Chapter Four: Guiyuan Temple

Mount Qixia lay to the east of Wucheng. After passing through the eastern city gate and traveling another seventy or eighty li, one would reach the foot of the mountain. Guiyuan Temple was halfway up the slope, still some distance away, inaccessible by carriage, requiring either a walk or a sedan chair ride up the mountain. When Cuiyu declared their arrival, it was only at the mountain’s base; everyone needed a short rest before continuing the ascent.

At the foot of the mountain, many porters waited—some specialized in carrying people up, others in hauling luggage. Most of these were local villagers, honest folk but not unfamiliar with the world. Seeing such a large, well-dressed group disembark, they immediately recognized a household of wealth and status. They wished dearly for the business, yet dared not be forward, merely standing by with shy, hopeful smiles, rubbing their hands as they gazed at the newcomers with longing.

The household was managed by the senior lady, Madam Cai. At her instruction, her two chief maids, Honglian and Hongling, selected a few clean sedan chairs and sturdy porters, arranging everything in an orderly fashion. The other maids, grannies, and young servants also busied themselves—some hauling luggage, others attending their masters. The bustle was lively yet disciplined, evidence of a well-trained household.

The old mistress sat for a while on a bench reserved for travelers, sipped half a cup of tea, and then, assisted by Caiyun and Caixia, boarded her sedan chair. Young Chao, being so small, was carried by his nurse in another chair. Hai and Liu Qin each rode in their own, while old Madam Liu, elderly and nearly blind, also had a chair out of the old mistress’s compassion. Satisfied that all arrangements were in order, Madam Cai followed in her own chair, flanked by Honglian and Hongling.

But these “sedan chairs” were little more than a backrest tied between two poles, covered with a quilt. Once the passenger was seated, two porters would hoist the poles onto their shoulders and, keeping their steps in time, set off up the mountain. These porters, accustomed to the climb, moved with power and ease; to carry a small child like Liu Qin was effortless. It was the maids who suffered, panting as they hurried alongside, repeatedly urging the porters to slow down—slower, slower still.

It was Liu Qin’s first time in such a chair, and she found it delightful. Spring had just arrived; the scenery along the path was like a painting—verdant trees, red blossoms, and here and there, streams tumbling down the slopes. Birds sang freely among the branches, small creatures darted and played unafraid, echoing one another across the hillside. The wind, carrying the scent of pines, swept past her ears; amid the chorus of nature, even the voices of people faded into silence, and the clamor of the world seemed cleansed to nothingness.

Yet this was not Qixia’s most beautiful season. In autumn, the mountain blazed with crimson leaves, a scarlet cloud upon the summit, intoxicating to behold. The mountain’s name itself, “Rosy Clouds of Perching,” came from this autumn glory.

Enjoying the sights as they went, the turbulence in Liu Qin’s heart—stirred by memories of her past life—gradually subsided. Compared to the famous mountains and rivers she had once visited, none seemed to match what spread before her eyes now. She recalled the crowded tourist spots of her former world and laughed to herself. Glancing at the maids bustling ahead and behind, she thought: these companions are far more pleasing to the eye.

Soon, they arrived at the gate of Guiyuan Temple. It was Wucheng’s largest and most renowned monastery. The culture of Han Country, much like that of her former world’s antiquity, led Liu Qin to wonder if, perhaps, many predecessors with memories of past lives had become seeds of transmission, carrying the treasures of China’s Four Books and Five Classics, Buddhism, Daoism, and more to this land.

The abbot of Guiyuan Temple, Master Tianyuan, came out to greet the Liu family in person. He was a short, plump old man with a white beard, kindly enough in countenance, though lacking the ethereal quality she had imagined. Master Tianyuan first led everyone to the main hall to offer incense. The temple’s layout resembled those Liu Qin had once seen: the main hall enshrined the Bodhisattva of Compassion, Guanyin, and was normally filled with devotees. Today, however, the gates had been closed to visitors in honor of the Liu family’s arrival.

After offering incense, the young monks prepared the meditation rooms. Once they had eaten a vegetarian meal, the old mistress retired to rest, and Hai and Chao, coaxed by Madam Cai, also fell asleep. Only Liu Qin, full of energy, ran off to play in the temple’s rear garden, prompting a string of complaints from Cuiyu: “Miss, you really are a torment. You rode up the mountain without walking a step, yet show no thought for us maids. We climbed up on our own two legs and still don’t get any rest. Look, I’m still trembling!”

“If you don’t like following me, then don’t. My ears are quieter without you,” Liu Qin retorted, making a face and hopping away.

“Miss, you—” Cuiyu stamped her foot, turning a wounded gaze to Cuiliu and muttering, “She’s infuriating. I only said a word or two, and she says I talk too much…”

“You do talk plenty,” Cuiliu remarked with a sideways glance. “It’s lucky she’s our Miss. In another household, you’d have been sent to sweep floors long ago.”

“No—no way! Does Miss not want me either?” Remembering the look of disdain on Liu Qin’s face, Cuiyu shuddered, her words tumbling out.

“Afraid now? How many times have I told you, our Miss may be little, but her heart is as clear as a mirror. She understands everything. She treats us well, never scolding or beating us, but we mustn’t forget our own duties. If this were a stricter house, those words of yours would have earned you a caning by now.”

“I… I…” Cuiyu fell silent, a wave of guilt rising in her heart. She remembered how, for all her mischief, the girl was always kind to her maids, never punishing them, even shielding them when the old mistress threatened discipline. Indeed, she had grown willful because of the girl’s indulgence.

“Cuiyu, Cuiyu, come quick!” Ahead, a peach grove was just beginning to blossom. Liu Qin’s face peeked out from behind a tree, rosy as the freshest bud among the branches, calling with a bright smile.

At that call, Cuiyu’s heart lightened. She’d long felt slighted that the girl never called her “sister” as she did the other maids, always using her name directly. For ages, she’d thought the girl liked her even less than Cuiliu or the others. But now, hearing herself summoned so familiarly, she felt an unexpected warmth. It seemed she’d been mistaken—the girl was not treating her badly; it was simply that, in the girl’s heart, she was the closest of all.

“Coming, coming!” Cuiyu swept away her earlier gloom, her fatigue vanishing as she ran joyfully forward.

Cuiliu watched the pair—a mistress who seemed less than a mistress, a maid who seemed less than a maid—with a gentle smile. When the old mistress had assigned her and Cuiyu to the girl, back when she was a swaddled infant, five years had passed since. In these five years, the girl was her world, her treasure, the focus of all her care. She knew the girl preferred to play with Cuiyu—perhaps because Cuiyu was so simple-hearted, like a child herself. But children too had their own thoughts, and it seemed today’s words had not fallen on deaf ears.

The peach grove, still only budding, had yet to reach its full splendor, but the clusters of unopened blossoms possessed a unique charm of their own. Ever since entering the grove, Liu Qin had been quietly delighted. She hadn’t expected the monks of Han Country to differ from those of her past life, actually planting peach trees in their rear gardens. Perhaps they were all “flower monks,” hoping to catch some luck with the peach blossoms, dream a few romantic dreams, or land themselves some amorous entanglements?

The image of monks chasing girls with peach blossoms in hand made Liu Qin burst into giggles, her eyes sparkling with a mischief that was anything but innocent.

“Miss, Miss!” Cuiyu came running up.

“Cuiyu, I want that branch,” Liu Qin said, pointing to a slanting bough above her head.

“That one?”

“Mhm. And that one, and that one…”

“All right, just wait there, Miss.” Cuiyu rubbed her hands together, gearing up for action, while secretly mourning for the grove: Oh, peach trees, it seems you cannot escape Miss’s “mischief” today.