TYSUF – Chapter 54 Life’s Fourfold Grace (4)

Shen Xi had no time to chase downstairs. Standing halfway down the staircase, through the small window beside the door, she caught sight of Fu Tongwen’s shadow flickering past. Following right behind him were several men who rarely left his side.

Shen Xi groped her way down in the dark, entered the kitchen, pulled the door shut, and only then turned on the wall lamp. A silver aluminum basin in the sink was piled with bowls and chopsticks from the night before. Normally, Wan An would never leave them till the next day, but since the sixth young lady was staying overnight and the living room sofa had been converted into a temporary bed, they had been left there.

Shen Xi figured by now Wan An should be awake.

So she filled the copper kettle with cold water, turned on the gas, and set it to boil for washing the dishes. Flames licked the bottom of the kettle, warmth rising into her heart. Outside, the grapevine leaves crowded the glass of the window shelf, lightly swaying. It was the morning breeze.

“Miss Shen?” Wan An appeared at the doorway, yawning, a short jacket draped over his shoulders, bare-chested in the summer heat. “Is it you who’s hungry, or Third Master? There’s nothing left to eat here. I’ll go out and buy you something? It won’t be too clean though… camel wontons and pork rib rice cakes, will that do?”

This young man, having been with Fu Tongwen long enough, had picked up the habit of nagging like an old housekeeper. Chattering on until the end, he finally noticed Shen Xi sitting there smiling, nibbling on yesterday’s leftover roast duck breast, lips slick with oil, watching him with amusement.

“Ah! How can you eat this!” Wan An frowned and quickly snatched it away. “Summer food left overnight is no good. I kept this to nibble on myself.”

“If you can eat it, why can’t I?” Shen Xi teased softly.

Wan An felt stifled. “Just one Third Master is already enough trouble to worry over,” he sighed, then muttered, “And now you’re no easy one either.”

Shen Xi only laughed all the more.

It seemed she was infected by Fu Tongwen’s mood earlier; her heart felt especially light.

“Wan An, what’s your real name?” she asked playfully, as she liked to do.

“Don’t ask, you’ll never know it in this lifetime,” Wan An yawned. “I’m just Wan An—may my Third Master always be safe and sound.”

From night’s inky black to pale dawn, then to full daylight, Fu Tongwen still hadn’t returned.

Tan Qingxiang woke up first. In the kitchen, Wan An had become his assistant, handing him things. With nothing to do, Shen Xi pulled up a little stool, grabbed a book from the windowsill under the vine trellis, and propped her chin to wait.

Books were everywhere in the apartment, especially the first-floor living room, stacked with volumes and foreign newspapers. This one on the windowsill was an engineering magazine. Flipping a dozen pages, she found a bookmark inscribed: “Sixth of the Gu family, Engineering.”

Gu Yiren? He had mentioned he was the sixth in the family, and indeed he had studied engineering.

Back then, Fu Tongwen also read medical journals, saying it was because his fourth brother studied medicine… This book, too, must have reminded him of a student he supported in the same field, prompting him to make that note with his fountain pen.

He was a man full of contradictions—she had always known.

Before her now was the familiar sight of leather shoes and trouser legs.

Shen Xi deliberately didn’t look up. She bent down and tugged at his trouser hem. “Did it rain when you went out? Wan An will scold you again for ruining your good trousers.”

Fu Tongwen pulled her up with one hand, tossing the book back onto the windowsill. “It didn’t rain, but I got a whole bucket of water thrown on me by the neighbor.”

“So miserable?” She laughed.

She noticed he was carrying two bulging paper parcels in one arm.

“Upstairs first,” he said.

Fu Tongwen took her hand and strode in. To the people in the kitchen, he tossed back a sentence: “Wash your hands well. When I call you, come up immediately.”

“You’re skipping breakfast?” Tan Qingxiang now looked more like a personal housekeeper than a private doctor.

“Business first,” he replied.

The bamboo blinds by the window were still down, not yet rolled up. Sunlight filtered through, scattering a fine net of white-gold lines across the floor. He stepped onto the glowing floor, walked to the desk.

Opening the first paper parcel revealed brand-new brushes and an inkstone. “Would you mind grinding ink for me?”

Shen Xi shook her head, filled a teacup with water, scooped a few drops onto the inkstone, and slowly ground for him.

Fu Tongwen seldom used brushes—perhaps only in his youth, which she had never witnessed. Likewise, he had never seen her grind ink before, so he couldn’t help but watch her longer than usual.

“All done.” She set down the inkstone, clasped her hands behind her back, and looked at him.

She was curious what he would write.

For once, Fu Tongwen needed time to find his words. He beckoned her over. “Come closer.”

She smiled and stood by his side.

“I am a man with a bad reputation. Being with me, I drag you down. We can’t have any grand ceremony together.” He tore open the second parcel. Inside was a long, round paper tube, its side inscribed with the words “Everlasting Union.”

This was—

He unrolled a stack of fine silk papers, each bearing a different design: one bordered with auspicious clouds and dragons, another with peach blossoms and magpies, another with mandarin ducks. Each had a blank space in the center, and each bore the seal of a painter.

“These are the finest marriage papers available. The illustrations were done by reputable masters,” Fu Tongwen said quietly. “I was in a rush, couldn’t choose well, so I bought one of each. Whichever you like, that’s the one we’ll use.”

She had never seen such things before, but she could already guess—they were marriage contracts.

The morning breeze swayed the bamboo blinds, the light flickering, dazzling her eyes.

…

“The ink has dried.” He looked at the parched inkstone.

Shen Xi blinked mechanically. Although he had long said he wanted to get engaged, because his father’s illness grew worse day by day, she never agreed to follow his wishes, to hold a banquet at home and announce it to the guests. In fact, it was he—the so-called frivolous young master—who was more anxious than she was about marriage. And now, it was the same again. In such a rush, he had bought all these things back.

A buzzing filled her ears, as if she had lost her hearing. From near to far, upstairs and downstairs, there was noise everywhere.

On the bustling Xiafei Road outside, the tram bells clanged.

“These past two weeks, quite a lot has happened,” he said. “Third Brother isn’t young anymore; he can’t afford to let the days slip by.”

The tail of the bamboo curtain was lifted by the wind, tapping against the windowsill again and again, like beating in time with her heart.

“Wanyao, I truly love you,” he said.

Then in a softer voice: “Today, and always.”

Fu Tongwen cupped her chin, making her meet his gaze. In that still moment, it felt as though they were back in Rouge Alley. In the pale winter daylight, the sound of firecrackers exploded against the walls, drowning out his heartfelt words; the white smoke filled the air, veiling the longing in his eyes.

How many years of wasted time can a lifetime endure?

“Don’t think I’m still drunk. No matter how much I drink, I wouldn’t stay drunk until this hour,” he said gently. “It’s just that I don’t like the styles of marriage contracts here. If you don’t like them either, I’ll go out and buy more.”

She shook her head, tears trembling in her eyes, and suddenly laughed. “I like them—I like them all… Anything you buy, I’ll like.”

Her throat had been choked before, unable to form words.

Now that she could finally speak, all she could do was repeat “I like it” again and again.

“That’s good,” he said.

“I don’t mind writing a few more copies,” Fu Tongwen relaxed, “but the problem is the witness would have to sign a few more times. You know what a mouth Qingxiang has—if you make him sign too many, he’ll hold it over you for life.” He glanced at the doorway. “Isn’t that right, our witness?”

“Eh, this is just the right moment for me to speak.” Leaning against the doorframe, Tan Qingxiang showed no guilt about eavesdropping; instead, he openly offered Shen Xi advice: “Let him write a few more. Third Master’s calligraphy is famous, it’s just that no one dares to ask him for it. A marriage contract usually comes in two copies, doesn’t it? Give me, the witness, an extra one. If I fall on hard times in the future, it’ll fetch a good price.”

“Third Master, Wan’an will grind ink for you.” Wan’an rolled up his sleeves and began working.

Shen Xi hadn’t even noticed when Tan Qingxiang, Wan’an, and Peide had come upstairs.

But from the looks on their faces, they must have overheard plenty.

Fu Tongwen pulled her close. “Choose the one you like best.”

Shen Xi flipped through them, finally pulling out the pair with the double flying swallows. She looked at him, uncertain, as if waiting for his nod. “This one then,” he said, personally laying it flat on the table. “If you keep choosing, I’ll just buy some red paper and write it myself.”

When he was in a good mood, he loved to tease her, one line after another.

Shen Xi clasped her hands tightly behind her back, her fingers twisting nervously, and fixed her eyes on him as he put brush to paper:

Shen Wanyao, Fu Tongwen

He had written her name first… Wasn’t that the rule for a man marrying into the wife’s family? She looked at him uncertainly. But Fu Tongwen didn’t find it strange at all, and continued writing: “Signing a lifelong bond, pledging to grow old together.”

Her heart seemed to stop beating; even the pendulum clock in the room seemed to halt.

The jet-black brush tip hovered over the marriage contract as he suddenly asked, “What else should we write?”

No teasing, no jokes—rarely, he was earnestly asking her opinion.

Fu Tongwen pretended to hand the brush to her. Shen Xi gently pushed it back and whispered, “My handwriting is nowhere near yours.”

She hadn’t touched a brush since the age of eleven—how could she write properly?

“Think again. You still need to come up with something. This marriage contract doesn’t belong to me alone,” he said.

He was making it hard for her. Her grasp of classical learning wasn’t as good as his.

Shen Xi hesitated. Watching from the side, Tan Qingxiang laughed, “It’s the two of your marriage contract—what are you afraid of?”

“My knowledge of the classics isn’t good,” she admitted.

“Mine’s even worse. I only learned a little as a kid. Later when I went abroad, I could barely manage to speak, and after returning I only picked up phrases by following Tongwen and digging through secondhand books at Liulichang,” Tan Qingxiang reassured her.

She was much the same, never having the chance to study.

Shen Xi thought for a moment, weighing her words, then asked him tentatively: “How about ‘May the mountains and rivers remain unbroken’?”

It was his deepest wish, and writing it on their marriage contract would be a commemoration.

Fu Tongwen bent his finger and tapped her forehead. “Alright.”

Then he lowered his brush, closing the text with:

May the mountains and rivers remain unharmed, and may we be together for a hundred years.

When he finished writing, he tilted his head toward her and smiled. “How’s that?”

Rarely flustered, Shen Xi gave a soft “mm.” His smile was so radiant it resembled the day of topping the imperial examination list, or the night of the bridal chamber… If two red candles had been lit on the table, the only thing missing would be lifting the bridal veil and sharing dreams on the wedding bed.

Fu Tongwen picked up another identical blank marriage document and carefully copied it over.

He signed his name first. When it was Shen Xi’s turn, she nervously clutched the brush, her palm damp with sweat. Meticulously, she wrote Shen Wanyao. This unfamiliar name, bestowed by her parents, had not been used for more than ten years.

“Now you’re truly the Third Young Madam,” he whispered.

He then passed the brush to Tan Qingxiang. “Time for the witness.”

“Finally my turn.” Tan Qingxiang took the brush with great flair, dipped it in ink, and said, “Don’t worry, Shen Xi. I’ve actually practiced writing my name seriously.”

With a grin, Tan Qingxiang finished signing.

“Wan’an, you next.”

“Huh?” Wan’an, who had been secretly wiping his tears to the side, was dumbfounded. “What for, Third Master? Do you mean to have it framed?”

“There must be two witnesses. You’ll be the other.”

“No, no, Third Master, I couldn’t possibly—”

“If Third Master says you can, then you will.” Fu Tongwen pulled up his right hand and forced the brush into it.

Wan’an thought at first that Fu Tongwen was teasing him, but when he pointed out the blank space and personally laid both marriage documents flat before him, even grinding the ink like a servant, Wan’an realized he was serious. His hand trembled as he lowered his head, tears dripping heavily onto his cloth shoes. Since childhood, he had followed Fu Tongwen, and he knew that his master valued loyalty deeply… Fu Tongwen repaid kindness doubly. Yet this was a marriage certificate—how could a mere servant be qualified to sign?

He wept for a while, until Fu Tongwen lost patience and threatened, “It wasn’t easy for me to get Miss Shen to nod her head. If you keep delaying and she grows impatient, then—”

“Miss Shen, you mustn’t regret this,” Wan’an quickly cried, wiping tears with the back of his hand. “All of us have seen Third Master’s sincerity. He couldn’t possibly withstand you leaving again.”

Shen Xi was at a loss for words. She jabbed him reproachfully in the waist with her elbow, then pulled out her handkerchief to wipe his tears. “If you witness this marriage, then I won’t leave again. Mr. Tan alone doesn’t have that kind of pull.”

“You heartless thing,” Tan Qingxiang chuckled.

Wan’an’s calligraphy, learned alongside Fu Tongwen since childhood, wasn’t bad. But still fearing he might write it wrong, he practiced several times on a newspaper before solemnly inscribing Fu Wan’an in the witness column.

Peide didn’t understand what it was, thinking everyone had to sign. She waited for her turn, even tying her long hair into a neat bun. But when she saw Fu Tongwen already drying the marriage document, she realized. After Tan Qingxiang explained in German that it was a marriage contract, she let out a startled cry, covered her mouth, then seized Shen Xi’s hands and rained kisses on both her cheeks.

Engulfed in Peide’s enthusiasm, Shen Xi kissed her back lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Fu Tongwen asked Tan Qingxiang to call a few of their Shanghai friends to come over for the family banquet that night.

Amid laughter and cheer, Sixth Miss came upstairs. Told that tonight was Fu Tongwen and Shen Xi’s wedding feast, Fu Qinghe’s weary eyes lit up with joy. She hurried forward, grasped Shen Xi’s hands tightly, tears gushing out. “Sister-in-law.”

Choking back her sobs, she then grabbed Fu Tongwen’s hand. “Third Brother, congratulations.”

“Indeed, congratulations are in order,” Fu Tongwen replied with a smile. “Your Third Brother finally has a family of his own.”

Fu Qinghe gazed at Shen Xi, her heart in turmoil. When Shen Xi had first married into the Fu family, she alone had secretly gone to glimpse this “sister-in-law,” only because she’d heard gossip about the arranged marriage. Back then, overhearing her mother’s idle chatter, she’d been too young to understand much, and assumed Shen Xi was some beauty who would bring ruin to her most debonair brother.

But last night, she had heard how Shen Xi saved Fifth Brother, and seen clearly how Third Brother doted on her.

And today…

“Sister-in-law,” Sixth Miss said softly, “back then, I was young. The words I said—”

Shen Xi understood. “Yes. And now you can speak the truth. Your Third Brother never killed my husband, and I was never a widow.” She glanced teasingly at Fu Tongwen. “Though, perhaps the reason he married me was simply to see me every day. You’d better ask him.”

“Of course,” Fu Tongwen cut in smoothly. “That ‘love at first sight’ I wrote for you—it was all true.”

“But back then, you hadn’t even—” she protested.

“Hard to say. My thoughts aren’t easy for others to read,” he replied with a smile.

Everyone laughed.

With a joyous event at hand, the apartment bustled as preparations for the banquet began.

Tan Qingxiang and Peide went to the Hongkou market. Wan’an called in the servants from outside. Together they worked out how to haul down the large table from the rooftop. Sixth Miss, having no task of her own, even joined Wan’an in tidying the rooms.

Everyone deliberately left the newlyweds space to themselves.

Shen Xi stood by the window, watching the marriage documents dry. Fu Tongwen’s calligraphy was free-spirited, yet confined within the formality of the document, restrained by rules.

Fu Tongwen braced his arms on either side of her, caging her against the desk.

“It’s a pity I never got to see the words you wrote on the wall,” she said wistfully.

Her ear tingled as he breathed against it, making her squirm away.

“I only regret leaving that handle for you to hold over me,” he murmured. “If you want to see it, I’ll write it again, just for you.”

The ticklish warmth made Shen Xi laugh helplessly. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to block him, but his lips landed on her fingers instead, kissing them with care. The heat quickly drifted down to her neck.

“Since Third Brother already belongs to you,” he said softly, “how could my words be any less?”