Purple Streets of Chang'an - Chapter 25 — Instigation - 清風書屋

Back in the main quarters, Father told Dou Yan to write her own name.

In her previous life, Dou Yan had spent a few years studying *Biographies of Exemplary Women* and *Admonitions for Women* under an old scholar her grandfather had engaged. She could manage account books well enough, but of real learning she had none to speak of.

Seeing her father's neat, elegant small regular script, she was filled with envy.

Father laughed heartily. Bending down, he fished out a few sheets of tracing paper from the bottom shelf of the curio cabinet and spread them on the writing desk, then took Dou Zhiwei's hand to show her how to wield the brush.

Hanxiao came in smiling and announced, "Qiongfang, from Concubine Wang's quarters, has come to ask when the Seventh Master will be over for the evening meal."

Father glanced at the lingering glow of the setting sun beyond the window and smiled. "Concubine Wang is still in confinement, and the Fifth Young Lady needs her rest as well. If I go over, they will have to set the table all over again—far too much trouble. I won't go. I'll take the evening meal here in the main quarters with the Fourth Young Lady."

Hanxiao withdrew, still smiling.

Dou Yan was a little surprised, but gave it no further thought. After the evening meal with Father, Hanxiao brought in the lamp, the two of them wrote for a while longer, and then Father retired to the inner chamber of the main quarters.

Two days later, Feng Baoshan came to call on Father.

He looked about twenty-four or twenty-five, with sword-shaped brows and star-bright eyes. His jet-black hair was bound with a mutton-fat jade pin, and he wore a straight-cut robe of dark green Hangzhou silk figured with calamus patterns—elegant, yet touched with a certain quiet pride.

Was this the Feng Baoshan her mother had described—a man who thought nothing of eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling?

Seated at the large desk copying characters, Dou Yan's mouth fell open, and it was a moment before she closed it again.

Feng Baoshan had come to amuse Father: "...Every last lotus in Yingcheng's ponds is in bloom. You are in mourning, so we won't disturb anyone else—just the three of us, you, me, and Yingcheng. We'll admire the flowers, have a chat, and give you a chance to get out and clear your head."

Father shook his head. "It's too hot. I don't want to go out. I appreciate the thought."

"It's not even the sixth month yet—how is it hot?" Feng Baoshan broke off, as though something had suddenly occurred to him, and fixed Father with a doubtful look. "You—you're not thinking of keeping mourning for that Zhao woman for a full year, are you?"

Father said nothing and lowered his eyes.

"So that's how it is!" Feng Baoshan leapt up with a total disregard for appearances, his eyes round as bronze bells.

After a long while, fuming, he paced several circles around the room and said, "Fine. I can't be bothered with you. I'm going to find Zhongzhi and amuse myself." Then, with a sharp *thwack* of the bamboo curtain, he was out the door.

Father was neither angry nor offended. His face unchanged, he called softly for "Shouyuan" and reminded her, "No looking about—practice your writing!"

Dou Qu lowered his head and traced the red characters with great care.

For a whole month, Father never set foot outside the house. He read and wrote at home and taught Dou Yan how to write.

Because of Mother's mourning period, Dou Ming's full-month celebration was a modest affair—only two tables set within the house.

The Wang family sent some children's clothes and trinkets as full-month gifts, but no one came in person to offer congratulations. As for the Zhao family, the child's maternal kin, they neither came to drink the full-month wine nor sent any gift at all.

The Dou family found it awkward; Wang Shuying was angry and vexed, ashamed and aggrieved all at once.