Chapter 33 — Unbeknownst
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
Dou Yan, of course, had no idea what Wang Shuying and her sisters-in-law were saying inside the house; she had been dragged off fishing by her father, Dou Huaiying.
In Zhending in the sixth month, the weather was still quite hot, but once the carriage was moving, a breeze came through the bamboo blinds, and it felt quite comfortable.
Father's attendant, Gao Sheng, had been made coachman this time. Driving the carriage, he chatted with Father: "...It was two years ago that I last went fishing with you, sir. The wild kudzu on the mountain was starchy and sweet—I've never eaten its like since. But this isn't the season for it now, I'm afraid we won't get to taste it."
"There's a whole hillside of wild mugwort up there, though," Father said with a smile. "We can pick some on the way back to make mugwort tea or cook mugwort porridge—it clears heat and dampens fire. Not bad at all!"
Dou Yan looked at the carriage, which held only the three of them, and asked in surprise, "Papa, why didn't you bring a few menservants or maids? Then there'd be someone to help with the work!"
Gao Sheng chuckled and went on driving, wholly absorbed.
Father merely stroked her head and said nothing.
As if she had said something wrong.
Dou Yan felt a little uneasy, and then, looking again, how familiar the scenery along the road seemed!
She leaned against the carriage window and peered out.
The dense sorghum fields seemed to stretch without end, dotted here and there with a few small farmhouses; in the distance, oil-green hills rose and fell, and now and then both sides of the road were lined with lush poplars.
This—wasn't this the road to Mother and Father's country estate?
Dou Yan turned her head and looked at Father in astonishment.
Father, thinking she was struck by the view before her, smiled and pointed at the sorghum field. "See those yellow tassels? That's sorghum. In a bit I'll have Gao Sheng go down and take a look—if it's ripe, we'll break off a few ears and take them up the mountain to roast."
Gao Sheng chuckled again.
Dou Chi made no comment either way.
The carriage soon turned onto another road, cut across a field of sorghum, and headed for a small hill.
For no reason she could name, Dou Yan breathed a sigh of relief.
This sorghum field belonged to the Lang family. Grandmother's estate was next to the Langs', and the boundary was marked by a blue stone as tall as a man, carved with a great big "Dou."
Before long the carriage stopped. They got down, Gao Sheng tied up the horse, and, laden with the fishing gear in his hands and on his shoulders, followed behind them.
Skirting an old pine, Dou Yan heard the murmuring of running water.
Her expression turned a little strange.
She knew this place only too well.
This was the little river that ran along the border between the Lang and Dou lands. The water was clear and transparent, the riverbed shallow, the pebbles in it plainly visible. Every June a kind of little silver fish, shaped like a shuttle, would come to the river's edge to feed on the green grass. She and the children from the farm would often roll up their trousers and wade in to net fish.
Across the river was a slope where three wild peach trees grew in a triangle. Every spring, when the weather warmed and the flowers opened, the peach blossoms bloomed, tender and pink, very beautiful. In summer the wild peach trees bore little green peaches, bitter and astringent, not fit to eat at all. At that time of year they would run to the hollow beside the wild peach trees to gather wild greens—pearlweed, okra, wood sorrel, bur clover... In spring they picked the tender leaves for vegetables; in summer they gathered the fruit and sold it to the herbalist's shop in Zhending for a few coppers to help out at home, and it always earned them a word of praise from the grown-ups, and a couple of coppers to buy snacks.