Under The Bamboo Parasol 12 Dwelling On The Pas

On top of the gates was a boldly written plaque with the word Ruan w.a.n.g Fu written on it. The brush strokes were fierce and powerful, with the n.o.bility of the ruling cla.s.s. Madam Lin knew that this plaque was written by the emperor, two generations ago. The current emperor was only his nephew, so his standing within the court was quite high today. Back then, it was Ruan w.a.n.g's older brother, the emperor a generation ago who arranged the marriage between them.

She remembered the day she got married, she would never forget that humiliation. The groom did not show himself, making her a laughing stock of the entire Qing Cheng. He did not come to her room that night and put her in a remote courtyard, not even bothering to give her a glance.

Thinking till then, she placed the curtain down and closed her eyes. She said, "Wen Jian, it's cold out there, why don't you come in."

The man outside the carriage, with his ever stoic expression, said "Yes." He knew that she had wanted to talk to him, after all, they would not get a chill even if they wore thin clothing in a snowstorm. He stepped into the warm carriage with a slight fragrance of sandalwood incense and sat on the floor, across from Madam Lin.

He looked at the woman who still had her eyes closed, as if deep in thought. He thought of a time when he was younger, when they first met, during the hard times of famine and war. He had been a child that was kidnapped from his family to be sold and she just happened to be nearby. She took him in and he grew up with her son, she had never treated her differently from her own child. He once asked her why she took him in.

She gave a smile and said one word. Fate.

Perhaps it was, how does one care for another in such a manner?

After a while, madam Lin asked: "How is Hui'er?"

Wen Jian thought of Lin Qinghui, the madam's son. They had been exchanging letters for a while now, ever since Lin Qinghui was away, taking care of his own business. "Replying to madam, he is well. He is thinking of coming to pay madam a visit later on."

"He has never been to the Qing Cheng capital, why would he come?" She asked, her voice filled with suspicion.

In fact, she knew why her son had wanted to meet his father. She had never kept this from him, she had people paint a picture of Rong w.a.n.g and gave it to her son. She knew that her son kept that painting and brought it with him whenever he would do business for the clan. She remembered one of the reports she got when he was 16 years old and heard that his luggage was stolen by a notorious group of bandits, he got so furious that within a night the mountain hideout of the bandits was bathed in blood, never to commit a heinous deed again. They were wiped out because they had taken a mear painting.

Thinking about it, it was simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She really did not understand that child, was she not a loving mother? Is she not enough? Does he really need to see such a father?

"He said he wanted to attend the meeting for scholars." Wen Jian answered.

She gave a laugh, her son had excelled in martial arts and literature, she had even taught him medical skills. He was talented, going to such an event was truly beneath him. She knew he wanted to go because they had found out that Ruan Qinw.a.n.g would his first public appearance since returning to Qing Cheng.

"Whatever makes him happy." She sighed before closing her eyes once more.

Wen Jian nodded, as he sat solemnly in the carriage, sitting opposite of madam Lin. He too closed his eyes and went into meditation.

After some time, he heard the madam's voice full of warmth "Ah Jian, do you miss your family?"

"No. They probably have less of a burden now that I'm gone."

"How could you say that, all parents no matter rich or poor will love their children, it is an instinct even all creatures have."

"It doesn't matter now, I have been gone for twenty years, they probably forgot I existed."

"I know you don't think that, if you did you would have thrown away that jade, and yet you still keep it with you."

Wen Jian immediately touched that small piece if amber colored jade that hung around his neck by a leather string. He gave a slight smile. "Madam, what do you wish to tell me?"

"Some of your family are living near Qing Cheng." Madam Lin said as she handed him a small bamboo tube. It was the ones that were used to hold important messages, they would hold information, and was used to carry intelligence.

"Thank you, madam." The man bows as he puts the bamboo tube away.

Ruan w.a.n.g Fu

In a small remote courtyard, there was a man sitting, he was only in his forties, yet he had a head of hair that was almost fully white, pinned up by a simple wooden stick, making him look like an old man, he was dressed in dark colored brocade robes that seemed to meld in with the darkness. If madam Lin saw this man, she would recognize him as Ruan w.a.n.g, as for the room, she would be surprised to see that not a thing in her room had been moved since she was gone.

The old man was sitting in a room, dimly lit by a single candle. On the table, one could see a scroll, it was a portrait. The portrait of a young woman with ordinary features, but her eyes were as bright as the stars shining in the sky. He stared at the woman in the painting, as he toasted her a cup of wine and downed the drink himself, his eyes were full of sorrow, as he looked upon the painting. It was all he had left of her, it kept him from forgetting what she looked like. The painting looked like a younger version of Madam Lin, a painting from a time of youth and innocence.

"You said you would haunt me even as a spirit. Why aren't you here as promised? Why won't you even meet me in my dreams?" The man's hoa.r.s.e voice said as he stared into the bright eyes of the woman who seemed to be unaffected by time, perfectly preserved in the lifelike portrait.

The room itself was quite unenthusiastic, with not much decor, the only things that stood out was a bunch of paintings and handmade knickknacks, there was also a bamboo parasol, with a red leaf drawn on its oil paper. It was a large detailed leaf, full of meticulous lines, that showed every single one of its veins, all painted in red, a contrast to its plain white background.