summer lily, twelve ounces of the pollen of the autumn hibiscus flower, and twelve ounces of the white plum in bloom in the winter. You take the four kinds of pollen, and put them in the sun, on the very day of the vernal equinox of the succeeding year to get dry, and then you mix them with the powder and pound them well together. You again want twelve mace of water, fallen on ‘rain water’ day. . . . .”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Chou promptly, as she laughed. “From all you say, why you want three years’ time! and what if no rain falls on ‘rain water’ day! What would one then do?”
“Quite so!” Pao Ch’ai remarked smilingly; “how can there be such an opportune rain on that very day! but to wait is also the best thing, there’s nothing else to be done. Besides, you want twelve mace of dew, collected on ‘White Dew’ day, and twelve mace of the hoar frost, gathered on ‘Frost Descent’ day, and twelve mace of snow, fallen on ‘Slight Snow’ day! You next take these four kinds of waters and mix them with the other ingredients, and make pills of the size of a lungngan. You keep them in an old porcelain jar, and bury them under the roots of some flowers; and when the ailment betrays itself, you produce it and take a pill, washing it down with two candareens of a yellow cedar decoction.”
“O-mi-to-fu!” cried Mrs. Chou, when she heard all this, bursting out laughing. “It’s really enough to kill one! you might wait ten years and find no such lucky moments!”
“Fortunate for me, however,” pursued Pao Ch’ai, “in the course of a year or two, after the bonze had told me about this prescription, we got all the ingredients; and, after much trouble, we compounded a supply, which we have now brought along with us from the south to the north; and lies at present under the pear trees.”
“Has this medicine any name or other of its own?” further inquired Mrs. Chou.
“It has a name,” replied Pao Ch’ai; “the mangy-headed bonze also told it me; he called it ‘cold fragrance’ pill.”
Chou Jui’s wife nodded her head, as she heard these words. “What do you feel like after all when this complaint manifests itself?” she went on to ask.
“Nothing much,” replied Pao Ch’ai; “I simply pant and cough a bit; but after I’ve taken a pill, I get over it, and it’s all gone.”
Mrs. Chou was bent upon making some further remark, when madame Wang was suddenly heard to enquire, “Who is in here?”
Mrs. Chou went out hurriedly and answered; and forthwith told her all about old goody Liu’s visit. Having waited for a while, and seeing that madame Wang had nothing to say, she was on the point of retiring, when “aunt” Hsueh unexpectedly remarked smiling: “Wait a bit! I’ve something to give you to take along with you.”
And as she spoke, she called for Hsiang Ling. The sound of the screen-board against the sides of the door was heard, and in walked the waiting-maid, who had been playing with Chin Ch’uan-erh. “Did my lady call?” she asked.
“Bring that box of flowers,” said Mrs. Hsueh.
Hsiang Ling assented, and brought from the other side a small embroidered silk box.
“These,” explained “aunt” Hsüeh, “are a new kind of flowers, made in the palace. They consist of twelve twigs of flowers of piled gauze. I thought of them yesterday, and as they will, the pity is, only get old, if uselessly put away, why not give them to the girls to wear them in their hair! I meant to have sent them over yesterday, but I forgot all about them. You come to-day most opportunely, and if you will take them with you, I shall have got them off my hands. To the three young ladies in your family give two twigs each, and of the six that will remain give a couple to Miss Lin, and the other four to lady Feng.”
“Better keep them and give them to your daughter Pao Ch’ai to wear,” observed madame Wang, “and have done with it; why think of all the others?”
“You don’t know, sister,” replied “aunt” Hsüeh, “what a crotchety thing Pao Ch’ai is! she has no liking for flower or powder.”
With these words on her lips, Chou Jui’s wife took the box and walked out of the door of the room. Perceiving that Chin Ch’uan-erh was still sunning herself outside, Chou Jui’s wife asked her: “Isn’t this Hsiang Ling, the waiting-maid that we’ve often heard of as having been purchased just before the departure of the Hsüeh family for the capital, and on whose account there occurred some case of manslaughter or other?”
“Of course it’s she,” replied Chin Ch’uan. But as they were talking, they saw Hsiang Ling draw near smirkingly, and Chou Jui’s wife at once seized her by the hand, and after minutely scrutinizing her face for a time, she turned round to Chin Ch’uan-erh and smiled. “With these features she really resembles slightly the style of lady Jung of our Eastern Mansion.”
“So I too maintain!” said Chin Ch’uan-erh.
Chou Jui’s wife then asked Hsiang Ling, “At what age did you enter this family? and where are your father and mother at present?” and also inquired, “In what year of your teens are you? and of what place are you a native?”
But Hsiang Ling, after listening to all these questions, simply nodded her head and replied, “I can’t remember.”
When Mrs. Chou and Chin Ch’uan-erh heard these words, their spirits changed to grief, and for a while they felt affected and wounded at heart; but in a short time, Mrs. Chou brought the flowers into the room at the back of madame Wang’s principal apartment.
The fact is that dowager lady Chia had explained that as her granddaughters were too numerous, it would not be convenient to crowd them together in one place, that Pao-yü and Tai-yü should only remain with her in this part to break her loneliness, but that Ying Ch’un, T’an Ch’un, and Hsi Ch’un, the three of them, should move on this side in the three rooms within the antechamber, at the back of madame lady Wang’s quarters; and that Li Wan should be told off to be their attendant and to keep an eye over them.
Chou Jui’s wife, therefore, on this occasion came first to these rooms as they were on her way, but she only found a few waiting-maids assembled in the antechamber, waiting silently to obey a call.
Ying Ch’un’s waiting-maid, Ssu Chi, together with Shih Shu, T’an Ch’un’s waiting-maid, just at this moment raised the curtain, and made their egress, each holding in her hand a tea-cup and saucer; and Chou Jui’s wife readily concluding that the young ladies were sitting together also walked into the inner room, where she only saw Ying Ch’un and T’an Ch’un seated near the window, in the act of playing chess. Mrs. Chou presented the flowers and explained whence they came, and what they were.
The girls forthwith interrupted their game, and both with a curtsey, expressed their thanks, and directed the waiting-maids to put the flowers away.
Mrs. Chou complied with their wishes (and handing over the flowers); “Miss Hsi Ch’un,” she remarked, “is not at home; and possibly she’s over there with our old lady.”
“She’s in that room, isn’t she?” inquired the waiting-maids.
Mrs. Chou at these words readily came into the room on this side, where she found Hsi Ch’un, in company with a certain Chih Neng, a young nun of the “moon reflected on water” convent, talking and laughing together. On seeing Chou Jui’s wife enter, Hsi Ch’un at once asked what she wanted, whereupon Chou Jui’s wife opened the box of flowers, and explained who had sent them.
“I was just telling Chih Neng,” remarked Hsi Ch’un laughing, “that I also purpose shortly shaving my head and becoming a nun; and strange enough, here you again bring me flowers; but supposing I shave my head, where can I wear them?”
They were all very much amused for a time with this remark, and Hsi Ch’un told her waiting-maid, Ju Hua, to come and take over the flowers.
“What time did you come over?” then inquired Mrs. Chou of Chih Neng. “Where is that bald-pated and