Osmanthus Cake for Tea

Mao Xiang skipped over the threshold, swinging her arms carelessly. "Xiaojun, do you think I should get Han Sheng to accompany us next time I go out? Maybe lowlife like her will pay me some respect if I have a formidable looking guard with me. These peasants are really getting above themselves. I declare, I'm quite out of breath with indignation."

"Young Miss, your colour is so pretty now, though," Xiaojun ventured timidly, her eyes peeking above the bolts of cloth in her arms.

Mao Xiang stopped, turning back so that the bamboos behind framed her like a screen, her eyes bright and curious. Delicately she laid a finger against her cheek, feeling its warmth. She could not help smiling even though she retorted pettishly, "As if I'd care, when she vexed me so."

Her eyes narrowed and she pointed knowingly at Xiaojun. "You're just trying to put me in a good mood, aren't you, Xiaojun?"

Laughing at the maid's sheepish expression, Mao Xiang swung round and flitted through the courtyard, humming. She was in a good mood, despite her complaining, because she felt she had gotten back at the rude girl in green finally.

She flung herself down exuberantly in her chamber before the low table, as Xiaojun laid the gleaming bolts of cloth down carefully. "I'm hungry, Xiaojun," she said with a pout, chewing absent-mindedly on her fingernail. "Get me some pastries from the kitchen. And don't let Mother see, or she'll scold me again for snacking."

Xiaojun hid a smile. "Yes, my lady."

Mao Xiang leaned forward and whispered, "See if they have any osmanthus cake! I've a craving for that suddenly. You like that too, don't you?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Hurry up, now, don't keep me waiting. What are you staring at me like that for?"

Bobbing her head, Xiaojun went out of the chamber, smiling quietly to herself. Young Mistress was always like that. She tried to be elegant and haughty in front of others, but the moment she stepped back into the manor she was her old childish self.

A small, pale girl with a habit of chewing nervously on her bottom lip, Xiaojun looked younger than her mistress, but they were really the same age. She was a thin girl with fine hair that kept coming loose in little wisps, so that she was perpetually tucking it back behind her ears, afraid of looking untidy. Her thinness and paleness belied a healthy appetite which Mao Xiang often teased her for.

She had grown up in the Mao Manor, serving the family as Miss Xiang Er's personal maid, and there was little she didn't know about her. She knew the young mistress' temper inside out--her pet peeves, her little idiosyncrasies, and her bad habits. She knew that Miss Mao was terrified of moths. That she thought pink set off her complexion best, and wore it often out of vanity even though she didn't actually like the colour. She knew that Mao Xiang laboured diligently at her painting and calligraphy, but was secretly mortified that she could never be better than Lady Yang, who wasn't half as pretty. She knew that Mao Xiang got upset easily--any breath of inconvenience that got in the way of her plans, or which she felt slighted her would have her sulking or tearful.

The little maid had learnt how to serve at her side by holding her tongue, never smiling at the wrong time, and always maintaining a meek and respectful attitude. She did her best to listen--but not pry; give advice--but not too much, that would be condescending; to soothe--but never to overstep her place; and to praise. There was less limitations for that. Even if Mao Xiang knew it was flattery, she closed an eye.

Xiaojun did not think too much. Life was simple for her. Like a true servant, she only saw herself in terms of her relation to Miss Mao. She never questioned that it was the Young Mistress' right to be served and pampered. And she knew her so well that she could predict her tantrums and second-guess her reactions; so that there was a kind of timid fondness bred from familiar

Tucking a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear, Xiaojun hovered anxiously in the kitchen behind the cook. "Young Mistress is hungry. She wants osmanthus cake."

The cook snorted. "Osmanthus cake! At this time of the day? The evening meal is about to be served, and she's going to spoil her appetite? What do they hire me for? Take some honey cakes to her and tell her there's no osmanthus cake. The idea!"

With a sigh, Xiaojun took a small inlaid tray and arranged the honey cakes on it. "Well, one never argues with the Young Mistress. She'll sulk, but if there's something she likes for dinner she might not mind so much. What is there?"

The cook considered this important consideration, his round face appearing like a red blob through the clouds of steam. "There's white fungus sweet soup for dessert. She likes that, doesn't she?"

"Ah, she does!" Xiaojun brightened. "I'll tell her that."

As she picked up the tray of honey cakes a face appeared at the kitchen door.

"Xiaojun. His Excellency has returned and wants to see the Young Mistress. He brought back something for her."

Han Sheng, Mao Yuan's guards, looked in. He was a tall, quiet man, with an erect soldierly bearing and a watchful expression in his eyes. His hands were heavily callused across the palms from the sword hilt, and there was a fine white line running across one temple that slightly disfigured one brow, and made him look as if he was continually frowning.

Unexpectedly flustered, Xiaojun fumbled with the tray. "I'll--I'll tell the Young Mistress."

She glanced shyly at him and then quickly bowed her head again over the tray as she hurried out, so low that the tip of her nose almost touched the honey cakes.

"Young Mistress! His Excellency has returned, and he wishes to see you. He has brought you something."

Mao Xiang sprang up with a cry of delight, clapping her hands. "Father's back? Ah, that's nice!"

She paused to glance at the tray and made a face. "Ugh, honey cakes again? Does the cook think I'm a child, to be eating honey cakes all day? Take it away." She rolled her eyes. "Really, Xiaojun. You should know me better than that."

Bounding into her father's room, she called out happily, "I hear that the world's best father is back! What did you get for me this time, Father?"

She dipped her head in a hasty bow. "Your daughter Mao Xiang greets her father!"

Mao Yuan laughed. "Ah, you only remember to greet me when I have a present for you. If I'm the world's best father then you must be the world's most materialistic daughter."

He stood up, beckoning away the man in black who had been talking quietly to him. The man stood respectfully to a side with his head bowed.