In merely two or three days, Darren Chang and his companions had slaughtered pigs and sheep, cleaned chickens and fish, and hung the courtyard full of fresh meat, cured ham, salted fowl, and wind-dried duck.
The day after the Kitchen God's sacrifice, when Lena Sanders rose, the courtyard was already alive with bustling energy.
Darren Chang had his sleeves rolled high as he lifted long, glistening noodles from one great copper basin into another. Beside him, a makeshift stove blazed fiercely.
Jack Golden sat on a low stool feeding the fire, while Harris Ma poured soybean oil into a large iron pot. After burning away the beany scent, he added a bucket of fragrant oil, then several chunks of pork lard.
It was all by their leader's instruction — a single kind of oil, he had said, never produced the right flavor.
Lena Sanders fetched two meat buns and a cup of tea from the kitchen. Standing beneath the veranda, she ate and drank leisurely, watching the three men toil with bright, festive delight.
During these few days of the New Year — or more precisely, from the day of the Kitchen God's offering to New Year's Eve — Darren was too busy to cook for her, and Harris and Jack too busy to even speak with her.
Lena herself had little interest in the New Year, yet looking at the three of them, so brimming with excitement, it was as though they lived solely for this season of celebration.
After finishing her breakfast, Lena went inside, took out a cloak of indigo cloth lined with raccoon fur, draped it over her shoulders, and said to them,
"I'm going to Kaibao Temple to burn a stick of incense. I won't be back for lunch. For dinner, I won't eat any of this oily fare — make a pot of mutton with cabbage."
"Kaibao Temple's quite far, Boss. You should take a carriage," Jack called from the fire.
"As if the Boss wouldn't think of that without you saying it! Take care, Boss!" Harris said, still busy turning the dough twists in the pot of oil.
Lena waved a hand and left the alley. It took her half a street's walk before she finally found a carriage.
Such inconveniences — even calling a carriage being a struggle — and the flustered bustle filling every street were among the many reasons she disliked the New Year.
Why did everyone lose their composure so completely this time of year?
The coachman, flustered with his own holiday haste, hurried her to the foot of Mount Yi, then rushed away again.
The mountain, usually busy with pilgrims, was unusually quiet. In front of Kaibao Temple's first gate, there was scarcely a soul.
Lena avoided the wide stone steps at the main entrance, circling halfway around the mountain's base before following a few porters up a narrow path.
Kaibao Temple sat midway up the mountain. Its golden eaves rose into drifting incense smoke, and the clear sound of bells and chimes pierced through the heavy murmur of chanting, spreading far and faint.
She paused, listening for a while, then followed the temple wall toward the rear gate.
Rumor had it that the Marquis of Yongping's household was holding a ritual here for Lord Shen Yun. From the looks of it, that seemed to be true.
The rear gate, used for carrying out refuse and supplies, opened easily at her touch.
Lena peered inside, saw no one about, and stepped within.
Temple layouts were much alike. Passing the kitchen wall, she stopped, tilting her head to listen.
The kitchen was alive with activity. With so many monks and guests — at least a good number of attendants — the place must work from dawn till dusk.
After the scripture library, she stood close to the wall, scanning her surroundings before slipping behind a row of broad-eaved side rooms beside the Hall of the Medicine King.
In front of these rooms, flowers and shrubs grew lush, and pots of blooming red and green plum blossoms lent an air of refined care — clearly the quarters prepared for the Shen family.
The back wall of the rooms had no windows, only two high, round openings on either side.
Lena lifted her gaze toward them. She had no intention of climbing — she merely wanted a look.
Just as she was about to leave, she heard quick but orderly footsteps and a matron's voice from the front:
"Madam! The Princess has arrived — she's already inside!"
Lena swiftly moved to the side of the building, pressing herself to the wall. Through the leaves of a large potted maple placed at the corner of the veranda, she peered toward the front.
A tall young girl in mourning robes emerged first — that must be Shen Mingqing, the Marquis of Yongping's beloved eldest daughter.
Two younger girls followed close behind: the elder tall and slender, leading a child of six or seven, both in deep mourning attire.
Those were surely Shen Yun's daughters — the second young lady, Shen Mingrui, and the third, Shen Mingying.
The three hurried forward, and before long returned, accompanying a young lady clad entirely in plain white, walking and conversing softly.
Lena's gaze swept over the four of them.
Shen Mingqing, on the right, carried herself with bright and spirited grace, her face turned attentively toward the girl beside her.
At the center walked a maiden of moderate height, wrapped in a long white fox-furred cloak of pale silk. Her almond eyes sparkled with innocent charm.
Lena studied her more closely.
There was only one princess in the palace — daughter of the late Empress Zhang and full sister to the Crown Prince — Princess Ninghe.
Yet the late Empress had never been one for such tender sweetness; a woman with this air of youthful innocence could hardly have ordered a sedan chair to encircle half the Prince Rui's mansion.
Princess Ninghe held little Shen Mingying by the hand. The child was still too young for her temperament to be discerned, but her sister Mingrui, head slightly bowed, carried an air of quiet gloom.
Suddenly, Shen Mingqing turned her gaze toward Lena's hiding place. Lena slipped swiftly behind the wall, retreating noiselessly along it.
No wonder the Marquis doted most upon this eldest daughter — her perception was sharp indeed.
———
"What is it?" Shen Mingqing asked suddenly, her eyes flicking toward the corner. Princess Ninghe rose on her toes and looked as well.
"It felt as though someone was watching us. Go and take a look," Shen Mingqing said lightly, instructing the matron behind her.
"How could there be anyone here? They must have cleared the place already." The Princess laughed.
"Perhaps I'm simply on edge lately," Shen Mingqing sighed.
"I am too," said Princess Ninghe with a troubled expression. "When my cousin was injured, my brother didn't tell me at first. I only found out once he returned. The wound on his back — such a long, deep gash! He wouldn't let me see it, said it would frighten me."
The Princess spoke earnestly, eyes fixed on Shen Mingqing.
Beside them, Shen Mingrui turned stiffly away, tugging at her little sister's hand. Mingying glanced up, then lowered her head and quietly withdrew her fingers from the Princess's grasp.
"Mingrui, take your sister to hear the sutras. I'll come shortly," Shen Mingqing said, having noticed the gesture from the corner of her eye.
Mingrui murmured assent, curtsied to the Princess with her sister, and led the child toward the main hall.
"Cousin Mingqing, it's been nearly three months since I last saw Master Wen. I think he's avoiding me again — he's always avoiding me."
Watching the sisters depart, the Princess began to complain softly.
"He's been occupied lately," Shen Mingqing replied gently. "Your cousin's accident — wasn't it Master Wen who investigated the matter? He must be overwhelmed."
"But isn't it all resolved now? Oh, I'm so thoughtless — I should first offer incense to Uncle Shen in the main hall. My brother told me to do so on his behalf as well."
She paused, remembering. "By the way, my brother said he won't be coming himself. He asked me to tell you — please spend more time with the Second and Third Young Ladies, for they are still so young and pitiable."
"Of course. Please assure His Highness," Shen Mingqing replied with a respectful bow.
Then, side by side, they continued toward the main hall, their low voices blending into the temple's solemn chants.