Six Records of a Floating Life (Chapter one: Wedded Bliss 05)

    Now, when I came home for the wedding, it had been agreed that as soon as the ceremonies were over, I should go back at once to my father's place in order to resume my studies. So when I got this news, I did not know what to do. I was afraid Yun might break into tears, but on the other hand she tried to look cheerful and comforted me and urged me to go, and packed up things for me. Only that night I noticed that she did not look quite her usual self. At the time of parting, she whispered to me, "Take good care of yourself, for there will be no one to look after you."

    When I went up on board the boat, I saw the peach and pear trees on the banks were in full bloom, but I felt like a lonely bird that had lost its companions and as if the world was going to collapse around me. As soon as I arrived, my father left the place and crossed the river for an eastward destination.

    Thus three months passed, which seemed to me like ten insufferable long years. Although Yun wrote to me regularly, still for two letters that I sent her, I received only one in reply, and these letters contained only words of exhortation and the rest was filled with airy, conventional nothings, and I felt very unhappy. Whenever the breeze blew past my bamboo courtyard, or the moon shone upon my window behind the green banana leaves, I thought of her and was carried away into a region of dreams. My teather noticed this, and sent word to my father, saying that he would give me ten subjects for composition and let me go home. I felt like a garrison prisoner receiving his pardon.

    Strange to say, when I got on to the boat and was on my way home, I felt that a quarter of an hour was like a long year. When I arrived at home, I went to pay my respects to my mother and then entered my room. Yun stood up to welcome me, and we held each other's hands in silence, and it seemed then that our souls had melted away or evaporated like a mist. My ears tingled and I did not where I was.

    It was in the sixth moon, then, and the rooms were very hot. Luckily, we were next door to the Lotus Lover's Lodge of the Ts'anglang Pavilion on the east. Over the bridge, there was an open hall overlooking the water, called "After My Heart"-the reference was to an old poem: "When the water is clear, I will wash the tassels of my hat, and when the water is muddy, I will wash my feet." By the side of the eaves, there was an old tree which spread its green shade over the window, and made the people's faces look green with it, and across the creek, you could see people passing to and fro. This was where my father used to entertain his guests inside the bamboo-framed curtains. 

    I asked for permission from my mother tobring Yun and stay there for the summer. She stopped embroidery during the summer months because of the heat, and the whole day long, we were either reading together or discussing the ancient things, or else enjoying the moon and passing judgments on the flowers. Yun could not drink, but could take at most three cups when compelled to. I taught her literary games in which the loser had to drink. We thought there could not be a more happy life on earth than this.