‘What’s the Cold Food Festival?’ Gege asks.
‘It’s the day before the Qing Ming Jie (Clear and Bright or Tomb Sweeping Festival),’ Baba says. ‘Tomorrow is Qing Ming.’
‘Why is it called the Cold Food Festival?’
‘Like many of our other festivals, it comes from our history.’
‘How long ago, Baba? Please tell us,’ I beg.
‘Fifteen hundred years ago, it was the Warring States period and a Duke was fleeing for his life. He ran out of food and was dying of starvation. One of his followers, named Jie, cut off a slice of muscle from his own leg and served it to his master. Eventually, the Duke recovered his health and his throne.
‘The Duke decided to appoint Jie to an important post in his cabinet. However, Jie wanted no part of the politics at court. He refused and hid in the mountains instead. The Duke set fire to the region to force him out.
‘After three days of raging flames, they found Jie’s body leaning against a tree, with the corpse of his old mother on his back.
‘The Duke was saddened, because he had not meant this to happen. He ordered that, from then on, no fires were to be lit for cooking on the anniversary of Jie’s death. This is the origin of Cold Food Festival.’
‘Magistrate Zhang,’ Proprietor Ma interrupts. ‘What can we prepare for you today?’
‘It’s my daughter’s first visit to a teahouse. I’ve told her about your noodles. Let’s have an assortment of dishes and some noodles for her. I’ll leave the selection to you.’
‘Right away, Your Honour!’
A waiter brings a pot of hot tea and sets each place at the table with a pair of chopsticks, porcelain teacup, plate, bowl and spoon. He brings the cold dishes first: sliced ham, tea eggs, preserved tofu and snails with garlic.
After a while, Proprietor Ma himself brings up the hot dishes. ‘First we have steamed pork ribs flavoured with bamboo shoots; next a dish of dumplings, filled with minced pork and mushrooms; then stewed duck and cabbage. Finally, the speciality of the house: a big plate of fresh carp from the Bian River, with noodles. Enjoy!’
As we eat, I look out of the window at the river. The Rainbow Bridge is packed with people staring and pointing in one direction over the railing. The bridge is so close I can hear them shouting and see them gesturing in their excitement.
I put my chopsticks down and lean out of the window. A large, flat-bottomed barge is approaching rapidly at an awkward angle. A gust of wind suddenly blows the boat off-course, turning it so it’s lying almost parallel to the bridge. The crew on board is straining desperately to lower the mast and right the boat against the river’s swirling current. The top of the mast looks almost certain to hit the underside of the bridge and cause the boat to capsize. It’s very close. The captain yells at his men to row harder. I hold my breath for fear of imminent disaster.
Everyone in the teahouse has stopped eating. The diners converge on my window, pushing and shoving, leaning on me to get a better view. Gege tells them to go away, but they pay no attention. Meanwhile, a huge crowd has gathered along the riverbank to watch the drama. They scream at the captain and shout instructions to the bargemen.
At the last moment, a spectator standing at the apex of the bridge suddenly throws a long coil of rope down to the barge. The sailors reach up with outstretched arms, grab the flying rope and hurriedly tie it to the stem of their ship. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew paddles furiously to turn the craft forward. I hold my breath as the barge lurches precariously, swinging violently from side to side until it finally rights itself. The mast is lowered – just in time – as the vessel slides safely under the bridge to the other side.
Everyone in the teahouse gives a sigh of relief and returns to their seats. Proprietor Ma looks at the food on our table and tells us that it has turned cold. He insists on taking the four ‘hot dishes’ down to be reheated in the kitchen. While we wait, we see Ah Zhao bounding up the stairs with a big smile on his face.
‘Did you see that barge, Old Master? It almost capsized!’
‘Were you hoping that it would, you rascal? What are you carrying?’ Baba says, smiling.
‘Look what I’ve found!’ He pushes our dishes to one side and places a bundle at the centre of our table. He unfolds the square piece of cloth and lays out a dazzling assortment of curious objects: several moulded gourd cricket-containers, each with a differently carved latticed top made of tortoiseshell, bamboo, horn or wood; a porcelain feeding tray; clay pots and fighting arenas; tweezers for grooming; a double bamboo cage, made for two crickets, with a single handle and a sliding divider in the middle; a dome-shaped, pocket-sized brass carrier covered by wire mesh; a sandalwood tube with a breathing cover and feeder at the bottom; and a tickler with fine hairs sprouting from a bamboo handle.
‘What sort of hair do they use to make these cricket ticklers? They’re so fine! Almost invisible.’ Gege tilts his head back and inserts the tickler into his right nostril. He twirls the handle, screws up his face and gives a violent sneeze.
‘Ah-cheoow!’ Gege exclaims. ‘Ready for a song or a fight, anyone? No? How about a little tickle up the nose and a good sneeze instead? By the way, you never answered me. What sort of hair is this?’
‘If you really want to know, these fine hairs are rats’ whiskers!’
‘Rats’ whiskers! Ah yah! Why didn’t you tell me before? How do I rinse out my nostril?’
‘Did you buy all this cricket paraphernalia, Ah Zhao?’ Baba asks.
‘Of course not, Old Master! I thought you might like to see everything, that’s all. Aren’t they interesting? Whatever you don’t want, I’ll return.’
‘These gourds are beautiful,’ Baba says, picking one up. ‘Especially this one. They’re all different, aren’t they?’
‘You can say that again. Some gourds have smaller turns, while others have larger turns than their bellies. The ones with long, slender necks are called goose-necks. The fat, round, shiny ones are called monk-heads. The one you have in your hand has a pointed bottom. It’s called a spider-bellied gourd.’
‘I really like this one,’ Baba says, taking off the gourd’s latticed tortoiseshell top and peering into its interior. ‘It’s beautifully proportioned. Inside, it has a thick rind which will maintain an even temperature for our cricket lodger.’
‘Old Master! You have excellent taste. That one’s my favourite too. Look at the glossy patina on its surface! According to the dealer, the patina is from years of being caressed by numerous previous owners. He says this gourd is an antique from the Tang Dynasty. It’s at least three hundred years old.’
At that moment, Proprietor Ma appears with a tray of steaming dishes, and the delicious aroma of fresh carp, pork ribs and bamboo shoots fills the air. Ah Zhao hurriedly repacks his assortment of cricket-ware and prepares to leave.
‘Buy the antique gourd and that fat, round, shiny one you call monk-head. Bargain for a good price,’ Baba says.
‘Tell them to throw in the tickler!’ Gege adds.
‘Do you need some more money?’ Baba asks.
‘The string of cash you gave me earlier is more than enough.’
Baba reaches into the voluminous sleeve of his robe and takes out a few more coins. ‘Here, this is lunch money for you and Little Chen.’
‘Thank you, Old Master.’ Ah Zhao bows. ‘We’re going to watch the preparations for Qing Ming Festival, but we won’t be far away.’
‘What’s the Qing Ming Festival, Baba?’ I ask.
‘That’s a day for us to remember our ancestors. About four hundred years ago, one of the Tang Emperors declared that the day following the Cold Food Festival should be named Qing Ming Jie (Clear and Bright Festival). Nowadays we combine the two holidays together into a joined Qing Ming Festival for sweeping our ancestors’ tombs.’
‘And also for playing games,’ Gege adds. ‘I remember one Qing Ming Festival when you took me to Ye Ye’s (Grandfather’s) tomb and we had a picnic. Afterwards we played tug of w
ar, cu ju (football) and flew kites. It was such a fun day.’
‘How come I didn’t get to go there for Qing Ming, Baba?’ I ask.
‘That was the year I took your brother to see my old house in Shandong Province where your Ye Ye is buried,’ Baba says. ‘It’s too far for you to travel. Girls shouldn’t get out of the house too often… Besides, your Niang doesn’t like to leave her room. We haven’t celebrated Qing Ming for many years now.’
11
Along the River at Qing Ming
Proprietor Ma comes up to Baba towards the end of lunch and asks to speak to him privately.
‘How long will it take?’
‘It’s about your investment in my humble establishment. I need to show you the books. It might take a while. Do you have time?’
‘I have time, but what about my children?’
‘Today’s the beginning of Qing Ming. Have you not seen the crowds? So many things to do and see. They can walk around the marketplace, fly kites, go on a boat ride, even enter the city to watch the jugglers, or have their fortunes told.’
‘Oh, Baba,’ I cry. ‘Please let Gege show me everything!’
Baba smiles indulgently and reaches into his sleeve. ‘Here are some coins. Tell Ah Zhao to accompany you. He knows the city well.’
‘What if you’re finished before us?’ I ask.
‘That’s a good point… hmm…’ Baba strokes his beard and looks at our excited faces. ‘Tell you what: since this is Little Sister’s first visit to the city, why don’t you tell Little Chen to wait for you and drive you home? When I’m done, I’ll just hire a sedan chair and go home on my own.’
Gege runs downstairs in high spirits, taking the steps two at a time, as usual. I follow more slowly, as stairs are always tricky for my toes that don’t bend. He turns round impatiently and tells me to hurry.
Outside, the sun is blazing and the weather is turning warm. In front of us is the dazzling river. As far as I can see, its entire length is dotted with boats of all varieties, sizes and colours. There are flat-bottomed transport barges laden with sacks of grain, ferries packed with passengers, tiny rowing boats close to shore, river rafts, giant merchant ships and small sampans flying past at high speed. Everyone is going to or arriving from somewhere else. I suddenly realize how narrow my world is.
We find Little Chen fast asleep by the side of the carriage. Ah Zhao is a little distance away, talking animatedly to a stallkeeper. A blue flag with the single word niao (bird) written in red is flying in the breeze. As we approach, I see a small crowd of people gathered round the stallkeeper. He’s standing in front of a number of bamboo cages, each containing a single bird.
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ the bird-seller is saying. ‘The price of one of these sparrow hawks alone is twenty tong bi (copper coins). How can I sell you this stack of three birds for ten coppers?’
‘I’m not particular about what kind of bird it is,’ Ah Zhao replies. ‘Just let me have any three birds for ten coppers. In fact, you can even keep your cages if…’
‘What about getting the sparrow hawk? This one is trained to hunt.’
The merchant takes the black-and-white bird out of its cage and places it on his left forearm. He points to a sparrow hopping around from stall to stall, then coaxes the hawk into a lying-down position on his right palm. Immediately, the hawk’s eyes rivet on the sparrow.
‘Give me fifteen copper coins and I’ll show you how to throw my hawk at that sparrow like a dart. If it doesn’t kill its quarry with one try, you can have your money back and take any one of my birds home for free. If it succeeds, I keep the money and this sparrow hawk is yours. How about it?’
‘No! I loathe birds that hunt!’ Ah Zhao says. ‘Give me three birds for ten coppers and keep your cages.’
‘I never heard of such a thing! How’re you going to take the birds home without their cages?’
‘That’s my problem. Not yours.’
‘I’ll go bankrupt if I sell you three birds for ten coppers.’
‘All right! How about two birds for ten coppers?’
‘Who keeps the cages?’
‘You do.’
‘Any type of birds?’
‘Yes.’
‘How about these two pigeons for ten coppers?’
‘Fine!’
‘So, these two pigeons are yours for ten coppers. Now, I’d like to see what you’re going to do with them without a cage.’
He hands over the two caged birds to Ah Zhao, who pays him. Ah Zhao calmly opens the doors of the cages and releases the pigeons, one after the other, into the sky. A murmur of astonishment goes through the crowd of onlookers. I can tell by the way they shake their heads that they can hardly believe what they are seeing.
The bird-seller is outraged. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘If you were a bird imprisoned in a cage, what’s the one thing you would yearn for?’
‘I have no idea. What is it?’
‘Freedom! Lack of freedom is a fate worse than death!’
‘You’re mad! But why should I care? Just give me back my cages, as agreed, and we’ll go our separate ways.’
I watch as the two pigeons flap their wings and soar away joyously towards the horizon. Happy birds, I think to myself. I wish I had eyes buried in their feathers so I could follow their flight across the wide blue yonder and go wherever they roam. I can see from Ah Zhao’s body language that he’s happy to have set the birds free. It occurs to me that, as a servant, he must feel like a caged bird himself. Just like me.
At that moment, Gege creeps up stealthily behind Ah Zhao, tackles him from behind, covers his eyes and shouts, ‘Guess who I am, Big Nose!’
‘Can it possibly be the handsome and talented Zhang Ze Duan, famous court-painter-to-be?’ The two boys laugh and shadow-box and chase one another along the grassy shore.
‘Tell me about the boats, Ah Zhao,’ I say.
‘Amazing variety, aren’t they?’ He brushes grass off his black, hemp cloth trousers as I join them. ‘See the cluster of boats on the other side of the teahouse? Most of those belong to fishermen. Families of four or six people sleep, eat and work in them.’
‘I see some fishermen even keep birds as pets.’
‘Those are special birds called cormorants. The fisherman places a metal ring round their neck so they can’t swallow big fish. He lowers them into the water to catch fish, then takes the ones they can’t swallow from their mouths.’
‘What about that cargo boat laden with boxes? What’s making it move up the river?’ Gege points to two vessels close together, one behind the other. ‘I don’t see any sails or oars, let alone anyone rowing.’
‘That’s because the smaller boat in front is a paddle-wheeled tugboat. Instead of sails or oars, these wooden paddle wheels are moving the two boats forward.’
‘How about those two big boats docked along the banks to our right? Are the workers loading or unloading?’
‘Who knows? The one with multiple decks, that looks like a big house, may be a merchant ship. Both of them are big enough to sail to the ocean or to other countries. See those gigantic masts? When all the sails are pulled up they look like great clouds in the sky.’
‘What are the sails made of ?’
‘Bamboo matting. The sailors probably took some of them down for cleaning and repairs. The direction of those sails can be changed from moment to moment to catch the wind. That way, the sailors can go wherever they wish.’
‘How glorious! To go wherever one wishes!’ Gege says longingly.
‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the three of us could board one of those boats and sail somewhere far, far away?’ I say, mesmerized by the panoramic view and the possibility of travel.
‘How I long to be a sailor!’ Gege exclaims. ‘I simply hate my lessons! As for those ancient books I have to learn by heart! I don’t know anyone who speaks like that. Why should I waste my time? Let’s run away instead!’
‘How will we
support ourselves?’ Ah Zhao says.
‘You can teach us how to paint, and we’ll sell our paintings. Or else we can stage cricket fights and make bets!’
‘What sort of life is that? You two have no idea what it’s like out there.’
‘Show us!’ I cry. ‘I want to see everything, today!’
‘See everything in one afternoon? How much time do you have? Where’s your Baba?’
‘Baba says he’ll go home by himself,’ Gege says. ‘We need to wake up Little Chen and tell him to wait here and take us home later. We have the whole day ahead of us.’
‘Let’s get started!’ I shout, giddy with excitement. ‘This is the first time I’ve been out of the house without my parents. I want to see everything!’
‘Follow me!’ Ah Zhao says. ‘With so much free time, you he bu ke (is anything impossible)?’
Two queues stretch in front of the gate: a long line to the right for carriages and carts, and a much shorter line to the left for pedestrians, peddlers and riders. As we approach, the imposing city gate appears to grow taller and taller, looming up to a height of at least thirty men (approximately fifteen zhang ). The name of our capital city, Bian Liang , is written in beautiful, giant calligraphy and prominently displayed on a gold placard hanging from the roof of the building above the gate.
Facing us are two sets of rectangular doors, one behind the other, each two zhang high. The outer door is made of a single thick sheet of iron. It’s controlled by heavy chains that hoist the door up or down; the inner double door is made of carved wood and opens inwards. Above the doors is a traditional administration building, with flying eaves and upturned corners, enclosed by a balcony. Steep stone steps lead from the top of the wall to the building’s entrance. Parapets along the top of the wall act as lookout towers during times of trouble and provide shelter for archers to shoot arrows.
A black-robed ticket official sits at a table inside the gate, counting coins with the help of a suan pan (abacus) and logging the sum into a ledger with brush and ink. He stamps a sheet of paper firmly with his tu zhang (chop or seal), gives it to the driver standing at his desk and waves him on before beckoning to the next driver to come forward.