Chapter 13: Fighting or Something Else?

“What do you mean, something else?” Chenxue stared at the mirror, then scowled. “It was Chen Yanfan, of course. He’s stingy and money-grubbing, always trying to settle accounts with me. He drives me mad. I called him over to give him a good scolding, and my hair came loose while I was at it. Heaven must have sent him to plague me.”

“Oh.” Qiutang lowered her head and continued combing. After a few strokes she ventured, “Actually, apart from being stingy and loving money, young Chen is quite good in other respects, according to Steward Song. He works hard, never shirks, and doesn’t quarrel with the other servants. When Old Zhang cut his hand chopping vegetables, Chen tended the kitchen fire for two days without a word of complaint.”

Chenxue glanced at her in the mirror. “What did he give you to speak for him?”

“Nothing! I’m only telling the truth.” Smiling, Qiutang worked gently and deftly through the knots.

Looking at her reflection, Chenxue recalled, at an inconvenient moment, the feel of those large hands awkwardly gathering her hair behind the rockery. His shameless complaint about how hard it had been to hold back echoed in her ears. She bit her lip. “Good? What’s good about him? He’s too big. It hurt.”

Qiutang’s hand froze. “Miss?” She blinked at Chenxue’s pink ears in the mirror. “What’s too big?”

Chenxue came to her senses. The blush spread visibly down her neck. Reaching for her tea, she nearly knocked over a rouge box with her elbow. “He… that… He himself. He’s so big he looks frightening.” She gulped her tea.

Qiutang tilted her head and considered this seriously. “Young Chen? He seems about average. He’s nearly as tall as Xiao Li and Steward Song. Song is a little shorter, and Xiao Li is skinny as a bamboo pole. Chen is sturdier, perhaps, but I wouldn’t call him big.”

“Nearly as tall?” Chenxue set down her cup and turned to glare. “He’s almost a head taller than Song!”

Qiutang shrank back but murmured, unconvinced, “Song stoops, and Xiao Li hasn’t finished growing. Chen isn’t the biggest servant here. Wang Laoliu, who guards the west courtyard, is broader.”

Chenxue opened her mouth and found no answer. Qiutang was earnestly discussing height and build, which was quite different from what she had meant. Scowling, she turned back to the mirror and pushed her cup toward the maid. “Tea.”

Qiutang obediently poured. When Chenxue’s expression softened, she asked, “You said it hurt. Did Chen hit you?”

Chenxue nearly sprayed her tea. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief and coughed. “No! How would he dare?”

“Then why did you say it hurt?”

“I poked his chest too hard and hurt my finger, all right?” She slapped the handkerchief on the table. “His chest is hard as stone. There’s no flesh on it at all.”

Qiutang believed her this time and nodded. “That’s true. He was skinny as firewood when he arrived, but two years of chopping wood have made him solid. Xiao Li once bumped into him by accident and his shoulder hurt for ages.”

She continued combing, arranged a gentle bun, and selected a plain silver pin from the jewelry box. Chenxue quietly breathed easier and drank more tea.

Seeing her expression in the mirror, Qiutang smiled. “Miss, you’re a little strange today.”

“How?”

“Usually, after scolding young Chen, you’re so angry you go on complaining all afternoon. Today you came back humming.” She tucked a loose strand behind Chenxue’s ear, fighting a laugh. “I’ve served you eight years, and I’ve never seen you sing after scolding someone.”

Chenxue opened her mouth, unable to find a reply. Finally she arranged her face into the young miss’s customary sternness. “Are you done? If so, bring me mung-bean soup. I’m thirsty.”

Qiutang curtsied and withdrew, suppressing a smile. At the door she looked back. Chenxue was touching the silver pin in the mirror, tracing its pattern with one finger while gazing out the window, lost in thought.

Walking briskly to the kitchen, Qiutang made a mental note. The last time her mistress had daydreamed like that was two years ago, when she secretly watched the second young master of the neighboring Shen family practice swordsmanship. That had lasted only three days: his swordplay was so poor, she said, that his handsome face was wasted.

How long would this one last? Qiutang decided to prepare an extra bowl of mung-bean soup each day. Summer still had a long way to run.