The next day is brilliantly sunny; after a bout of snow, Shangjing’s architecture seems ever more ornate, and the Viburnum resembles paradise. The maid brings them breakfast. “Madam would like to speak with you after breakfast, Lord Lang.”
“No need,” Lang Junxia answers. “There are things I have to do today, and lingering for too long would be detrimental. Please let her know that I very much appreciate her hospitality.”
Once the maid leaves, Duan Ling asks, “Are we going shopping?”
Lang Junxia nods. “Don’t talk too much when we’re out.”
Duan Ling hums a sound of agreement. Ruminating on what happened the night before, Duan Ling thinks he may have disturbed Lang Junxia, but he has no idea what Lang Junxia was doing next door so he didn’t dare say anything about it recklessly. Fortunately Lang Junxia seems to have forgotten all about it, and after breakfast he takes Duan Ling through the back alley the same way they came.
A carriage is parked outside; the curtain rolls up to reveal Ding Zhi sitting inside. “You’ve only stayed one night. Where are you going now? Didn’t you say that once you settle down you won’t be leaving? Come on up.”
Lang Junxia is holding Duan Ling’s hand and seems to hesitate. But then Duan Ling gives his hand a tug — he wants to go.
So Lang Junxia gives his reply towards the carriage, “I wouldn’t want to impose. There are things I have to do right now.”
Ding Zhi has little choice but to drop the suggestion. Lang Junxia takes Duan Ling to the heart of the city, and Duan Ling is practically overwhelmed by all that he sees along the way. Shangjing is a merchandise distribution centre for the entire north — three cities outside the great wall and forty-one non-Han tribes all trade their goods here. And just so the birthday of the empress dowager of great Liao is coming up too, so southern Chen’s envoys are here to congratulate her. The market is full of sugar-dough puppets, antiques, curios, treasures, delicacies gathered from the mountains, medicinal ingredients, hair ornaments, makeup … a dazzling array of items as far as the eyes can see.
Duan Ling wants to eat everything he sees, but the one thing he wants to try most of all is actually a fried rice cake2 he used to have a craving for back in Shangzi. Lang Junxia first take Duan Ling to the tailor’s to get a couple of sets of clothes made, then he takes him to a pen and ink shop, to buy what people call the “Four Treasures of the Study”.3
“Can you write?” Duan Ling asks curiously.
The shopkeeper produces the items one by one: ink stone from Duanzhou, ink from Huizhou, brush from Huzhou, paper from Xuanzhou.4
“These are for your use,” Lang Junxia says. “You must start school and learn to compose essays, otherwise it’ll be too late.”
“You have good eyes, sir.” The shopkeeper laughs. “This is good stuff, brought here year before last by north-going merchants. Not all the paper has arrived yet, so we’ll need to get some other shop to bring twelve more pads for you.”
“The Liao aren’t really all that particular about these things.” Lang Junxia says nonchalantly, “we’re just trying to get a good start, for luck. Deliver them to the Illustrious Hall before sunset tomorrow.”
“It’s too expensive.” Duan Ling plain feels bad for the money Lang Junxia’s spending; Lang Junxia is practically handing over a fortune.
But Lang Juxia answers him, “Study diligently, success and glory will follow. Schooling and the ability to compose essays is priceless.”
“Am I going to school?” Duan Ling asks.
Not without envy, Duan Ling used to watch other children go to school back in Runan. He never imagined that one day he’ll also get the chance to go to school too, and he feels joyful from the bottom of his heart, and at the same time he also feels so very thankful. He stops walking, and stares fixedly at Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia asks, “What’s the matter?”
Duan Ling’s heart contains a multitude of emotions. “How can I ever repay you?”
The look in Lang Junxia’s eyes seems to mean that he finds Duan Ling pitiful, and yet there seems to be tenderness in his gaze too; in the end he forces himself to give Duan Ling a smile, and answers him solemnly, “Learning and going to school is a right. You don’t have to repay me. There’ll be plenty of people you’ll want to repay in the future.”
After they buy the writing essentials and have eaten plenty of things, Lang Junxia buys Duan Ling a hand warmer and an embroidered pouch. He places Duan Ling’s jade arc inside the pouch and makes Duan Ling carry it inside his undershirt.
“You cannot lose that ever, no matter what.” Lang Junxia gives him strict orders, “Be sure to keep that in mind.”
Lang Junxia takes Duan Ling out of the hubbub of the city centre, turning the corner into a secluded path. There is a rustic building with white walls and black roof tiles facing out towards the street, layers of snow piled onto the roof, a facade that is both simple and imposing. Snow-covered cypress stands behind the walls; through them he can hear the voices of children.
The moment Duan Ling hears children he feels suddenly invigorated — ever since he’s been with Lang Junxia, he hasn’t seen people his own age. He’s well-behaved all the time now, not at all like how he used to be in Runan, a wild thing hopping in and out of mud and water all day long. He wonders what children his age usually do in Shangjing.
Holding Duan LIng’s hand, Lang Junxia leads him inside. Duan Ling notices that inside the courtyard, the snow has been swept away neatly. Three youths, all about a head taller than he is, are standing ten paces away, each holding arrows and throwing them into pots placed not far from them. On hearing footsteps the youths turn to stare at Duan Ling. Duan Ling feels a bit nervous and moves nearer to Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia doesn’t stop; he takes Duan Ling all the way to the inner parlour. An old man with grizzled hair is sitting in there, having tea.
“Wait here for me for a bit,” Lang Junxia says.
Dressed in an indigo gown, Duan Ling stands beneath the awning of the veranda as Lang Junxia goes inside on his own. Their conversation can faintly be heard outside. Duan Ling’s mind starts to wander, then he notices another youth approaching him from behind a pillar, sizing up Duan Ling standing in front of the bell. Slowly, the number of children gathered in the courtyard grow larger, all of them at least somewhere around eight or nine, each looking at Duan Ling from a distance and whispering to each other. Someone starts to walk over wanting to speak to him, but the tallest youth stops him.
He stands beneath the bell and asks Duan Ling, “Who are you?”
Duan Ling replies in his head, I’m Duan Ling, my dad is Duan Sheng … But he doesn’t utter a word. He senses impending trouble.
Seeing that Duan Ling seems scared of strangers, the children begin to laugh. Even though Duan Ling has no idea what they’re laughing about, he’s starting to get angry.
“Where’re you from?” The youth has an iron rod and he slaps it against one hand, taking a step forward.
Duan Ling instinctively backs away from him, but the youth places his free hand on Duan Ling’s shoulder and bossily pulls Duan Ling to him. He sticks the iron rod under Duan Ling’s chin to make him look up and teases, “How old are you?”
Duan Ling tries to get away repeatedly, but one of the youth’s arms is wrapped around him so he can’t move an inch. Once he finally manages to get away though, he daren’t leave. Since Lang Junxia has told him to stand right there, he has no choice but to stand right there.
“Oh.” The youth is a full head taller than Duan Ling, dressed head to toe in the northerner attire of wolf fur coat and fox tail hat. The black part of his eyes has a hint of star-blue to them, and his skin is dusky. Standing before Duan Ling he’s just like a nearly full grown wolf pup.
“What’s this?” The youth reaches out at Duan Ling’s neck to pull at the red string tie to the embroidered pouch. Duan Ling dodges out of the way again.
“Come over here.” Seeing that Duan Ling merely tolerates him and doesn’t blow up is like punching into a bunch of cotton — not at all fun. He pats Duan Ling’s face. “I’m talking to you. Are you dumb?”
Duan Ling watches the young man while his hands balled into fists and a vicious glint appears in his eyes. He’s scarcely realised that in the youth’s eyes he’s nothing more than an ordinary rich kid, and all he has to do is hit him with the stick for Duan Ling to beg and scream for his mommy and daddy. But before he starts using the stick, the young man seems intent to tease him some more …
“What’s this?” Leaning close to Duan Ling’s ear, the youth reaches out in an attempt to pull the pouch hanging on Duan Ling’s neck to him. He leans in and whispers mockingly, “Is the guy who went in earlier your dad? Or is he your older brother? Or maybe a man your family’s keeping to be your husband when you grow up? Is he in there imploring the headmaster by kowtowing?”
Now the children behind them are all starting to laugh. For fear of the pouch being torn open, Duan Ling lets the youth drag him this way and that, obstinately protecting the red string fastening the pouch.
“Gup—!” The youth puts on a serious show of directing him. “A donkey.”
The spectating children breaks out in uproarious laughter. Duan Ling’s face goes bright red.
Before the youth manages to say anything else, he sees Duan Ling’s fist grow bigger in his vision, then immediately he feels a fracture-like pain in his nose. The punch throws him backwards and he falls onto the ground.
A chaotic fight ensues. The young man is bleeding profusely from the nose but he doesn’t back down; he rushes forward wanting to toss Duan Ling, but Duan Ling drops low and throws his weight at the young man’s waist so they both fly out of the gallery and right into the garden. All of a sudden the children around them start cheering and hollering, forming a circle to watch the two of them scuffle in the snow.
Duan Ling gets a punch in the face, and a kick to the chest; there are stars in front of his eyes. The youth is sitting on him now, punching him; Duan Ling’s neck is covered in the other boy’s blood, and as he’s beaten his vision starts to darken. Saving up all his strength, he suddenly grabs the youth’s ankle, and ruthlessly flips him over onto the ground.
Duan Ling then throws himself onto the youth like a mad dog and bites down on his hand. The children around them are in an immediate uproar. It hurts so much that the young man howls, and seizing Duan Ling’s collar, he puts his forehead against Duan Ling’s and runs the back of his head right into the bell with a ferocious bang.
Dong! The bell rings, and Duan Ling falls bonelessly to the ground, a buzzing filling his mouth, his nose, and his eardrums.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
Ludagun, a Manchu snack called a “rolling donkey”. ↩︎
The four treasures of the study is pen, ink, paper, and the ink stone. ↩︎
The places mentioned here aren’t important; what’s important is that these locations each specialise in making each kind of item. They’re the best of the best, so to speak. ↩︎
The next day is brilliantly sunny; after a bout of snow, Shangjing’s architecture seems ever more ornate, and the Viburnum resembles paradise. The maid brings them breakfast. “Madam would like to speak with you after breakfast, Lord Lang.”
“No need,” Lang Junxia answers. “There are things I have to do today, and lingering for too long would be detrimental. Please let her know that I very much appreciate her hospitality.”
Once the maid leaves, Duan Ling asks, “Are we going shopping?”
Lang Junxia nods. “Don’t talk too much when we’re out.”
Duan Ling hums a sound of agreement. Ruminating on what happened the night before, Duan Ling thinks he may have disturbed Lang Junxia, but he has no idea what Lang Junxia was doing next door so he didn’t dare say anything about it recklessly. Fortunately Lang Junxia seems to have forgotten all about it, and after breakfast he takes Duan Ling through the back alley the same way they came.
A carriage is parked outside; the curtain rolls up to reveal Ding Zhi sitting inside. “You’ve only stayed one night. Where are you going now? Didn’t you say that once you settle down you won’t be leaving? Come on up.”
Lang Junxia is holding Duan Ling’s hand and seems to hesitate. But then Duan Ling gives his hand a tug — he wants to go.
So Lang Junxia gives his reply towards the carriage, “I wouldn’t want to impose. There are things I have to do right now.”
Ding Zhi has little choice but to drop the suggestion. Lang Junxia takes Duan Ling to the heart of the city, and Duan Ling is practically overwhelmed by all that he sees along the way. Shangjing is a merchandise distribution centre for the entire north — three cities outside the great wall and forty-one non-Han tribes all trade their goods here. And just so the birthday of the empress dowager of great Liao is coming up too, so southern Chen’s envoys are here to congratulate her. The market is full of sugar-dough puppets, antiques, curios, treasures, delicacies gathered from the mountains, medicinal ingredients, hair ornaments, makeup … a dazzling array of items as far as the eyes can see.
Duan Ling wants to eat everything he sees, but the one thing he wants to try most of all is actually a fried rice cake2 he used to have a craving for back in Shangzi. Lang Junxia first take Duan Ling to the tailor’s to get a couple of sets of clothes made, then he takes him to a pen and ink shop, to buy what people call the “Four Treasures of the Study”.3
“Can you write?” Duan Ling asks curiously.
The shopkeeper produces the items one by one: ink stone from Duanzhou, ink from Huizhou, brush from Huzhou, paper from Xuanzhou.4
“These are for your use,” Lang Junxia says. “You must start school and learn to compose essays, otherwise it’ll be too late.”
“You have good eyes, sir.” The shopkeeper laughs. “This is good stuff, brought here year before last by north-going merchants. Not all the paper has arrived yet, so we’ll need to get some other shop to bring twelve more pads for you.”
“The Liao aren’t really all that particular about these things.” Lang Junxia says nonchalantly, “we’re just trying to get a good start, for luck. Deliver them to the Illustrious Hall before sunset tomorrow.”
“It’s too expensive.” Duan Ling plain feels bad for the money Lang Junxia’s spending; Lang Junxia is practically handing over a fortune.
But Lang Juxia answers him, “Study diligently, success and glory will follow. Schooling and the ability to compose essays is priceless.”
“Am I going to school?” Duan Ling asks.
Not without envy, Duan Ling used to watch other children go to school back in Runan. He never imagined that one day he’ll also get the chance to go to school too, and he feels joyful from the bottom of his heart, and at the same time he also feels so very thankful. He stops walking, and stares fixedly at Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia asks, “What’s the matter?”
Duan Ling’s heart contains a multitude of emotions. “How can I ever repay you?”
The look in Lang Junxia’s eyes seems to mean that he finds Duan Ling pitiful, and yet there seems to be tenderness in his gaze too; in the end he forces himself to give Duan Ling a smile, and answers him solemnly, “Learning and going to school is a right. You don’t have to repay me. There’ll be plenty of people you’ll want to repay in the future.”
After they buy the writing essentials and have eaten plenty of things, Lang Junxia buys Duan Ling a hand warmer and an embroidered pouch. He places Duan Ling’s jade arc inside the pouch and makes Duan Ling carry it inside his undershirt.
“You cannot lose that ever, no matter what.” Lang Junxia gives him strict orders, “Be sure to keep that in mind.”
Lang Junxia takes Duan Ling out of the hubbub of the city centre, turning the corner into a secluded path. There is a rustic building with white walls and black roof tiles facing out towards the street, layers of snow piled onto the roof, a facade that is both simple and imposing. Snow-covered cypress stands behind the walls; through them he can hear the voices of children.
The moment Duan Ling hears children he feels suddenly invigorated — ever since he’s been with Lang Junxia, he hasn’t seen people his own age. He’s well-behaved all the time now, not at all like how he used to be in Runan, a wild thing hopping in and out of mud and water all day long. He wonders what children his age usually do in Shangjing.
Holding Duan LIng’s hand, Lang Junxia leads him inside. Duan Ling notices that inside the courtyard, the snow has been swept away neatly. Three youths, all about a head taller than he is, are standing ten paces away, each holding arrows and throwing them into pots placed not far from them. On hearing footsteps the youths turn to stare at Duan Ling. Duan Ling feels a bit nervous and moves nearer to Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia doesn’t stop; he takes Duan Ling all the way to the inner parlour. An old man with grizzled hair is sitting in there, having tea.
“Wait here for me for a bit,” Lang Junxia says.
Dressed in an indigo gown, Duan Ling stands beneath the awning of the veranda as Lang Junxia goes inside on his own. Their conversation can faintly be heard outside. Duan Ling’s mind starts to wander, then he notices another youth approaching him from behind a pillar, sizing up Duan Ling standing in front of the bell. Slowly, the number of children gathered in the courtyard grow larger, all of them at least somewhere around eight or nine, each looking at Duan Ling from a distance and whispering to each other. Someone starts to walk over wanting to speak to him, but the tallest youth stops him.
He stands beneath the bell and asks Duan Ling, “Who are you?”
Duan Ling replies in his head, I’m Duan Ling, my dad is Duan Sheng … But he doesn’t utter a word. He senses impending trouble.
Seeing that Duan Ling seems scared of strangers, the children begin to laugh. Even though Duan Ling has no idea what they’re laughing about, he’s starting to get angry.
“Where’re you from?” The youth has an iron rod and he slaps it against one hand, taking a step forward.
Duan Ling instinctively backs away from him, but the youth places his free hand on Duan Ling’s shoulder and bossily pulls Duan Ling to him. He sticks the iron rod under Duan Ling’s chin to make him look up and teases, “How old are you?”
Duan Ling tries to get away repeatedly, but one of the youth’s arms is wrapped around him so he can’t move an inch. Once he finally manages to get away though, he daren’t leave. Since Lang Junxia has told him to stand right there, he has no choice but to stand right there.
“Oh.” The youth is a full head taller than Duan Ling, dressed head to toe in the northerner attire of wolf fur coat and fox tail hat. The black part of his eyes has a hint of star-blue to them, and his skin is dusky. Standing before Duan Ling he’s just like a nearly full grown wolf pup.
“What’s this?” The youth reaches out at Duan Ling’s neck to pull at the red string tie to the embroidered pouch. Duan Ling dodges out of the way again.
“Come over here.” Seeing that Duan Ling merely tolerates him and doesn’t blow up is like punching into a bunch of cotton — not at all fun. He pats Duan Ling’s face. “I’m talking to you. Are you dumb?”
Duan Ling watches the young man while his hands balled into fists and a vicious glint appears in his eyes. He’s scarcely realised that in the youth’s eyes he’s nothing more than an ordinary rich kid, and all he has to do is hit him with the stick for Duan Ling to beg and scream for his mommy and daddy. But before he starts using the stick, the young man seems intent to tease him some more …
“What’s this?” Leaning close to Duan Ling’s ear, the youth reaches out in an attempt to pull the pouch hanging on Duan Ling’s neck to him. He leans in and whispers mockingly, “Is the guy who went in earlier your dad? Or is he your older brother? Or maybe a man your family’s keeping to be your husband when you grow up? Is he in there imploring the headmaster by kowtowing?”
Now the children behind them are all starting to laugh. For fear of the pouch being torn open, Duan Ling lets the youth drag him this way and that, obstinately protecting the red string fastening the pouch.
“Gup—!” The youth puts on a serious show of directing him. “A donkey.”
The spectating children breaks out in uproarious laughter. Duan Ling’s face goes bright red.
Before the youth manages to say anything else, he sees Duan Ling’s fist grow bigger in his vision, then immediately he feels a fracture-like pain in his nose. The punch throws him backwards and he falls onto the ground.
A chaotic fight ensues. The young man is bleeding profusely from the nose but he doesn’t back down; he rushes forward wanting to toss Duan Ling, but Duan Ling drops low and throws his weight at the young man’s waist so they both fly out of the gallery and right into the garden. All of a sudden the children around them start cheering and hollering, forming a circle to watch the two of them scuffle in the snow.
Duan Ling gets a punch in the face, and a kick to the chest; there are stars in front of his eyes. The youth is sitting on him now, punching him; Duan Ling’s neck is covered in the other boy’s blood, and as he’s beaten his vision starts to darken. Saving up all his strength, he suddenly grabs the youth’s ankle, and ruthlessly flips him over onto the ground.
Duan Ling then throws himself onto the youth like a mad dog and bites down on his hand. The children around them are in an immediate uproar. It hurts so much that the young man howls, and seizing Duan Ling’s collar, he puts his forehead against Duan Ling’s and runs the back of his head right into the bell with a ferocious bang.
Dong! The bell rings, and Duan Ling falls bonelessly to the ground, a buzzing filling his mouth, his nose, and his eardrums.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
Ludagun, a Manchu snack called a “rolling donkey”. ↩︎
The four treasures of the study is pen, ink, paper, and the ink stone. ↩︎
The places mentioned here aren’t important; what’s important is that these locations each specialise in making each kind of item. They’re the best of the best, so to speak. ↩︎
