Tasting Plum‑blossom Snow‑tea at Green Bower Hermitage; The Mother Locust Meets with Mishap in Happy Red Court

Granny Liu spread out both hands and declared, “The blossom falls and bears a big pumpkin!” The whole company roared with laughter. After they had all drunk the communal cup, Granny Liu continued her jest: “To tell you the truth, my hands are clumsy and I’ve had wine—I’m afraid I might drop and break this porcelain cup. If you have a wooden one, give me that—even if it falls, no harm done.” Everyone laughed again. Xifeng promptly said, “You really want wooden ones? I’ll fetch them. But one condition: these wooden cups are not like porcelain—they come in a set, and you must drink from every single one in order.” Granny Liu thought to herself, “I was only joking, but she really has them. I’ve been to many country gentry feasts and seen gold and silver cups, but never wooden ones. Ah, they must be children’s wooden bowls—just trying to make me drink a few extra cups. Well, the wine is as sweet as honey, so a little more won’t hurt.” So she said, “Bring them, and we’ll see.” Xifeng ordered Feng’er, “Go to the inner room and fetch the set of ten bamboo-root cups from the bookshelf.” Feng’er was about to go when Yuanyang interrupted: “I know those ten cups—they’re too small. Besides, you said wooden, and now you’re bringing bamboo—that won’t look right. Better fetch our set of ten large boxwood cups, carved from single roots—we’ll give her ten good drafts.” Xifeng agreed, and Yuanyang sent for them. When Granny Liu saw them, she was both startled and delighted—startled because there were ten, ranging from a small basin down to the smallest still twice the size of an ordinary cup; delighted because they were exquisitely carved with landscapes, figures, grass‑script inscriptions, and seal marks. “Just bring the smallest one—why so many?” she pleaded. Xifeng laughed, “We never serve just one from a set. Since no one in our house can hold that much, nobody dares use them. But since you asked, and we’ve taken the trouble to find them, you must drink from each in turn.” Granny Liu was alarmed: “Oh no! Dear young mistress, please spare me!” Grandmother Jia, Aunt Xue, and Lady Wang, knowing her age, interceded: “Joking is joking—don’t overdo it. Just have the first, largest cup.” Granny Liu sighed, “Amida Buddha! Let me have the small cup instead. Put these big ones away—I’ll take them home and drink slowly.” More laughter. Yuanyang had no choice but to have the largest cup filled to the brim; Granny Liu held it with both hands and drank. Jia and Aunt Xue urged, “Slowly, don’t choke!” Aunt Xue told Xifeng to serve her some food. Xifeng asked, “Granny, what would you like? Name it, and I’ll feed you.” “How would I know the names? Everything is good.” Jia said, “Give her some of that eggplant dish.” Xifeng did so, putting a piece into Granny Liu’s mouth, and asked, “You eat eggplant every day—how does ours taste?” Granny Liu laughed, “Don’t fool me—eggplant could never taste like this! If so, we’d stop growing grain and just plant eggplant.” They all assured her it was really eggplant. Granny Liu was amazed: “Truly eggplant? I’ve eaten it without knowing. Please, feed me another piece—let me chew it slowly.” Xifeng obliged. After chewing a long while, Granny Liu said, “It has a faint eggplant fragrance, but it doesn’t taste like eggplant. Tell me the recipe—I’ll make it at home.” Xifeng explained, “It’s simple: peel fresh eggplants, take only the flesh, dice it, fry in chicken fat, then add diced chicken breast, fragrant mushrooms, fresh bamboo shoots, dried mushrooms, spiced dried bean curd, and assorted dried fruits—all diced. Simmer in chicken stock until dry, season with sesame oil and fermented wine‑paste, seal in a porcelain jar. When you want some, mix it with shredded chicken stir‑fried.” Granny Liu shook her head and stuck out her tongue: “My Buddha! It takes a dozen chickens to flavour it—no wonder it tastes so good!” Chatting and laughing, she slowly finished the wine, still fondling the cup. Xifeng teased, “Not satisfied? Have another.” “No, I’d be dead drunk. I just love the carving—how did they make it?” Yuanyang asked, “Now that you’ve drunk, what wood is this cup made of?” Granny Liu replied, “No wonder you don’t know, miss—living in these gilt and embroidered chambers, how could you recognise wood? We country folk live next to woods—we sleep on wood, lean on wood, and in famines even eat wood. We see it, hear it, and talk about it every day, so I can tell good from bad, true from false. Let me examine it.” She studied it carefully for a long time, then said, “In a house like yours, you wouldn’t keep cheap stuff—common wood you wouldn’t bother to store. Weighing this cup, it’s certainly not poplar; it must be yellow pine.” At this, everyone burst out laughing.

Just then a serving woman came to ask Grandmother Jia: “The young ladies have all arrived at the Lotus Pavilion—shall they start now or wait?” Jia remembered, “Oh, I’d forgotten them—tell them to begin.” The woman left. Soon flutes and pipes rose on the clear autumn air, wafting through the trees and across the water, refreshing every heart. Baoyu could not resist—he poured a cup and drained it, then poured another. Just as he raised it, Lady Wang signalled for warmed wine, so Baoyu quickly offered his cup to her lips, and she drank two mouthfuls. When the warm wine arrived, Baoyu returned to his seat. Lady Wang took the pot and rose to serve; everyone stood, and Aunt Xue also rose. Jia ordered Li Wan and Xifeng to take the pot: “Let your aunt sit—then we can all be at ease.” Lady Wang handed the pot to Xifeng and resumed her seat. Jia raised her cup: “Let’s all have a few cups—today is truly delightful.” She toasted Aunt Xue, then said to Xiangyun and Baochai, “You two sisters should drink too. Though your younger sister (Daiyu) isn’t a great drinker, don’t let her off.” She drained her cup; Xiangyun, Baochai, and Daiyu followed suit. Granny Liu, stirred by the music and the wine, began to dance and wave her hands. Baoyu came over to Daiyu and whispered, “Look at Granny Liu.” Daiyu laughed, “In ancient times, when the sacred music played, all the beasts danced—now it’s only one ox.” The sisters all giggled.

When the music ceased, Aunt Xue rose: “I think we’ve all had enough wine—let’s take a stroll before sitting again.” Jia agreed, so they all followed her out to wander. Jia took Granny Liu’s arm and led her among the hills and trees, pointing out various trees, rocks, and flowers. Granny Liu took it all in, then remarked, “Who knew that in the city not only people are noble, but even the birds are noble? Here even the birds grow handsome and learn to talk.” When they asked which birds, she said, “That green‑feathered, red‑beaked parrot on the gold stand—I know that. But that black crow in the cage—how did it grow a phoenix crest and learn to speak?” Everyone laughed.

Soon maids came to invite them to refreshments. Jia said, “After two cups of wine, I’m not hungry. But bring them here—we’ll nibble.” Two small tables and two lacquered boxes were brought. In one box were lotus‑root osmanthus cakes and pine‑kernel goose‑fat rolls; in the other, tiny dumplings about an inch long—stuffed with crab, they said. Jia frowned at the greasy dumplings and passed them by; she also declined the cream‑fried pastries. She offered the cakes to Aunt Xue, who took one; Jia took a roll, tasted it, and gave the rest to a maid. Granny Liu, admiring the delicate pastries, picked out a peony‑shaped one: “Even our cleverest girls couldn’t cut paper flowers as pretty as these. I’d love to eat them, but I can’t bear to—let me take some home as patterns.” Jia said, “I’ll give you a whole jar when you leave. For now, eat these while warm.” The others took one or two of their favourites; Granny Liu, who had never tasted such things, and Ban’er, tried every kind and soon finished half a plate. Xifeng had the leftovers packed for the musicians. Then the wet‑nurse brought little大姐儿 (Jia’s great‑granddaughter) to play. The child was holding a pomelo; when she saw Ban’er with a Buddha’s‑hand citron, she cried for it. The maids tried to coax her, but she wouldn’t wait and began to wail. They swapped the pomelo for Ban’er’s citron to pacify her. Ban’er, who had tired of the citron, now found the round, fragrant pomelo more amusing and kicked it like a ball, so he didn’t miss his old toy.

After tea, Jia led the party to Green Bower Hermitage. Miaoyu (the nun) received them. In the courtyard, flowers and trees flourished. Jia remarked, “Monks and nuns do keep their gardens well—it’s prettier than the rest.” They entered the eastern meditation hall. Miaoyu invited them in, but Jia said, “We’ve just had wine and meat—with Bodhisattvas here, it would be irreverent. We’ll just sit here; bring us some good tea, and we’ll be on our way.” Miaoyu went to brew tea. Baoyu watched her closely. She personally presented to Jia a small carved red‑lacquer tray with a gold dragon and clouds, bearing a little covered cup of Cheng‑ware polychrome porcelain. Jia said, “I don’t drink Lu’an tea.” Miaoyu smiled, “I know—this is Old‑Brow (a fine aged tea).” Jia took it, asked what water was used, and was told, “Rainwater collected last year.” She sipped half a cup, then handed it to Granny Liu: “Taste this.” Granny Liu gulped it down and commented, “It’s good, but a bit weak—steep it stronger next time.” Everyone laughed. The rest were served plain white official‑ware covered cups.

Miaoyu then tugged Baochai and Daiyu by their sleeves, and they followed her out; Baoyu slipped after them. He saw Miaoyu lead the two into a side room—Baochai sat on the couch, Daiyu on Miaoyu’s meditation cushion. Miaoyu fanned the stove to boil fresh water and brewed a separate pot. Baoyu entered: “So you’re having a private tea party!” They teased him, “You’ve come for leftovers—there’s none for you.” Just then an old nun brought in the used tea cups from the main hall. Miaoyu ordered, “Don’t put away that Cheng‑ware cup—leave it outside.” Baoyu understood: she found it soiled because Granny Liu had drunk from it. Then Miaoyu produced two other cups. One had a handle and bore the archaic script “Gourd‑gourd jia” with a tiny inscription: “Treasured by Wang Kai of Jin” and a later line: “Seen in the imperial library by Su Shi of Meishan, fourth month, fifth year of Yuanfeng, Song.” Miaoyu filled it for Baochai. The other, like a small bowl, had the seal‑script “Rhinoceros‑horn” and was given to Daiyu. For Baoyu she used her own daily jade cup. Baoyu joked, “You always say ‘all are equal before the Dharma’—they get antique treasures, while I get a vulgar thing.” Miaoyu retorted, “Vulgar? I don’t boast, but I doubt you could find such a ‘vulgar’ cup in your whole house.” Baoyu laughed, “As the saying goes, ‘When in Rome…’—here, even gold and jade become vulgar.” Pleased, Miaoyu found a huge carved bamboo‑root goblet with a hundred‑and‑twenty‑jointed dragon design, and said, “This is the last one—can you drink this whole sea?” Baoyu eagerly said yes. Miaoyu laughed, “Even if you can, I won’t waste so much tea. Don’t you know: ‘one cup is for tasting, two for quenching thirst (fit for a brute), and three for oxen and mules’? What would you be with a whole sea?” All three laughed. She poured only about a cupful into the great goblet. Baoyu sipped it carefully and found it extraordinarily light and fragrant, praising it endlessly. Miaoyu said sternly, “This tea you’re drinking today is thanks to those two—if you’d come alone, I’d not give you any.” Baoyu replied, “I know—I won’t thank you, only them.” She nodded, “That’s sensible.” Daiyu asked, “Is this also last year’s rainwater?” Miaoyu sneered, “For such a clever person, you’re quite vulgar—you can’t even taste water. This is snow I collected from plum blossoms five years ago at Panxiang Temple on Mount Xuanmu. I got one grey‑green jarful; I buried it and only opened it this summer. I’ve had it only once before—this is the second time. How could you mistake it for rainwater? Last year’s rain hasn’t that lightness—it’s undrinkable.” Daiyu, knowing her eccentricity, said no more and soon finished her tea, then left with Baochai.

Baoyu said to Miaoyu, “That cup is now defiled, but it’s a pity to throw it away. Why not give it to that old country woman? She could sell it and make a living. What do you think?” Miaoyu reflected a moment, then nodded: “Very well. Fortunately I never drank from it—if I had, I’d smash it before giving it to her. I’ll leave it to you—take it quickly.” Baoyu took it and added, “After we leave, shall I have some lads fetch water from the river to wash the ground?” Miaoyu smiled, “Even better—but tell them to leave the water outside the gate, not bring it in.” “Of course.” He tucked the cup into his sleeve and handed it to a little maid in Grandmother Jia’s service, saying, “Give this to Granny Liu when she leaves tomorrow.” By then Jia was ready to go; Miaoyu saw them out, closed the gate, and retired.

Grandmother Jia, feeling tired, asked Lady Wang and the younger girls to accompany Aunt Xue for more wine, while she went to Rice‑scent Village to rest. Xifeng had a small bamboo chair carried over; two serving women carried Jia, surrounded by Xifeng, Li Wan, and maids. Aunt Xue soon took her leave. Lady Wang sent the musicians away and distributed the leftover snacks to the maids, then lay down on the couch where Jia had sat, had a maid draw the curtains and massage her legs, and dozed off.

Baoyu, Xiangyun, and the others watched the maids place the snack boxes on rocks; some sat on stones, some on grass, some leaned against trees, some by the water—a lively scene. Then Yuanyang arrived to take Granny Liu on a tour, and everyone followed, teasing her. They came to the archway of “Provincial‑Visit Villa.” Granny Liu exclaimed, “Oh! There’s a big temple here!” and knelt to kowtow. The others doubled over laughing. “What’s funny?” she asked. “I can read the words on that arch—we have many such temples, with arches like this, and the characters are the temple’s name.” They asked, “What temple do you think this is?” She pointed up and read, “Isn’t it ‘Jade Emperor’s Hall’?” They laughed till they slapped their hands, and were about to tease her more when Granny Liu felt a sudden rumbling in her belly. She grabbed a maid for paper and began to undo her clothes. Everyone shouted, “Not here!” and had a serving woman take her to the northeast. The woman pointed out the privy and happily went off to rest.

Granny Liu, not used to the wine, having eaten rich food and drunk extra tea, now suffered a thorough purge. After squatting for a good while, she came out, but the wind, her age, and the long crouch made her dizzy and disoriented. Surrounded by trees, rocks, and pavilions, she couldn’t tell which way to go. She stumbled along a pebbled path until she reached a house but couldn’t find the door. After wandering further, she saw a bamboo fence and thought, “Here’s a trellis for beans.” She followed the flower‑hedge, passed through a moon‑gate, and found a pond about eight feet wide with clear green water, crossed by a white stone slab. She crossed it and followed another path, turned twice, and saw a doorway. Entering, she saw a smiling girl coming toward her. “Your young ladies have abandoned me—I had to come bumping along here!” she said, but the girl didn’t answer. When she reached out to take her hand—thump—she banged into a wooden screen and hurt her head. Looking closely, it was a painting. “So paintings can look so real!” she thought, touching it—it was flat. She sighed, turned, and found a small door with a green flowered curtain. She lifted it and stepped in. Looking up, she saw exquisite openwork walls with qin (zithers), swords, vases, and incense burners mounted on them; brocade screens, gauze covers, gold and pearl gleams; even the floor tiles were green with carved patterns. Her eyes grew dizzy—where was the door? Nowhere. To her left were bookshelves, to the right a screen. She went behind the screen, found a door, turned—and saw her own daughter‑in‑law coming in from outside! Surprised, she said, “So you came looking for me because I’ve been away? Which young lady brought you in?” The in‑law only smiled and said nothing. Granny Liu laughed, “You’re so ignorant—you saw the pretty garden flowers and stuck them all over your head!” Still no answer. Suddenly it struck her: “I’ve heard that grand families have full‑length mirrors—could this be a mirror?” She felt it, looked again—yes, the mirror was set into carved rosewood panels. “It blocks my way—how do I get out?” She fumbled with her hands, and by chance pressed the Western‑style spring mechanism; the mirror swung open, revealing a doorway. Startled and delighted, she stepped out and saw an exquisite bed with curtains. She was half‑drunk and tired, so she sat on the bed to rest—but before she knew it, she swayed and fell fast asleep.

Meanwhile, the party missed her; Ban’er cried when he couldn’t find his grandmother. They joked, “Has she fallen into the latrine?” Two women went to check—no. They searched everywhere. Xiren guessed, “She must be drunk and lost—she might have gone toward our back courtyard. If she entered the flower‑hedge to the back door, some little maids would have seen her. If she went southwest instead, she might have gotten out, or she might be wandering for ages. I’ll go look.” She went to Happy Red Court (Baoyu’s quarters). Finding the maids had sneaked off to play, she entered the room, passed the decorative screen, and heard thunderous snoring. The room reeked of wine and gas. There lay Granny Liu, sprawled on the bed, arms and legs flung wide. Xiren was horrified. She rushed over and shook her awake. Granny Liu sat up, saw Xiren, and scrambled: “Miss, I’ve blundered! I hope I didn’t soil the bedclothes!” She brushed at them. Xiren, fearing the commotion would reach Baoyu, waved her to silence, quickly burned some incense in the tripod, covered it, and saw thankfully that nothing had been vomited. She whispered, “It’s all right—I’ll take care of it. Follow me out.” She led Granny Liu to the maids’ room, made her sit, and told her, “Just say you dozed off on the rockery.” Granny Liu agreed. Xiren gave her tea to sober her up. Granny Liu asked, “Whose young lady’s boudoir is that—so exquisite, like a celestial palace?” Xiren smiled, “That’s Master Bao’s bedroom.” Granny Liu was too frightened to speak. Xiren took her out by the front way and told the others she’d been asleep on the grass; they didn’t question it.

Soon Grandmother Jia woke and had supper at Rice‑scent Village. Feeling languid, she didn’t eat, but took a bamboo sedan chair back to her room, telling Xifeng and the rest to go eat. The sisters then returned to the garden. If you wish to know what followed, read the next chapter.