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the meal from behind Lady Jia. “That piece looks tough for you, Granny.” She chooses a breast piece, cutting the meat off the bone.
    Around Daiyu, Baochai and the Two Springs chatter about how they have spent the afternoon copying sutras.
    “Ow,” Tanchun says. “My hand is so sore that I couldn’t write another word.”
    Baochai turns to Daiyu. “Granny wanted us to do it so the family would accumulate merit,” she explains.
    “I liked copying the sutras,” Xichun says, her small face serious. “I never understood them so well before. Have you read any sutras, Cousin Daiyu?”
    “Only the Heart Sutra,” Daiyu says, pleased to be included in the conversation.
    On the other side of the table, Jia Lian asks Baoyu, “What are you doing tonight?”
    Baoyu sighs. “I suppose I have to go to the Prince of Beijing’s birthday party. I’d rather stay home and spend time with our cousin.”
    “What is the Prince doing for his birthday?”
    “The usual. An opera troupe, some singing girls.”
    “Watch out that Uncle doesn’t get angry,” Lian warns him, shooting a glance up the table towards Jia Zheng.
    Baoyu shrugs. “He can’t expect me to stay home and study every night. It would offend the Prince if I didn’t come.”
    “You don’t have to convince me . I’m just telling you to watch yourself now that Uncle is back.”
    At long last the meal is over. When the table is cleared, the maids pourtea into cups of celadon crackle glaze. Daiyu reaches for her cup and drinks thirstily, eager to wash away the greasiness in her mouth.
    A ripple of laughter fills the room. The maids cover their mouths to stifle their giggles. The boy called Huan guffaws. At the head of the table, Lady Jia takes her cup, sips the tea, and gargles with it. Deliberately she spits it into a Ding -ware bowl that a maid holds before her.
    Daiyu has drunk the tea meant for gargling. She feels herself grow hot with embarrassment. Across the table, Baochai, her gaze tactfully averted, daintily gargles and spits out her tea.
    “Hey, Frowner,” Baoyu says. He picks up his tea and downs it to the last drop.

5
    On his second day back at Rongguo, Jia Zheng goes to his mother’s bedroom, where she has retired after breakfast, to tell her that he is returning to work at the Ministry, and will not come home until evening. She is half reclining on the kang while Silver, one of her senior maids, massages her legs. Even though they finished breakfast barely half an hour ago, Snowgoose is bringing her two little yam cakes with date stuffing on a small lotus-shaped platter. That is an aspect of his mother that never fails to irritate him: despite her sensitive stomach, she refuses to exercise the least restraint over her diet. Lady Jia opens her eyes as Snowgoose offers her the cakes.
    She takes a cake and leans back, shutting her eyes again. “I hope Min’s funeral wasn’t too much of a disgrace.”
    He pauses, uncertain what to say. For twenty years his mother has grown angry at the mention of his younger sister. When Jia Zheng received Min’s letter saying that she was dying and that she wished for her daughter to know her family, his mother said little, but had agreed to his suggestion that he go south to fetch Daiyu. He had hoped his mother was at last repenting of the long estrangement. Now he is surprised by her spiteful tone.
    “It was a little modest, but—”
    “Modest! I know what that means.” She begins to eat the cake, her jaws moving busily. “What sort of place did they live in?”
    “They had a small apartment—”
    She snorts. “Any servants?”
    “A maid, I believe.”
    “No wonder Min died. And Lin Ruhai expects to raise a young girl in conditions like that.”
    “He seems a devoted father.”
    “He hasn’t done a very good job with her manners.” She pops the second cake in her mouth and hands the plate back to Snowgoose.
    He pauses. While Daiyu is shy and a little gauche, he does not find her ill-mannered.