Chapter 53: First Snow (IV)

Snow that had been gathering in the clouds for days finally drifted down, carried by a furious northern wind. Gao Xianzhi’s assault on Tibet slowed in the bitter cold and swirling snow, granting the Tibetans a rare moment of respite. They dispatched cavalry for aid, riding through the storm toward the lands of the Arabs.

In Chang’an, beside Qujiang Lake, in the Princess’s residence.

Wu Yue-Ling breathed out a cloud of white, shivering. She warmed herself by a brazier, lifting a bowl of pear soup to sip, gazing through the window at the falling snowflakes. It was unbearably cold.

“Princess, please put on another layer,” Xiaochun said, fetching a blue cloak from the wardrobe and draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Wu Yue-Ling replied, as was her habit, and continued sipping the sweet hot pear soup.

“Oh, Princess, you really shouldn’t thank a servant like me—it’s more than I deserve, isn’t it, sister Wan’er?” Xiaochun protested, though inwardly she was pleased. The Princess’s gratitude meant she was truly recognized.

“That’s right. Our lady is always so considerate—she even let Wan’er sleep in her bed once. I’ve been blessed by her too many times,” Li Wan’er said, pouring more soup for Wu Yue-Ling.

“Come,” Wu Yue-Ling arranged two bamboo cups on the table, inviting Wan’er to fill them with pear soup. “You both should drink some to warm yourselves.”

“Oh, Princess, you mustn’t! This is prepared just for you. We servants shouldn’t—”

“I am the Princess, am I not?” Wu Yue-Ling cut Xiaochun off, ignoring her furrowed brow.

“Yes, you are!” Xiaochun lowered her head and replied meekly.

“Then I grant you my pear soup—each of you, drink a cup while it’s hot!” Wu Yue-Ling pushed the steaming bamboo cups toward Wan’er and Xiaochun.

“Thank you, Princess!” Wan’er tugged Xiaochun’s sleeve, smiling as she raised her cup.

“Yes, thank you, Princess!” Xiaochun echoed.

Wu Yue-Ling hugged her warm cup, taking another sip as her body gradually thawed. The three of them sat in the room, sipping hot pear soup and warming themselves by the brazier. Xiaochun asked why the Princess preferred bamboo cups over porcelain. Wu Yue-Ling explained she’d grown used to them during her days wandering outside, with nothing of her own, and was too lazy to change now. Other cups just didn’t feel right.

Wu Yue-Ling instructed Xiaochun to notify the children that, with heavy snow falling, classes would be cancelled until the weather cleared. When lessons resumed, they must have their assignments finished, and practice calligraphy daily, with parental supervision required. She also asked Xiaochun to gather the other servants to make cotton clothing for the children, as the cold demanded extra layers.

She reminded Wan’er and Xiaochun not to dress lightly. Soon, Hua Chu’er clambered in through the window, bringing a gust of wind and snow with her, teasing the lady for fussing like an old woman. Wu Yue-Ling was left speechless.

She quickly asked Wan’er to pour Hua Chu’er a cup of hot pear soup to silence her.

By afternoon, as the snow eased, Wu Yue-Ling stepped outside, walking on the soft snow, reaching out to catch a feather-like flake that melted instantly in her palm. She felt the icy touch, exhaled warm breath, and relished the sensation of cold—it was the true feeling of being alive.

Soon, Yu Chao-En appeared outside Heaven’s Gift Pavilion, seeking the Princess.

Wu Yue-Ling answered the call, noticing Yu Chao-En’s fur hat dusted with white blossoms. He explained that the storytellers had braved the cold and snow to reach the Princess’s residence and were now waiting in the main hall.

Entering the hall, she found a dozen people shivering, their lower garments soaked through. One young man wore only a thin tunic and straw sandals—he looked nothing like a scholar, more like a wandering rogue.

Without fussing, she ordered clean, dry clothes and another large brazier. Wu Yue-Ling glanced at the sandal-wearing youth, told Yu Chao-En to bring food for him, and asked where he had found the man. Yu Chao-En recounted his encounter.

Wu Yue-Ling nodded—it was as she suspected. The youth was a refugee from outside the city, literate and trained in martial arts, much like Lu Zijin. If he couldn’t tell stories well, he could serve as a guard or servant.

Once they were warm and changed, she distributed copies of the manuscript for them to read.

In this draft of Journey to the West, Wu Yue-Ling had detailed the origins and journey of the Stone Monkey, how he learned the Dao. The focus was solely on Sun Wukong, breathing life into him through storytelling, especially his havoc in Heaven—turning the Hall of Supreme Harmony upside down, embodying a spirit of rebellion. Through a single mouth, a character could be vividly brought to life, stirring the audience.

Yao Zi’ang, looking as though he hadn’t eaten in days, gnawed at a bun with one hand, stuffing half back into his shirt, while with the other he donned dry clothes and warmed himself by the brazier.

As he read the manuscript, he was astounded. The story was magical, drawing him in step by step—he longed to become the flying, earth-burrowing Monkey King, to rewrite the Book of Life and Death, to live forever, the dream of many seekers of immortality.

He imagined raiding the Dragon Palace of the Eastern Sea for the magic staff, then smashing the Heavenly Palace—a secret thrill ran through him. Was this truly the Princess’s creation? Her imagination was extraordinary. Braving the snow to reach the Princess’s residence had been worth it. Just days ago, he’d received a free permit from the Prime Minister to enter the city, and now only here could he survive; his sister still begged on the streets.

Wu Yue-Ling watched as the others recited the manuscript, marking an X beside their names. Their delivery was lackluster; if they told stories in a tavern, diners would surely nod off!

She scanned the names—apart from Hai Taotian and Hai Yunxing, whose storytelling was engaging, Wu Yue-Ling was dissatisfied with the rest. Next was Yao Zi’ang, so she called his name.

Yao Zi’ang stood, moving to the center of the hall. A little nervous, so many eyes upon him, but for a meal and a safe place for his sister, he was determined.

He greeted the Princess, waited for her nod, then, without looking at the manuscript, began his performance. He remembered: the monkey sprang from a stone. Bowing low, crouching on the floor, he narrated as the immortal stone of Flower Fruit Mountain, then with a roll and a shout, the Stone Monkey was born.

That alone made Wu Yue-Ling’s eyes light up—this was it!

Yao Zi’ang continued, describing the monkey’s reign over Flower Fruit Mountain, interacting with the other storytellers through gestures and glances, briefly covering Sun Wukong’s quest for immortality, then, at the Princess’s instruction, launching straight into the Havoc in Heaven.

As he spoke, he shaded his eyes with his hand, leapt up, flipping three somersaults, declaring he rode the Cloud of Somersaults and soared—then, blushing, he snatched up the half bun he’d dropped during his flips, embarrassed that the Princess had seen.

The other storytellers laughed at his raggedness, but Wu Yue-Ling did not. She told him he had succeeded as a storyteller, and urged the others to keep practicing, and to learn from Yao Zi’ang.

In the end, she chose six storytellers to remain at the residence. Yao Zi’ang, seeing the Princess’s approval, explained his sister was still wandering the streets. Wu Yue-Ling allowed him to bring her to live at the Princess’s residence, suddenly understanding why he had saved half the bun.

Afterward, she praised Yu Chao-En, rewarding him with a bowl of hot pear soup. The latest chapter was available for free at “Steamed Tang Claw Bookhouse.”