China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

a side table, opened a drawer, and took out a framed photograph. “The lady she’s standing beside is her mother.”

He’d gone to a lot of trouble over that picture. The photographer, who’d been trained in Macao, had been sent all the way down to the hamlet. He’d understood his mission perfectly. The picture was taken in the courtyard of the house, which he’d improved with several exotic plants in pots. Both Mei-Ling and the girl were elegantly dressed and made up like fashionable ladies. The photograph had even been tinted in the latest manner. Cleverly, he’d also taken a photograph of the farmhouse from across the pond. The little footbridge, nowadays beautifully restored, was reflected in a pond pleasantly strewn with patches of water lilies. The whole effect was one of modest provincial wealth.

Mr. Yao examined both photographs carefully. “The girl is beautiful. So is her mother,” he said admiringly. Then he frowned. “The mother’s feet…”

“Are not bound. Her own mother came from a rich Hakka family. Her father’s family did not wish to annoy them by binding their granddaughter’s feet.”

“The Hakka family were important, then.”

“Exactly so,” Shi-Rong lied. “But Bright Moon—that is the girl’s name—has bound feet, as you can see.”

“You have known this family a long time?”

“I have. After the girl’s mother was widowed, she accompanied me down to Guilin and stayed with me there for some time. Despite her feet, she is a most elegant and accomplished lady. She and the prefect’s wife became best friends.”

Mr. Yao was looking at him curiously now. “You take a particular interest in her daughter, it seems.”

“I do. In fact, I have adopted her as my own.” He’d done it just a year ago, explaining to her family that it would help her find a good husband—which indeed was true.

“The mother is beautiful, but there is something finer, perhaps, in the young lady,” Mr. Yao ventured.

Shi-Rong inclined his head slightly, as though accepting a compliment. “She looks very like my late father’s sister, as it happens,” he acknowledged.

“Ah.” The merchant gave him a knowing look, which Shi-Rong pretended to ignore.

It was going exactly as he hoped. He hadn’t actually said that Bright Moon was his own, which of course she wasn’t. But Yao was free to believe it—as he certainly wanted to. For a merchant like Yao, the idea of marrying the daughter, legitimate or not, of a prefect from an old gentry family like Shi-Rong’s was something to boast about.

“It may interest you,” said Yao, “that I am soon to enter the gentry myself.”

“Indeed?”

“The negotiations are almost concluded.”

They were all doing it, these merchants—at least, those who could afford to. For a suitable fee, the imperial court would give them gentry rank. It allowed them to display the symbols of their social rank in their houses. They were, at least officially, no longer the despised, money-grubbing merchants they had been before.

Personally, Shi-Rong regarded this as a debasement of the nobility, a lack of respect for Confucian order. But in these troubled times, what could you expect? In this case it would clearly be to the advantage of his adopted daughter.

“I congratulate you,” he said. “There are many men, my dear Yao,” he went on blandly, “who would be glad to marry my adopted daughter. I should like a rich man, certainly, but not too old. You are still vigorous. I want a man who would treat her kindly. I know you will. In return, she is young, she is healthy; and until she was born, her own mother had produced nothing but sons.”

“That is very good,” said Yao.

“Before speaking to you about the matter,” Shi-Rong continued, “I thought it wise to consult a marriage broker. She looked at your birth dates and consulted the calendar, and I am happy to tell you that if a marriage were to take place this year, there are no bad auguries. So we have some months. I can send the broker to you, or of course you may wish to consult your own.”

“Please send her to me,” said Yao eagerly. “I shall be glad to take her advice.”

“Naturally,” Shi-Rong continued, “Bright Moon’s trousseau is in order, and she would send all the usual gifts to your family. But I thought you might like to see these.” And returning to the drawer he’d opened before, he took out some pieces of embroidery and showed them to the merchant.

“Very fine.” Yao was deeply impressed. “Very fine indeed.”

“All by her own hand. She is most accomplished. She performs the tea ceremony elegantly. She is versed in poetry…” He noticed Yao look a little nervous. “I mean only to the extent,” he assured him, “that a new member of the gentry would wish.”

“Of course,” said Yao. “Very proper.”

“I have to make a visit to Beijing,” Shi-Rong announced. “Meanwhile, I shall send word that Bright Moon and her mother should travel to Jingdezhen, where they will stay at my residence. I expect to get back from Beijing before they arrive. Would that be agreeable to you?”

“Most certainly,” said Yao. “Most certainly.”

—

He sailed down the Yangtze with the current to Nanjing, then to Hangzhou and the coast, where he found a swift ship at Zhapu. Eighteen days later, from the coast below Beijing, he came easily by the Grand Canal to the capital and quickly found suitable lodgings. He sent word to Ru-Hai that he must attend to business the first day, but would call upon him the next.

It was his old friend Mr. Peng Senior who had suggested this visit. Besides taking young Peng under his wing at Guilin, Shi-Rong had helped the young man with numerous testimonials, and his father was not a man to forget favors. If everything in his letter worked out, he’d have more than repaid any debts of gratitude.

As you know, my friend, no state office has been more profitable to the holder than the collection and distribution of the salt tax. Hitherto, there was one man in charge, who, by taking a