Chapter Thirty-Five: Return Home

Upon returning to Hanjiang County, Uncle Quan set Wen Qi down before spurring his horse and vanishing in a cloud of dust. For reasons she could not fathom, Wen Qi always felt that this elder, so skilled and formidable, harbored a distinct dislike for her—perhaps even a trace of aversion. This puzzled her greatly. She could not recall when she might have offended him, but as she had never cared much for the opinions of others, she decided not to dwell on it.

As soon as the doorman reported that Seventh Miss had returned, Wen Qiran, who was waiting for the meal to begin, immediately rose to his feet and went out to greet her, his face alight with joy. Seventh Miss had been away in Yangzhou for several days without word, and he had worried for her every single day.

“Seventh Miss, was your journey smooth?” Wen Qiran asked, stroking his long beard, concern clear in his eyes.

“Father, there were a few minor troubles,” Wen Qi replied, bowing respectfully. “I’ll tell you everything in detail soon, but first, I’d like to bathe and change my clothes.”

“Go quickly, then,” her father said at once.

Only then did Master Wen notice the sweat beading his daughter’s brow, and, smiling, he stepped aside to let her pass, simultaneously instructing the kitchen, “Hold off on serving the dishes for a bit.”

Fifth Miss and Eighth Miss exchanged glances, disbelief written plainly on their faces. Their father, always so strict, since when had he become so gentle and kindly? Or was it that he reserved this demeanor only for Seventh Miss? In the past, only when he was with Tenth Son did such an expression soften his features.

Soon after, a lavish spread was laid out in the dining room, but Master Wen simply sat with his eyes closed, resting. Since he made no move to eat, no one else dared touch their chopsticks. Tenth Son, still a child, had eaten only a small piece of cake early that morning and was now famished. His eyes never left the sumptuous dishes before him, and he swallowed hard, silently pleading, Seventh Sister, please come back soon—only when you’re here can we begin.

Master Wen glanced at Tenth Son and said mildly, “Wait a little longer.”

Their father’s intention was clear: he was waiting for Seventh Miss. Fifth Miss understood, and though she was not hungry, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of resentment. It was true Seventh Miss was the legitimate daughter and perhaps deserved a larger share of parental affection, but in the past, their father had always treated his children equally. Now, after only a few months in Hanjiang, he cherished her as a treasure and ignored the rest. She could not help but complain, “The food will be cold soon. It won’t taste good if we wait much longer.”

“If it cools, we’ll just heat it up again,” Master Wen replied, his tone calm but carrying unmistakable authority.

Fifth Miss pursed her lips and fell silent.

Eighth Miss was as quiet as a mouse, and Third Sister kept her head down the entire time, not uttering a word. Having borne no children, she had been sent back to her family and now lived in constant fear of being despised. Every day, she hid away in her room, doing needlework, and was rarely seen except at mealtimes.

At that moment, Wen Qi arrived, just in time to see the scene. She said, “Father, sisters, forgive me for keeping you waiting. I am truly sorry.”

“It’s nothing. This is how a family ought to be—let’s eat,” Master Wen said, ladling himself a small bowl of soup. After tasting it, he frowned and instructed, “Aunt Wu, take this back and heat it up.”

Fifth Miss dared not protest further, but her resentment toward Seventh Miss only deepened.

Wen Qi hadn’t expected her father to wait for her before starting the meal. A warmth spread through her heart—a sense of home she had not felt for many years. Had she not been unbathed and in travel-worn clothes, she would not have delayed to wash up, knowing it was mealtime. She had imagined they would eat without her, and she could dine later on whatever was left.

After the meal, Tenth Son tugged Wen Qi out into the courtyard, holding out both hands with an expectant look.

Wen Qi looked at him, puzzled, before realizing her little brother was asking for a gift.

“Seventh Sister, you didn’t bring back any treats for me!” Tenth Son pouted, his cheeks round as buns, clearly disappointed to find she hadn’t brought him even a candied fruit skewer.

Wen Qi could only smile wryly—she simply hadn’t had the chance to buy anything. “Be good, Tenth Son. This afternoon, we’ll go out and buy whatever you like, all right?”

He didn’t smile but his expression relaxed a little. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this time.”

Wen Qi pinched Tenth Son’s cheek.

“Seventh Sister, let’s go make clever pastries!” Eighth Miss exclaimed, hurrying over.

Clever pastries? Wen Qi racked her brains trying to recall what those were, but responded, “Sure.”

“I want to go too!” Tenth Son called, bouncing after the two girls into the kitchen, having already forgotten his earlier sulk.

Aunt Wu and Qingshuang were kneading dough.

“Tomorrow is the Festival of Pleading for Skills. Times may be hard, but we mustn’t let the festival spirit fade. We’ll do what we can,” Aunt Wu said as she worked.

Qingshuang nodded and laughed. “It concerns the lifelong happiness of every daughter under heaven. We have five young ladies at home who’ve not yet married—this is the biggest event of all.”

“I think you’re the one eager to wed,” Aunt Wu teased.

Qingshuang’s face flushed scarlet to the tips of her ears. Embarrassed and indignant, she replied, “Aunt Wu, why tease me so? My only wish is to serve my mistress all my life.”

Wen Qi took a piece of dough and began kneading as well. Aunt Wu had already rolled her dough into long strips and sliced them into small pieces, which she then rolled in sesame seeds before dropping them into hot oil. Instantly, the aroma of frying pastry filled the air.

Before long, when the pastries turned golden, Aunt Wu scooped them out with a slotted spoon and placed them on a platter. Tenth Son could hardly wait to reach for one.

Eighth Miss swiftly slapped his hand. “Greedy little thing! You’ll scald your fingers.”

Tenth Son’s lips pouted even more, but his eyes remained fixed on the steaming clever pastries, swallowing hard.

So this was clever pastry, not so different from the traditional pastries of modern times. The ancient festival, it seemed, was celebrated with far more grandeur and ceremony than in the present day.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the courtyard. They went out to see what was happening and found several constables carrying bamboo poles and hemp ropes, who promptly began busying themselves in the yard.

When Wen Qi asked what was going on, one of the constables replied with a grin that, as the Festival of Pleading for Skills was of such importance to all young women, the magistrate had sent them to build a decorative tower for the young ladies.

Fifth Miss made no attempt to hide the delight in her eyes. “Master Su is truly thoughtful.”

Eighth Miss shot her a look, thinking, As if this is being done just for you! Must you grin from ear to ear?

The constables, sweating and working together, soon erected the tower—not high, but not low either, and seven stories in all. Once the Wen family’s young ladies had pasted colored paper on it, the tower looked quite splendid.

Throughout Hanjiang County, regardless of wealth, every household built a decorative tower for the festival. They varied in size and shape, but all had one standard: the taller and grander, the better. The wealthiest families constructed lavish palaces soaring five stories high, while the poorer ones managed a simple pavilion—enough to mark the occasion.

By now, the sun was sinking in the west, bathing the entire tower in golden light. It was a beautiful sight to behold.