The Love Story of a Young Monk

The Love Story of a Young Monk

Wang Zengqi

Changjiang Literature amp; Art Publishing House

October 2022

30.00 （CNY）

This family was quite small. Of course， the family name was Zhao. There were four family members： Uncle Zhao， Aunt Zhao， and two daughters -- Da Yingzi and Xiao Yingzi. The couple had no son. They had been healthy in these years， and so were their cattle. There had been no droughts， floods， or locusts， and they led a prosperous life. They had their fields， enough to support themselves， and had also rented and planted ten mu of fields from the nunnery. In their fields， one mu （1 mu ≈ 0.16 acres） was planted with water chestnuts -- this was partly Xiao Yingzi’s idea. She liked water chestnuts. One mu was planted with arrowheads， and they raised many chickens and ducks. The earn from chicken eggs and duck feathers alone could support their oil and salt for a year.

Uncle Zhao was hardworking. He was a “jack of all trades”， not only proficient in the fields but also skillful in fishing， grinding， hulling grains， repairing waterwheels， repairing boats， building walls， burning bricks， hooping barrels， cutting bamboo， and twisting hemp ropes. He had no cough or back pains and was as strong as an elm. He was easygoing and quiet every day. Uncle Zhao was a money tree， and Aunt Zhao was a treasure bowl. Aunt Zhao was hale and hearty. Though she was fifty years old， her eyes were clear and bright. Whenever you saw her， her hair was smooth， and her clothes were tidy. She was as busy as a bee. She cooked pig feed， fed pigs， and pickled vegetables. She pickled delicious salted， dried radish， pounded rice flour， ground tofu， weaved coir rain capes， and knit reed mats. She could also cut flowers out of paper. In this place， when a girl was going to be married and her dowries were ready， all the tin jars would be pasted with lucky flowers cut out of red paper， which had auspicious meanings and looked nice. Then， people living around came to invite her.

“Auntie， the lucky day is the 16th. When are you going？”

“The 15th day. I’m coming in the early morning！”

“That’s a deal！”

“A deal！ Of course！”

Her two daughters seemed to have been made from her mold. They focused like clear water and sparkled like stars. Their body grew well. Their hair was smooth and their clothes looked tidy. As the folk customs went on， a girl at the age of 15 or 16 should wear her hair up. The two girls had good hair！ Red hair roots and snow-white hair pins！ When the mother and daughters went to the market together， all the people looked at them.

The sisters looked alike but had different personalities. The elder one was quiet， like her father. Xiao Yingzi was more talkative than her mother， chattering all day. The elder sister said：

“You are chattering non-stop.”

“Like a magpie！”

“You said it！ -- You’re so noisy！”

“Noisy？”

“I’m bored！”

“Did I bore you？”

The younger daughter meant more than she said. Da Yingzi was engaged. She secretly saw the fiancé. He was honest and not ugly. His family was well-off， and she was satisfied with that. Although they were engaged， the wedding day was not determined yet. In these years， she had seldom been outside. She was busy making her dowry. She could cut all the clothes， but she couldn’t do cross-stitch work and embroidery as well as her mother. However， she thought her mother’s flowers were old-style. She saw brides in the town and said that their flowers and grasses were vividly embroidered. This was difficult for her mother. The “magpie” patted her： “I will recommend someone to you！”

Who was that？ It was Minghai. When Minghai was reading The Four Books， he got half a set of Painting Manual of the Mustard Seed Garden by chance and liked it very much. After he went to the Water Chestnut Nunnery， he used to read it. Sometimes he turned the old account book outside in and copied the pictures. Xiao Yingzi said： “He can paint！ His pictures look vivid！”

Xiao Yingzi invited Minghai home and gave him ink and paper. The monk painted some pictures， and Da Yingzi loved them.

“That’s what I want！ That’s right！ Then I can do the crewel work！”

The so-called “crewel work” was a stitch of embroidery： After the first layer was embroidered， the stitches of the second layer were inserted into the gaps of the first layer. Thus， the color turned lighter naturally. While her mother used plain stitches， the colors were divided. Xiao Yingzi was like both a book boy and an adviser.

“Draw a pomegranate flower！”

“Draw a gardenia！”

She pinched the flowers and Minghai followed them.

Later， he could draw balsamine， Dianthus chinensis， water pepper， lophatherum gracile， Common Nandina， and wintersweet flowers.

Aunt Zhao also liked his painting and held Minghai’s head in her arm.

“You are so smart！ Be my adopted son！”

Xiao Yingzi grabbed his shoulder and said：

“Say it！ Say it！”

Mingzi knelt on the ground and kowtowed. From then on， he called Xiao Yingzi’s mother foster mother.

The three pairs of shoes embroidered by Da Yingzi were spread all over thirty li around. Many girls came to have a look on foot or by boat. Seeing them， they said： “Wow， how beautiful！ Who embroidered them？ It looks real！” Then they brought paper and begged Aunt Zhao to ask the monk to draw pictures. Some asked him to draw eaves， some asked him to draw door curtain streamers， and others asked him to draw flowers on the toe caps. Every time Mingzi came to draw flowers， Xiao Yingzi would cook good food for him： boiled eggs， a bowl of steamed taros， or some fried lotus root dumplings.

As her sister was catching up with the dowry， Xiao Yingzi did all the work in the fields. Her helper was Mingzi.

The farm work here included planting seedlings， irrigating high fields， pulling out the first batch of weeds， harvesting rice， and threshing grains. These jobs were too heavy for a family. Workers switched in this place， and several families worked in turns when the schedule settled. The work was done free of charge， but good food would be served， six meals a day， two meals with meat， and wine served at each meal. When people were working， they beat drums and sang. The rest of the time， everyone did their job， and they were not busy.

When the third batch of weeds was pulled out， the seedlings had grown very high. One could not see others if he lowered his head. Minghai heard a clear voice singing in the thick green field.

He knew where Xiao Yingzi was and arrived in a couple of steps. Then he bent over to pull out the weeds. In the evening， his work was to lead buffaloes to the pool， and they were afraid of mosquitoes. According to the custom， after a buffalo took off its yoke and drank water， it would be led into a pool with mud. It rolled and wallowed， and soon its body would be covered with mud. Thus， mosquitoes wouldn’t bite it. A 14-roller waterwheel should be hung to irrigate low fields， and two people could finish it in half a day. Mingzi and Xiao Yingzi lay on the roller and slowly stepped on the stick on the axle， gently singing the folk songs Minghai learned from his third master. When they threshed grains， Mingzi could take Uncle Zhao’s place for a while when he returned home to have a meal. The Zhaos didn’t have their field for threshing grains. They threshed grains on the field outside the Water Chestnut Nunnery every year. With a whip， he shouted a threshing song： “Gedangde--”

This threshing song had sounds but no lines， and it had varying tones. It was better than any folk song. Aunt Zhao heard Mingzi’s song at home and pricked up her ears.

“What a good voice！”

Da Yingzi also stopped her needlework and said：

“How well he sings！”

Xiao Yingzi said full of pride：

“He is second to none！”

In the evening， they went to watch the threshing of grains together. The rented rice collected from the Water Chestnut Nunnery was also dried on the field. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a stone roller， listening to frogs playing drums， cold snakes singing （in this place， people mistake the chirps of mole crickets as those of earthworms， and they call earthworms “cold snakes”）， katydids spinning on and on， fireflies flying here and there， and watched the meteors in the sky.

“Shucks！ I forgot to make a knot in my belt！” said Xiao Yingzi.

People here believed that if you made a knot in your belt， when meteors fell， your dream would come true.

Wang Zengqi

Wang Zengqi， a famous contemporary novelist， proser and gourmet， was a student of Shen Congwen. He is a famous litterateur of the Beijing School， and is honored as “a lyrical humanist.”