of the bed open, where a roll-up curtain of the same color hung. The curtain had bamboo ribs and was also faced with mulberry paper. It was divided into two panels that could be opened or closed independently. Outside the white curtain, candlelight filtered through, like warm sunlight illuminating the spring mist over a half-cliff. On each lacquered post hung a silvery-white tin vase, holding several branches of plum blossoms. Their sparse shadows slanted gracefully, and their subtle fragrance drifted and gathered in this pure, mist-like space, lingering and refusing to disperse.
The bed was furnished with cloth sheets and mulberry paper quilts, all exceptionally elegant, clean, soft, and warm. Turning in bed felt like embracing clouds, utterly silent. The pillow seemed to be stuffed with chrysanthemums, carrying the fresh scent of grass and wood.
Zhenzhen lifted the roll-up curtain, stepped down from the small footstool in front of the bed, and emerged from the plum blossom paper canopy. She saw a small, tall stand in front of the bed, carved into the shape of a small lotus leaf and decorated with green lacquer. It rose gracefully from its base, supporting a small bronze incense burner. Inside the burner, wisteria incense was being heated over a flame.
Marveling at the refined elegance of the place, Zhenzhen took a long while before shifting her gaze from the bedside to the window opposite.
By the window was a rattan chair, where a young man reclined half-asleep. His hair was tied with a soft cloth, and he wore a white Daoist robe with black trim as decoration. A crane-feather cloak partly covered his knees and partly flowed onto the floor like water. Resting his right hand on his forehead, he slept with his eyes closed, while his left hand held a book resting on the cloak.
Zhenzhen silently walked to his side and, by the light from a nearby lotus-shaped candlestick, made out the general outline of his features.
For a moment, all was still. The slanting shadows of plum branches, the spring mist over the half-cliff, the floating fragrance of lotus leaves—all quietly faded away. Outside the window, the cool moon hung like an eyebrow, while inside, Zhenzhen’s eyes rested quietly on this man as beautiful as moonlight. She slowly lowered herself, sitting sideways on the floor to the left of the rattan chair, leaning against it, propping her chin with her hand. Pressing her lips together to suppress a sigh that threatened to escape, she silently observed him—from his sharply defined eyebrows, the eyelashes casting shadows like cicada wings, the lips curved like a bowstring, to the slender fingers holding the book. She found every part of him beautiful, yet it was more than mere beauty. There was also an ethereal aura about him, untouched by the mundane world. Zhenzhen couldn’t help but wonder if, by drawing closer, she might catch the scent of grass and wood beneath his skin.
When she first awoke, Zhenzhen had been curious about her surroundings and eager to find someone to ask why she was here and what this place was. But now, having seen this man, she felt no urgency to wake him and ask questions. She dared not speak loudly, fearing she might disturb the figure in the painting. His peaceful slumber was a masterpiece; waking him would be a sin.
A sudden, abrupt growl from her stomach broke the silence of the room, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for a long time. Pressing her abdomen, she suddenly worried that the sound might have been heard by the man in the painting. Anxiously, she glanced at him, relieved to find him still sleeping with his eyes closed, unmoving.She continued to survey her surroundings and noticed a small crane-knee table standing beside the rattan chair—a low side table of similar height to the chair, with slender legs and a bulging middle section resembling bamboo joints. On the crane-knee table rested some cups and vessels, including a lidded white porcelain soup bowl. Beside the table stood a brazier, where date-pit charcoal glowed with flickering flames, and a kettle of water was still boiling atop it.
Zhenzhen walked over slowly, lifted the lid of the soup bowl, and found it filled with a pale yellow broth. She sniffed lightly and recognized it as chicken soup—clear, transparent, and still slightly warm. In the soup were some dough slices shaped like five-petaled plum blossoms, piled at the bottom of the bowl. Picking up a nearby spoon, she gently stirred them, and the plum blossom slices floated up and then settled back down, like a shower of petals sinking into an abyss—a truly beautiful sight.
Zhenzhen glanced at the still-sleeping man and thought this must be his midnight snack. Feeling somewhat disheartened, she set down the spoon. But then it occurred to her that she had clearly been rescued by him, and everything about him radiated the words "beautiful and kind-hearted." So, these plum blossom noodles must have been prepared by him for her to eat. With renewed delight, she picked up the spoon again and quickly finished the chicken soup and noodles.
After tidying up the soup bowl, Zhenzhen turned her attention to the teacup on the crane-knee table. The cup was transparent, as if carved from crystal, with a few honey-preserved flower buds at the bottom. At that moment, the kettle emitted a sound like wind rustling through pines or water flowing in a mountain stream. Zhenzhen waited until the water boiled, bubbling and churning, then lifted the kettle and poured a small amount into a teapot. After a brief pause, she lifted the teapot and poured the water into the teacup. The flower buds at the bottom were stirred by the hot water, swirling and unfurling in the cup as their petals bloomed one by one. They turned out to be fragrant wax plum blossoms with jade-like stamens and purple hearts, their outer petals the color of honeyed wax and their centers purple. The half-opened blossoms were elegant and exuded a rare fragrance that rose with the steam of the hot water. Wherever the wispy steam drifted, it carried the rich floral scent.
After drinking the wax plum blossom tea, Zhenzhen felt a comforting warmth in her heart. She put away the tea set and sat back down beside the rattan chair. Only then did she realize that the floor was warm, as if there were a fire beneath the bricks, providing a steady stream of heat that made the room as cozy as spring. It also made her completely forget the cold, desolate forest outside.
This warmth gradually made her eyelids heavy. Leaning against the rattan chair, she fell into a deep sleep, just like the man in the chair.
She was awakened by the cold. So cold that she sneezed before fully waking up. Startled by the sound she had made, she abruptly sat up and found herself in a cave, where a peasant woman was piling dry grass onto her.
The peasant woman appeared to be in her forties, neatly dressed and clean, but her face was cold and drawn. Seeing Zhenzhen awake, she did not stop her actions, continuing to pile the dry grass over Zhenzhen before sitting down near a burning pile of firewood. Only then did she say, "Stop sleeping. If I hadn’t found you, you would have frozen to death."
Zhenzhen looked around in confusion before finally asking the peasant woman, "Why am I here?"
The peasant woman replied, "If you don’t even know why you’re here, how would I know?"
Her tone was cold and harsh, with a hint of mockery. Annoyed, Zhenzhen retorted indignantly, "I was clearly sleeping in a fragrant and beautiful room, with a very handsome young man beside me."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they might sound inappropriate. The peasant woman’s disdainful gaze was already upon her: "How can young girls these days speak so openly about their spring dreams?"
(To be continued)
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