Chapter Two: Crowded

Lu Jing not only visited the kiln often, but each visit tended to last most of the day, so he had gradually moved a good portion of his daily necessities over as well. For him, a scion of the Lu clan of Fanyang, even a single cup of tea was an elaborate affair. A tea servant would light a fire nearby, roast the tea cake, grind it fine while still hot, and sift it into powder; as the water on the stove gradually came to a boil, the tea would then be brewed in its proper sequence. On rainy days, when Zhang Ping and his sister had to move some of their work indoors — kneading clay, molding, demolding, joining pieces, refining shapes, carving fine details — the already modest space would suddenly become unbearably cramped. The two groups went about their own business, occasionally weaving past each other, having to turn sideways to squeeze by. Only Lu Jing, with nothing to do, grew restless from idleness. Sometimes he would drift close to the Zhang siblings and watch them at their work, finding it thoroughly absorbing to observe — but he often blocked their light and their path, and now and then earned a look of "you're in the way" annoyance. Yet whenever they thought of the tea, brewed to perfection in color, aroma, and flavor, that they got to drink from Yuezhou celadon bowls thanks to him — surely the fortune of several lifetimes — their annoyance never went further than that.

Zhang Ping, when he had first been handed a Yuezhou celadon bowl, had washed his clay-covered hands several times before daring to pick it up — only to hear Lu Jing say, unconcerned, "If the bowl gets dirty, just wash it. Third Brother needn't be so cautious."

From then on, Zhang Ping would give his hands a casual rinse and drink straight down from the Yuezhou celadon bowl in one gulp. Lu Jing would always shake his head and tease him: "Drinking like an ox like that, Third Brother — aren't you wasting the celadon, and this fine tea besides? You truly have no appreciation for elegance." But later, when Lu Jing himself couldn't wait for the tea to finish brewing, he too would use the celadon bowl to drink jiang — at which point Zhang Ning would turn the joke right back on him, accusing him of ruining his own elegance.

The three of them would then look at one another and laugh.

The workshop was crowded, but it held great ease. Here, the habits and customs of the Lu household mingled with the fresh, unconventional ways of the kiln; the Yuezhou celadon and the jiang that ordinary folk drank every day blended together in some strange, marvelous way. As the days passed, not even a trace of incongruity remained.

Besides this, Lu Jing also painted. Brush, ink, paper, inkstone, pigments — all "migrated" over from his study as well. On a not-particularly-large square table, brush, ink, paper, inkstone, and pigments were laid out in a row, holding equal ground with the tea bowls and the jiang pot. Whenever the mood struck him, he would sketch the crowded scene inside the room — though this often earned him Zhang Ning's protests, that he had made her look positively ugly, unworthy of her supposed resemblance to Xi Shi reborn.

But if anyone truly resembled Xi Shi, it was Lu Jing himself. He had suffered from heart trouble since childhood, and the famous image of Xi Shi knitting her brows and clutching her chest was, quite literally, played out in Lu Jing's own person. Whenever he suddenly frowned and fell silent, hand pressed to his chest, it generally meant his heart pain had struck again. The servants would rush forward at once to see to him, and it was only then that Zhang Ping and his sister finally understood what the servants meant when they said their young master's "constitution was not good."

But Lu Jing would grit his teeth and bear it, and afterward act as though nothing had happened, cheerfully returning to his tea, his painting, and his general habit of getting underfoot — even going to the privy required an entourage of attending servants, quite the lively spectacle. Perhaps they feared their young master might suffer a sudden attack in the privy and, heaven forbid, fall into the pit, so the whole affair was conducted with such grand ceremony that everyone knew about it.

The Zhang siblings had no choice but to accept it. That a trip to the privy could be staged with all the pomp of a governor's procession — surely, in all the world, only their own Lu Seventh Young Master of Fanyang could manage that.