Lingering Fragrance
Niyu (霓羽)
A given name combining Ni (the outer ring of a rainbow) and Yu (feather/wing). It evokes the image of iridescent plumage, carrying poetic quality, associated with lightness and otherworldly grace.
—
The afternoon sun warmed the inner courtyard of the female quarters. A peacock paced slowly through the garden, each step with grace, its long tail brushing the cobblestones like the robes of a maiden. Beneath the rustling leaves of the ancient tree, Niyu perched on the canopy bed, still as an elegant crane. A half-finished embroidery of a deer sat forgotten beside her, and in her lap, Mo, her ill-tempered companion, purred softly.
Across from the canopy bed, laughter filled the garden. Her maids, dressed in her robes and wearing a hat stolen from her older brother, brought a play to life. Behind them, Xiaolian, her closest friend, waited for her cue to play the evil mother.
Her nursemaid, after much pleading, compromised with a stool near the canopy bed as Niyu couldn’t bear the thought of the old woman remaining on her feet. Mrs. Wang feigned annoyance, but the corners of her lips curled at the girls’ antics.
“Oh, my young maiden,” Lihua declared, leaning against the makeshift wall, a folding screen they had brought outside. “Your beauty outshines the moon!”
Yingying giggled behind her borrowed fan and placed her hand on the curtain. “My virtuous scholar, your words touch my aching heart.”
Lihua hastily rose to her feet, sending her hat tumbling to the ground. Niyu chuckled along with her nursemaid. Mo, offended by even the slightest disturbance, flicked his tail with a huff.
“Sorry, my Lord,” Niyu murmured, scratching behind his ear.
Her gaze drifted back to the play. Yingying rubbed her hairpin against her wrists before offering it behind the curtain. Lihua lifted the hairpin to her nose and sighed, savoring the lover’s lingering scent.
Niyu let out a shaky breath. These were the plays she enjoyed the most. Here, men spoke gentle words and cherished, so tenderly, the love entrusted to them.
They did not trick naive girls.
The old willow, a living curtain. Swift steps rustling the grass. His breath hot on her lips...
Niyu shut her eyes. Her hand clutched the carved edge of the bed, wood warm under her palm. Sensing her unease, Mo nuzzled into her with a soft meow. “It’s fine,” she whispered, stroking his head. “Just a memory.”
In the play, Xiaolian raised her hands, her eyes wide in mock outrage at the lovers’ secret meeting. “My daughter!”
“Young Lady, are you still not dressed?”
All heads turned toward the garden gate where Mrs. Wei stood, her face flustered beneath the archway. She held a tray adorned with golden birds, balancing a set of glazed teacups.
“All the ladies are waiting for you at the Lingering Fragrance Garden,” she said, rushing to their side. “Didn’t I inform you to get ready?”
Her maids stepped forward, holding the discarded robes as the play was quickly forgotten. Niyu entrusted Mo to her nursemaid and turned to face the distraught woman. “Does my mother host another gathering?”
Her mother had received gentry women just days ago, displaying the new types of floss her father had brought from the capital with rehearsed humility. But Niyu knew the real reason. Another gathering, too soon, felt excessive but nothing was ever certain with her mother. What excuse had she found this time?
Seeing her confusion, Mrs. Wei carefully set the tray on the canopy bed. Realization washed over her. “My lady will kill me!”
“This is bad.”
“Shh.”
Niyu’s stomach clenched. Her fingers twisted in her long hair as her mind raced for a plausible excuse. Her mother did not tolerate mistakes. Not anymore.
She drew a quivering breath. “I’ll get ready quickly, auntie,” Niyu said, more to herself than the old woman.
She helped Mrs. Wei settle into the canopy bed, while Yingying fanned the anxious woman. Niyu’s gaze flicked to the embroidered deer resting on the bed, then turned sharply to her maids.
“Fetch my blue jacket with embroidered clouds,” Niyu said, her hands already at her earrings. “And sapphire ear pendants.”
“And blue ribbons!” Mrs. Wang shouted behind Lihua, who had already vanished into the manor. Her nursemaid was on her feet, Mo tucked in her arms as she moved anxiously.
Yingying stayed beside Mrs. Wei, still fanning the older woman, who sat utterly defeated, her shoulders hunched. “How could I forget?”
Niyu’s hands trembled over the knotted buttons, her breath shallow. She could picture her mother’s beautiful face frowning, jade bangles clinking as her fan beat the air. She would weep and clutch her heart. “My daughter wants to die as a spinster!”
She flinched at a gentle touch. Xiaolian met her eyes and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we do a single braid, my lady?”
Niyu managed a small nod. As Xiaolian began braiding her hair, the familiar tug of her hands grounded her. Lihua returned shortly, her steps as hurried as before. Together, they helped Niyu into her blue jacket.
Her breathing slowed. Niyu ran her fingers along the neat braid, feeling the blue ribbons flutter against her back. Silver clouds shimmered above her knees, and the tightness in her chest finally eased.
“Ready,” Niyu announced.
Mrs. Wang let out a soft, approving hum. “Just like a lotus rising from the water…” She struggled to keep hold of the now-squirming Mo. “Even Mo seems to agree.”
Niyu couldn’t help but coo at her cat. She offered a thankful smile to her nursemaid, then turned to Mrs. Wei. “I’ll talk with my mother. Don’t you worry, auntie.”
Mrs. Wei gave a faint nod, the color returning to her cheeks. “Thank you, Young Lady.”
Yingying helped the old woman to her feet and handed her the tray. Niyu picked up the embroidery hoop, hoping it’d please her mother. With Xiaolian at her side, she trailed behind Mrs. Wei.
Her embroidered shoes whispered over the cobblestones as she walked as quickly as her delicate feet allowed. The sun cast long shadows across the path. The spring breeze carried the faint chatter from within as they neared the arched gate of the Lingering Fragrance Garden.
Inside, jasmine bushes draped over the high walls. Pink peonies adorned the path to the wooden swing where Niyu spent her childhood. They walked along the bridge, curving like a scholar’s brush to the pavilion where her mother’s friends settled on a quilted mat. Beneath them, koi flickered between lotus pads, the water dappled with fallen petals.
Niyu fashioned the smile her mother had taught her as a little girl. Smoothing her skirt, she stepped into the pavilion. “Welcome, aunties,” she greeted, bowing her head. Then presenting the deer embroidery, she added, “Forgive me—I lost track of time working on this humble piece. ”
Her mother murmured a laugh. “That’s how my daughter is.”
“You are lucky, sister,” Lady Wan said, tossing crumbs to the fish. “Our Nini is very eloquent.”
Her mother nodded at the praise, her face lighting up as she patted the space beside her. Niyu handed the embroidery to Xiaolian and sat, keeping her gaze low.
“Sister Yan,” Lady Xu called, amusement curling her lips, “will Niyu attend the riverside party? My daughter has been chattering about nothing else.”
Spring kites.
Niyu lifted her eyes, watching the thinly veiled pleasure on Lady Xu’s face. A dull ache traveled its familiar path to her chest. When the first flowers bloomed, young girls would fly kites by the river, wind kissing their faces. Her kite had always been a golden carp, dancing against the endless blue, a source of laughter for her maids—a simple joy she was no longer allowed.
Niyu gripped the folds of her horse-face skirt. Before her mother could answer, she gave a polished smile. “This spring,” she said gently, “I can’t celebrate. With the refugees in Henan, my heart isn’t at ease.”
Words slipped from her lips, smooth as the silk on her skin. Lady Xu nodded politely. “How… thoughtful of you.”
Niyu wanted to say more but her mother’s hand found her thigh, a light but unmistakable warning. Niyu swallowed before thanking Lady Xu. She shifted her gaze to the lake and watched the petals floating past.
Flowers drift and fall, water flows on,
One kind of longing, two places of idle sorrow.
On her mother’s subtle sign, Mrs. Wei placed the tray on the low table. Niyu reached for the brewing tea, her sleeves falling like waterfall.
“Eh, sister,” Lady Feng teased, deftly changing the subject. “Show us what blessing you have this time.”
Grateful for the interruption, her mother chuckled softly and produced a celadon jar from her sleeve. “Mine always brings this from the capital,” her mother said, flaunting the jar like a treasure. She leaned closer, her voice reducing to a whisper. “It renews a lady’s vitality...”
Women leaned in, inspecting the powder with gleaming eyes. Soon, laughter erupted through the pavilion, mingling with the faint sounds of flickering koi beneath the water.
Niyu sat beside her mother, laughing and nodding when expected, her mother’s hand a low hum on her skin.
This feeling can’t be dispelled by any plan—
Just as it leaves my brows, it returns to my heart.
—
The lines Niyu recalls are from the great Song dynasty poet Li Qingzhao (1084–c. 1155).
