Chapter 2: Blind Date

“You must have heard everything you needed to hear.”

“That Kang family lad is healthy and fairly good-looking. Would he do as a live-in son-in-law?”

After seeing off the matchmaker, Mrs. Chen tidied up her joy at the prospect of a marriage proposal and turned back to the kitchen.

A fire burned in the stove, with a pot of clear water simmering.

Fan Jing sat by the stove, tending to his right hand.

He sprinkled some chalky ash on his palm, where a large gash soaked up the ash, staunching the bleeding somewhat.

When he saw someone enter, he casually clenched his hand and turned to twist some hemp thread into a cord to repair his bow and arrow.

Mrs. Chen naturally noticed, but for people scraping a living in the mountains, small cuts and aches were commonplace.

Worrying about them could consume endless concern.

Since Fan Jing didn’t seem to care much himself, likely uninterested in hearing fussy words of concern, she pretended not to see.

She clasped her hands in front of her, cleared her throat a little awkwardly, and, feeling somewhat intimidated by this young man, called Fan’s father to join her in the kitchen.

Together, they asked for his thoughts.

Fan Jing fiddled with the hemp string, adjusting its tension, not even lifting his head at their voices.

After a moment, he said, “Someone that good, coming to our house as a live-in?”

At his question, Mrs. Chen’s voice softened.

“Marriage is all about fate. That lad isn’t perfect, mind you. The matchmaker was honest—said his mind’s a bit slow.”

Fearing Fan Jing might take offense, she quickly added, “You know how tough things have been these years. Decent men are hard to come by, and families with daughters are fighting tooth and nail, each offering bigger dowries than the last.”

“Just the other day, the Li family from the next village married off their son. They sent along a sturdy donkey as part of the dowry, and that wasn’t all—word is they gave over a dozen strings of cash to the groom’s family.”

“And for what? That son-in-law of theirs isn’t some grand figure. He’s got a horse face, short and scrawny, not even as tall as you. Their family? Just farmers with a few acres, only notable for making incense and setting up a stall at temple fairs.”

“The Li family’s a good household, and their son is known in the village as virtuous and capable. Yet they settled for someone like that and paid such a hefty dowry.”

“In the past, people would’ve said the Li family had no sense. But these past couple of years? It’s nothing new.”

She finally circled back to the point.

“Our family’s in no shape to compare with the Lis. Where would we get such a dowry? Your father doesn’t want you marrying far away either; he’s set on finding a live-in son-in-law. But in times like these, we hardly have the face to ask for much.”

“Now that we’ve finally found someone willing to join our family, we can’t be too picky. As long as they’re decent enough, that’s fine, don’t you think?”

Fan Jing said nothing, continuing to work on repairing his bowstring, seeming uninterested in the matter.

He knew full well the truth: the family couldn’t afford a dowry, and they didn’t want him marrying out, but that reluctance wasn’t out of deep affection.

The family’s seven acres barely kept them fed year-round, but during the war years, land taxes had risen sharply, and the household had racked up debts.

If not for his earnings from the mountains, the debts would’ve snowballed, and the family would’ve long gone hungry.

If he married, the only skilled worker in the family would belong to another household.

In these tough times, grooms didn’t bring much bride price, while families marrying off sons had to offer hefty dowries.

To empty their savings and borrow more?

The family would never agree to let him marry out.

He was well past the prime marrying age of seventeen or eighteen, now in his early twenties, and had little interest left in starting a family.

Even if he stayed single his whole life, that was fine by him.

He could save the money meant for his marriage, pay off the family’s debts, and set aside some for his sisters, Zhener and Qiaor, to marry into good households.

But the family felt it was a loss of face and still wanted to arrange a suitable match for him.

Mrs. Chen couldn’t quite figure out what Fan Jing was thinking.

He was usually so quiet, barely stringing together a sentence, which was fine for everyday matters but maddening for big decisions like this.

Seeing his silence, she nudged Fan’s father beside her.

Fan’s father was a sturdy man with a dark, square face and thick lips, looking every bit the honest farmer.

He was no less intimidated by Fan Jing than his wife.

When he spoke, it was the same worn-out lines.

“Big Brother, you’re not young anymore; it’s time to settle down. Kids your age in the village already have two children.”

“We’ve been trying to find you a match for years. The girls in our village turn their noses up at us, and there’s no one suitable for you to marry into.”

“If you don’t marry, how’s your father supposed to face your…”

Before he could finish, Fan Jing abruptly stood, startling them both.

“If you think it’s good, just do as you say.”

Fan Jing tossed out the lukewarm remark, neither pleased nor angry, and took his repaired bow back to his room.

Fan’s father and Mrs. Chen exchanged a glance.

Mrs. Chen figured that since he hadn’t outright refused, he was agreeing.

Unable to hide her joy, she called after his retreating figure,

“Big Brother, then it’s settled! Your father and I will send word through someone. We’ll start with a meeting, and if you don’t take a liking, we’ll talk again!”

Fan Jing didn’t reply.

His younger sisters, Fan Zhener and Fan Qiaor, who’d been out cutting grass, heard about the matchmaker’s visit and rushed home to see the excitement, only to miss the visitor.

Not daring to ask Fan Jing, they pestered the visibly delighted Mrs. Chen, asking about the family and the suitor.

Mrs. Chen chided them for being shameless but couldn’t resist sharing a few words with the girls.

A couple of days later, the matchmaker brought news.

The meeting was set for the fifteenth, three days hence, during the Monkey Mountain temple fair, where they’d get a look at each other.

The Fan couple thought it a good plan.

A failed meeting at home would be awkward, and village gossip would spread, but at the temple fair, if it didn’t work out, both sides could part ways quietly.

On the fifteenth, Fan Jing knew he was going to the meeting.

Since he’d agreed to go, he didn’t deliberately make a mess of things to sabotage it.

The night before, he bathed, and in the early morning, he put on a clean set of clothes.

Mrs. Chen, boiling water in the kitchen, saw him come in.

His hair was neatly tied, and while he wasn’t dazzling, he looked spirited.

But with a piece of animal hide slung across his body and a short knife at his waist, his tall frame didn’t have the delicate air of a young man—it looked downright imposing.

Mrs. Chen paused.

That Fan Jing was willing to go to the meeting was already a blessing, and she shouldn’t ask for more.

But not wanting this rare chance at a match to fall through, she gently coaxed him to change into something more approachable.

After several rounds of her nagging, Fan Jing, unable to stand it, swapped his usual hide for an old indigo cloth shirt dug out from the bottom of his chest.

Fan’s father, Mrs. Chen, and Fan Jing set off for Monkey Mountain, leaving Zhener and Qiaor to mind the house.

As they left, Mrs. Chen carried a basket, as if truly heading to the temple fair to burn incense.

Fan Jing wanted to bring his bow and arrow, thinking he might spot a pheasant or wild duck at Monkey Mountain and make the trip worthwhile.

Fan’s father and Mrs. Chen dissuaded him at length, and Zhener carried the bow back to his room.

But he refused to part with his short knife, and the couple had to let it be.

As they set out, a breeze picked up, suggesting an overcast day, but by the time they reached the main road, the sun came out, warming them pleasantly.

The village was nearly two hours’ walk from the temple at Monkey Mountain, but with their quick pace, they reached the temple at the foot of the mountain in just over an hour.

In their haste, they’d forgotten to bring a water gourd.

Mrs. Chen, less sturdy than the father and son, was sweating and parched, her lips nearly cracking.

“We agreed to meet under the prayer banyan tree, but it looks like they haven’t arrived yet. Jing, you wait here. I’ll go ask the nuns for some water and be back.”

Fan’s father, wiping sweat with his collar, added, “I’ll grab a drink too.”

With that, the two headed into the temple, leaving Fan Jing waiting in place.

The temple at Monkey Mountain wasn’t large, mostly visited by local farmers for incense offerings.

City folk preferred the grander Golden Peak Temple.

After the autumn harvest, with farmers less busy, the temple grounds were livelier than usual.

Watching people come and go, Fan Jing, used to holding a bow or spear, felt out of place standing empty-handed, waiting.

Growing impatient, wondering when they’d arrive so he could get this over with and head home—such fine weather was a shame to waste outside the mountains—he was suddenly bumped into.

Though lean, he was steady, yet the collision pushed him back two steps.

Steadying himself, Fan Jing looked up to see a young man who’d bumped him.

Tall, nearly eight feet, with clear features—a handsome fellow, by all accounts.

But Fan Jing had no mind for the man’s looks.

Seeing him glance around suspiciously, unlike the typical temple-goer, Fan Jing’s brow furrowed, and he instinctively reached for the money tucked in his waistband.

“S-sorry…”

The man, catching Fan Jing’s face, froze briefly.

Noticing Fan Jing’s hand move to his waist, he mistook it for reaching for the knife and stammered an apology.

Fan Jing noticed the man’s accent was odd—speaking the local dialect but with a hint of a formal tone, like an outsider.

Perhaps a traveler?

Not one to meddle, and finding his money still secure, Fan Jing said, “No harm,” and turned to walk away.

Before he’d gone two steps, a panting, exasperated voice called out behind him:

“Oh, my ancestor, you’ve made me search high and low! If I lost you, how would I explain it to your parents?”

“You love the temple fair’s bustle, but you ought to wait for your old ma!”

The voice sounded familiar, so Fan Jing glanced back.

Someone called out:

“Hey! Fan family’s Big Brother!”

“You’re here early!”