In Studio of Autumn Refreshing, a Crabapple Club Is Formed by Chance; In Alpinia Park, Chrysanthemum Themes Are Planned by Night

That year, Jia Zheng was again appointed provincial examiner, and the twentieth of the Eighth Month was fixed for his departure. After paying his respects at the ancestral shrine and to Lady Dowager, he set out on his journey, with Baoyu and the other young men escorting him as far as the Pavilion of Parting Tears.

But let us not dwell on affairs outside after Jia Zheng had gone. Suffice it to say that Baoyu, left to himself, wandered daily about the garden, idling away his time in utter leisure. One day, as he was feeling particularly dull, Cuimo entered carrying a decorative note and handed it to him. Baoyu said: “I was just about to go and see how our third sister is—I heard she was a little better, and here you come.” Cuimo replied: “Miss is quite recovered; she took no medicine today, only a slight chill.” Baoyu then unfolded the note and read:

Your younger sister, Tanchun, respectfully submits this to her second brother:

The other day, after rain, the sky cleared and the moon shone like washed silver. Loath to let such a rare scene pass without enjoyment, I could not bear to sleep, and lingered beneath the plane trees by the balustrade until the third watch—only to catch a chill from the wind and dew. Yesterday you were kind enough to call in person, and sent servants repeatedly to inquire after me, and also honored me with fresh lychees and a rubbing of Yan Zhenqing’s calligraphy—how thoughtful and generous!

Now, as I sit at my desk or lean on my bed in quiet meditation, I think of how the ancients, even amid the clamor of fame and profit, would seek out some secluded spot among hills and streams, invite nearby friends, welcome distant guests, and make sure to gather two or three kindred spirits—now founding a poetry forum, now opening a versifiers’ club. Though but a passing whim, such gatherings have become tales for all ages. I, though untalented, dwell among these hills and waters, and I admire the artistry of Cousin Xue and Cousin Lin. The breeze-swept courts and moonlit pavilions—what a pity they have not yet gathered poets; the apricot blossoms by the creek and peach trees by the hedges—why not raise our cups there? Who says the lofty talent of Lotus Society belongs only to men? Let us rather turn the elegant gatherings of East Mountain into a ladies’ affair.

If you will come through the snow, I will sweep the flowers and await you. This I respectfully offer.

Baoyu read this and clapped his hands with delight: “Now that is refinement—it’s our third sister! I’ll go discuss it at once.” So saying, he set off, with Cuimo following. As they reached the Brimming Fragrance Pavilion, a matron on duty at the rear gate approached with a note in her hand. Seeing Baoyu, she met him and said: “Master Yun sends his respects; he is waiting at the back gate and asked me to deliver this.” Baoyu opened it and read:

Your unworthy son, Jia Yun, respectfully wishes his father great fortune and peace. Ever since receiving the favor of being acknowledged as your son, I have thought night and day how to show my filial devotion, but could find no way. Lately, being in charge of procuring flowers and plants, thanks to your noble influence, I have come to know many gardeners and famous gardens. Suddenly I came upon a rare kind of white crabapple, and by every means managed to obtain only two pots. If you, Father, would regard me as your true son, pray keep them for your enjoyment. Because of the summer heat, and fearing it might inconvenience the young ladies in the garden, I dare not appear before you in person. I send this letter to convey my respects, and kowtow to you.

Your son, Yun, on his knees.

Baoyu laughed: “Is he the only one? Anyone else?” The matron said: “There are also two pots of flowers.” Baoyu said: “Go and tell him I understand; I appreciate his thoughtfulness. Send the flowers to my room.” With that, he continued on with Cuimo to Studio of Autumn Refreshing, where he found Baochai, Daiyu, Yingchun, and Xichun already assembled.

When they saw him enter, they all laughed: “Here comes another one.” Tanchun laughed: “I’m no great connoisseur, but I suddenly had an idea and wrote a few notes to try it out—and look, everyone has come.” Baoyu laughed: “What a pity we didn’t start this sooner! We should have founded a club long ago.” Daiyu said: “You go ahead and start your club—don’t count me in; I dare not.” Yingchun laughed: “If you don’t dare, who would?” Baoyu said: “This is serious business; we should all be keen, not push and pull. Let each speak his or her mind and we’ll decide together. Cousin Bao, give us an idea; Cousin Lin, say something too.” Baochai said: “Why the hurry? Not everyone is here yet.” Before she finished, Li Wan arrived, and entering, she laughed: “Very elegant! If you’re starting a poetry club, I volunteer to be the director. I had the same idea in the spring, but thinking I can’t write verse, I didn’t want to meddle, so I forgot to mention it. Now that our third sister is keen, let me help you get it going.”

Daiyu said: “Since we are determined to start a club, we are all poets now; we should drop these ‘sister’ and ‘sister-in-law’ titles and find something more refined.” Li Wan said: “Exactly—why not each choose a literary name, so we can address each other with elegance? I shall call myself ‘Old Farmer of Rice Fragrance’—no one else take that.” Tanchun laughed: “Then I’ll be ‘Autumn-Refreshing Layman.’” Baoyu said: “‘Layman’ and ‘Master’ are not quite right—too fussy. There are plenty of plane trees and banana plants here; better to take one of those for a name.” Tanchun laughed: “I have it—I love banana plants most, so I’ll be ‘Banana Guest.’” Everyone agreed it was original and charming. Daiyu laughed: “Quick, catch her and stew her for wine!” They looked puzzled, and Daiyu explained: “The ancients tell of covering a deer with banana leaves. She calls herself ‘Banana Guest’—isn’t she a deer? Let’s have venison!” Everyone laughed. Tanchun then laughed and said: “Don’t think you can get away with sharp words—I’ve already thought of an excellent name for you.” She turned to the others: “In old times, the ladies Ehuang and Nüying wept on bamboo and left their tears as spots, hence the name ‘Xiangfei bamboo.’ Now she lives in Xiaoxiang Pavilion, and she loves to weep; when she gets a husband named Lin, those bamboos will turn spotted too. Let us all call her ‘Xiaoxiang Consort.’” They all clapped and said it was perfect. Lin Daiyu hung her head in silence. Li Wan laughed: “I have long thought of a good one for Cousin Xue—also three characters.” Yingchun and Xichun asked what it was. Li Wan said: “I confer on her the title ‘Alpinia Lord’—what do you think?” Tanchun said: “Excellent.” Baoyu said: “And me? Won’t you think of one for me?” Baochai laughed: “Yours is already made—‘Busy-for-Nothing’—nothing could be more apt.” Li Wan said: “Better keep your old name ‘Lord of the Crimson Grotto’—that will do.” Baoyu laughed: “Childish stuff—don’t bring it up.” Tanchun said: “You already have too many names; why add more? Just answer to whatever we choose to call you.” Baochai said: “Let me give you one. It’s very commonplace, but it fits you best. The rarest things in the world are riches and leisure, and rarely do they come together—yet you have both. So I’ll call you ‘The Idle Rich.’” Baoyu laughed: “I don’t deserve it—call me anything you like.” Li Wan said: “What about our second and fourth sisters?” Yingchun said: “We can’t really write poetry—why bother with names?” Tanchun said: “Still, you should have one.” Baochai said: “She lives at Purple Caltrop Isle—call her ‘Water Caltrop’; and the fourth lives at Lotus Pavilion—call her ‘Lotus Root.’ That’s all.”

Li Wan said: “That’s best. Now, since I am the eldest, you must all follow my plan and it will please everyone. The seven of us form the club; but our second and fourth sisters and I cannot write verse, so we three must be excused. Each of us will take on a separate duty.” Tanchun laughed: “Now that we have elegant names, if we still use ‘you’ and ‘I,’ we might as well not have them. When we break the rules, we must set penalties.” Li Wan said: “Once the club is established, we’ll set penalties. My place is large, so we’ll meet there. Though I can’t write, if I play host to you poets, I’ll become refined by association. If I am to be the president, I cannot do it alone; we need two vice-presidents. Let Water Caltrop and Lotus Root be our examiners—one to set topics and rhymes, the other to copy and supervise. It’s not that we three will never write; if the topic and rhyme are easy, we may join in. But you four are bound to write every time. If you agree, we start; if not, I dare not be a hanger-on.” Yingchun and Xichun, who had little love for poetry and knew that Xue and Lin excelled, were delighted with this arrangement and both said: “Just right.” Tanchun and the others understood, and seeing them content, could not insist otherwise, so they agreed. Tanchun laughed: “It’s fine, but it’s amusing that I started the idea and now you three are put in charge of me.” Baoyu said: “Then let’s go to Rice Fragrance Village.” Li Wan said: “Always in a hurry—today is only for discussion; wait till I send out the invitations.” Baochai said: “We should also decide how often to meet.” Tanchun said: “If we meet too often, it becomes tiresome—two or three times a month at most.” Baochai nodded: “Twice a month is enough—fixed dates, rain or shine. Besides those, if anyone feels inspired, we could add an extra session at either place—that would be lively and fun.” Everyone agreed.

Tanchun said: “Since I initiated this, I ought to be the first host, to match my enthusiasm.” Li Wan said: “Then tomorrow you host the first session—how about it?” Tanchun said: “Why tomorrow? Today is fine. You set the topic, Water Caltrop sets the rhyme, and Lotus Root supervises.” Yingchun said: “I think rather than one person deciding, we should draw lots to be fair.” Li Wan said: “When I came, I saw two pots of white crabapple being brought in—lovely flowers. Why not write on them?” Yingchun said: “We haven’t even seen them yet—write first?” Baochai said: “They are white crabapples; need we see them to write? The poems of old were often inspired by imagination. If we had to see everything first, there would be no such poems today.” Yingchun said: “Then let me set the rhyme.” She went to the bookcase, pulled out a poetry anthology, flipped it open, and it fell on a seven-character regulated verse. She showed it to the others, and they all agreed to write a seven-character regulated poem. Yingchun closed the book and told a little maid: “Say any character that comes to mind.” The maid, leaning by the door, said “door.” Yingchun said: “Then the rhyme is ‘door’—the thirteenth rhyme category, with ‘door’ as the first rhyme.” She then asked for the rhyme-box, opened the drawer for the thirteenth rhyme, and told the maid to pick four slips at random. The maid picked “basin,” “soul,” “trace,” and “dusk.” Baoyu said: “Those rhymes—‘basin’ and ‘door’—are not easy!”

Servant Shu laid out four sets of paper and brushes, and they all fell silent, each deep in thought. Only Daiyu either stroked the plane tree, gazed at the autumn scenery, or chatted and laughed with the maids. Yingchun ordered a “Dream-Sweet Incense” stick to be lit—it was only three inches long, as thick as a lampwick, and burned quickly, so the time limit was until it burnt out; if anyone failed to finish, they would be penalized. Soon Tanchun had her poem, wrote it out, revised it a little, and handed it to Yingchun. She then asked Baochai: “Alpinia Lord, have you finished?” Baochai said: “I have one, but it’s not good.” Baoyu paced on the veranda with his hands behind his back, and said to Daiyu: “Listen—they all have theirs.” Daiyu said: “Don’t mind me.” Baoyu saw Baochai transcribe hers and exclaimed: “Oh no! The incense is down to an inch, and I have only four lines.” He said to Daiyu: “The incense is nearly done—why do you keep crouching on that damp floor?” Daiyu paid no attention. Baoyu said: “I can’t wait for you—write something, good or bad.” He went to the desk and wrote his own. Li Wan said: “We’ll read the poems now; if anyone hasn’t handed in by the time we finish, there will be a penalty.” Baoyu said: “Old Farmer, though you can’t write, you can judge well and fairly—you decide the ranking, and we’ll all accept it.” Everyone agreed. So they first read Tanchun’s draft:

White Crabapple
With rhymes “door, basin, soul, trace, dusk”

Slanting sun on cold grass by the layered gate,
Mossy green spreads over the rain-wet crate.
Jade is her spirit, yet less pure than she;
Snow her flesh and bones, yet less enthralling be.
A tender heart, a fragile, charming grace,
Her shadow at midnight bears the moon’s trace.
Say not the white immortal can take flight—
She keeps me company in the twilight light.

Next they read Baochai’s:

I guard her fragrant grace—by day the door is shut;
With my own hands I fetch the jar to water mossy pot.
Washed of rouge, her autumn shadow on the stair;
Called by frost and dew, her spirit on the chilled stone there.
Utmost plainness shows her flower more fair;
Too much sorrow—how can jade remain without a stain?
To requite the White God, with purity she glows;
Silent and erect, she waits till daylight goes.

Li Wan laughed: “Truly the Alpinia Lord.” Then they looked at Baoyu’s:

Her autumn paleness faintly mirrors the layered gate,
Seven clusters heaped like snow that fills the crate.
Like the fair Yang after bathing, ice her shade;
Like Xi Shi clasping her heart, jade her soul is made.
Morning wind cannot dispel a thousand griefs;
Overnight rain adds another tear-mark trace.
Leaning alone by painted rail, as if with feeling,
She hears the washing-block’s sad beat and flute’s farewell at dusk.

All read these, and Baoyu said Tanchun’s was best. Li Wan was about to praise Baochai’s as having dignity, but they urged Daiyu to finish. Daiyu said: “Have you all done?” She took up her brush, wrote at one go, and tossed it to them. Li Wan and the others looked and saw:

Half rolling the bamboo blind, half closing the door,
Crushed ice for earth, jade for the flower-pot.

At this line, Baoyu applauded first: “Where did that come from?” Then they read on:

She steals three parts of whiteness from pear blossoms,
Borrows one wisp of soul from plum blossoms.

Everyone exclaimed in admiration: “Truly a different mind!” Then they read:

The moon-grotto immortal sews her white silk robe;
The autumn-grieving maiden wipes her tear-stains.
Shy and silent—to whom can she confide?
Weary, leaning against the west wind, night already falls.

They all said this was the finest. Li Wan said: “In terms of elegance and originality, this is the best; but for depth and classic restraint, the Alpinia Lord’s wins.” Tanchun said: “That’s fair; the Xiaoxiang Consort comes second.” Li Wan said: “The Happy Red Prince is last—do you accept that?” Baoyu said: “Mine was poor—you judged most fairly.” Then he smiled: “But I think the Alpinia and Xiaoxiang poems should be reconsidered.” Li Wan said: “My decision stands—it’s not for you to argue. Anyone who protests further will be penalized.” Baoyu had to give in. Li Wan said: “From now on, we meet on the second and sixteenth of each month; I shall set the topics and rhymes. If any of you feel like extra sessions on other days, you are free to arrange them—even every day if you like, I won’t interfere. But on the fixed days, you must come to my place.” Baoyu said: “We must choose a name for the club.” Tanchun said: “Too vulgar is bad; too new and eccentric is also bad. Since we began with crabapple poems, let’s call it the ‘Crabapple Club.’ Though plain, it is apt because of the occasion.” After further discussion and some light refreshments, they all dispersed—some returning home, others to Lady Dowager or Lady Wang. For the moment, nothing more was said.

Now Xiren, seeing Baoyu take the note and hurry off with Cuimo, did not know what was afoot. Later, a matron from the rear gate brought in two pots of crabapple. Xiren asked where they came from, and the matron told her the story. Xiren then had them placed, offered the matrons seats in the servants’ room, went to her own room, weighed out six mace of silver and three hundred coppers, and brought them to the women, saying: “This silver is for the porters; and this cash is for you to buy some wine.” The matrons rose, beaming, and thanked her profusely, but at first refused; seeing Xiren insisted, they took the gifts. Xiren added: “Are there any pages on duty at the rear gate?” The matrons answered: “There are four every day, reserved for errands. If you have any, just tell us.” Xiren said: “It’s nothing much. Today Baoyu wants to send something to Miss Shi at the little marquis’s house. Since you’re here, you might as well go out and tell the pages to hire a cart. When you come back, collect the money here—no need to trouble the front.” The matrons agreed and left.

Xiren returned to her room to prepare some things to send to Xiangyun. She noticed an empty tray on the shelf and asked: “Where is that white agate dish with the spiral pattern?” The others looked at each other and could not remember. After a while, Qingwen laughed: “It was sent with lychees to Miss Tan—not returned yet.” Xiren said: “We have plenty of ordinary dishes—why take that one?” Qingwen said: “That’s what I said. But he insisted that dish would look better with fresh lychees. I delivered it, and Miss Tan liked it too, so she kept it with the dish. Besides, the pair of linked vases on the top shelf haven’t been brought back either.” Qiwen laughed: “Speaking of vases, it reminds me of a joke. Our Baoyu, when he gets a filial impulse, goes all out. One day he saw garden osmanthus, broke two branches, intending to put them in a vase. But then he thought: these flowers are freshly opened in our own garden, I dare not enjoy them first. So he took down that pair of vases, filled them with water, arranged the flowers, and sent someone—me, as it happened—to present one to the old lady and one to Lady Wang. The old lady was so delighted she told everyone: ‘Baoyu is truly filial—he thinks of even a single flower for me. And others complain I spoil him.’ You know she rarely speaks to me, but that day she gave me several hundred coppers, saying I looked frail and pitiable. Such unexpected luck—the money is small, but the honor is great. When I went to Lady Wang, she was busy rummaging through old clothes with the Second Mistress and Concubines Zhao and Zhou, looking for some of her youthful colors to give to someone. But as soon as she saw the flowers, she forgot the clothes and admired them. The Second Mistress chimed in, praising Baoyu’s filial piety and good sense, spinning a whole wagonload of talk. Before everyone, Lady Wang felt honored and could shut their mouths. She was so pleased she gave me two of those ready-made garments. The clothes themselves are nothing—we get them every year—but the favor was precious.” Qingwen laughed: “Bah! Ignorant creature! She gave the best to others and the leftovers to you, and you strut about as if honored.” Qiwen said: “Whether leftovers or not, it was still Lady Wang’s kindness.” Qingwen said: “If it were me, I’d refuse. If they were someone else’s leftovers, well enough. But we’re all in the same house—who is nobler than whom? Giving the good ones to her and the leftovers to me—I’d rather not have them, even if it offends her.” Qiwen asked: “To whom in this house did she give the best? I was sick a few days and went home; I don’t know. Dear sister, tell me.” Qingwen said: “If I tell you, would you go and return the clothes?” Qiwen laughed: “Nonsense—I just want to hear for fun. Even if they were given to the dog of this house, I’ll still be thankful for her kindness; I don’t care about the rest.” All laughed: “A witty insult—she did give them to that spotted foreign hound, didn’t she?” Xiren laughed: “You foul-mouthed creatures! The moment you get a chance, you mock me. I wonder how you’ll die one day.” Qiwen laughed: “So it was you, sister—I really didn’t know. I apologize.” Xiren said: “Enough showing off. Which of you will go fetch that dish?” Sheyue said: “The vases should be collected too. In the old lady’s room it’s all right, but Lady Wang’s place is crowded and busy. The others don’t matter, but Concubine Zhao and her lot, seeing things from this room, might damage them out of spite. Lady Wang doesn’t pay much attention, so better to bring them back early.” Qingwen put down her needlework: “True—I’ll fetch them.” Qiwen laughed: “Let me go; you go for the dish.” Qingwen laughed: “I insist on going. You’ve all got your lucky turns—can’t I have one?” Sheyue said: “Qiwen only got a set of clothes once; how could you be just as lucky today?” Qingwen sneered: “Maybe I won’t find clothes, but perhaps Lady Wang might see my diligence and out of her personal funds give me two taels a month—who knows?” She added with a laugh: “Don’t play tricks with me—I know everything.” With that she ran out. Qiwen also went out to fetch the dish from Tanchun’s.

Xiren prepared the gifts and called Old Nanny Song, saying: “Wash up properly and change into going-out clothes; I’m sending you to Miss Shi.” Old Song said: “Just give me the things and tell me what to say—I’ll deliver them on my way.” Xiren brought out two small filigree boxes; the first contained red water chestnuts and foxnuts, the second a dish of steamed chestnut and osmanthus cake. She said: “These are fresh fruits from our garden this year, sent by Baoyu for her to taste. And that agate dish—she admired it the other day, so let her keep it. This silk bundle holds the embroidery she asked me to do—tell her not to mind the roughness, just use it. Convey our respects and the Second Master’s greetings.” Old Song said: “Does Baoyu have any other message? Better ask again, in case we forget.” Xiren asked Qiwen: “Did you see him at Miss Tan’s?” Qiwen said: “They were all there discussing some poetry club and writing poems. I don’t think he has anything more to say—just go.” Old Song took the things and went to change. Xiren added: “Go out the back gate; there will be a page and a cart.” Old Song left.

Baoyu returned, first admired the crabapple, then told Xiren about the poetry club. Xiren told him she had sent Old Song to deliver gifts to Xiangyun. Baoyu clapped his hands: “I forgot all about her! I knew there was something on my mind, but couldn’t recall. You’ve reminded me—I meant to invite her. How could the club be complete without her?” Xiren said: “It’s not important—just a pastime. She is not as free as you; she can’t decide for herself at home. If we tell her, she may not be able to come, and if she can’t, she’ll fret. Better not trouble her.” Baoyu said: “It’s all right—I’ll ask Grandmother to send for her.” Just then Old Song returned, delivered thanks and greetings, and added: “She asked what the Second Master was doing, and I said he and the young ladies were starting a poetry club and writing poems. Miss Shi said in that case why didn’t they tell her, and she was quite anxious.” Baoyu immediately went to Lady Dowager and insisted she send for Xiangyun. Lady Dowager said: “It’s late today; we’ll send early tomorrow morning.” So Baoyu had to wait, and returned somewhat dejected.

Early the next day, he again urged Lady Dowager to send. It was not until afternoon that Xiangyun arrived. Baoyu was relieved, and when they met, he told her the whole story and offered to show her the poems. Li Wan and the others said: “Don’t show her the poems yet—first tell her the rhyme. Since she’s late, she must match our poems as a penalty; if good, she’s admitted; if not, she must host a feast as well.” Xiangyun said: “You forgot to invite me—I should fine you. Give me the rhyme; though untalented, I’ll do my best. Just let me join the club—I’ll sweep the floor and burn incense if needed.” They all loved her spirit and regretted not having invited her the day before. They quickly gave her the rhyme. Xiangyun, full of enthusiasm, did not pause to deliberate; chatting with them all the while, she composed in her mind, and using whatever paper was at hand, she wrote down two matching poems, saying with a laugh: “I’ve matched your rhymes with two pieces—good or bad, I don’t know—but here they are.” She handed them over. Everyone said: “We thought our four poems were exhausted; we couldn’t write another, yet you’ve made two—how could you find so much to say without repeating us?” They read:

I
Immortals came down yesterday to the city gate,
And planted a pot of jade from Lantian’s field.
Surely the Frost Goddess loves the cold;
Not that the lovelorn maid has lost her soul.
Autumn clouds bring forth snow from whence?
Rain stains add a trace from overnight.
How glad that poets never tire of singing—
So she need not spend her days in lonely dusk.

II
By steps of iris and valerian, vine-wreathed door,
She suits both corners and pots alike.
Flowers love purity and find no match;
Men grieve for autumn and lose their souls.
Jade candles shed tears in the wind;
Crystal blinds part the moon’s trace.
Her secret longings she would tell the Moon,
But in vain—the empty corridor is dark with night.

With each line they read, they marveled and praised, saying: “This truly justifies the crabapple poems; we must indeed found a Crabapple Club.” Xiangyun said: “Tomorrow let me first be penalized by hosting a gathering—may I invite you all?” They said: “Even better.” They then discussed the earlier poems.

That evening, Baochai invited Xiangyun to stay at Alpinia Park. By lamplight, Xiangyun planned how to host and what topics to set. After listening for a while, Baochai found her ideas impractical and said: “Since we are starting a club, you need to play host. Though it’s just fun, you must consider all sides—make it easy for yourself, not offend anyone, so everyone enjoys it. At home you have no control; your monthly allowance is only a few strings, barely enough for your own needs. If you spend on this, your aunt will only complain more. And even if you gave all you had, it wouldn’t be enough—you can’t go home and ask for more, nor ask here.” This reminded Xiangyun, and she hesitated. Baochai said: “I have an idea. One of our pawnshop clerks has fine fat crabs from his farm, and he sent me several catties the other day. Most people here, from the old lady down to the garden residents, love crabs. The other day Aunt Wang said she wanted to invite the old lady to enjoy osmanthus and crabs in the garden, but was too busy. Now, don’t mention the poetry club—just invite everyone as a general treat. After they disperse, we can write as many poems as we like. I’ll tell my brother to send a few baskets of the biggest, fattest crabs, get some good wine from the shop, and prepare four or five tables of snacks—that will be easy and jolly.” Xiangyun was deeply grateful and praised her thoughtfulness. Baochai added: “I speak sincerely for your sake. Don’t think I’m belittling you—if you do, all our friendship is wasted. If you don’t mind, I’ll arrange it.” Xiangyun laughed: “Dear sister, if you say that, you’ll make me feel guilty. However foolish I am, I know what’s good. If I didn’t regard you as my own sister, I would never have told you all those household troubles and vexations.” Baochai then called an old matron: “Go to the Eldest Master and tell him to send a few baskets of those large crabs as before; say we’ll invite the old lady and Aunt Wang to enjoy the osmanthus after lunch tomorrow. Tell him not to forget—I’ve already invited the guests.” The matron went and delivered the message, then returned.

Baochai then said to Xiangyun: “The poetry topics should not be too novel and clever. Look at those odd, strained topics and dangerous rhymes in ancient poems—if the topic is too far-fetched and the rhyme too difficult, you can’t get good poems; it shows petty taste. Of course we should avoid clichés, but don’t force novelty either. The first essential is a fresh conception—then the wording will naturally be refined. After all, this is not serious work; spinning and needlework are our proper business. In leisure, it’s better to read a few chapters of truly profitable books.” Xiangyun agreed, then said: “I was thinking, since we wrote on crabapple yesterday, why not write on chrysanthemums?” Baochai said: “Chrysanthemums are appropriate, but the ancients have written so much on them.” Xiangyun said: “That’s what I fear—following old ruts.” Baochai thought a moment and said: “I have it—let the chrysanthemum be the subject and the person be the protagonist. We’ll devise titles of two characters, one abstract and one concrete—the concrete being ‘chrysanthemum,’ and the abstract from common terms. Thus we both chant the flower and describe an activity—fresh and not in the old rut.” Xiangyun said: “Excellent. But what abstract words? Give me an example.” Baochai thought and laughed: “‘Chrysanthemum Dream’ would be good.” Xiangyun said: “Indeed. I have one too—‘Chrysanthemum Shadow’—would that do?” Baochai said: “Not bad, but some have written on it; if we have many titles, it could be included. I have another.” Xiangyun said: “Quick, tell me.” Baochai said: “What about ‘Inquiring of the Chrysanthemum’?” Xiangyun slapped the table and cried: “Wonderful! Then I’ll add ‘Visiting the Chrysanthemum’—what do you think?” Baochai praised it too, and said: “Let’s make up ten in all, write them down.” So they ground ink, dipped brushes, Xiangyun wrote while Baochai recited, and soon they had ten titles. Xiangyun read them over and laughed: “Ten doesn’t make a complete set; let’s make twelve, like a painting album.” Baochai thought of two more, completing twelve. She said: “Then let’s put them in order.” Xiangyun said: “Even better—we’ll make it a chrysanthemum catalogue.” Baochai said: “Start with ‘Remembering the Chrysanthemum’—if you remember but cannot find, then visit; second, ‘Visiting the Chrysanthemum’—having visited and found it, then plant; third, ‘Planting the Chrysanthemum’—when it blooms, you admire it; fourth, ‘Admiring the Chrysanthemum’—admiring with zest, you pick some for a vase; fifth, ‘Offering the Chrysanthemum’—having offered, you must chant it; sixth, ‘Chanting the Chrysanthemum’—having chanted, you must paint it; seventh, ‘Painting the Chrysanthemum’—having busied yourself so, you wonder what is so wonderful about it, so ask; eighth, ‘Inquiring of the Chrysanthemum’—if it could speak, you would be overjoyed; ninth, ‘Wearing the Chrysanthemum’—after all that, there remain the Shadow and the Dream as tenth and eleventh; and the last is ‘Fading Chrysanthemum’ to conclude all the previous glories. Thus we cover all the fine scenes and feelings of autumn.” Xiangyun wrote them down, read them again, and asked: “What rhyme should be used?” Baochai said: “I never liked limiting rhymes—good poems should not be fettered. We shouldn’t imitate petty ways; set the topics without rhyme restrictions. It’s for pleasure, not to make things hard.” Xiangyun said: “Very true. That will improve our work. But there are only five of us—must each write all twelve?” Baochai said: “That would be too demanding. We’ll transcribe these as seven-character regulated verses and post them on the wall tomorrow. Each may choose whichever they like. If someone can do all twelve, fine; if one can do only one, also fine—speed and talent decide. If all twelve are taken, latecomers are forbidden to add, and will be penalized.” Xiangyun said: “That’s acceptable.” So they settled the matter and went to bed.

To know what follows, listen to the next chapter.