Bai Yue sat still, her small hands folded. Aunt Mei had taught her these three days, right after the woman had left. She had to sit like this without moving, and all it did was annoy her. Bai Yue liked to move, she liked to smell the wind, she liked to be active, not docile like this.
Incense and jasmine tea filled the air, leaving a strong aroma that made her stomach growl, as she had disobeyed aunt Mei’s order eat breakfast.
A loud growl echoed throughout the room, killing the silence.
A cold cough followed from one of five elegantly dressed women that sat in front of her, their silk robes rustled softly each time they moved.
Madam Liu the woman she had made days before was dressed in green and white. She seemed to the leader, as she sat in the centre. Her eyes traced Bai Yue up and down and left and right, making her feeling uncomfortable.
“Xiao Yue, you can begin with the numbers,” Madam Liu instructed, her voice smoother than polished jade.
One of the younger women placed a wooden abacus in front of Bai Yue, along with a scroll of mathematical problems. Bai Yue picked up the abacus nervously and shyly nodded at the women. She knew what an abacus was, but she wasn’t familiar with it. Elder Chen had taught her how to use one during their lessons, although the one he owned was old
“If a merchant has eight baskets of rice, and each basket holds fifteen measures, how many total measures does he have?” The woman to Madam Liu’s immediate right asked.
Bai Yue began sliding the beads on the abacus, remembering Elder Chen’s instructions. “One hundred and thirty measures,” she whispered.
“Louder, child,” Madam Liu commanded. “…and sit straighter. A lady must always be heard clearly.”
Bai Yue lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and allowed her lips to curl into a smile. “One hundred and thirty measures,” she repeated firmly.
“Good, now let us truly begin…”
The women asked various questions, intermittently. As their questions went on, they grew more complex. If the merchant sells half his rice at eight copper coins per measure, and the other half at ten copper coins per measure, what is his total earning? If he must pay a tax of one-fifth of his earnings, how much remains?
Her mind numbed from trying to answer each question correctly, on the last problem, his encouraging words came to her. ‘Numbers are like herbs, Yu’er. Each has its place, its purpose. Mix them wrongly, and nothing works right.’
“Enough,” Madam Liu declared after the tenth problem. The woman to her left unrolled a scroll decorated with elegant calligraphy. “Recite 'The Song of the Spring River,” she instructed.
Bai Yue closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to remember the poem, her aunt had given her a set of poems to recite in the past few days and this one was the easiest.
After a few seconds of silence, she finally relented. “I’m sorry, can you recite it? I will repeat after you.”
“Yo—“ The woman to Madam Liu’s right said, but Madam Liu raised her hand, stopping her. “Certainly,”
The woman on the right sighed, then began the poem.
“The spring river tides merge with the level sea, And with the tide rises the bright moon from the sea. The moon’s reflection ripples with the waves for countless miles. Where along the spring river is the moon not bright!
The river flows, meandering around fragrant meadows, Moonlight through flowering woods scatters like frost. Mist drifts unseen through empty air, White sand on the shores lies invisible.
The river and sky blend in one color, without a speck of dust, Only the bright wheel of the solitary moon hangs in space. Who first saw the moon by these river banks? In what year did the moon first shine on someone here?
Human life passes, endless, generation after generation, Yet year after year the river moon remains the same. We know not for whom the river moon waits, We only see the long river sending its waters flowing away.
A patch of white cloud drifts leisurely away, By the maple-lined shores, sorrow overwhelms. In whose little boat tonight Does yearning gaze from moonlit towers?
How lovely the moon lingers above the towers, Surely shining on some lonely woman’s dressing table. Through her jade-white windows, curtains refuse to roll up; On her beating block, the moon's light returns as she pounds clothes.
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Now we gaze at the same moon, yet cannot speak, Would that moonlight could flow to shine upon you. Wild geese fly far but cannot carry the light, Fish and dragons leap, making patterns on the water.
Last night by still waters, I dreamed of falling flowers, Alas, spring half gone, and still I’ve not returned home. The river waters flow, bearing spring away until it's spent, Over deep pools the setting moon slants westward again.
The slanting moon sinks deep in ocean mist, From Jie-shi to Xiang-river, the road stretches endless. Who knows how many returns home by moonlight? As the sinking moon stirs feelings through all the river trees.”
A flicker of approval appeared in Madam Liu's eyes, though the woman’s face remained impassive.
“Now,” the fourth woman said, “show us how you pour tea.”
A servant brought forward a tray with a delicate porcelain set. Bai Yue’s heart pounded as she’d watched Aunt Mei do this countless times. Bai Yue lifted the teapot by the handle and kept the tea pot cover sealed. She tilted it and steam rose in wisps as she poured, her wrist turning just so to prevent drips.
“Your sleeves,” Madam Liu said calmly. “They should never touch the table.”
Bai Yue nodded, adjusting her movements slightly. The jade pendant beneath her simple cotton dress felt cool against her skin, giving her strength.
“Not bad, but improvement is needed, just like your math,” The fifth woman said, finally speaking. “Stand and walk to the window, then return.” She finished, pointing with her nose.
Bai Yue rose as gracefully as she could, but deep down, she felt clumsy. Her aunt had corrected every mistake. It wasn’t much, but every mistake she made as she rose, she could feel her aunt stick correcting her.
As she finally stood, she placed her hands in front of her and began walking towards the window. The window seemed as if it were miles away, but she kept a steady peace, turned and returned to her cushion.
Madam Liu studied her for a long moment, then turned to her companions. They spoke in whispers too low for Bai Yue to hear, though she caught occasional words: “...not refined, but you’re six years old, which makes you perfect.”
Madam Liu looked at Bai Yue, then waved her off. “You may go, child. Send your aunt and uncle in.”
Bai Yue rose, bowed precisely as she had been taught, and walked to the door. As she slid it open, she heard Madam Liu's voice behind her “The jade suits her, doesn't it? Almost as if it was meant to be there.”
Bai Yue’s hand flew to her chest, but she kept walking, steady steps carrying her away from the strongly scented room. She found her aunt and uncle sitting at the dining table, worry painted on both their faces.
“The ladies would like you speak to you,” she said.
“Oh ye…alright,” Aunt Mei and her uncle, pushed himself up from the table and made their way into the room.
As they entered, Bai Yue could hear them speaking. Their voices carried through the walls, with little effort to whisper. “She has potential, no doubt.” Madam Liu said, her silken voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “Her memory is good for her age, her math skills are her weaknesses, but in terms of her elegance. There’s none.”
“That’s to be expected,” Another added.
“Indeed, she six years old, we don’t expect miracles.”
“Thank you, she’s always been a clever child" Aunt Mei's voice wavered slightly.
“Then let’s speak plainly,
Madam Liu interrupted. “Your situation grows more desperate by the day. I’ve seen your fields - the wheat withers, the soil cracks. I don’t believe you’ll survive to winter.”
Bai Yue’s hand clutched the bag of sparkling soil still in her pocket. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the meaning of the words began to sink in. “The drought has affected everyone,” Uncle said in a strained voice. “If we could just-“
“The tax collectors won’t wait,” Madam Liu said, cutting in.
A heavy silence fell. Bai Yue could hear the soft clink of teacups being set down. “At Silent Lotus,” Madam Liu continued, “she would want for nothing. The finest silks, the best teachers. Poetry, music, dance - everything a young lady should know. She would learn to move in the highest circles of society. And more importantly...she will survive.”
“I don’t think I want to pr-“Aunt Mei said, but was cut off by Madam Liu.
“Thirty silver taels.” Madam Liu said firmly. “That should get you through four…no eight winters without challenge. Drought or no drought!”
Bai Yue's knees weakened. Thirty silver taels, more money than she’d ever imagined. She thought of the countless times she’d heard her aunt and uncle whispering late at night about coins, taxes, and the failing crops.
“We understand,” Bai Yue’s uncle said. “But isn’t she too young?”
“Don’t misunderstand…it’s better for her to come when she’s young. She can adapt easier, but most importantly…she’ll learn faster. But its also as I said earlier. She’ll be safe, protected. Its not something you can offer, is it?” Madam Liu said firmly.
Silence had resonated within the room and Bai Yue felt her heart sink into her stomach. She wanted to run…hide, anything but leave home.
She loved it here, she loved the people, the forest, everything it was her home. Her peace, her life, everything.
“Fine,” Madam Liu said firmly, “forty silver taels.”
A choked sound came from Aunt Mei. “We... we need time to think.”
“Of course,” Madam Liu replied smoothly. “But not too much time. The drought worsens, and others may soon be making similar choices. The Silent Lotus only accepts the most promising girls. I won't keep this opportunity open…forever.”
Bai Yue scurried back as the sound of feet hoofed through the wall. As the footsteps grew louder, she pretended to be studying in another room.
“We’ll return in three days,” Madam Liu said firmly. “That should be enough time for you to consider my offer.”
Madam Liu emerged, her green and white hanfu seeming to shimmer in the late afternoon light. Her eyes fell on Bai Yue, and a calculated smile crossed her face. “Remember, little one,” she said softly, “a proper lady always keeps her ears to herself.”
Bai Yue felt her face flush hot with shame at being caught eavesdropping. Behind Madam Liu, she could see her aunt and uncle, both looking years older than they had that morning. Aunt Mei wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“A small token,” Madam Liu said, sliding a heavy pouch across the table. “To help you... consider your options.” The coins inside clinked softly, the sound echoing in the heavy silence of the room.
“Good day to you all,” Madam Liu said, then made her exit.