Volume One: The Graveyard of Eight Coffins Chapter 75: Verdant and Lush, Weeping in Despair

Yang Huanzhi’s wooden figurines were divided into two types: finely carved and roughly hewn. The rough carving required only simple craftsmanship—just enough to sketch out a person’s general silhouette, with little demand for detail. The fine carving, however, was another matter entirely. Every aspect of the human body, even a single scar, had to be flawlessly rendered on the wooden figure. Moreover, a special technique had to imbue the figurine with emotion. These lifelike creations seemed almost to breathe, as though they were miniatures of the real person. Crafting such a piece demanded immense dedication, and it would often take days to finish a single work. Naturally, these commanded a higher price.

As Yang Huanzhi wandered the streets seeking commissions, most of his work involved the rougher carvings, which brought him little income.

Spring Fragrance House, however, wanted only the fine carvings from him. Their plan was to have him carve a detailed wooden figure of each courtesan in the house, making each figurine a miniature likeness of its subject. When a patron visited, he could select his favorite by examining the figurines. Because Yang Huanzhi’s works were three-dimensional, and most patrons were there in search of beauty and pleasure, both the courtesan’s face and figure were crucial. Thus, the figurines shown to guests had to capture every detail, matching the courtesan herself in every way—even after the clothes were removed, there could be no discernible difference.

This fresh approach was sure to attract more business, and the madam’s ingenuity could not be denied.

But Yang Huanzhi found himself in a quandary. Such fine carving required him to observe each subject’s body in full, with nothing concealed. As a man, spending long hours scrutinizing a naked courtesan made him deeply uncomfortable. Yet the madam pressed him relentlessly, and Yang Huanzhi had no choice but to steel himself and proceed.

Fortunately, the courtesans of Spring Fragrance House were more open-minded than women of respectable families. They sat before Yang Huanzhi without shyness or reservation. Though he was a young man with healthy passions, he did his best to keep a steady heart and direct all his focus to the task. Progress was steady, and soon he completed several finely carved figures.

These figurines bore an uncanny resemblance to their real-life counterparts. Every detail, down to the placement of a single mole, was reproduced flawlessly. In fact, the artistry sometimes rendered them even more perfect than the women themselves. The madam even commissioned tiny garments for the figurines, exact replicas of the originals. When the figurines were shown to patrons, they were met with overwhelming enthusiasm, and business boomed.

Delighted, the madam urged Yang Huanzhi to work day and night, carving as quickly as possible. There were dozens of courtesans at Spring Fragrance House; though each fine carving once took him days to complete, to meet demand he compressed the process to a single day per figure.

By the time he finished the entire list of names, more than a month had passed. Yang Huanzhi was utterly spent, drained in both body and spirit.

When he sought out the madam to settle his account and take his leave, she informed him that there was one last courtesan yet to be carved.

Exhausted but resolute, Yang Huanzhi allowed the madam to lead him to the final room.

Upon entering, he was greeted by a faint, delicate fragrance.

This subtle scent caught Yang Huanzhi’s attention at once. The other courtesans’ chambers had all been filled with the heavy aroma of cosmetics and rouge—a vulgar scent that quickly became cloying. Their gaudy appearances left him unmoved. But this room was different, redolent of something gentle and unique, reminiscent of lilac blossoms—a fragrance that refreshed the spirit.

When Yang Huanzhi entered, the courtesan sat with her back to him on a stool. At the sound of the door, she turned, greeting him with a gentle smile.

With that backward glance and smile, a hundred charms seemed to blossom at once. It was unlike the practiced grins he had seen from the other women. What truly captivated him, though, were her eyes—clear as spring water, untouched by the world’s vulgarity.

Yang Huanzhi opened the register and found that only one name remained on the final page: Wanqing.

He was not simply a craftsman; from childhood, he had studied poetry and the classics, and was widely read, though ill fortune had forced him to take up his family’s trade to make a living.

Upon seeing her name, he could not help but recite: “Climbing the mountain, I gaze afar, my heart full of sorrow. Verdant and lush, it brings tears like rain. My thoughts drift northward, tears falling one by one…” He paused, then added, “Miss, that is a lovely name. But these lines from the Songs of Chu are tinged with melancholy…”

Startled to hear her chosen name’s origin recited aloud, Wanqing looked at him in surprise. She had selected it in remembrance of her own sorrowful past, never expecting a mere craftsman to recognize the reference.

She studied him for a moment, then smiled shyly.

That smile utterly enchanted Yang Huanzhi.

Her shyness was genuine, born not of artifice but from the depths of her heart.

Seeing him lost in thought, Wanqing cleared her throat softly and asked, “Sir, shall we begin?”

Yang Huanzhi nodded quickly. “Whenever you are ready, Miss.”

With a delicate blush, Wanqing seated herself on the bed. As arranged, she loosened her robes, revealing skin as fair as polished jade. Her graceful form was veiled only by a wisp of gauze across her chest.

Yang Huanzhi felt his face flush and his heart pound uncontrollably. Though he had already seen dozens of women disrobe before him, he had never felt like this. His pulse raced, his hands began to tremble.

Struggling to compose himself, he picked up his wooden blank and carving knife and began to work.

To capture every detail, he had to observe her closely. As he leaned in, the intoxicating scent of lilac enveloped him once more. His concentration faltered; his hands slipped, and he accidentally cut himself.

Yang Huanzhi was a master of his craft—since his apprenticeship, he had never made such a mistake. But now, the wound was deep and blood flowed freely.

Worn out from overwork and weakened in body, the sight of his own blood made him faint dead away.

Wanqing was startled and alarmed. She quickly threw on her robe, rushed over, and began to bandage his wound.

When Yang Huanzhi awoke, he found himself lying on Wanqing’s bed. She brought him a bowl of restorative broth and said with concern, “I heard you have been working for over a month without rest. Your body cannot take such strain. I made this broth especially for you, to express my thanks.”

For one so used to wandering the streets and living hand-to-mouth, rare was the person who showed Yang Huanzhi such kindness. Wanqing’s gesture touched him deeply.

Forgetting his pain, he impulsively grasped her hand.

She gasped in surprise, which brought Yang Huanzhi to his senses. He released her at once, apologizing profusely.

Wanqing only smiled, unbothered.

When he returned to his work, however, Yang Huanzhi found himself unable to focus. Try as he might, he could not create a perfect figurine of her. In the end, he could only make a rough approximation to fulfill his obligation. Fortunately, the madam did not notice the lack of detail and paid him as agreed.

(The end of the chapter.)