Chapter 2: A Snowy Night at the Ancestral Hall

The covered corridor from the side courtyard to the main compound, past the ornamental gate, was already dusted with snow. Wei Nisheng held his cloak close and followed Wei An around a bend, where footsteps sounded behind them.

Leading the group was a boy about his height, wrapped in a brand-new sable cloak, its white fur collar framing his chin. It was his elder twin brother, Wei Shouzheng, the Wei family’s so-called lucky star. Even his name had been chosen with more care: Shouzheng, meaning to uphold the righteous path. How fine that sounded.

Nisheng paused and stepped toward the edge of the corridor, leaving the middle for his elder brother.

Shouzheng had a study attendant and a servant boy behind him. Evidently he had just returned from lessons. He walked slowly, his gaze fixed on Nisheng.

Nisheng knew what he was looking at: his face.

Though born together, the brothers did not look alike. Nisheng resembled their mother, Lady Lu. With delicate features and a cool, refined bone structure, he looked like a painting against the snow, even in his worn cloak. Shouzheng took after their father, Wei Mingde: a flat nose and narrow eyes. Put kindly, his features were ordinary; put less kindly, they were bland.

Great Zhou’s officials prized appearance and bearing. A handsome man commanded a second look wherever he went.

“The little wretch who wouldn’t die still knows to make way.”

Shouzheng spoke before he reached him. Without breaking stride, he turned his head and gave Nisheng a sidelong glance.

“I’m going to the ancestral hall too. Follow behind me.”

He went a couple of steps past, then stopped and added without looking back, “And keep your distance. It’s the middle of winter; I don’t need your bad luck.” With a contemptuous snort, he swept away with his attendants.

Nisheng lowered his eyes and said nothing. He had listened to that sort of thing for years. Ever since they had begun lessons and grown old enough to understand, what insult had his elder brother not thrown at him, openly or otherwise?

In public, Shouzheng was the Wei family’s eldest young master, righteous and kind to his kin. In private, he never bothered to hide his contempt for his own brother.

Their father disliked Nisheng but cared about appearances. After the poem spread, he had preferred to keep Nisheng out of sight and pretend he had no such son. Shouzheng was different. When his studies weighed on him, he turned his frustration into tangible “attention,” personally keeping watch over Nisheng’s food, clothing and supplies.

Last year, Wei An had secretly brought in a few history books so Nisheng could learn more about Great Zhou. Shouzheng’s people had found and confiscated them almost at once. A ten-year-old capable of that—had he been born knowing how, or had he learned from the adults?

“I knew it wouldn’t be good,” Nisheng muttered. Watching the figure recede ahead, he breathed on his palms, pulled his cloak close and walked on.

……

They soon reached the Wei ancestral hall. Despite being granted the family surname, Wei An had no standing to enter, so Nisheng crossed the threshold alone.

The hall was grand, its incense well tended. Two tall pillars stood before it. The one on the left, called Fa, was carved with the ancestors’ great deeds. The one on the right, called Yue, recorded the ranks and honors of generations of officials.

The Weis came from a prominent clan of Julu. Their most famous ancestor was Wei Zheng, one of the twenty-four meritorious officials honored in Lingyan Pavilion under Emperor Taizong of Tang. But that was ancient history. Huang Chao had already wiped out the great clans, picking them off by name from their genealogies as if playing a matching game.

Inside, Nisheng instinctively looked up at the three spirit tablets at the front of the altar: his grandfather Wei Zheng, his eldest uncle Wei Mingyuan, and his mother Lady Lu.

Fresh fruit stood before his grandfather’s and uncle’s tablets, droplets still beading on the oranges. Fine incense sent wisps of smoke from the burner. His mother’s tablet sat in a corner, with only a plate of dried, shriveled pastries before it.

Wei Mingde, his father in this life, stood before the tablets with his back to the door. He wore an indigo scholar’s robe beneath a dark gray cloak, with a rhinoceros-horn belt at his waist. Only officials of the sixth rank or higher were permitted such a belt. As a principal secretary of the construction bureau in the Ministry of Works, Mingde held a leisurely post of the regular sixth rank; the belt suited his station.

“Wretched son. Now you’re here, get on your knees.”

Nisheng obeyed. Shouzheng, who had arrived first, was already kneeling to one side, on a thick padded cushion.

Mingde turned and looked over his sons. The difference could hardly have been greater: one wore sable, the other a thin padded coat; one had a cushion, the other knelt on cold brick.

“Do you know what day this is?”

“I don’t. Please tell me, Father.”

“A happy one!” Mingde looked at his eldest legitimate son, his eyes full of pride. “Your brother is about to become a disciple of Master Qin, vice director of the Imperial Academy. It will bring great honor to our family.”

The vice director of the Imperial Academy was an official of the lower fourth rank. Nisheng frowned inwardly. He hadn’t expected his father, a mere sixth-rank official in a quiet Ministry of Works post, to have that kind of influence.

Great Zhou was not the Ming or Qing of his old world; nobody coasted through a position at the Imperial Academy. Its vice director was roughly equivalent to a university vice president, and anyone who held the post would be a great scholar, the leading figure of a school of thought at the very least.

“Rest assured, Father.” Shouzheng smiled. “I will study diligently and live up to your teachings and Master Qin’s regard.”

“Good, good! My son will bring our family glory!”

Then Mingde saw that Nisheng hadn’t said a word, and his temper flared. “You wretch! Your brother has such good news, and you can’t even offer a word of congratulations?”

Nisheng promptly cupped his hands in salute. “Congratulations, Elder Brother.”

“You’re too kind, little brother.” Shouzheng turned with a gentle smile. “You should work hard too. If you ever have difficulties, come to me. We’re brothers; there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

After that performance, Mingde looked at Nisheng with still greater disgust. “See how kind your brother is? And you… You… Oh, forget it!

“Kneel here before the grandfather and mother whose deaths you caused, and think hard about what gives you the right to live.”

“Yes, Father.” Nisheng kept his eyes lowered and stayed where he was.

He had no cheat that could summon armies and mighty generals. In ancient times, defying one’s elders was a grave offense. A father beating his son was considered perfectly natural; a son who dared talk back was guilty of gross unfilial conduct. His family already hated him. He wasn’t foolish enough to hand them a weapon to use against him. For now, the best choice was to hide his expression and wait for the performance to end.

Then a waft of perfume drifted in from outside.

“Husband, it’s snowing. How can you really make the child kneel here?”

It was his stepmother, Lady Cui. Her moon-white jacket had delicate winding flowers embroidered at the collar and cuffs, with the edge of a pale yellow bodice showing beneath. It fell below her knees, the slits at its sides revealing an eight-panel skirt embroidered with pale clouds in plain silk thread. A narrow sash swayed at her waist.

Her hair was arranged in a joined-heart bun, held with a simple silver hairpin. It made her gentle face look all the more demure.

She came in smiling, accompanied by her two-year-old son, Wei Shoucheng. The child wore a new red silk padded jacket beneath a short rabbit-fur coat. Only his round face showed, his eyes roaming curiously about. He looked as though he’d just come from a heated room, still carrying the warmth of the charcoal fire.

Lady Cui went straight to Nisheng and crouched beside him. “The floor is so cold.” She looked up at Mingde, her voice carrying just the right touch of reproach. “Husband, surely you could have spoken to him calmly?” Looking down at Nisheng again, she added, “Making him kneel here as soon as it snows—how it must pain Father and my elder sister to see it.”

Nisheng’s expression changed. Damn it. She’s after me.

Sure enough, Mingde’s face turned livid the instant he heard her.

“Pain them?” His voice rose. “Does this wretch have the face to speak of Father and Lady Lu?”

He stepped forward and kicked. Caught off guard, Nisheng toppled to the floor.

“Look who you’re kneeling before!” Mingde pointed at the tablets. “Your grandfather! Your mother! How dare you cause them pain?”

Nisheng braced himself on the floor and slowly resumed his kneeling position. He neither looked up nor spoke.

“Oh!” Having got what she wanted, Lady Cui sprang up and caught Mingde’s sleeve. “Please, husband, calm yourself. He’s only a child…”

She turned to Nisheng, pity filling her eyes, and bent as though she wanted to help him but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

“Nisheng, don’t blame your father. What happened the day you were born… Oh, how could anyone put that behind them? Your father has suffered too, all for this family.”

With a sigh, she brushed the dust from his shoulder. “You should be grateful, though. The Weis haven’t treated you badly. You’ve had all the food, clothes and necessities you need.

“Your brother is doing well; you should be happy for him. When he makes his way in the world, would he ever forget his two younger brothers?”

Beside her, two-year-old Shoucheng had watched for some time with round eyes. Suddenly he piped up, “Mother, cold. Go home.”

Lady Cui bent and kissed his cheek, her face lighting up. “All right, all right. We’ll go back now.”

She straightened and let her gaze rest on Nisheng’s face for a moment.

The daughter of a minor official, she had married Mingde as his second wife for the lingering prestige of the Wei family’s ministerial standing and its substantial wealth. Before she had a son, she had given Nisheng little thought; she had even considered him a possible safeguard if she remained childless. But now she had a boy of her own. The eldest son’s place was beyond her reach, but what about the rest?

Nisheng was the legitimate second son. However much the family hated him, if matters came to a dispute, custom would still give him a substantial share of the estate. That meant less for her own son, Shoucheng. She wanted nothing more than for something to happen to Nisheng while he was still young, clearing the way for her boy. Better yet, he would go back after that kick, fall ill and die.

“Enough.” Mingde waved a hand impatiently. “Take Shoucheng back. Don’t let him catch cold here.”

Lady Cui agreed and picked up her son. She was turning to leave when Nisheng suddenly spoke.

“Mother, wait.”