Chapter 114 — Seeking Lodging

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To its east ran a small river from north to south; to its west lay a stretch of good farmland slightly lower than the house. In dry years the river could be drawn on for irrigation; in a flood like this one, all they had to do was dig open the southernmost gap, and the standing water would follow the lie of the land straight into the Lang family's fields.

"We can't dig the gap," Dou Yan said, recalling the scene on her way here. "All of Zhending has turned into a land of water. Even if we opened the gap, it wouldn't solve anything—and cutting off another family's livelihood is a wicked thing to do, the sort that stirs up quarrels between neighbors. A distant relative is no match for a close neighbor; our fields have marched with the Langs' for years without a single dispute. We can't have them pointing their fingers at our spines over this."

Those seated here were the village's elders—men of standing who knew farming—and until now they had feared that Dou Yan, being so young, might dig the gap or seize the winter seedlings by force just to give her grandmother an accounting. Hearing her words, they all let out a breath at once.

The winter wheat was certainly a total loss; all that remained was to see how matters might be salvaged.

The men gazed at Dou Yan in silence.

Dou Yan understood what was on their minds. "When I came," she said, "Aunt Cui told me over and over that you are all old hands at the land who have followed her for a dozen years and more. She said that no matter when the rain stops, or whether we can still make the autumn sowing, the rent for this year is waived. When you go home, spread the word to every household—there's no need to fret too much."

Every face eased at once. They praised Aunt Cui for a heart as merciful as a bodhisattva's, praised Dou Yan for the purity of hers, and kept voicing their thanks.

Seeing the hour had grown late, Dou Yan raised her teacup to see her guests out.

Chen Yanzhou hurried in. "Fourth Miss, word has come from the capital—His Majesty has issued an edict appointing Liang Jifang Chief Grand Secretary of the Grand Secretariat."

Dou Yan was briefly taken aback.

She remembered the man.

After the Prince of Liao's coup, he had dashed his brains out in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

In those days she had been no more than a woman of the inner chambers, concerned with firewood, rice, oil, and salt. She had heard people speak of it afterward and done no more than sigh twice. She knew nothing of the man.

But a man who would batter his own skull against the floor of the Hall of Supreme Harmony must have been a man of unyielding integrity.

She invited Chen Yanzhou to sit.

Chen Yanzhou sighed. "Who would have thought that in the end it would be him made Chief Grand Secretary? It's a dark horse, and it caught everyone flat-footed."

"What is his background?" Dou Yan asked.

If he had some connection to her Fifth Uncle, the odds of her Fifth Uncle entering the Grand Secretariat would rise considerably.

Chen Yanzhou spoke with a good deal of rueful feeling. "He was a palace graduate of the renchen year. After passing into the Hanlin Academy as a bachelor, he did his probation in the Ministry of Justice, and after that it was one hard step at a time—from Supervising Secretary in the Ministry of Justice all the way up to Vice Minister. He was a protégé of Pan Tuchang, the former Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate. Pan Tuchang and Ye Shipei were at odds. When Zeng Yifen was hounded by Ye Shipei into forced retirement, Pan, purely to spite him, threw his weight behind Liang Jifang and got him into the Grand Secretariat. Liang Jifang knew his own limits; though he had sat in the Secretariat for more than ten years, he had bowed and murmured and never once taken a stand on anything. He got in this time, too, because Ye Shipei is advanced in years, and Yao Shizhong and Dai Jian are locked in a fight to the death that has soured the Emperor's mood—so His Majesty simply let Liang Jifang have the chief post." Here he gave a long, melancholy sigh. "That is what you call luck."

Dou Yan's heart stirred.

Liang Jifang was a palace graduate of the renchen year. Reckoning the years, he must be a man of fifty or sixty by now. Chen Yanzhou was of much the same age, yet he had come down in the world to be her retainer, while Liang Jifang stood at the pinnacle of the Grand Secretariat—how could he not feel it?

At the thought, she wanted to comfort him.

"I am not so sure," Dou Yan said, lifting an eyebrow. "I know nothing of the others, but take the men you have named to me—Ye Shipei needs no explaining. To hound Zeng Yifen into retirement shows means and cunning out of the ordinary. Dai Jian has Wang Yuan at his back, and yet Yao Shizhong can fight him to a standstill, so Yao is plainly no ordinary man either. With so many formidable figures under his hand, whether Liang Jifang can hold them in check is another matter altogether."

Chen Yanzhou's expression indeed improved considerably at this.

Dou Yan smiled faintly.

The two chatted a while longer, and then Chen Yanzhou rose to take his leave. Suxin made the rounds of the gatehouse; Sulan lit mugwort incense in the room to drive off the insects; Ganlu let down the bed curtains and attended Dou Yan as she lay down.

The rain fell harder still, clattering down as though water were being poured from the sky.

Lying in bed, Dou Yan had the illusion of being in a small boat.

She thought of Ji Yong, and sleep would not come.

Was he or was he not that Master Yuantong?

Yet something in her heart told her that a man of such dazzling brilliance could not possibly be a nobody, not unless he chose to be... Nine chances in ten he was that very Master Yuantong whom even Wang Yuan treated with deference.

But why had he become a monk?

A man so haughty, so arrogant, even somewhat reckless—he could not have been forced into the monastery.

Was it a love of the Buddhist law? Or... She thought of that thing about Master Yuantong—

If Ji Yong was Master Yuantong, he was quite capable of doing such a thing!

At the thought, Dou Yan could not put a name to what she felt, and she turned over in bed with a rustle.

Outside there seemed to be some kind of movement.

Her heart jumped.

Ever since Pang Kunbai had abducted her, Dou Yan had been especially sensitive to such things—if Pang Kunbai had not been bent on luring her with the promise of both money and herself, how could she have walked away unscathed?

"Suxin!" She sat up and pushed back the curtain. "Go and look—I think I heard something!"

Suxin had heard it too, and so when Dou Yan called she had already shaken Sulan awake beside her; by the time Dou Yan spoke, she was already out of bed and pulling on her clothes.

"Don't worry, Miss," she reassured Dou Yan. "I'll go and see right now."

Dou Yan nodded.

Sulan sat down on the edge of the bed and, yawning, said, "Miss, with Uncle Duan and Brother Chen about, nothing will come of it."

She had barely finished speaking when Suxin hurried back. "Miss, someone is asking for lodging."

"Someone asking for lodging?" Dou Yan frowned and glanced at the time-marker on the long table. "At this hour? How many are there, and what is their business?"

Suxin hesitated. "A young gentleman, he says he is a traveling merchant, with an accountant and four or five attendants..."

As she spoke, Dou Yan seemed to hear the crying of an infant.

A chill ran down her spine. "What is that sound?" Her voice was drawn tight.

For a time, Dou Yan had often heard an infant's crying for no reason at all, until she gave birth to Yinjie; once all her thought was fixed on her daughter, that crying never sounded at her ear again.

In Suxin's eyes, Dou Yan was calm, rational, resilient, tenacious, always poised and proper no matter the occasion, always composed and unhurried. Never had she seen Dou Yan as she was now, like a frightened child, her face full of dread.