Jia Yucun Secures His Old Post Through Connections; Lin Daiyu Leaves Her Father to Enter the Capital

Just as Jia Yucun turned to look, he recognized the newcomer as a former colleague, one Zhang Rugui, who had been dismissed from office at the same time as himself. Zhang was a native of this place and had been living at home since his removal. Now, having learned that the capital had approved the reinstatement of retired officials, he had been busily soliciting help and seeking backers everywhere. Happening upon Yucun, he hurried forward with congratulations. After exchanging formal greetings, Zhang shared the news. Yucun was naturally delighted; they spoke briefly before parting ways to attend to their own affairs. Leng Zixing, who had been listening, promptly suggested that Yucun approach Lin Ruhai, who in turn could entrust his brother-in-law Jia Zheng in the capital to lend a hand. Yucun grasped the idea, took his leave, returned to his lodgings, and lost no time in consulting the official gazette to confirm the intelligence.

The next day, Yucun called directly on Lin Ruhai to discuss the matter. Ruhai said, “What a stroke of fortune! Since my wife passed away, her mother in the capital has been concerned that my little girl has no one to raise and teach her. A few days ago, she sent a boat with male and female attendants to fetch her, but we delayed because the child had not fully recovered. Now, I had been thinking that I have yet to repay you for your gracious instruction, and with this opportunity, how could I not do my utmost? Rest assured. I have already made preparations: I have written a letter of recommendation to my elder brother-in-law, asking him to secure your position fully—this will at least express a fraction of my gratitude. As for travel expenses and the like, I have mentioned them in my letter, so you need not trouble yourself.” Yucun bowed repeatedly, voicing endless thanks, and then asked, “May I inquire what office your distinguished relative holds? I fear my humble arrival in the capital might be too forward.” Ruhai smiled. “As it happens, my relative and you are of the same scholarly lineage—he is a grandson of the Duke of Rongguo. My elder brother-in-law, named She, style Enhou, has inherited the title of First-Class General; my second brother-in-law, named Zheng, style Cunzhou, currently serves as a Deputy Secretary in the Board of Works. He is modest, courteous, and magnanimous, preserving much of his grandfather’s noble character—by no means one of those frivolous, silk-clad wastrels. That is why I have entrusted him with my letter. Otherwise, not only would it demean your integrity, but I myself would disdain such an act.” Hearing this, Yucun finally believed the words Leng Zixing had spoken the day before, and he thanked Lin Ruhai once more. Ruhai added, “I have fixed the second day of next month for my daughter’s departure for the capital; you could travel with her—would that not suit both parties?” Yucun agreed readily, his heart swelling with satisfaction. Ruhai then set about preparing gifts and a farewell feast, all of which Yucun accepted with due courtesy.

As for the young lady Lin Daiyu, though her health had just improved, she could not bear to leave her father behind. Yet her grandmother had insisted repeatedly, and Ruhai himself said, “Your father is nearly fifty and has no intention of remarrying. You are delicate in health, still young, without a mother’s care above, and without brothers or sisters below. To go and rely on your grandmother and your uncles’ daughters will only lighten my burden—why would you refuse?” Only then did Daiyu, weeping, take her leave and, accompanied by her nurse and several elderly matrons from the Rongguo mansion, board the boat. Yucun had another vessel with two young attendants, following in Daiyu’s wake.

Upon reaching the capital—the Divine Metropolis—Yucun first adjusted his robes and cap, took his page, and presented a visiting card inscribed with “Nephew by Clansman’s Bond” at the gate of the Rongguo mansion. By then, Jia Zheng had already read his brother-in-law’s letter and promptly invited Yucun in for an audience. Finding Yucun of robust appearance and refined speech—and being himself fond of scholars, courteous to the worthy, ever ready to aid the distressed, and much in the mold of his forebears—and further obliged by his brother-in-law’s request, Jia Zheng treated Yucun with exceptional favour, exerting his influence behind the scenes. When the memorials were submitted, Yucun easily secured a reinstatement with a waiting vacancy. Within less than two months, the post of Prefect of Yingtian in Jinling became available, and he was appointed to fill it. After taking his leave of Jia Zheng, Yucun chose an auspicious day to assume office—but of that, no more.

Now, on the day Daiyu left her boat for the shore, the Rongguo mansion had long since dispatched a sedan chair and luggage carts awaiting her arrival. Daiyu had often heard her mother say that her grandmother’s household was unlike any other. The few third-class matrons she had recently seen were already extraordinary in their dress and upkeep—how much more so the main establishment. Thus she took every step with care, every moment with mindfulness, unwilling to utter an unnecessary word or take an unnecessary stride, for fear of being ridiculed. She entered the sedan and, as it moved through the city, peered through the gauze window at the bustling streets and throngs of people—truly different from anywhere else. After some time, she suddenly saw, on the north side of the road, a pair of great stone lions crouching before three vermilion gates with beast-head knockers. A dozen or so gorgeously attired men sat before the gates. The central gate was closed; only the two side gates saw comings and goings. Above the central gate hung a plaque bearing the large characters: “IMPERIALLY CONSTRUCTED NINGGUO MANSION.” Daiyu thought: This must be the senior branch of my grandfather’s house. The procession continued westward, and not far off, another triple gate came into view—that was the Rongguo Mansion. They did not enter the main gate, but turned in through the west side gate. The bearers carried the chair inside for the distance of a bowshot; when they reached a turning, they set it down and withdrew. The matrons following had already alighted from their own chairs and hurried forward. Now three or four young pages, neatly dressed and about seventeen or eighteen, took up the sedan and carried it onward, the matrons walking alongside. At the ornamental gate known as the “Hanging-Flower Gate,” the chair was lowered. The pages withdrew; the matrons raised the curtain and helped Daiyu out. Leaning on a matron’s hand, Daiyu passed through the Hanging-Flower Gate. Flanking it were winding covered corridors; in the centre stood a great open hall, and beyond that a large screen of marble set in a rosewood frame. Turning round the screen, she entered a small hall of three bays, behind which lay the main courtyard. Five principal chambers faced south, all richly carved and painted, with galleried side-rooms on both sides, where hung cages of parrots, thrushes, and other songbirds. On the steps sat several maids in red and green; as soon as they saw her approach, they smiled and came forward, saying, “The old lady was just talking about you—how timely your arrival is!” Three or four of them vied to raise the door curtain, and a voice was heard announcing, “Miss Lin has come.”

No sooner had Daiyu entered the room than she saw two attendants supporting an elderly lady with silver-white hair who came forward to meet her. Daiyu knew at once that this was her grandmother. She was about to make her formal obeisance when the old lady clasped her in her arms, crying out, “My heart! My flesh!” and burst into loud sobs. All those standing by covered their faces and wept, and Daiyu herself could not stop crying. After some time, the company gradually calmed her, and Daiyu at last paid her respects to her grandmother—this was the Dowager Lady Shi of whom Leng Zixing had spoken, the mother of Jia She and Jia Zheng. The Dowager then pointed out each person in turn: “This is your elder aunt-by-marriage, and this your second aunt-by-marriage. And this is the wife of your late cousin Zhu—your sister-in-law Zhu.” Daiyu bowed to each in turn. The Dowager then said, “Call the young ladies. Today we have a guest from afar, so they need not attend their lessons.” The attendants assented, and two of them went off.

Before long, three nurses and five or six maids ushered in three sisters. The first was moderately plump, of medium height, with cheeks like fresh lychees and a nose smooth as goose-fat—gentle, reserved, and pleasing to the eye. The second had slender shoulders, a narrow waist, a tall, willowy figure, an oval face, brilliant eyes, and long, arched brows that sparkled with intelligence—an elegance that made one forget vulgarity. The third was still young and small in stature. All three wore the same ornaments and skirts. Daiyu rose hastily to greet them, and after mutual introductions, they took their seats. Maids served tea. They spoke of how Daiyu’s mother had fallen ill, what physicians had been consulted, what medicines taken, and how the funeral had been conducted. The Dowager could not help grieving anew. “Of all my children,” she said, “your mother was the dearest to me. Now she has left me before my time, and I could not even see her face. Seeing you, how can I not be heartbroken?” With that, she drew Daiyu into her arms again and sobbed. All present hastened to comfort her, and at length she grew calmer.

Observing that Daiyu, though young, was refined in bearing and speech, yet frail in body and delicate in countenance, with a natural, winsome air, they guessed she suffered from a chronic weakness. They asked, “What medicines do you take regularly? Why not seek urgent treatment?” Daiyu replied, “I have been this way since childhood. I have taken medicine ever since I could eat, and have never stopped. Many famous physicians have prescribed remedies, all to no avail. When I was three, a bald-headed monk came and wanted to take me away to become a nun—my parents naturally refused. He said, ‘If you cannot bear to part with her, then her illness will never be cured. The only way is to ensure that from now on she never hears anyone weeping, and that she sees no relative outside her immediate parents—only then may she live out her years in peace.’ He spoke such raving nonsense that no one heeded him. I still take the ‘Ginseng and Nourishing Vitality Pill.’” The Dowager said, “That is perfect—I have my own pill-making here. I shall have an extra batch prepared for you.”

Before she finished speaking, a laugh was heard from the rear courtyard, and a voice called out, “I am late! I have not greeted our guest from afar!” Daiyu wondered: “Everyone here is so hushed and reverent—who is this, so bold and unbridled?” As she thought this, a bevy of matrons and maids surrounded a figure entering through the back door. This person was dressed quite differently from the rest, glittering in rainbow hues as if a fairy goddess: on her head, a golden coronet of eight jewels and a pearl-studded phoenix hairpin; about her neck, a golden serpentine choker; at her waist, a pea-green cord with a double-fish rose-ornament pendant. She wore a close-fitting scarlet satin jacket embroidered with gold butterflies among a hundred blossoms, over a five-colour silk-lined ermine vest, and a sea-green pleated skirt patterned with flowers. Her eyes—phoenix-shaped and three-cornered—and brows—willow-leaf-arched and slanting—gave her a slender, seductive figure, her powdered face hiding a formidable spirit, her vermilion lips parted in laughter before she spoke. Daiyu rose quickly to greet her. The Dowager laughed, “You don’t know her—she’s our famous ‘Peppercorn’—a term in the southern provinces for a hot-tempered rascal. Just call her ‘Feng-la-zi’!” Daiyu did not know how to address her until the sisters told her, “This is our second elder brother’s wife.” Though Daiyu had never met her, she had heard her mother speak of her: Jia Lian, son of the eldest uncle Jia She, had married the niece of Second Aunt Wang, who had been brought up like a boy and given the scholarly name Wang Xifeng. Daiyu smiled and greeted her formally as “sister-in-law.”

Xifeng took Daiyu’s hand and surveyed her from head to toe, then led her back to sit beside the Dowager. “What a truly stunning creature!” she laughed. “I have never seen such a beauty! And her whole bearing—she does not seem like the old lady’s grand-daughter at all, but rather a granddaughter by blood—no wonder the old lady can never forget her, day or night. But what a pity my poor little cousin is so ill-fated—to lose her dear aunt so young!” As she spoke, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. The Dowager laughed, “I had just recovered, and now you come to provoke me. Your cousin has come a long way, and she is delicate—we had just managed to calm her—speak no more of that.” Xifeng promptly turned from sorrow to mirth. “Exactly! The moment I saw my cousin, my heart was all for her—both joy and grief—and I quite forgot the old lady. I deserve a beating! I deserve a beating!” She then took Daiyu’s hand again and asked, “How old are you, cousin? Have you attended school? What medicines do you take? Do not feel homesick here. Whatever you wish to eat or play with, tell me at once; if the maids or servants are remiss, tell me as well.” Then she turned to the matrons: “Have Miss Lin’s luggage and belongings been brought in? How many attendants did she bring? Have two rooms below prepared at once for them to rest.”

By then, tea and refreshments had been set out. Xifeng personally served tea and fruit. Then Second Aunt Wang asked her, “Have the monthly allowances been paid out?” Xifeng said, “Yes, all paid. Just now I took some people to the rear upstairs to look for that satin—we searched for half a day and could not find the kind you mentioned yesterday. Perhaps you remembered the pattern incorrectly?” Wang said, “It does not matter whether there is or not.” Then she added, “You should take out a couple of pieces and give them to your cousin to make clothes. Remember to send someone for them tonight.” Xifeng said, “I anticipated that—I knew my cousin would arrive within a day or two, so I have already prepared them. Once you have examined them, I will send them over.” Wang gave a smile and nodded in silence.

After the tea and refreshments were cleared, the Dowager instructed two elderly matrons to take Daiyu to see her two maternal uncles. At this, Lady Xing, wife of Jia She, rose and smiled, “It would be convenient for me to take my niece over myself.” The Dowager laughed, “Very well—you go too, and need not return here.” Lady Xing assented, and led Daiyu after taking leave of Lady Wang; the rest saw them to the entrance hall. Passing through the Hanging-Flower Gate, they found pages waiting with a green-canopied carriage. Lady Xing helped Daiyu in, the matrons let down the curtains, and the pages lifted the carriage and carried it to an open space, where it was hitched to a gentle mule. It went out through the west side gate, eastward past the main gate of the Rongguo mansion, and entered a black-lacquered gate, stopping before the ceremonial gate. The pages withdrew, the curtains were raised, and Lady Xing led Daiyu by the hand into the courtyard. Daiyu judged that these buildings must have been partitioned off from the garden of the Rongguo mansion. After passing through three ceremonial gates, she saw that the main hall, side rooms, and corridors were all small and tastefully arranged—not as grand and imposing as the other compound, and the grounds were dotted with rocks and trees. Entering the main chamber, they were greeted by many heavily made-up and richly dressed concubines and maids. Lady Xing had Daiyu seated while she sent someone to the outer study to invite Jia She. Presently the messenger returned and said, “The master sends his apologies: he has been unwell these days, and seeing his niece would only grieve him—for now he cannot bear to meet her. He bids you not to be sorrowful or homesick; with your grandmother and aunts, you shall be as at home. Your cousins, though dull-witted, may keep you company and relieve your tedium. Should any grievance arise, speak freely—do not stand on ceremony.” Daiyu rose and listened attentively. After sitting a little while, she took her leave. Lady Xing urged her to stay for dinner, but Daiyu smiled and replied, “My aunt’s kindness in offering a meal should not be refused, but I still must go and pay respects to Second Uncle. To stay and dine would be discourteous—may I take the honour another day? I beg my aunt to excuse me.” Lady Xing laughed, “Quite right.” She then ordered two or three matrons to escort the young lady back in the same carriage. Daiyu took her leave; Lady Xing saw her to the ceremonial gate, gave a few words of instruction to the attendants, and watched the carriage depart before returning.

Soon Daiyu arrived back at the Rongguo mansion and alighted. The matrons led her eastward, through a passage, past the hall to the south, and into a great courtyard within the ceremonial gate. There stood five large principal chambers, flanked by side-rooms and eaves that connected in all directions, majestic and imposing—quite different from the Dowager’s quarters. Daiyu knew these to be the proper inner chambers; a broad flagstone path led straight to the main gate. Entering the central hall, she looked up and saw first a great plaque of blue ground with gold dragons and the three large characters “RONG XI TANG” (Hall of Glorious Felicity), with a smaller inscription: “Presented by imperial command on such-and-such a date to Rongguo Duke Jia Yuan,” bearing the seal “Treasure of the Imperial Brush.” Below, on a great rosewood carved-dragon table, stood a three-foot-high bronze tripod of antique green patina; on the wall hung a great black dragon painting, emblematic of waiting for court audiences; on one side was a gold libation vessel, on the other a crystal basin. Flanking the floor were sixteen nanmu armchairs in two rows, and there was a couplet on ebony tablets inlaid with silver-scripted characters:

Pearls and gems on their seats outshine sun and moon;
Robe-brocades before the hall glow like rainbow clouds.

Beneath was inscribed: “Respectfully written by Mu Shi, Hereditary Prince of Dong’an, fellow-countryman and younger brother-in-letters.”

Now Lady Wang usually did not rest or dine in this main hall, but in the three eastern side-rooms. So the matrons led Daiyu to the eastern door. On the large kang by the window was spread a scarlet foreign rug, with large red satin back-rests embroidered with gold coin-patterns, matching green satin pillows, and an autumn-scented damask mattress. On either side stood a pair of small lacquered tables in plum-blossom form. The left table held a King Wen tripod with spoon and incense box; the right, a Ru-ware vase in the shape of a beauty, holding fresh flowers, along with teacups and spittoons. Against the west wall ran a row of four chairs, each covered with silver-red flowered slips, with footstools below, and beside the chairs a pair of high side-tables with tea bowls and vases. The rest of the furnishings need not be detailed. The matrons invited Daiyu to sit on the kang, but seeing two brocade cushions laid out side by side, Daiyu guessed the proper order of precedence and did not ascend, but took a seat on the eastern side. The house maids brought tea. While sipping, Daiyu observed these maids—their dress, their movements—and indeed they were unlike those of other families.

She had not finished her tea when a maid in a red silk jacket and blue satin-trimmed vest came in smiling and said, “Her Ladyship invites Miss Lin to come over.” The matrons then led Daiyu out again to three small principal rooms on the eastern corridor. Inside, across the kang was a low table piled with books and tea things; against the east wall, facing west, was a half-worn green satin back-rest and pillow. Lady Wang sat on the western side, also on a half-worn green satin cushion. Seeing Daiyu, she motioned her to the eastern seat. Daiyu guessed that this was Jia Zheng’s place; and as a row of three chairs beside the kang also had half-worn dark-patterned covers, she took a seat there. Lady Wang repeatedly urged her to come up on the kang, until at last she sat beside her. Lady Wang then said, “Your uncle is in fasting today—you will see him another day. But I have one word of advice: your three sisters are all excellent, and when you study, read, write, sew, or play together, there is always courtesy. Yet my only worry is one thing: I have a scourge and a curse in this house—a ‘demon king of mischief.’ He has gone to a temple today to offer thanks, and is not yet back. You will see him this evening. Do not pay him any attention. Your sisters dare not provoke him.”

Daiyu had often heard her mother say that Second Aunt had a cousin-brother who was born with a piece of jade in his mouth, wild and unruly beyond measure, averse to books, and fond of idling among the ladies, while the Dowager doted on him so much that no one dared control him. Now hearing Lady Wang speak thus, she knew it must be this cousin. She smiled and said, “Aunt speaks of the elder brother born with that jade? I have also heard Mother say that he is a year older than I, with the childhood name Baoyu. Though willful and silly, she said he is genuinely good to his sisters. Besides, now that I am here, I shall naturally live only with the sisters; the brothers, I assume, have their separate quarters—how would I come to provoke him?” Lady Wang laughed, “You do not know the full story. He is different from the others. Since childhood, because the old lady spoils him, he has been brought up among the sisters, pampered. If the sisters ignore him, he stays quiet; even if bored, he just goes outside the second gate and takes out his temper on some little page boy, grumbling for a while, and that is all. But if a sister speaks even one extra word to him, he is so pleased that he stirs up endless trouble. That is why I tell you to ignore him. He is one moment sweet-talk, the next absurd, the next mad—do not believe him.”

Daiyu promised all this. Just then a maid came to announce that dinner was being served at the Dowager’s. Lady Wang took Daiyu by the hand and led her out through the back door, along the rear verandah westward, out through a side gate, and into a broad north-south lane. On the south side stood a small three-bayed antechamber; on the north, a whitewashed screen wall, behind which was a half-gate leading to a small courtyard. Lady Wang pointed it out to Daiyu: “That is your Sister Feng’s house. You can look for her here later—if you need anything, just tell her.” At the gate of this compound stood four or five young pages, all with childish topknots, standing with folded hands. Lady Wang then led Daiyu through another east-west passage, arriving at the Dowager’s rear courtyard. They entered through the back door, where many attendants were already waiting. On Lady Wang’s arrival, tables and chairs were set. Lady Li, wife of the late Jia Zhu, brought in the rice; Xifeng arranged the chopsticks; Lady Wang presented the soup. The Dowager sat alone on the main kang, with four empty chairs on either side. Xifeng hurriedly drew Daiyu to the first seat on the left; Daiyu demurred repeatedly, but the Dowager said, “Your aunts and sisters-in-law do not eat here. You are the guest—it is proper that you sit there.” Only then did Daiyu take her seat after thanking them. The Dowager bade Lady Wang sit down. The three sisters Yingchun, Tanchun, and Xichun took their places only after formal thanks—Yingchun first on the right, Tanchun second on the left, Xichun second on the right. Attending maids stood by with dusters, rinsing bowls, and towels. Lady Li and Xifeng stood beside the table to serve. Although many maids and matrons waited outside, not a cough was heard. The meal ended in silence, and each was served tea in a small tray by her maid. At home, Lin Ruhai had taught his daughter to preserve her health by waiting until all the rice was swallowed before drinking tea, to avoid harming the stomach. Now Daiyu saw that many customs here differed from her own, and she had to adapt; she received the tea, and soon noticed that a rinsing bowl was brought—she followed suit and rinsed her mouth. After washing her hands, tea for drinking was served. The Dowager then said, “You may go now—let us have a quiet chat.” Lady Wang rose, exchanged a few pleasantries, and departed with Xifeng and Li Wan.

The Dowager asked Daiyu what books she had read. Daiyu said, “I have just finished the Four Books.” She then asked what the sisters were reading. The Dowager said, “What reading? They just learn enough characters not to be blind!”

Before she finished, footsteps were heard outside, and a maid entered laughing, “Baoyu is here!” Daiyu thought to herself, “I wonder what sort of lazy, ignorant child this Baoyu is—perhaps I need not see that dull creature at all.” But even before the maid finished speaking, in walked a young gentleman: on his head a golden coronet studded with jewels, a golden headband with two dragons grasping a pearl just above his brows; he wore a red arrow-sleeved jacket with gold-threaded hundred-butterfly design, a long tasselled sash of five-colour silk knots, and a blue silk short coat with eight roundels and embroidered borders, with black satin court boots. His face was as full as the autumn moon, his complexion like spring dawn blossoms; his brows were sharply cut, his eyes like ink paintings; his cheeks like peach petals, his eyes like autumn ripples. Even when angry, he seemed to smile; even when glaring, there was feeling. About his neck hung a golden serpentine choker and a five-colour silk cord tied with a beautiful piece of jade. At first sight, Daiyu was greatly startled, thinking, “How strange—I feel as if I have seen him somewhere before—how familiar he looks!” Baoyu paid his respects to the Dowager, who told him, “Go and see your mother.” He turned and went out. When he returned after a while, he had changed his attire: now his hair was gathered in small plaits tied with red silk, all converging at the crown into a thick, glossy black braid, with four large pearls strung from top to tip and gold-and-jewel pendants. He wore a silver-red flowered satin jacket, half-worn, still with his necklet, jade, amulet, and talisman; below, his loose green flowered satin trousers, brocade-bordered socks, and thick-soled red shoes were partly visible. He looked even more like powdered ivory and painted lips, with an ever-smiling, ever-amorous glance. All his natural charm lay in his brows, all his myriad passions were gathered in the corners of his eyes. Though his outward appearance was excellent, his inner nature was hard to fathom. Later generations had two Xijiangyue verses that perfectly satirized Baoyu:

For no cause he seeks sorrow and resentment,
At times seems foolish and mad.
Though born with a fine skin and frame,
His belly holds only weeds and chaff.

Ignorant of worldly affairs,
Too dull to read the classics,
His deeds are perverse, his nature strange—
He cares not for the world’s slander.

Rich, he knows no joy in his estate;
Poor, he could not endure desolation.
Pity his wasted youth—
Of no use to state or family.

The world’s most useless creature,
Unrivalled in filial disgrace—
Take heed, you silken sons and pampered heirs:
Do not follow this boy’s ways!

The Dowager laughed, “You have not yet met our guest, and already you have taken off your formal clothes—go and greet your cousin!” Baoyu had already noticed the new sister, and guessed she was the daughter of Aunt Lin; he came at once to make a bow. After they were seated, he studied her appearance closely. She was unlike any other: brows that seemed to knit and yet not, eyes that seemed to smile and yet not; a natural melancholy in her cheeks, a delicate fragility throughout her frame; tears glistening in her eyes, breathing lightly. In repose, she was like a flower reflected in water; in motion, like a willow swaying in the wind. Her heart was more acute than that of Bi Gan, her frailty surpassed Xi Shi’s by three parts. After gazing at her, Baoyu smiled and said, “I have seen this cousin before.” The Dowager laughed, “Nonsense—when could you have seen her?” Baoyu said, “Though I have not seen her, she looks familiar, and I feel we are old acquaintances. To treat today as a reunion after long parting is quite fitting.” The Dowager laughed, “Better still—that will make for more harmony.” Baoyu then sat down beside Daiyu and examined her again. “Have you studied books?” he asked. Daiyu said, “No, only a year’s schooling—I know barely a few characters.” He then asked her given name, and she told him. He asked for her style-name; she said she had none. Baoyu laughed, “I shall give you one—how about ‘Pin-pin’ (Frowning)?” Tanchun asked for its origin. Baoyu said, “In the Comprehensive Study of Ancient and Modern Figures it is written: ‘In the West there is a stone called Dai, which can be used as eyebrow ink.’ And since this Cousin Lin has such charmingly knitted brows, these two characters are doubly apt!” Tanchun laughed, “I fear that is your own invention.” Baoyu said, “Apart from the Four Books, most things are invented—why should only I be accused?” He then asked Daiyu, “Do you have a jade?” No one understood his meaning, but Daiyu guessed that because he had one, he asked if she did, and answered, “I have none. I suppose that jade is a rare thing—not everyone can have one.” Baoyu at once flew into one of his mad fits, tore off the jade, and hurled it to the ground, cursing, “Rare thing indeed—it cannot even tell high from low, and yet claims to be ‘spiritually efficacious’! I want nothing to do with this wretched thing!” Everyone rushed to pick it up. The Dowager, in a panic, clasped Baoyu and cried, “You wicked child! If you are angry, it is easy enough to hit or scold someone—why smash that life-or-death treasure?” Baoyu, his face streaked with tears, sobbed, “None of the sisters at home has one—only I, and I find that dull. Now here comes a cousin as lovely as a goddess, and she has none either—so it must be a worthless object!” The Dowager soothed him, “Your cousin did have one too. But when your aunt passed away, she could not bear to part with her daughter, so she took that jade with her—both to fulfil the burial rite and to show your cousin’s filial devotion, and also so that your aunt’s spirit might see her daughter in it. That is why she said she had none—she would not boast of it. How can you compare with her? Put it on properly, and be careful that your mother hears of this.” With that, she took the jade from the maids and personally put it back on him. Baoyu, hearing this reasoning, thought it over and found it plausible, and raised no further objection.

At this point, the nurse came to ask about Daiyu’s lodging. The Dowager said, “Move Baoyu out to live with me in the warm inner chamber, and let Miss Lin be temporarily placed in the green gauze cabinet. After winter, when spring comes, we can prepare proper rooms for them and arrange things anew.” Baoyu said, “Dear Grandmother, I would be perfectly comfortable on the bed just outside the gauze cabinet—why move and disturb your peace?” The Dowager considered and said, “Very well.” Each was assigned a nurse and a maid, with others sleeping outside for night duties. Xifeng was soon sent to bring an amethyst-coloured embroidered bed-curtain and several brocade quilts and satin coverlets.

Daiyu had brought only two persons with her: her old nurse, Nanny Wang, and a ten-year-old maid called Xueyan, who had attended her since childhood. The Dowager, seeing that Xueyan was still a child and Nanny Wang very old, thought that Daiyu would find them inadequate; so she gave Daiyu her own secondary maid, named Yingge (Parrot). In addition, following the practice of the other young ladies, Daiyu was assigned, besides her own childhood nurse, four instructing matrons, two personal maids for toilet and bathing, and five or six smaller maids for sweeping and errands. For the time, Nanny Wang and Yingge attended Daiyu within the gauze cabinet, while Baoyu’s nurse, Nanny Li, and his chief maid, named Xiren (Aroma), slept outside on the large bed.

This Xiren was formerly the Dowager’s maid, originally named Zhenzhu (Pearl). Because the Dowager doted on Baoyu and feared that his maids might not be loyal enough, she liked Xiren for her pure heart and conscientious service, and assigned her to Baoyu. Baoyu, learning that her family name was Hua (Flower) and recalling an old verse with the phrase “flower-aura assails the senses,” reported to the Dowager and changed her name to Xiren. Xiren had her own peculiar devotion: when serving the Dowager, her heart and eyes held only the Dowager; now serving Baoyu, they held only Baoyu. Yet because Baoyu was so eccentric, she often tried to admonish him, and felt deeply troubled.

That night, Baoyu and Nanny Li had already gone to sleep. Seeing that Daiyu and Yingge within were still awake, Xiren undressed and quietly entered, smiling, “Why is Miss not yet resting?” Daiyu invited her to sit, and she sat on the edge of the bed. Yingge said, “Miss Lin has been grieving—wiping her tears and saying: ‘I came only today, and already I provoked your young master’s mad fit. If he had broken that jade, it would be my fault.’ So she is sad, and I had much trouble calming her.” Xiren said, “Miss, do not worry—there will likely be even stranger jokes in the future. If you take his behaviour to heart and grieve, you will never finish grieving. Please do not be so sensitive.” Daiyu said, “I shall remember what you say. But what is the origin of that jade? Are there inscriptions on it?” Xiren said, “Not even our family knows its origin; it has a ready-made hole, and they say it was pulled from his mouth at birth. Let me bring it for you to see.” Daiyu stopped her, “Never mind—it is late. I can look at it tomorrow.” They chatted a while longer before retiring.

The next morning, after paying respects to the Dowager, Daiyu went to Lady Wang’s quarters, where she found Lady Wang and Xifeng reading a letter from Jinling, and two matrons sent by Lady Wang’s elder brother and sister-in-law had also come with news. Daiyu did not know the details, but Tanchun and the others knew that the subject was the son of their aunt, the Xue family living in Jinling—their cousin Xue Pan—who, relying on wealth and influence, had beaten a man to death and was now under trial in the Yingtian prefectural court. The maternal uncle Wang Ziteng had received the news and sent people to inform them here, with the intent to summon them to the capital.