Pear Blossom Stained with Blood: The Seventy-Year-Old Bride

Gongsun Bai received a wedding invitation — and the sender was no ordinary person, but none other than the famous Prince of Xi Jin in Nanchuan, Gongsun Yanshu.

Gongsun Yanshu was truly something remarkable. On his left cheek, you could practically read the word “playboy,” and on his right cheek, the word “dandy.” Put together, they spelled “profligate son of privilege.” If Zhao Zixuan had been the top libertine twenty years ago, then Gongsun Yanshu was now the undisputed leader of libertines. Truly, as the saying goes: the waves of the Yangtze push forward endlessly, and the older waves die upon the shore.

It was said that Gongsun Yanshu had no sense of propriety. His conduct was wild and unrestrained, his actions careless and outrageous. He had done so many shocking things that rumors spread outside: some people even whispered that he might be… brain-damaged.

And now this “brain-damaged” Gongsun Yanshu had sent an invitation to Gongsun Bai. According to the words in the post, he was to be married in three days.

After offering incense at Qin Yan’s memorial, we wandered the capital city of Shaodu. Although I had once seen it inside an illusion, actually walking its streets was still different. Along the way I bought many things, while Gongsun Bai carried nothing at all. He had no desire to buy — and I realized why: the man had no money. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. So I went into a silver house, withdrew two hundred gold coins, and handed them to him generously.

“At least buy your relative a wedding gift,” I said.

Gongsun Bai looked bewildered, but his reflexes were quick. He caught the money and shoved it straight into his pocket. “Why buy him anything?”

I said, “He’s your relative, isn’t he? If you don’t give him a gift now, then when you get married in the future, he’ll have an excuse not to send you one.”

Gongsun Bai’s teeth ground audibly. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already given him gifts eighteen times,” he growled, counting on his fingers. “Marriage, concubines, even when his family’s dog gave birth, he held a banquet. Every excuse to collect more money.”

No doubt about it — he deserved the title of “brain-damaged.”

Taking this chance, I pressed for gossip about Gongsun Bai and Gongsun Yanshu. As it turned out, the two were indeed relatives, though separated by many generations, long past the five degrees of kinship. Still, they had seen each other a few times as children and were fairly close, so whenever Gongsun Yanshu married, he remembered Gongsun Bai.

According to Gongsun Bai, from the age of fourteen when Yanshu first took a concubine, he had begun a ten-year spree of taking little wives. From highborn daughters to peasant women, he collected them all. And each time, he summoned his friends to bring gifts. Gongsun Bai had given many, yet never received anything back.

“His concubines have even caused trouble,” Gongsun Bai said expressionlessly.

“For example?” I asked eagerly.

“For example, once during a hunt in the wilderness, he saw a woman of exotic beauty and simply brought her back. But she turned out to be the sacred maiden of a local tribe, sworn to lifelong celibacy in service of their gods. Her abduction enraged the tribe, and it nearly led to war with Nanchuan.”

He had almost caused an international incident.

Since the wedding was only three days away, we didn’t intrude. We simply stayed at an inn outside the Xi Jin mansion. Each day we drank tea, wandered Shaodu’s streets, and listened to gossip.

Downstairs at the inn, I often overheard all sorts of chatter. One day, several sedan-bearers were drinking tea and gossiping:

“Do you know who Gongsun Yanshu is marrying this time?”

Everyone shook their heads. The server leaned forward eagerly. “Which family’s young lady is it?”

The bearer snapped a toothpick in half. “Bah! Young lady? More like young lady’s grandmother! This time the Prince is marrying his cook! A seventy-year-old crone, with hair all white. When I used to work as a gardener in his house, I saw her. She looked like an old tree stump, her skin layered and rough. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. So many delicate young maids in the household, yet he chooses an old granny.”

“What?!” Everyone was dumbstruck. Pots and bowls clattered to the ground. The server was so shocked he poured tea onto a guest’s foot.

“A cook? My heavens. A year ago, when he married a butcher’s daughter, I thought that was outrageous enough. But now — a cook? At seventy years old? His tastes are truly extraordinary.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

I looked out the window. The Prince’s estate gates were festooned with red silk and lanterns, fluttering brightly in the wind, full of festivity.

Gripping this piece of gossip in hand, I dashed excitedly to Gongsun Bai’s room. I kicked open the door and found him changing clothes, half-undressed, his white undershirt slipping down to reveal defined muscles.

“Gongsun Bai! I’ve got a huge piece of gossip!”

He lifted his eyelids and gave me a cold glance. “If you don’t close that door, you’ll be the gossip tomorrow.”

I quickly shut the door and recounted everything I’d just heard. To my surprise, he was utterly calm, not the least bit shocked. “Hmm. Didn’t think he’d be so heavy-taste.”

“You call that heavy-taste?” I snapped. “Seventy years old! That’s old enough to be his grandmother. Isn’t it more like… a perversion?”

For a moment, Gongsun Bai’s face grew solemn, but then he relaxed. “I told you, he never plays by the rules. If he wanted a seventy-year-old cook, or even a seventy-year-old widower, I wouldn’t be surprised. People’s abnormalities always show in childhood. His certainly did.”

Three days later, Shaodu was unusually lively. But all the bustle gathered at Xiushui Street before the Prince’s mansion. The gates were festooned, the streets jammed with guests. Pushing through the crowd, we entered. Despite being a libertine, Yanshu’s sense of décor was surprisingly refined. A broad square courtyard, pear trees on either side, a pond and rockeries inside. Waterfowl strutted about, adding charm.

Inside, red decorations blazed. Servants bustled everywhere, carrying baskets of petals, handing them to each guest.

Excited, I pulled at Gongsun Bai, eager to find this eccentric groom. But he stopped me. “What’s the rush? Perhaps right now he’s drawing eyebrows on that old lady. Why interrupt the little couple — or should I say, the old couple?”

A chill ran down my spine.

At noon, the ritual began.

According to Nanchuan custom, a proper wife enters through the main gate, bows before the ancestral tablets, and receives recognition. This rite was reserved only for primary wives. Concubines did not enjoy it.

We were led into the main hall, packed wall to wall with people. Some in fine silks, some in coarse hemp. Men and women, rich and poor alike. Yet all had one thing in common — they bore the surname Gongsun. The hall was full of royal kin.

I felt honored, as if my own rank had been lifted. Then my arm was tugged. Gongsun Bai signaled me to look ahead. Through the layers of crowd, I finally saw it. Amidst the offerings and fruits stood a row of ancestral tablets, inscribed with the word “Gongsun.”

This was the rite of a primary wife. In other words, Gongsun Yanshu intended to marry a seventy-year-old cook as his official wife.