2 Traveling South to Pingjiang

The continuous rainy season finally took a pause this morning; the sky was no longer hazy, and a faint light spilled generously over the damp dock of Gaochun Town.

An aging black-canopied passenger boat was moored nearby.

Qiu Lan Wang carried a bundle on her back, containing some change of clothes. Jinyun Wei held a bamboo basket in her left hand, filled with red bean paste buns that Qiu Lan had made early that morning. All the remaining oil, rice, and flour from their home, dried goods sun-cured, were packed into a carrying basket, leaving nothing behind.

“Ling Jie’er, Qu Jie’er, hold tightly to sister,” Jinyun Wei said gently, reaching out her hand.

Wuling Wei grasped Jinyun’s hand and then linked her arm firmly, her dark, glistening eyes darting left and right, watching the passersby.

In past years, she had only accompanied her grandmother on small boats by the river near their home, catching little fish and herding ducks. Now, for the first time traveling far by passenger boat, even though born in a water town, a hint of timidity took hold.

Wufei Wei lowered her gaze as she steadily stepped onto the plank, avoiding Jinyun’s supporting arm, whispering, “I can manage on my own.”

Once aboard, she looked up to see the large basket on Jinyun’s back, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. “Give me the basket you’re holding; I’ll carry it.”

Nearby, a shirtless porter hoisted his load aboard, an elderly woman was calling out, selling freshly picked lotus seed pods and water caltrops, while several well-dressed merchants bargained with the boatman.

The boatman was a silent, lean, dark man, quietly untying the mooring rope fastened to an old tree stump.

The boatwoman, a woman in her forties, wore a faded blue-dyed jacket with small dots, her sleeves rolled up in matching fabric. Her posture was upright and commanding, exuding competence.

Her complexion was ruddy, and her voice rang loud, “Granny Wang, are you heading to Pingjiang Prefecture with your granddaughters? Come on in! There’s a small compartment at the stern—not much space, but it’s quiet!”

The compartment she referred to was merely a small partitioned area at the back of the boat made from planks, barely enough room for four to sit.

Inside, the air was low and stifling, permeated with a musty odor of old wood softened by river water.

Jinyun Wei helped her grandmother aboard, then settled her sisters, and finally sat herself against the boat’s side. She lifted the black canopy curtain and gazed out at the progressively widening river.

The oars sliced through the water as the boat moved slowly.

“Fresh water caltrops for sale! The first batch, tender and sweet!”

“Gardenia flowers, jasmine, fragrant zhulan blossoms—buy some for tea, and your whole body will smell divine!”

“Straw sandals! Palm fans!”

Alongside the dock, various calls of street vendors drifted near and far into the cabin.

Wufei Wei leaned toward Jinyun, poked her head out from behind the curtain, bent down, and plucked a lotus flower.

Startled by her sudden move, Jinyun quickly caught her by the waist and pulled her back. “Qu Jie’er, be careful not to fall.”

“I can swim.”

Wufei Wei clutched the lotus flower she had torn off, murmuring softly.

“So what? Could you catch up with the boat?” Wuling, sitting nearby, retorted. The two were twins; Wufei Wei was born first, yet Wuling refused to call her sister and always addressed her as “Qu Jie’er.”

Jinyun understood the children’s thoughts—it must be because they were leaving their hometown of Jiangning Prefecture, so Qu Jie’er plucked the lotus flower as a keepsake.

As the boat drifted out of Gaochun Town, a melodious tune floated through the air, piercing the din of voices and water sounds, clearly reaching the cabin.

Jinyun followed the sound to see a merchant ship much larger and more elaborately decorated than their black-canopied boat approaching from the side and behind. The merchant ship had many neatly divided, clean cabins.

Naturally, they would not afford such a costly vessel; one trip on that ship would equal several round trips on their own.

Their grandmother, determined for their safety, had bitten the bullet and decided to return to Pingjiang Prefecture, uncertain of how the shops there fared. How they would settle and what business to run with the shop would require careful consideration for every expense.

At the bow, a woman dressed in a plain silk skirt held a pipa, her brows lowered as she skillfully plucked and strummed.

The soft Wu dialect tune flowed from the pipa, full of lingering sorrow and tenderness.

Qiu Lan Wang, who had been resting with closed eyes, furrowed her brow slightly and tightened her hand resting on the blue cloth bundle. Opening her eyes, she murmured nostalgically, “This is different from Jiangning Prefecture—it’s the tune of Pingjiang Prefecture. It’s been a long time since I last heard it.”

In the cabin, conversations among other passengers drifted in.

“I heard the price of silk in Pingjiang Prefecture has risen again this year. If this batch sells well, I can finally marry a wife.”

“The ‘Xu Ji’ pastry shop on Shantang Street is booming; the queue stretches to the end of the street at dawn. Their date-filled sesame cakes make my mouth water just thinking about them.”

“I’m going to listen to the pipa, sitting in the northwest corner of Zicheng—drinking tea and listening to music, that’s truly enjoyable.”

Jinyun picked up snippets of their chatter about life in Pingjiang Prefecture and mentally calculated her next steps. She was, after all, from Pingjiang Prefecture, albeit from a thousand years later.

When her grandparents found her, they were already advanced in age. After arranging their affairs, she was only a junior in college.

She had intended to study medicine like her grandfather, but he always argued with her over which was better, traditional Chinese or Western medicine. “No need to study much; just observe and practice with me,” he said. When she quarreled with him daily, her grandmother would brew tea and bring out fresh pastries.

Her grandfather ate the pastries while her grandmother scolded, “You’re an old-school doctor but don’t know your own blood sugar and pressure are high, yet you give those sweets to the child!”

Her grandfather, stuffing green bean cakes into his mouth and brushing crumbs off his whiskers, retorted, “Not high, I’ve checked my pulse. I’ve eaten your cakes all my life. If I can’t eat them in old age, what kind of life is that?”

In the end, Jinyun learned the four diagnostic methods and the craft of pastry making from her grandmother.

The prosperous Song Dynasty was bustling, yet traveling to Pingjiang Prefecture, people would hardly trust the diagnosis skills of a young girl like her. A pastry shop seemed a better choice for a prime location.

It suited the local tastes and was a profitable endeavor she was adept at.

As for her original legal studies, being a folk litigator was dangerous—speaking harsh truths could invite vendettas or exile.

She hoped to live well with her grandmother and sisters for many more years.

At noon, the boatwoman came in with a clay pot to refill water and casually asked, “Granny Wang, are you going to Pingjiang to visit relatives? Judging by your accent, you sound like a local.”

Her eyes glanced at the blue cloth bundle tightly held by the grandmother, which contained the deed to the shop and their travel permits.

Grandmother did not even raise her eyelids, simply responding with a faint “Hmm,” clearly unwilling to talk further.

The boatwoman met a closed door but was not offended. She turned to Jinyun and the sisters, smiling, “Oh, these two little girls are so lively—like children from New Year paintings. Though they seem a bit weak; seasick, perhaps? Or maybe the food on board doesn’t suit their taste?”

The passenger boat provided meals but nothing fancy.

The rice was steamed hard with a faint sourness, likely leftover from the previous day; the vegetables were bland, and a small dish of pickled mustard was overly salty. The only greasy element was a few congealed drops of pork fat, leaving the sisters listless.

Gaochun Town belonged to Jiangning Prefecture. Qiu Lan’s care for her granddaughters was modest but never lacking in meat and vegetables. She often took them to buy sweets and watch operas, loving them like precious gold nuggets.

It was normal for the sisters to find the food unsuitable.

The passenger boats did not sail at night. The journey from Jiangning Prefecture to Pingjiang Prefecture southbound would take several days.

Early summer’s rising temperatures meant the red bean paste buns and fruit snacks made by their grandmother would not last two days.

Seeing the sisters’ pale faces and knowing the sour rice might cause stomach troubles, Jinyun planned to cook some food for them herself.

“Granny,” Jinyun raised her head with a sweet smile and clear voice, “may I borrow your little clay stove and pot? The sisters seem unwell; I want to make something more palatable.”

The boatwoman was surprised but, seeing the earnestness in Jinyun’s eyes, readily agreed, “Of course, the fire under the stove is still warm.”

Jinyun thanked her and rose.

She took the clay stove and pot, washed her hands, poured the cold water into the pot, and dropped two pieces of the sisters’ favorite candy into it.

The water quickly warmed as the candy melted. She rubbed several mint leaves in her palm to release the juice and added them into the sugary water.

When the syrup began to simmer, she promptly removed it from the heat.

“Qu Jie’er, Ling Jie’er, have some water,” Jinyun said carefully, pouring the mint syrup into two porcelain bowls, letting it cool before handing them to her sisters.

“Sister, it’s delicious! Sweet!” Wuling eagerly took a large sip. Wufei also sipped slowly, her previously listless face brightening.

Knowing the journey would be long and the boat’s food limited, Jinyun had picked several bunches of mint from the courtyard beforehand.

She had no siblings in her past life but looking at these two green glutinous rice dumplings melted her heart.

How could such adorable little sisters exist?

And there were two of them.

By nightfall, the boat had entered the canal.

The rain began again, dripping steadily. The night rain did nothing to dispel the heat; it only made the cabin more humid and stifling, like a steamer.

Wuling lay asleep on grandmother’s lap, breathing evenly.

Curled up in a corner, Wufei’s small face flushed in the dim cabin, her breath hot. Her tiny body trembled uncontrollably as she bit her lips, struggling to endure her discomfort.

Jinyun noticed the faint sounds, moved closer, and reached to touch Wufei’s forehead—it was warm.

It was likely the river breeze had invaded her body with dampness, causing alternating chills and fever. The boat was short on medicine; illnesses during the rainy season were troublesome.

Wufei, feverish and somewhat confused, still struggled to keep her eyes open, wrapped in stubbornness and wariness, staring fixedly at Jinyun. She wanted to push her hand away but lacked the strength.

“Granny,” Jinyun asked outside the cabin, “is there fresh ginger on board? Is the lotus pod seller still awake?”

The boatwoman, dozing in a wicker chair at the bow, rose and helped find some shriveled old ginger and a small handful of fresh green lotus pods. “Ginger’s here. Fresh lotus seeds were bought this morning; some still remain.”

She didn’t let others handle the goods. When she sold the lotus pods, she charged Jinyun an extra two wen.

“Thank you,” Jinyun said, paying promptly and moving the clay stove outside the cabin to avoid disturbing the others.

She washed the old ginger on the deck, bruised it with the back of a knife, squeezing out the spicy juice to set aside. Then, patiently peeled the lotus seeds, removing the bitter cores.

She placed the lotus flesh in a porcelain bowl, carefully mashing it repeatedly, mixing in some rice flour, sugar, and ginger juice. Wufei disliked the taste of raw ginger; plain ginger water would be hard for her to drink.

The boatwoman’s little clay stove was lit again.

Jinyun cleaned the pot, poured in fresh water, and brought it to a boil. She washed fresh lotus leaves and lined the bottom of the bowl with them. Then, she placed the bowl inside the pot, covered it, and steamed it gently.

A warm fragrance gradually spread throughout the small boat. The sharp spiciness of ginger was wrapped in sweet softness.

“Qu Jie’er,” Jinyun gently patted Wufei’s bowed shoulder in the dim light, coaxing softly, “eat something.”

The warm aroma of rice filled Wufei’s nostrils. Her body twitched slightly, and she wiped her eyes, her voice thick with a mix of grievance and resolve: “...I won’t eat. You’re not my sister.”