Love in Red Dust – CH 001

Chapter 1.

Even foot binding involved consulting the almanac, choosing a specific day, and never skipping it.

Dingyi, barely five or six years old and just beginning her formal education, was dragged out of her warm bed by her wet nurse. Rubbing her eyes, she slipped on her shoes and stood before the blue stone anvil in the courtyard.

Her mother, her hands tucked behind her back, looked at her expressionlessly. “It’s time. We cannot fool you today. We should have wrapped you up when you were three, but we were too fond of you then. Now look, if we delay any longer, you will suffer even more later.” As she spoke, she nodded and turned to the old women below, gesturing with her hands. “Get to work!”

Dingyi looked up. Two old women with large embroidered stitches pinned to their clothes came over and knelt to comfort her. “Do not be afraid, little girl. Your bones are soft, like a clay bun. You can be shaped however you want.” They took out a pair of red embroidered shoes, the uppers embroidered with gold flowers, resembling small water chestnuts, and held them in their palms, offering them to her. “Look, are they not pretty? You can wear them after we are done wrapping them up.”

Dingyi was still small, and the sight of the exposed tips of her “zongzi¹” peeking out from under the old woman’s trousers frightened her.

The women around her all had bound feet. Her mother, the principal wife of the Imperial Censor, held a very high position. She wore a bright red brocade skirt with cloud-patterned panels. Her feet were so small that her toes were completely hidden when she walked. Even she had bound feet.

In terms of foot care, the Han Chinese were far inferior to those under the Five Tones Banner. The Han people valued the three-inch golden lotus, a tradition that had lasted for over a thousand years. Dingyi’s father was from Datong, famous for its small, pointed, curved, fragrant, soft, and straight bound feet. This was incredibly difficult for the girls; the treatment was much more rigorous than in other places.

With a crash, the maid shattered a porcelain bowl. What to do with the shards? Wrap them in the foot-binding cloth. The shards cut into the flesh, leaving it bloody, rotten, and smelly. Toes were bent, insteps arched—only then could a pair of small feet be formed.

Women would do anything for beauty; just looking at it was excruciating! Tears welled in Dingyi’s eyes, and her mouth stretched wide like a gourd. “I think… I will wrap it up tomorrow!”

She’d been putting it off for two years now, from today to tomorrow, and from tomorrow to the day after. This time, her mother was determined; she was going to wrap it up no matter what.

No one paid her any attention. The old woman took off her shoes, rubbed her two delicate feet together in her palms, and then stuffed them into the gutted rooster.

It was hot and sticky, and the hairs on Dingyi’s back stood on end. The two chickens were still flapping their wings, their internal organs still flowing with blood; they were not quite dead yet, and one spot against the sole of her foot was throbbing.

This time, she was probably doomed; she was stuck in a dead end, with no way to escape. Just as she was feeling disheartened, the western half of the sky darkened to the bottom of a pot, and rolling clouds spread overhead. The maid looked up and exclaimed, “Madam, it is going to rain! A heavy downpour is coming!”

No sooner had she spoken than large raindrops began to pelt down indiscriminately. Forget everything else, she pulled her feet out of her swaddling clothes and ran back home. The old woman’s feet were small, and her running was so shaky that Dingyi was completely disoriented.

Anyway, this torrential rain came at just the right time, disrupting her foot-binding ceremony. Dingyi was freed from her shackles, happily riding on a stool, watching several servants discipline their children, even egging them on, “Good discipline! The child deserves a scolding, the sapling deserves a slap!”

The next day, her mother checked the auspicious day again, and just as she finished preparing things, a group of people entered through the door, all dressed in official government uniforms. The leader was a prince, wearing a straw hat with a red tassel, and his voice carried a strong Beijing opera accent. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Women, lie down in the house! Tie up all the men!”

Dingyi, not knowing what was happening, tried to peek out, but her wet nurse held her down, covering her mouth with one hand to prevent her from making a sound. Her head was spinning, her surroundings were blurry, and she felt as if she had fallen into an iron bucket. All she could see were the white paper windows, with a paper-cut magpie carrying auspicious grass pasted in the center of the lattice.

The wind was strong; it howled and whistled through the eaves and branches, making one’s heart tremble. Her mother knelt before High King² Zhuang, kowtowing. “There must be some misunderstanding here. Wen Lu’s loyalty to his master is beyond reproach. His promotions were all witnessed by Your Highness. Over the years, he has worked diligently for the court. Even if he made some mistakes, it is inevitable for anyone living in this world. Your Highness… Your Highness, you are a living bodhisattva! Please, at least grant him a second chance and save my master’s life!”

King Zhuang looked down, ordered his Geshiha³ to help her up, and said with a frown, “It’s not that I do not want to help, but this matter was personally ordered by His Majesty, and I cannot make the decision myself. Since the palace has issued the order, I must first complete my duties here. We can discuss it later. Just wait and see. Once the case is cleared up, if he is innocent, justice will naturally be served.”

Dingyi’s father held a Secretary position in the Censorate, a high-ranking official. He was usually the one who arrested people, but today the tables had turned. Madam Wen pleaded for a long time, “Just give me a hint. Where did this all begin? I will consider it because of your good deeds.”

The King rubbed his nose. “Last year, the Censorate handled a case involving Lord Wen Lu, implicating several high-ranking officials, all of whom were executed. Now the case is being reopened for retrial, and someone needs to take the lead… Our two families have a relationship. What did I tell you? Do not hold grudges for personal gain. He agreed verbally but did not listen to me. Now things have gone wrong; whether he can save his life is up to fate!”

Her father and brothers were taken away. Dingyi felt like the sky was falling. All the women in the room were stunned; no one could think of a solution. Although Dingyi was young, she understood everything. With tears in her eyes, she shook her mother’s leg, trying to comfort her, “Do not worry, Madam, Master will be back with a whistle.” Her mother felt even more heartbroken, hugging her and crying until late into the night.

Some things were beyond our control, like trying to scoop water with your bare hands—no matter how hard you try, it would still flow. Dingyi sat by the pond, fishing for goldfish with her small fishing rod. People came and went behind her, but she did not dare look back. The family could not support so many people. Her mother had to work tirelessly, selling everything she owned and pulling strings to pay off the debts. Her father was still sentenced to death with a reprieve, but he was too ashamed to face execution, so he hanged himself in prison. As for her three brothers, the court, remembering her father’s “minor merits,” showed leniency and sentenced them to military service, exiled to Changbai Mountain to dig ginseng.

A perfectly good family, scattered in the blink of an eye—how terrible! Fortunately, the crime did not extend to the entire family, so the women were still safe. She looked up at the sky. Two chirping birds flew past. Her father and brothers were gone. What was left of the Wen family? Large tears fell, splashing into the water and creating ripples.

The population dwindled, the houses shrank, and the large houses were replaced with smaller ones until finally only three people remained. She slept in the west wing with the wet nurse at night, while the Madam slept alone in the main room.

Sweat crawled down her face like worms. She wiped it away with her arm, too hot to sleep, and sat up abruptly. The crackling of burning firewood still echoed in her ears. She whirled around and saw flames raging outside—the main house was on fire! Her mother was still inside! Terrified, she screamed. The wet nurse seemed fast asleep. In desperation, she slapped her hard across the face, waking her. Even awake, it was no use; she tripped and fell on the footboard as she got off the bed. She carried her out to find the Madam, but the fire in the main room was too intense, the eaves warped in the heat, and she could not see her mother.

Everything was gone. She could not bear to lose her mother, too! She broke free and rushed forward with all her might, but the nanny held her tightly. She stamped her feet and cried out hoarsely, “Mistress…come out quickly…”

Her chest felt like it was being crushed by a millstone, the pain unbearable. Surrounded by scorching flames, she thought she was destined to die there. In her despair, a cool hand covered her forehead, and a soft voice called to her, “Shu-ah, whose mistress are you dreaming of? She must be beautiful, look at you, so eager and greedy!”

She gasped for breath, opened her eyes, and saw only the dim light. Before her was her senior brother’s backlit face.

“Are you having a nightmare? Crying and screaming like that, it is so creepy!” Seeing her shortness of breath, her senior brother opened the cupboard, found his medicine gourd, poured out two Rongxin pills, and fed them to her. Standing in front of the kang bed, he said, “You know that Anba Lingwu, right? He signed the document the other day; the Ministry of Justice submitted the report, and His Majesty has approved it. He will be executed tomorrow at noon. Looking at you, I reckon you cannot do your job anymore. You should tell Master and stay home to rest!”

She said it was not necessary, “If I am not there, who will carry Master’s sword?”

Hearing this, her senior brother clicked his tongue, “You are so capable; he would not be able to do his job without this important position!”

She glanced at him, “Why not do it?”

Her senior brother, looking embarrassed, turned away, covering half his face and muttering, “Why is my toothache acting up again…”

It was not a toothache; it was probably his ribs that hurt! There was a reason why this kid would wilt at the mention of carrying the sword. In this line of work, one’s reputation and skill all depend on a single knife. This knife was malevolent; usually displayed on the Xuanwu Gate tower, it was more demanding than a high-ranking official. Before its use, incense, candles, paper money, and prostrations were required. Only the purest of souls were allowed near it; it must be either extremely yin or extremely yang. Those who had lost their virginity could not touch it, for it would become unruly. No matter how finely sharpened the blade, if it bends in a critical moment, it would not separate flesh from bone, becoming lodged in the neck, rendering the executioner’s reputation ruined.

Having said all that, let’s return to the story of the executioner. What was a “red errand”? It was when a criminal who had committed a crime was beheaded at the execution ground. The criminal himself was reluctant to leave the world of the living, so someone needed to see him off. No problem, someone was waiting at the execution ground. The one wearing a red turban and swift boots was the one who did this job—the executioner. Executioner—it sounded like a terrifying profession, but it was really just about making a living. This kind of business involved dealing with the King Yama⁴, a place shrouded in malevolent energy, and most people would not dare mess with it. The work was easy, the pay was high, and she was so open-minded that she would not trade it for a mere secretary position. Now, she had decided to become an apprentice of Wu Changgeng, the most famous executioner in Shuntian Prefecture.

How did this good girl end up in this line of work? That’s a long story. To put it simply, her mother died in a fire, and their small courtyard house was burned down. Her wet nurse took her to seek refuge with two groups of relatives, but everyone said that everyone else in their families was either dead or conscripted, leaving only her—a testament to her resilience—and no one was willing to take her in. Like monkeys scattering when the tree fell, it had always been this way. With no other option, she finally had to return to Sanhe County with her wet nurse.

The wet nurse’s family was not wealthy either. Her parents were gone, and she lived next door to her brother’s family. The sisters-in-law often bickered, and her husband was useless; life was quite difficult. Fortunately, the wet nurse was a shrewd woman. She took the girl back and raised her as a boy, giving her the family surname Mu and a new name, Xiao Shu⁵.

Everyone knew that girls had many disadvantages and were easily preyed upon, while boys were better off. Even so, the wet nurse’s domineering husband grumbled, “A Shege’er⁶, and you treat him like a treasure. The village head has no son; let’s send the boy to their family for a better life. We can even get a couple of bags of cornmeal in return. Is that not great?”

If he knew she was a girl, he would have used his charms to harm her sooner or later. Selling her as a child bride was the best-case scenario; the worst was selling her to a brothel. “You cherish your own flesh and blood, but you would not care if someone else’s daughter was mutilated.”

The wet nurse truly could not bear to part with her. Two years ago, her son had died of smallpox, and raising a daughter was like raising half a son. It was just a pity that her life was short; she contracted the disease the year the old Emperor abdicated and passed away the following spring when the new Emperor changed the era name.

Counting on her fingers, five or six years had passed. Back then, Dingyi was only twelve years old. A twelve-year-old girl should be making a living. She was shrewd and knew that staying in the Mu family would lead to trouble, so she tucked her tail between her legs and helped Wu Changgeng’s mother fetch water and grind grain. Seeing that the child was clever, the family agreed to take her on as an apprentice and brought her back to Beijing.

Translator’s Note:
This story includes a lot of sons and nephews of the previous Emperor who abdicated so he’s still alive. So there are many Wangs or Princes in the story. And then there’s the current Emperor and his branch of the family.
So for the same generation as the Emperor, I will be using “King” and for King’s sons, those would be the “Prince”. Qinwang is the highest rank among the Wang. It means Prince of Blood. For this translation, I’ll be using “High King” for those of this rank.