Chapter 31

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Chapter 31 – Three People and a Falcon Write Spring Couplets

Fan Changyu finally endured the worst of the smoke and, blinking away the tears it had brought to her eyes, began to feel a little better. When she looked up and saw Xie Zheng staring at her with an unreadable expression, she patted the top of her head. “Do I have ashes in my hair?”

The wind had picked up by now, and indeed, plenty of ash from the burnt joss paper had landed on her head and shoulders.

Xie Zheng looked away, lowered his gaze, and nodded.

Fan Changyu gave herself a few random pats, but the ash only smudged further, sticking messily to her clothes.

Changning noticed and came toddling over on her short little legs, puffing out her cheeks. “Ningniang will blow it off for you!”

Fan Changyu lowered her head to let her younger sister help, but Changning was too small and didn’t have enough breath to do much. So Changyu tugged lightly at Xie Zheng’s sleeve and tilted her head up. “Brother-in-law, can you help blow it off?”

Xie Zheng looked at her. She was half-crouched so her sister could reach her, and from his angle, he could clearly see the pale nape of her neck and part of her delicate profile. Because she was still speaking to her sister, there was a soft, serene smile lingering on her lips.

Fan Changyu had already lifted her head when she heard Changning tell Xie Zheng to help. “It’s mostly clean now anyway. Let’s head back…”

The last word caught in her throat.

Xie Zheng raised his hand and gently brushed the ashes and soot from the top of her head. His touch was incredibly light, barely skimming her hair, but the slight tickle caused by his fingers stirring the strands made Fan Changyu stiffen for a moment.

It felt completely different from doing it herself, though she couldn’t quite explain how.

After pinching away the last fleck of soot tangled in her hair, Xie Zheng withdrew his hand and said, “All done.”

Meeting his dark, unreadable eyes, Fan Changyu muttered dryly, “Thanks.”

By the time they returned from paying respects to their ancestors, it was nearly noon. Fan Changyu stewed a pork trotter, sliced up a plate of cured sausage, reheated some braised pork belly that had been steamed in advance, and finally stir-fried a dish of dried greens to balance out the richness. The three of them made do with that for lunch.

The dried greens were made during the harvest season by boiling fresh vegetables and then laying them out to dry. Every household in town knew how to do it. It was said to be a method developed during famine years to stretch food supplies as far as possible.

Compared to the fresh version, the dried greens had a more mellow aroma. Soaked in water and sliced thin, then quickly stir-fried with ginger and garlic after a splash of oil, the dish was more fragrant than meat.

By the end of the meal, nearly half the meat was still left—but the plate of dried greens had been scraped clean.

The large bowl of minced fresh meat and offal beside the falcon’s cage had also been cleaned out. The bird was now perched beside the firepit, its beady eyes half-closed as it used its beak to preen feathers that had turned dusty and dull from the smoke.

After clearing the table and washing the dishes, Fan Changyu took out the red paper for Spring Festival couplets and the lanterns she had bought earlier and began fussing with them.

On New Year’s Eve, putting up couplets and hanging big red lanterns was a tradition that simply couldn’t be skipped.

The ink brush, paper, and inkstone were all in Xie Zheng’s room, so she took a stack of red couplet paper and knocked on his door.

On the desk, paper was already laid out and the chipped inkstone was filled with freshly ground ink. As expected, he was seated at the wobbly-legged writing desk, scribbling something.

When his cool, distant gaze swept over to her, Fan Changyu scratched her head and forced herself to speak. “Um… do you know how to write couplets?”

Like a little shadow, Changning popped her head in at the doorway too, her eyes curving into crescent moons as she beamed. “Brother-in-law writes the couplets!”

Xie Zheng set aside the half-written sheet and cleared a space on the desk. “Bring it here.”

Fan Changyu, along with her tailing little sister, squeezed into the room with the couplet paper.

After laying out the red paper on the desk, Xie Zheng dipped his brush into the ink. But there wasn’t much left in the inkstone after just one soak. Tilting his head slightly, he said to Fan Changyu, “Grind me some more ink.”

Fan Changyu looked like she wanted to say something, but seeing that Xie Zheng had already begun writing—his brush strokes bold and fluid as the first character flowed onto the red couplet paper—she didn’t dare interrupt. She glanced at the inkstick, then picked it up and began grinding away at the inkstone with determined force.

By the time the ink on his brush started to run dry and he reached over to dip it again, he noticed the thick, inky sludge that now filled the stone. He paused for a moment and said, “That’s… a bit much.”

More than a bit—she had nearly ground down half the inkstick just for a single couplet.

He couldn’t help but glance at her hands.

Then, remembering how strong she was, it made a little more sense.

Fan Changyu gave an awkward chuckle. “I was going to ask how much you needed before I started…”

She could read and had been forced to learn to write under her mother’s cane, but her handwriting was absolutely dreadful. Ink and paper were expensive, and she rarely ground ink herself. Back then, her mother would prepare the ink and supervise her writing, so she never really knew how much was enough.

Xie Zheng didn’t seem surprised at all and simply said, “It’s no big deal. Just a bit of a waste if we don’t use it all.”

Staring at the nearly half-worn inkstick, Fan Changyu couldn’t help feeling a little distressed.

She thought for a moment, then said, “Aunt Zhao probably didn’t buy any spring couplets either. Let’s write a set for her too! And with the extra ink, we can do a few more—one for each room door. Makes the place feel more festive!”

It was the first time Xie Zheng had heard of such a way of posting spring couplets. His finely shaped brows knit together slightly, but then he couldn’t help finding it a little amusing. A quiet, indefinable brightness stirred within him.

When they first met, he’d thought her crude and unsophisticated. But now he sensed that, within that roughness, there was also a kind of raw vitality.

Like wild grass growing in untamed fields—untended, yet fiercely alive. It could break through frozen soil, split through rock, endure harsh winters and scorching summers. No matter how much wind or rain battered its tender shoots above ground, the roots beneath only pushed deeper into the earth, relentlessly drawing strength to keep growing upward.

He glanced at the woman beside him, who was resting her chin in her hands, watching him write from the side of the desk. Dipping his brush in fresh ink, he continued with the second line of the couplet.

Snowflakes drifted in through the half-open window lattice. The wind stirred the wide sleeves of his robe and swept through Fan Changyu’s long hair. Just as he lifted his brush to finish the stroke, she leaned in closer to read what he had written—one strand of her hair brushing lightly across the back of his hand.

His brush paused.

A drop of ink fell from the tip and landed at the bottom of the couplet paper.

“Ah!” Fan Changyu let out a small cry and asked with some regret, “Did I mess you up?”

Xie Zheng withdrew his gaze. “No. There was just too much ink on the brush.”

Fan Changyu looked at the couplet with a twinge of heartache. “That’s such a shame—the calligraphy is so beautiful. But it’s fine, we’ll just put this one on the door to mine and Changning’s room!”

Xie Zheng looked up and asked, “You like it?”

Fan Changyu nodded, then studied the couplet and read aloud the characters written on it: “When the ice melts, the spring veins flow; when the snow fades, grass shoots sprout.”
“When the snow and ice melt, spring grass begins to grow—I really like the meaning.”

She smiled at him as she continued, “Back when my mother used to write our couplets, she didn’t like those generic ones sold in the market either—all full of ‘good fortune’ this and ‘blessings’ that.”

Xie Zheng was momentarily taken aback by her smile. He didn’t reply, just lowered his eyes and, with a few deft strokes of the brush, transformed the spot where the ink had dripped—what might’ve ruined the piece—into an expressive sketch of wild grass.

Both Fan Changyu and her sister let out a surprised “Oh!” at the same time, their eyes lighting up with joy.

Fan Changyu picked up the couplet and examined it closely, turning it this way and that. “You can draw too?”

Xie Zheng replied, “Just the basics.”

Fan Changyu stared at the cluster of vibrant wild grass beneath the calligraphy and said, “It’s good enough.”

She glanced at Xie Zheng a few more times, then said, “If you went to the street to sell calligraphy and paintings, I bet you’d make a lot of money!”

With his looks and brushwork, there’d definitely be no shortage of young women eager to buy whatever he painted!

Xie Zheng’s lips had curved slightly at her earlier compliments, but as soon as he heard the latter part, the smile disappeared.

“I don’t paint things that don’t please me,” he said.

Fan Changyu knew full well that this man had a temper, so his answer didn’t surprise her. She simply turned her attention back to watching him write the horizontal scroll.

He wrote four characters: Endure, and spring will come.

Each character was bold and vigorous, as if brimming with the same tenacity and life force of wild grass pushing up through the earth.

Fan Changyu already liked the couplet immensely, and seeing this horizontal scroll only made her more satisfied.

To tie it all together, Xie Zheng added a few strokes of wild grass to the top scroll and the upper line of the couplet as well.

Fan Changyu happily laid the finished couplet on the cabinet to dry.

That one no longer bore the blot of ink, and since she had only bought enough red paper for three sets, she decided on the spot to use this one for the main entrance and write another for Aunt Zhao’s household.

For the elderly couple, Xie Zheng wrote a traditional pair wishing fortune, longevity, and peace.

When it came time to write the last set of couplets, Changning stood on tiptoe with both hands on the desk, craning her neck and saying, “Ningniang wants to write too!”

Since the couplet was just going to be hung at home for their own enjoyment, Fan Changyu didn’t mind if it looked a bit rough. She pulled out a piece of red paper for the horizontal scroll, asked Xie Zheng to help come up with a line, and once he’d written it down, she guided her younger sister through copying it out, hand over hand.

Together, they finished the horizontal scroll. Then, in her own chicken-scratch handwriting, Fan Changyu wrote the first line of the couplet.

The characters were a bit ugly, but she found herself quite pleased with the result.

Shoving the brush back into Xie Zheng’s hand, she said, “You do the second line.”

He glanced at the oversized characters sprawling across the red paper, nearly overflowing the borders. After a brief silence, he used wild cursive to write the second line, which helped it look a little less mismatched.

All the characters he wrote were deliberately styled to avoid resembling his usual handwriting—so that even someone familiar with it wouldn’t recognize him.

Fan Changyu was ready to call it a day, but at some point, Changning had slipped out of the room and returned with the gyrfalcon from the coop in the main hall. She hugged it tightly, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at Fan Changyu. “Let’s stamp Little Falcon’s footprint too!”

She held the bird in a very deliberate manner—one chubby hand around its belly, the other clamped firmly around its neck, as if prepared to lift it by the throat if it didn’t cooperate.

Xie Zheng glanced at the gyrfalcon’s terrified and helpless expression and felt… conflicted.

These two were definitely sisters.

Fan Changyu gently patted the feathers on the gyrfalcon’s head, considered for a moment, then said, “Alright!”

Fan Changyu brought over the inkstone, lifted one of the gyrfalcon’s claws, and gently dipped it in. Then she pressed a falcon clawprint onto the end of the horizontal scroll that Changning had written.

Still traumatized from being bopped on the head earlier, the gyrfalcon kept its wings tightly folded and didn’t dare move a feather—its beady eyes wide open, filled with confusion and pitiful resignation.

Once the print was done, Fan Changyu wiped the ink clean from the bird’s foot with a damp cloth and said to Changning, “Take him back now.”

Changning happily hugged the gyrfalcon and carried it back to the coop in the main hall.

Meanwhile, Fan Changyu went to the kitchen to fetch the leftover rice paste from lunch. She first used it to hang the couplet created by “three people and a falcon” on the main hall’s doorframe. Then, with the rice paste in hand, she stepped outside to put up the Endure, and spring will come couplet.

When the Zhao couple heard that Xie Zheng had written them a set too, they came out to watch as Fan Changyu pasted it up for them. The smiles on their faces couldn’t have been wider.

Other neighbors passing through the alley caught sight of the scene and curiously asked, “Changyu, your husband writes couplets too?”

Aunt Zhao, ever unwilling to let anyone look down on Fan Changyu because of the Song Yan business, jumped in right away. “Oh, he certainly does. That young man’s literate and knows his characters. Just look at that handwriting—it’s even better than the ones sold at the market!”

In a small town like this, being able to read a few characters already counted as a real skill. You didn’t even need to pass the xiucai exams—just qualifying as a tongsheng was enough to boost your standing significantly when it came to arranging a marriage.

The woman nodded repeatedly. “He writes just as well as Song Yan did in past years. Changyu really knows how to pick a husband!”

She turned to Fan Changyu with a smile. “Would your husband be willing to write a pair for me too?”

Back in the day, whenever New Year approached, Song Yan would set up a stall at the market to write couplets and earn a little extra for the household. Neighbors in the alley would bring their own red paper for him to write on, and he never charged them a single coin. Of course, most people would still bring him a small gift in return, just to show appreciation.

Now that the Song family had moved away, hiring someone to write spring couplets cost ten to twenty wen, and even pre-written ones weren’t cheap. Most households in the alley hadn’t prepared any this year.

Fan Changyu thought for a moment, remembering Xie Zheng’s terrible temper, and politely declined. “Sorry, Auntie—we didn’t buy extra red paper this year.”

But the woman waved that off immediately. “I still have some left from last year!”

At some point, Xie Zheng had come to stand at the front gate. When the woman spotted him, she smiled and called out, “Changyu’s husband, would you mind writing a couplet for your auntie if you have the time?”

Changyu’s husband? What kind of ridiculous title was that?

Afraid he might say something sharp-tongued and cutting, Fan Changyu was just about to refuse on his behalf when she heard him say, “Bring your paper.”

She blinked, a little stunned, while the woman beamed with joy at his response. She turned and hurried off. “Just wait there, I’ll go get it right now!”

As if worried he’d change his mind the next second.

Fan Changyu figured he’d only agreed out of consideration for her. After they stepped back into the courtyard, she couldn’t help but say, “If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to force yourself.”

Xie Zheng glanced up at her calmly. “When did I ever say I didn’t want to?”

“…” Fan Changyu fell silent.

Wasn’t this the same man who just earlier had declared he wouldn’t draw anything that didn’t please him?

Fine, fine. That was painting. Writing a few characters didn’t count. Clearly, she’d been overthinking it.

Before long, the auntie returned with red paper in hand. But she wasn’t alone—several other women and older ladies trailed in behind her, each holding their own sheets of couplet paper.

As soon as they saw Fan Changyu, they greeted her with cheerful smiles. “We heard your husband’s writing spring couplets! We haven’t gotten around to ours yet either, so we thought we’d come over and shamelessly join in.”

Everyone knew that brush, ink, paper, and inkstones were costly, so none of them came empty-handed. One brought a bowl of freshly made tofu from home; another had wrapped up a few pieces of puffed rice candy she’d made herself. As soon as they entered, they handed their gifts to Changning as little snacks for her to enjoy.

Fan Changyu looked at the women arriving with offerings in hand. She couldn’t very well turn them away, but she also wasn’t sure whether to speak on Xie Zheng’s behalf. So she simply turned to look at him.

He had already brought the inkstone and brushes from the south room into the main hall. Catching her glance, he said in a calm voice, “Ladies, please have a seat.”

That was clearly his way of agreeing, so Fan Changyu ushered them over to the firepit to warm themselves by the flames.

Xie Zheng didn’t begin writing the couplets right away. First, he would ask each person what kind of meaning or message they wanted to express, and only after that would he put brush to paper.

Amid the drifting ink scent and snow-dappled light, his posture as he wrote was both composed and steady.

When it was the turn of an old granny who lived at the end of the alley, she struggled to describe the kind of couplet she wanted. Her words came out slow and hesitant, thick with regional accent and full of tangents.

Yet Xie Zheng showed not the slightest trace of impatience. To better understand what she was saying, he even lowered his head slightly, leaning in to listen with care.

Sitting beside the firepit, Fan Changyu was a little surprised by what she saw. In her impression, he had always been temperamental and proud. She hadn’t expected to see such a gentle and courteous side of him.

After finishing the couplet, he read it aloud for the elderly woman and explained its meaning. The old lady kept nodding, her face lighting up with so many smile lines it was like her wrinkles were blooming.

Fan Changyu rested her chin on one hand, watching from across the room. Somehow, seeing that, she found herself smiling too.

Then Xie Zheng suddenly looked up, and their eyes met—her smiling gaze caught squarely by his.

Her heart gave an involuntary jolt, and her smile froze. She quickly turned her head back toward the fire and pretended to warm her hands.

Word got around fast that Xie Zheng was helping people write spring couplets. One person told ten, ten told a hundred, and soon more than half the alley had come to their door. It wasn’t until nearly sundown that the knocking finally stopped. The food and snacks people had brought to thank him now covered the entire table.

When Xie Zheng finally sat down by the firepit, Fan Changyu noticed him quietly massaging his wrist. She teased, “Wrist sore, isn’t it?”

“All right,” he replied mildly.

Fan Changyu gave a little huff in her heart. Stubborn as always.

As dusk settled in, she lit the big red lanterns and prepared to hang them in the courtyard.

In past years, her father had always handled the lanterns. Fan Changyu didn’t have much experience. The bamboo pole she found was too short, and she couldn’t reach. She called out, “Ningniang, bring me a stool, will you?”

Changning was sitting at the doorway nibbling on a piece of puffed rice candy. With each bite, she broke off a little chunk and dropped it by her feet so the gyrfalcon could peck at it.

When she heard Fan Changyu call out, she turned her head and yelled into the house, “Brother-in-law, help Big Sis move a stool so she can hang the lantern!”

Fan Changyu was about to comment that this child was getting awfully good at bossing people around when she saw Xie Zheng already stepping out of the house.

He wasn’t carrying a stool. Instead, he walked straight over and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, took the bamboo pole from her hands. His palm brushed lightly against the back of hers—just like when he’d shown her how to break holds back in the pine forest. Only this time, mingled with the crisp, cool scent he always carried, there was a faint sweetness—the smell of dried tangerine candy.

“All set,” he said after hanging the lantern under the eaves. He stepped back, and the faint citrus scent faded with him.

Fan Changyu suddenly felt awkward all over and forced out a stiff, dry “Thanks.”

Dinner that evening included the leftover stewed pork trotter from lunch, along with several homemade holiday dishes brought by neighbors in exchange for couplets. Fan Changyu picked a few and reheated them, then set a small pot above the firepit. Into it she added fresh slices of pork, tofu, and winter bamboo shoots. She placed a plate of marinated offal on the side, cracked an egg into a bowl of thinly sliced pig liver, beat it together, and swished it in the hot pot to cook as they ate.

It was a kind of hotpot dish she had seen customers order often during her brief stint helping out at Yixiang Tower.

She had once asked curiously what kind of dish it was, and Chef Li had told her it was a signature hotpot created by Manager Yu himself. Other restaurants might serve something similar, but none of them could match the flavor at Yixiang Tower.

The restaurant closed for New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, and Manager Yu had gifted her several blocks of solidified chili oil for hotpot, telling her to take them home and enjoy them for the holiday.

Fan Changyu had no idea how those red oil blocks were made—packed with peppercorns, bay leaves, star anise, and all kinds of aromatic spices. But once melted into boiling water, they became a pot of bright red broth, more flavorful than the spicy stew she had made last time.

The only issue was how spicy it was. Changning was both greedy and afraid of the heat. By the end, her lips were swollen from the spice.

Fan Changyu also found the hotpot a bit intense—so fiery it was hard to handle. She went and fetched a jar of mild rice wine. After pouring a cup for Xie Zheng, she suddenly remembered his injury.

She reached over and pulled the cup back from in front of him. “I forgot. You’re hurt—you’re not supposed to drink.”

Xie Zheng could tell just from the aroma that it wasn’t strong. “Rice wine is fine.”

Fan Changyu ignored him and poured him a cup of warm tea instead. “The doctor said no alcohol until you’re healed.”

Changning looked longingly at the cup in front of her sister. “Ningniang wants some too!”

Fan Changyu poured her a cup of warm tea as well. “Kids don’t get wine. You can drink tea with your brother-in-law.”

Xie Zheng: “…”

The hotpot was fiercely spicy—yet somehow addictive. By the time Fan Changyu got halfway through, she was practically drinking the rice wine like water.

Her lips were burning, but when she reached for more wine, she realized with a jolt that she had already downed over half the jar without noticing.

She stared at it, dumbfounded. “How did I drink that much…”

Then promptly reassured herself, “It’s fine, this wine probably doesn’t get you drunk.”

Her cheeks were already tinged with red. But then again, so were Xie Zheng’s and Changning’s—from the spiciness of the food.

Xie Zheng wasn’t sure what her tolerance for alcohol was. Watching her drink so heartily, he assumed she could hold her liquor. At this point, he couldn’t tell whether the flush in her face came from the heat, the alcohol, or both.

He nudged the teapot toward her. “Have some tea. It’ll help with the wine.”

Fan Changyu’s thoughts were already moving sluggishly. After a long pause, she came to one conclusion: Wait… is he making fun of my drinking tolerance?

Stubborn, she poured herself another cup of rice wine, squared her shoulders, and declared, “My tolerance is great! My dad could drink a whole jar of baodaozi, and I could finish half a jar myself. This rice wine is nothing!”

Xie Zheng watched as she tilted her head back and downed the cup in one go. Her apricot-shaped eyes slowly began to narrow, then fluttered, and finally, her head drooped onto the edge of the low table—and she fell asleep.

Xie Zheng: “…”

The little one had also fallen asleep, her nature being the type to grow drowsy after a full meal. Clutching the red envelope her sister had given her for New Year’s, her breathing had long since turned soft and even.

On this New Year’s Eve, the vigil for the passing year was left to Xie Zheng alone.

The lanterns under the eaves cast a warm glow over the falling snow, while in the distance, the sound of firecrackers echoed from someone’s home in the alley.

Xie Zheng looked over at the woman sleeping soundly on the low table. Firelight played across one side of her face, leaving her cheeks a rosy flush. Just looking at her, one could imagine how warm and soft her skin would feel beneath the fingertips.

He watched her quietly for a while, then turned away and reached for the wine jar on the table. Pouring himself a cup, he sat with one leg half bent, one hand resting loosely on his knee. His posture was relaxed as he took a small sip, gaze drifting out toward the snow beyond the doorway.

Maybe it was the firepit’s closeness, or maybe it was the gentle light of the lanterns under the eaves—but in that moment, something inside him felt more peaceful than it had in a very long time.

Sixteen years after the Battle of Jinzhou, he finally remembered: this was what it meant to celebrate the New Year.

He drank from the half-finished jar, one slow sip at a time, never seeming the least bit drunk.

At midnight, fireworks burst over the town. He looked toward the woman still slumped over the low table, who stirred only briefly at the sound and murmured something in her sleep before sinking deeper into dreams.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Happy New Year.”

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Translator’s Note:

Baodaozi (烧刀子): A colloquial term for a type of strong distilled liquor popular in northern China, known for its intense, burning sensation when swallowed. The name literally means “burning knife.” Typically 50–65% ABV (Alcohol by Volume), it’s significantly stronger than standard rice wine or beer.

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