Master Wu's Bride Read online

  Master Wu’s Bride

  by

  Edward C. Patterson

  Dancaster Creative

  www.dancaster.com

  [email protected]

  First Kindle Original Edition, February 2016

  Copyright 2016 by Edward C. Patterson

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research. Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpt), without written permission from the publisher.

  Other Works by Edward C. Patterson

  No Irish Need Apply

  Cutting the Cheese

  Bobby’s Trace

  The Closet Clandestine: a queer steps out

  Come, Wewoka & Diary of Medicine Flower

  Surviving an American Gulag

  Turning Idolater

  Look Away Silence

  The Road to Grafenwöhr

  Are You Still Submitting Your Work to a Traditional Publisher?

  A Reader’s Guide to Author’s Jargon and Other Ravings from the Blogosphere

  Oh Dainty Triolet

  Pacific Crimson — Forget Me Not

  The Twinning of Vincent Cassidy

  Mother Asphodel

  Little Vin at Dreamland

  Nick Firestone Mysteries

  The Sapphire Astonishment

  Old Friend Cane

  Farn Trilogy

  Belmundus – The Farn Trilogy – Book I

  Boots of Montjoy – The Farn Trilogy – Book II

  The Adumbration of Zin – The Farn Trilogy – Book III

  Southern Swallow Series

  The Academician - Southern Swallow Book I

  The Nan Tu - Southern Swallow Book II

  Swan Cloud – Southern Swallow Book III

  The House of Green Waters - Southern Swallow Book IV

  Vagrants Hollow - Southern Swallow Book V

  The Jade Owl Legacy Series

  The Jade Owl

  The Third Peregrination

  The Dragon’s Pool

  The People’s Treasure

  In the Shadow of Her Hem

  Translations from the Book of Odes are by James Legge, The China Book Company Shanghai 1879

  To

  Elaine Taylor

  Colleague and Friend, whose support has been solidly and keenly felt

  Acknowledgements

  The idea for Master Wu’s Bride stemmed from a short story I wrote in the 70’s called Master Wu’s Ghost Bride, which contained the kernel for the protagonist’s journey. This l later distilled into a flash story of 500 words entered into a contest at Whim’s Place, an on-line site run by Betsy Gallup, publisher of anotherchapter.com, where The Jade Owl first had appeared. The piece, Chi-lin and the Cup, won 2nd place and a cash prize. I have reprinted that piece at the end of this work.

  I returned to Chi Lin late in 2014 and pondered it for some time, deciding to expand the work to capture life in 15th Century Ming China. I reasoned it had contemporary relevance, especially pertaining to living conditions for women in traditional cultures. I decided to cast the work entirely in a woman’s point of view, a decision not to be taken lightly, especially since I would need to experience, firsthand, the sensibilities of women, including the adaptability of rights denied and the physical ramifications of pregnancy and childbirth. It was enlightening to stroll, even at a half-wavelength, in Chi Lin’s shoes.

  I am indebted to my many female friends who described the joys, bitterness, frustrations and management of the inequality between the sexes, which still pervades society. For a man to get his head around morning sickness and other lady ailments are details every man should ponder before pressing the myth of male superiority. Of course, in marrying these elements to my background in Imperial Chinese culture, I hope to spark my readers with some level of understanding of this journey through womanhood, a journey still traveled by most of the world’s women today despite the passage of seven hundred years.

  I also owe a big thank you to my friend, Margaret Stevens (Peg) for her constant support and word wizardry as she applies her eye and experience to my little army of words and commas (and lack of commas) and chapters and stuff as it flows, sometimes without structure, into semi-baked molds. Peg has stuck with me as an adviser and reader through my entire published career.

  Edward C. Patterson

  February, 2016

  Ming Dynasty China

  1373 - 1405

  Table of Contents

  Part I: Purple Flowers (1372-1375)

  Chapter One: A Dash in Time

  Chapter Two: Yan-cheng

  Chapter Three: The White Cockeral

  Chapter Four: The Hall of Silver Silence

  Chapter Five: Husband and Mother-in-law

  Chapter Six: Evening Shades and Shadows

  Chapter Seven: The Crawl of Industry

  Chapter Eight: New Acquisitions

  Chapter Nine: Mending Things

  Chapter Ten: Moon Cakes and Guan-yin

  Chapter Eleven: Inspecting the Ji-tzao

  Chapter Twelve: The Master Speaks

  Chapter Thirteen: Gentle Rain and Lanterns

  Chapter Fourteen: Reunion

  Chapter Fifteen: Plum Wine

  Chapter Sixteen: Growing Pains

  Chapter Seventeen: Winter Measures

  Chapter Eighteen: Full Blossoming

  Chapter Nineteen: Spring Toward Summer

  Chapter Twenty: Mistress Purple Sage

  Chapter Twenty-One: Dismissing the Shadows

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Tai-feng

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Assessment

  Part II: Queen Crane (1399 — 1405)

  Chapter One: The Salt Goddess

  Chapter Two: Chi Lin and the Mei-ren

  Chapter Three: Passing the Torch

  Chapter Four: The Cold Palace

  Chapter Five: Infringement

  Chapter Six: A Different Arrangement

  Chapter Seven: Siblings

  Chapter Eight: Last Settlements

  Chapter Nine: The Grand Director

  Chapter Ten: Serenity

  Reprint: Chi-lin and the Cup

  Master Wu’s Bride is a work of short fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations are entirely coincidental.

  Part One — Purple Flowers (1372-1375)

  Chapter One

  A Dash in Time

  1

  “It is time, mistress,” the gruff servant said. “The porters are approaching and you have not even made an effort.”

  Chi Lin sat beside the courtyard pool, her aging eyes closed, fearing what she might see in the waters if she could stretch so far as to peek. The air was filled with jasmine, the aroma reminding her of the best days, if she could count them. She had sniffed both wonderful scents and more horrid within these walls. The house had been home and prison, but she did not care to distinguish one from the other today.

  “Mistress,” the gruff servant said again. “Let me prepare you for her coming.”

  Chi Lin opened her eyes. The sight of her handmaiden, a woman nearly as old as herself, did not favor her today. Still, she knew she had to prepare. It was a duty and a privilege. But she preferred to sit by the pool catching the scant breeze pressing a promise across her canyoned cheeks. She stirred, but stopped short of standing. She reached into the pool, brushing the surface. Her hand jostled a lotus blooming above a swollen koi, her fingers trying to recall another pool, a dream of days past. She dared to take a peek, her rugged reflection ripp
led, hinting at younger days and a better complexion, despite the layers that painted her now. She shivered, but in that recall she eased to dreams of long ago, separating her from dark days — days of toil and fearful nights; and yet it was in this place, not far from the lotus pool that her hardships had blossomed. Now her fingers broke the surface sending ripples to the koi and sweet tidings to the lotus.

  “The duck pond,” she murmured.

  “Again the pond,” Mi Tso-tze said. “No time for it, mistress. No time.”

  Chi Lin shook her head. She closed her eyes again, recalling another reflection beside another pool — her father’s duck pond, no koi nor flowers, but the tingle of minnows and an old catfish lurking on the bottom. There she would come and watch the moon’s reflection as it set, and then waited for the sun’s face to shine again. Then it was not a vigil, but a dash in time, between her studies and her chores, when she fretted on the departure from her father’s house and her golden fate in a rich neighbor’s estate — the House of Wu.

  “Do not sleep, mistress,” Mi Tso-tze nagged. “The priest will scowl.”

  “Let him scowl,” Chi Lin muttered. “Let him wait. He has waited before.”

  “When?”

  “Ah, yes. Before you had entered my service.”

  Chi Lin could hear Mi Tso-tze chuff, but ignored her. She remembered the time beside the duck pond and in the barnyard. She missed her mother, who had taught her to play the lute and to sing ballads to the moon. On the banks of the Ti-shui, her mother had sat beside her and her sister Chi Tsai and contradicted the world, telling her daughters tales of women who changed their times. Beyond Chi Lin’s father’s house the world was stern and regulated. The Ming dynasts poked their fingers in every mu of land. Wars ensued, breaking the old order — a barbarian order. Now warlords became ministers and a bandit became the Emperor. The era of Hung Wu had been proclaimed and a new order stalked the land. Chi Lin’s father, Chi Ming, was called into service and serve he did — and long. But now the old scholar retired to his books and paintings, teaching his son the character forms. Chi Ming the scholar believed his daughters could master such things as the Spring and Autumn Annals and The Book of Odes. He encouraged their curiosity, despite the bans. But Chi Ming’s only son was cripple-born and could not contribute much to the household. Heaven had cursed the scholar with two daughters, whom Chi Ming prized above all.

  “Do not sleep, mistress,” the gruff servant said. “It is time. The porters are approaching and you have not even made an effort.”

  Chi Lin snored.

  2

  “It is time,” her sister called. “The porters are approaching and you have not even made an effort.”

  Chi Lin sat by the duck pond, her hand sweeping the foam, disturbing the frogs. She kept her eyes shut, her sister’s voice yet another distraction from sadness. Chi Lin longed for her mother, who was lost to different waters — the Yellow Springs. Mother played her lute and told her tales to the ancestors now. Chi Lin thought her mother could have soothed all concerns on this day. No moonrise or sunset reflections could do it. No other family member could.

  Sister Chi Tsai was practical, more intent on housework and tending the cowcumbers than musing over frogs and minnows. She had had her chance for family honor, but declined the opportunity. It was never discussed. Brother Chi Sheng was kind, but preoccupied with his studies. When asked, he offered kind words and adages from the Classics. As fond as Chi Lin was of the aphorisms of Masters K’ung and Meng, she was stirred more by the poetry of Su Tung-po and Po Chu-yi. When asked, her father provided guidance but only from precedent. But precedent could not console her now, because, when the sun’s arc reached the third watch, Chi Lin would retire to the cottage and don the red dress, because today was her wedding day — an act of duty, with dim prospects. This she knew because her future father-in-law had sent a bouquet of ma-lan flowers — a dreadful message for any bride. Today, unlike her sister, Chi Lin would bestow honor on her household.

  “It is time,” her sister called again. “The porters are approaching and you have not even made an effort.”

  Chi Lin sighed, her hand still wet.

  “I wish to stay here and admire the ducks.”

  “You know that is impossible.”

  Her sister was dressed in a drab gray robe tied with a plain green sash. She would not attend the wedding today. No need. Such distractions as sisters were superfluous at such events. Chi Tsai hopped along the stone path until she reached the pond. Although a pretty maiden, she scowled now, shaking her head.

  “It is a good match for our family. It brings us needed honor.”

  “But no more than that,” Chi Lin snapped. “It also brings a ma lan bouquet.”

  “It is the way with the world. Mother once told us . . .”

  “I know that tale. It chills my heart,”

  Her sister relented, hunkering down, her scowl easing into a half-smile.

  “In a rich household you will have many pretty things and dainty food. You shall sit by your own pool all day and splash the ducks. Perhaps you will be permitted to read between your duties.”

  “I am not about such things, Chi Tsai. You enjoy tending to things. I am not accustomed to it. If my life will continue as it is here, why should I not remain here?”

  “Because the dowry is paid and Master Wu waits.”

  Chi Lin scowled now. She knew what waited.

  “When the chair comes,” Chi Lin replied, “fill it with the dowry, but leave this bride behind.”

  Chi Tsai stood, shaking her fists.

  “You have always been as stubborn as an ox. You must do your duty or no house in the county will favor us again with an offer. You shall wither on the vine. I know this too well.”

  “We shall wither on the vine, sister.”

  Chi Lin wept, her hand diving into the pond. She felt the minnows kiss her fingers, perhaps trying to console her.

  Chi Tsai turned away. Chi Ming approached.

  “What is the delay?” he said, approaching cautiously. “Why is the red dress still on the bamboo pole? Why is the veil bundled in the sack?”

  “She is as stubborn as an ox, father,” Chi Tsai grumbled.

  “Ah, my daughters. Do not quarrel over such things as marriage. It is a day for celebration. I lose a daughter and, Heaven should know, I am joyous in that.” He looked to the sky and nodded. “Such riddance is a blessing to any father.” He then leered at Chi Tsai. “I shall handle this.” He then whispered to Chi Lin. “I too am heartbroken at your departure, but let us not give Heaven an excuse to sweep our good fortune away.”

  Chi Lin knew that fortune had once graced the House of Chi, but the Emperor was as fickle as he was powerful. He had called all his ministers into the Imperial courtyard one day, accused them of ingratitude and had a thousand heads removed on the spot. On that day, Chi Ming was ill and had made an excuse. On the next day, the Emperor had a change of heart and halted the purge. Still, all those who served, served no longer — no longer enjoying Heaven’s behest. So Chi Ming retired to this county town and lived on his neighbor’s good will.

  “I shall obey, father,” Chi Lin said, nodding. “But it is unfair.”

  “It is a woman’s lot,” her father said. “How bad could it be in the House of Wu, even when they send the ma-lan flowers and deck their walls in snowy silk?”

  Chi Lin stood, her sister guiding her. Her brother, Chi Sheng, had hobbled across the threshold on his crutch. He rarely emerged from the house, but he was anxious. He would not be going to the wedding either, cousin Chi Fa being sent in his place. His crippled leg prevented his journey and it would be improper for him to be carried in a chair — a blow to his sister’s honor.

  “They will be here soon,” he called. “We should not delay.”

  Chi Sheng had commanded the house staff to gather the balance of the dowry — a chest of cash, seven goats, three pigs and a fine ox, as well as twelve bolts of finely woven silk. The servants loaded
the carts and assembled the livestock. Chi Sheng was efficient, in charge of the household accounts. He assured that the ceremonial incense always burned and the ancestral tablets were properly honored. Now he waved his hand for his sister to hurry. Chi Lin loved her brother, but the circumstance did not capture her sandals with gratitude. Instead, she shuffled to the house setting about her duty with a heavy heart.

  3

  Beneath the red robe, the bride wore white, a doff to the purple flowers. The silk reminded her of the act’s cruelty — the heavy cloth her husband would never see. Quickly Chi Tsai covered the skirts with rich crimson brocade, draped in three layers.

  “There, sister,” she said. “Only you know that it is there.”

  “I and Guan-yin.”

  “The goddess knows everything,” Chi Tsai said. “You cannot complain to her about such things. She rules your destiny and cannot be bought, no matter how many prayers you make or sticks you burn.”

  “I do not believe that,” Chi Lin said.

  “Believe what you will. It does not make it so.”

  Chi Lin sighed, but received both sisterly chiding and the red blouse as roughly as the rude, white undergarments. She was already hot in this dress and would be hotter still on the road to Yan-cheng. The salt bogs would fill the air with bitter fragrance to accompany the mosquitoes.

  “Must I wear so many layers?”

  “Do you wish to void the contract?”

  Chi Lin did not, and yet she did. At least, for her part it was void already. But her family depended on this connection. Perhaps her father might find a post in the Ya-men again. It was a daughter’s sacrifice, but Chi Lin remembered her mother’s words.

  “A woman’s lot in life is to ease our men folk to positions that will make the ancestors proud and give hope to those who carry the family name.”