Shi Taijun's Two Banquets in Grand View Garden, Golden Mandarin Ducks, Three Announcements of Teeth Plaque Order

Upon hearing the maid Amber’s message, Baoyu hurried in. Amber stood by the screen and said, “Quick, the Old Lady is waiting to speak with you.” Baoyu went to the main hall and found Grandmother Jia, Lady Wang, and the young ladies discussing a return banquet for Shi Xiangyun. Baoyu offered an idea: “Since there are no outside guests, we needn’t stick to fixed menus. Let each person choose a few of their favorite dishes. Instead of formal tables, place a small standing table before each person, with their chosen dishes plus a shared assorted snack box. Everyone can pour their own wine—wouldn’t that be more original?” Grandmother Jia approved at once and ordered the kitchen: “Tomorrow, prepare what we each like, pack the boxes by headcount, and serve breakfast in the garden.” As dusk fell, the household settled for the night.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Li Wan rose before daylight, overseeing maids and old women sweep leaves, wipe tables, and ready tea and wine vessels. Feng’er arrived with Granny Liu and her grandson Ban’er, exclaiming, “Auntie Li, you’re busy as ever!” Li Wan laughed, “I said yesterday you wouldn’t leave, yet you insisted.” Granny Liu chuckled, “The Old Lady kept me—she wants me to share in the fun today.” Feng’er produced a set of keys: “Our mistress says there may not be enough high tables outside; better open the storeroom and bring down the stored ones for the day. She meant to come herself but is speaking with Her Ladyship—please open up and have the men move them.” Li Wan took the keys, sent for porters, and stood below the Grand View Pavilion directing them to open the Embroidered Pavilion upstairs. With servants and maids working together, they carried down more than twenty tables. “Careful!” Li Wan called. “Don’t dash about like ghosts—you’ll knock the edges.” She turned to Granny Liu: “Granny, go up and have a look.” Granny Liu, delighted, climbed the ladder with Ban’er. Inside, she found a bewildering pile of screens, chairs, and lanterns of every size and color—dazzling though unfamiliar. She muttered several “Amida Buddhas” before descending. The doors were locked, and Li Wan added, “In case the Old Lady wants boats, let’s also bring down the oars, poles, and awnings.” The crew complied, and two boats were fetched from the dock.

Just as the bustle subsided, Grandmother Jia arrived with her retinue. Li Wan hurried forward: “You’re early, Old Lady—I thought you hadn’t even dressed your hair! I was just about to send you some chrysanthemums.” As she spoke, Biyue presented an emerald-green lotus-leaf plate piled with fresh-cut chrysanthemum sprays. Grandmother Jia chose a large red one and pinned it to her temple. Spotting Granny Liu, she called, “Come, let’s put flowers on you too.” Before she finished, Xifeng pulled Granny Liu over: “Let me deck you out!” She stuffed the whole plateful of flowers helter-skelter into the old woman’s hair. Grandmother Jia and the company roared with laughter. Granny Liu grinned: “My head must have cultivated great virtue to be so honored today!” The others teased, “You should pull them off and throw them in her face—she’s made you a regular old goblin!” Granny Liu replied, “Old as I am, I was a bit of a flirt in my youth, fond of paints and powders. Today I’ll just be an old flirt for once!”

Laughing and chatting, they reached the Pavilion of Fragrant Breezes. Maids spread a large brocade cushion on the balustrade daybed. Grandmother Jia sat leaning against a pillar and invited Granny Liu beside her. “How do you like this garden?” she asked. Granny Liu clasped her hands: “In our village, come New Year, we buy pictures to paste on walls. On idle days, we say, ‘If only we could stroll into those paintings!’ But those are only fakes—who knew there could be a real place ten times better? If only someone could paint this garden, I’d take it home to show the folks—I’d die happy.” Grandmother Jia pointed at Xichun: “My little granddaughter here can paint. How about I have her make you a picture?” Granny Liu dashed over, took Xichun’s hand, and exclaimed, “Little miss, so young and pretty and talented—surely you’re a fairy in disguise!”

After a short rest, Grandmother Jia led the party on a tour. They first entered the Xiaoxiang Pavilion, where bamboo groves lined the path and moss covered the ground. Granny Liu stepped aside onto the bare earth to let the ladies pass on the stone walk. Amber urged, “Granny, walk on the path—the moss is slippery.” “No matter,” said Granny Liu, “we’re used to it. You young ladies go ahead—pity to soil your embroidered shoes.” But as she chatted, her foot slipped and—thud—she fell flat. Everyone burst out laughing. Grandmother Jia scolded, “You little wretches, help her up—don’t just stand there giggling!” By then Granny Liu had scrambled up, laughing at herself: “No sooner said than done!” Jia asked if she’d hurt her back. “Don’t be so tender with me—I take a tumble or two every day; if I needed rubbing each time, I’d never be done.” Zijuan raised the bamboo curtain, and they entered. Lin Daiyu offered Grandmother Jia tea on a small tray. Lady Wang declined for the others, so Daiyu had her own usual chair moved for her aunt. Granny Liu, noticing the desk with brush and ink and shelves stacked with books, asked, “Which young master’s study is this?” Jia laughed, “It’s my granddaughter’s room.” Granny Liu studied Daiyu and said, “It doesn’t look like a lady’s boudoir—it’s finer than the best scholar’s library.” Jia asked after Baoyu; a maid answered, “He’s on the boat in the pond.” “Who had boats prepared?” asked Jia. Li Wan replied, “When we opened the storeroom for the tables, I thought you might fancy a ride, so I had them ready.” Just then word came that Aunt Xue had arrived, and they rose to greet her. “You’re early today, Old Lady,” said Aunt Xue. “I was just saying latecomers should be fined—and here you are!”

After some chat, Jia noticed the window gauze had faded. “This green gauze looks nice when new, but soon dulls. And with bamboo already green, green gauze clashes. I recall we used to have four or five kinds of window gauze—we should change hers tomorrow.” Xifeng cut in: “Yesterday I opened the storehouse and found several bolts of silver-red ‘cicada-wing’ gauze—some with flower sprays, some with cloud-and-wan patterns, some with butterflies among blossoms. So light and soft! I took two bolts to make quilted gauze coverlets—they must be excellent.” Grandmother Jia laughed, “Tch! Everyone says you’re so capable—and you can’t even recognize this gauze? And you call yourself experienced!” Aunt Xue and the others chimed in, “However much she’s seen, how can she compare with you, Old Lady? Do enlighten us.” Xifeng begged, “Good ancestor, teach me!” Jia explained: “That gauze is older than your years—no wonder she mistakes it for cicada-wing. Its true name is ‘Soft Mist Silk.’” Xifeng said, “Pretty name—but I’ve never heard of it.” Jia continued, “You’ve lived how long, and seen a few odds and ends? There are only four colors: sky-after-rain, autumn-fragrance (pale brown), pine-green, and silver-red. Used for curtains or window panels, from afar it looks like drifting mist—hence the name. The silver-red is also called ‘Rosy Cloud Gauze.’ Even the finest palace gauze today isn’t as soft and close-woven.” Aunt Xue agreed, “Even I’ve never heard of it.” Xifeng had a bolt fetched. Jia confirmed, “This is it! We used to use it for windows, then tried it for bedding and curtains—it worked well. Tomorrow find several bolts and use the silver-red for her windows.” All admired it. Granny Liu squinted: “We’d dream of making clothes from this—and you use it for windows? What a waste!” “It doesn’t look well as clothing,” said Jia. Xifeng pulled out the red silk lining of her jacket: “See my jacket?” Jia and Aunt Xue praised it as fine palace goods, but Xifeng scoffed, “This flimsy stuff—and they call it palace quality—it can’t even match official cloth.” Jia ordered, “Search for any blue ones too. If found, give two bolts to Granny Liu—one for a curtain for me, and the rest for lined vests for the maids. Better than letting them mildew.” Xifeng assented. Jia rose: “This room is cramped—let’s walk on.” Granny Liu sighed, “Everyone says great families live in great houses. Yesterday I saw your main hall—great chests, great cabinets, great tables, great beds—truly grand. The wardrobe was bigger than our whole room! No wonder there’s a ladder in the back courtyard—not for sunning things, but for reaching the top cabinets. And this little room is even more elegant. Everything’s so beautiful I don’t know what to call it—I hate to leave.” Xifeng said, “There’s better yet—I’ll show you.”

In the distance, a group was punting on the pond. Jia said, “Since boats are ready, let’s take one.” They headed toward Purple Caltrop Isle and Reed Marsh. Before reaching the water, serving women arrived with gilded lacquer food boxes. Xifeng asked Lady Wang where to lay breakfast. “Ask the Old Lady,” said Wang. Jia replied, “Your third sister’s place will do. Take the food there; we’ll go by boat.” Xifeng, with Tanchun, Li Wan, Yuanyang, and Amber, took a shortcut to Autumn Refresher Studio and set tables in Dawn Emerald Hall. Yuanyang whispered, “Every day we hear of our male elders dining with their witty hangers-on—and today we have a female one!” Li Wan, being simple, didn’t understand; but Xifeng knew she meant Granny Liu. They plotted some mischief. Li Wan protested, “You never do any good—grown-ups acting like children! Mind the Old Lady scolds.” Yuanyang retorted, “None of your concern—leave it to me.”

Soon Jia and the rest arrived and took seats. Tea was served. Xifeng, with a western-style napkin, arranged silver-inlaid ebony chopsticks. Jia ordered a small nanmu table moved closer for Granny Liu. Xifeng signaled Yuanyang, who pulled Granny Liu aside and whispered instructions: “It’s our family rule—if you break it, we’ll be laughed at.” Granny Liu nodded. At table, Jia sat with Baoyu, Xiangyun, Daiyu, and Baochai; Lady Wang with the three Ying sisters; Granny Liu beside Jia. Yuanyang, though not on serving duty that day, took the fly-whisk and stood by—the maids knew she meant to tease Granny Liu and gave her room. Yuanyang murmured, “Don’t forget.” “Rest easy, miss,” said Granny Liu.

When the food arrived, Granny Liu picked up her chopsticks—heavy and awkward. They had given her a pair of four-sided ivory chopsticks inlaid with gold. “This fork-spoon is heavier than our iron spade!” she cried. Everyone laughed. A maid uncovered a box with two dishes. Li Wan placed one before Jia; Xifeng deliberately set the pigeon-egg dish before Granny Liu. Jia said, “Please begin.” Granny Liu stood up and declaimed:
“Old Liu, old Liu, eats like an ox—
Could swallow a sow and not be shocked!”
Then she puffed out her cheeks and fell silent. For a moment all were stunned; then they exploded. Shi Xiangyun sprayed out a mouthful of rice; Lin Daiyu choked with laughter, pounding the table; Baoyu rolled into Jia’s arms; Lady Wang pointed at Xifeng speechless; Aunt Xue spat tea all over Tanchun’s skirt; Tanchun’s bowl tipped onto Yingchun; Xichun left her seat begging her nanny to rub her aching stomach. Servants doubled over or ran outside to laugh. Only Xifeng and Yuanyang kept straight faces, urging Granny Liu to eat. Granny Liu fumbled with the chopsticks: “Your chickens must be fine birds—they lay such pretty little eggs. Let me try one.” More laughter. Jia, tears streaming, said, “That wretch Xifeng is behind this—don’t believe her!” Xifeng teased, “They cost a tael of silver each—eat while hot!” Granny Liu fished for one, missed, finally speared one, but as she craned to eat it, it slipped and rolled on the floor. She bent to pick it up, but a servant had already whisked it away. “A tael of silver gone without a sound!” she lamented. Everyone had lost appetite for food, watching her. Jia ordered the heavy chopsticks replaced with silver-inlaid ebony ones. Granny Liu grumbled, “Gold or silver—still not as handy as ours.” Xifeng said, “If there were poison, the silver would turn black.” Granny Liu retorted, “If there’s poison here, our food would be arsenic—even poisoned, I’d eat my fill!” Jia, amused, passed her own dishes to Granny Liu and had an old nurse feed Ban’er.

After the meal, Jia and the others retired to Tanchun’s bedroom for chat. Granny Liu watched Li Wan and Xifeng eat their own meal and sighed, “Putting aside all else, I love your family’s manners—truly, ‘courtesy reigns in great houses.’” Xifeng apologized, “Don’t take offense—we were just joking.” Yuanyang came in and echoed the apology. Granny Liu waved: “Don’t say that, miss. We’re all amusing the Old Lady—why should I mind? You warned me, so I knew it was fun. If I were touchy, I wouldn’t have played along.” Yuanyang scolded a maid for not serving tea; Granny Liu said she’d already had some. Xifeng pulled Yuanyang to eat with them. After they finished, Granny Liu remarked, “You all eat so little—no wonder you’re blown over by a breeze!” Yuanyang asked about leftovers; the servants said they were waiting to distribute them. Yuanyang ordered some sent to Pinger and to Xiren, and urged the servants to prepare the snack boxes for the wine later.

In Tanchun’s room, the ladies chatted. Tanchun loved openness—her three interconnecting rooms had no partitions. A large marble-topped rosewood desk held calligraphy models, inkstones, and brush pots bristling like a forest. A Ru-ware vase held white chrysanthemums like crystal globes. On the west wall hung Mi Fu’s Rain and Mist painting, flanked by a couplet in Yan Zhenqing’s script:
“Idle bones and spirit roam with mist and cloud;
Wild life among rocks and streams.”
On the desk stood a bronze tripod; a large Guan-ware plate held dozens of golden Buddha’s-hand citrons. Ban’er grew bold and reached for a little hammer to strike a jade chime; maids stopped him. He then wanted to eat a citron; Tanchun gave him one, saying, “Play with it—it’s not for eating.” Ban’er peered at the embroidered gauze bed curtain and called out, “That’s a cricket! That’s a grasshopper!” Granny Liu slapped him: “You little wretch, making a nuisance—you’re getting too forward!” The child cried, and everyone soothed him. Jia looked out the back window: “The wutong trees are doing well, though still a bit thin.” A breeze brought faint music. Jia asked, “Who’s getting married nearby?” Lady Wang laughed, “It’s our own young girls practicing their wind and string instruments.” Jia said, “Why not bring them here to perform? They get a stroll, and we enjoy it.” Xifeng sent for them. Jia directed, “Set them up in the pavilion over the lotus pond—the water will enhance the sound. We’ll dine under the Embroidered Pavilion, where it’s spacious and we can hear clearly.” All agreed. Jia said to Aunt Xue, “Let’s go—the girls don’t like us crowding their rooms. We’ll take a boat and have wine.” Tanchun protested, “We beg you to stay!” Jia laughed, “My third girl is good—only those two jades (Baoyu and Daiyu) are troublesome. If we get drunk, we’ll go make a ruckus in their rooms!”

They reached Caltrap Leaf Shoal, where two Suzhou-built boats awaited. Jia, Lady Wang, Aunt Xue, Granny Liu, Yuanyang, and Yuchuan boarded one; Li Wan and Xifeng followed. Xifeng stood at the prow with a pole, but Jia called, “It’s no joke—though not a river, it’s deep. Come inside!” Xifeng laughed, “Don’t worry, Ancestor!” But when the boat wobbled in mid-pond, she quickly handed the pole to the boatwoman and crouched down. The younger girls and Baoyu took the second boat. Baoyu grumbled, “These rotten lotus leaves—why haven’t they been cleared?” Baochai said, “We’ve been visiting the garden every day—who has time for that?” Daiyu remarked, “I generally dislike Li Shangyin’s poems, except one line: ‘Better to keep the withered lotus to hear the rain.’ But you won’t keep them.” Baoyu said, “A fine line—let’s not remove them.” They glided under the cliffs of Flower Haven, where autumn chill seeped through, and withered reeds and water chestnuts deepened the melancholy.

Jia spotted a spacious building on shore. “Is that Miss Xue’s place?” she asked. They affirmed. She ordered the boat to dock. They climbed the stone steps and entered Hengwu Court, greeted by strange fragrances. Rare vines and grasses looked even greener in the cold, bearing coral-red fruits. But inside, the room was as bare as a snow cave—no ornaments, only a plain vase with chrysanthemums, two books, and a teacup on a desk. The bed had plain blue gauze and simple quilts. Jia sighed, “This child is too frugal. Why didn’t you ask your aunt for furnishings? I didn’t think of it—your things must still be at home.” She told Yuanyang to fetch antiques and scolded Xifeng for being stingy. Lady Wang and Xifeng said, “She refused what we sent.” Aunt Xue added, “She never cared for such things at home.” Jia shook her head: “Not proper. Though she’s thrifty, visitors would find it odd; and young ladies’ rooms shouldn’t be so stark—it’s inauspicious. If she’s so plain, we old hags should live in stables! In books and plays, young ladies’ boudoirs are exquisite. They needn’t match that, but shouldn’t be so outré. With things on hand, why not use them? A few less would be fine, but total bareness won’t do. I used to be the best at decorating—now I’m old and lazy. These girls do well, though sometimes they fear being vulgar and spoil good pieces. But they’re not vulgar. Let me do your room—it will be both tasteful and simple. I have two treasured pieces even Baoyu hasn’t seen (or they’d be gone).” She called Yuanyang and ordered: “Bring the stone miniature landscape, the gauze table-screen, and the ink-stone tripod—place them on the desk. Also the plain silk bed-curtain with ink-wash calligraphy—replace the current one.” Yuanyang said they’d need to search storerooms; Jia said any time in the next two days would do.

They proceeded to the Embroidered Pavilion, where musicians had assembled. Xifeng had laid out low tables with various decorative shapes—crab-apple, plum-blossom, lotus, sunflower, round and square. Each place had a silver self-pouring kettle and enamel cup. Grandmother Jia proposed a drinking game: each player must recite a line of verse or proverb to match a domino pattern described by Yuanyang, with rhyme and sense. Yuanyang announced, “Wine-decrees are like military orders—rank ignored, I am the master. Transgressors drink a forfeit.”

She began with Grandmother Jia, then Aunt Xue, Xiangyun, Baochai, and Daiyu—all executing witty couplets. The game reached Granny Liu. She said, “In our village, we play such games too, but not so elegantly. Let me try.” Yuanyang described the domino: “Left four-four is a man.” Granny Liu thought hard and said, “A farmer?” All laughed. Jia praised, “Well said—just speak plainly.” Yuanyang: “Middle three-four—green matches red.” Granny Liu: “Fire burns the hairy caterpillar.” Laughter. “Right one-four—fine to see.” Granny Liu: “One turnip and a head of garlic.” More laughter. “The whole hand makes ‘One Blossom.’” Granny Liu spread her hands: “The blossom falls and bears a big pumpkin!” Everyone roared—just then, a commotion arose outside…