Chapter 116: Lady Liu Bai

PS: Here comes an extra chapter for reaching 90 monthly votes... Although, I must admit, the standard seems a bit low... I’m feeling a little anxious!

“I don’t buy those for greetings or farewells. By the way, all my crickets have died. Is there any way to get them through the winter?” When Hong Tao saw this old man, it reminded him of his own crickets.

“Get them through winter? That’s a tricky business. Not every cricket can survive the cold. You’re not ready to learn those complicated methods yet. How many do you have in total?” The Second Master curled his lips, clearly disdainful of Hong Tao’s clumsy nature.

“Seven. Later, I bought a few more identical jars, from the same entrusted shop. Maybe you could take a look one day, see if they’re from the same batch,” Hong Tao recounted the scene of buying the cricket jars once more.

“Sigh... You’re taking advantage of someone’s misfortune. I heard the guy who’s into insects left in bad luck. You’d better be diligent tomorrow; maybe you can collect a whole set of matching jars. That would be something special.” The Second Master’s expression turned wistful, no doubt recalling his own insect-collecting days long ago.

Han Yan soon returned with a basket carrying wine and dishes. Hong Tao and the Second Master sat at the small kang bed and stools they usually used for meals in the salon. They sipped their drinks, Hong Tao just taking small sips while the Second Master drank in his usual style—half a cup at a time, then eating a bit. The old and the young chatted away, filling the air with talk of crickets and grasshoppers. The girls in the shop couldn’t understand a word and just watched these two oddballs from the sidelines.

“Second Master, your clothes are quite unique. You didn’t buy them, did you? The stitching looks handmade.” At the table, there was no distinction between senior and junior. Hong Tao now saw the old man as a friend, reaching out to inspect the sleeve of his garment and closely examining the marks on the front.

“You’ve got an eye for this, huh? Not just anyone can wear these clothes. Let me tell you, you won’t find craftsmanship like this anywhere in the city, believe me,” the Second Master said proudly, now quite talkative after some drinks, showing off his attire.

“Well, the stitching is really neat—looks like machine-made. Why don’t you tell me about it? I have a tailor’s shop, and I’m planning to expand it, but I need a master craftsman. Someone like you, who can make clothes with this kind of skill. We don’t have anyone who can do it yet!” Hong Tao examined the sewing techniques and tailoring closely. The craftsmanship was truly impressive—pure hand-sewing with hundreds of nearly identical stitches, indistinguishable from machine work. Especially the fabric loops on the front, crafted so delicately that a few simple strips became a small ornamental knot, resembling a flower.

“You want to hire someone? An apprentice or a master?” The Second Master set down his wine glass upon hearing this, clearly interested.

“A master, of course. This isn’t a restaurant. Just because of the skill. If someone like you comes, they’re the master. I’ll find two female apprentices for them to teach. The starting salary would be 200 yuan, with year-end bonuses, board and lodging included. The apprentices will know how to respect their master properly. How does that sound? But the skill has to be good. Don’t send me someone to fool me—I know this stuff inside out. I’m the master here, and I made all those clothes myself,” Hong Tao spoke earnestly. He really needed a master to lead the team. His aunt’s skills, learned from him, were limited—simple fashion was fine, but to advance into high-end tailoring, they were far from adequate.

“200? Are you sure you can decide that? Don’t bring someone here if your family’s not happy about it. Don’t make a fool of me!” The Second Master was tempted but wary of trusting Hong Tao, a young boy.

“Pfft! What’s the big deal? You can ask them. Hey... girls... does what I say count here?” Hong Tao’s face flushed slightly as he pounded his chest and called for the girls inside to vouch for him.

The girls had no idea what he was talking about but nodded anyway.

“How about older?” the Second Master asked again.

“As long as they can work, no half-paralyzed folks, okay? I don’t want to be a dutiful son looking after a crippled master!” Hong Tao thought the old man was teasing him again.

“You little bastard! Who’s half-paralyzed? I’m in good health—52 years old this lunar year. I made all these clothes. My skill is unmatched. I even made costumes for opera troupes back in the day,” the Second Master slapped Hong Tao’s shoulder and began advertising the person he had in mind.

“That sounds a bit far-fetched. Making costumes for an opera troupe? Could one person do all that? If you’re at master level, why not work at a government tailoring shop?” Hong Tao had a rough idea of the old man’s background—an Eight Banner descendant, second-generation aristocrat, a born storyteller prone to exaggeration. His words were not fully trustworthy.

“Hey... I can’t explain it to you. Take it or leave it!” The Second Master became serious, his face showing displeasure.

“Fine, have him come and try. As long as the skill is good, if I don’t want him, he’s the one to blame, okay?” Hong Tao made a small mocking gesture with his fingers, a playful insult from old Beijing.

“Not drinking anymore. I’ll bring him here now!” The Second Master downed the rest of his wine and stood up to leave.

“Hey... no need to rush... I’m telling you... this stubborn old man!” Hong Tao was surprised by the Second Master’s childlike decisiveness. He ignored Hong Tao’s words, opened the door, slammed it shut, and sped off on his German tricycle like the wind.

The person the Second Master brought back astonished Hong Tao—it was a bound-feet woman. Not exactly old, maybe in her forties, dressed simply but neatly. Her hair was combed back and tied up in a bun. She wore a coarse, asymmetrical cotton jacket, crotchless trousers, black cloth shoes with layered soles, and snow-white socks—a vivid image of a traditional old-fashioned housewife.

She introduced herself as Mrs. Liu, no given name, simply called Liu Baishi. Hong Tao understood immediately: her maiden name was Bai, and she married a man named Liu. In old times, women often didn’t reveal their own first names after marriage, instead using their husband’s surname combined with their maiden name. This was not unfamiliar to Hong Tao since his own grandmother’s name was Hu Zhaoshi.

Mrs. Liu didn’t elaborate further but took a small basket from her bag filled with needles and threads. She asked Hong Tao’s aunt for four feet of floral-patterned dacron fabric. With her long fingernails, she gestured on the fabric while measuring on the table, then began cutting swiftly. The cloth only had some simple markings; many areas were left blank, yet her scissors moved like lightning, and within minutes she had cut multiple pieces.

“Aunt Liu... are you making a qipao?” Hong Tao watched carefully, beginning to discern the plan but still uncertain.

“Straight collar, not a proper qipao,” Mrs. Liu glanced at Hong Tao, somewhat surprised that a young boy could tell from the fabric what she was making.

“Straight collar? That means a fake front placket, right?” Hong Tao’s limited tailoring knowledge was running out, but he wasn’t afraid to ask.

“You know how to sew?” Mrs. Liu lifted her eyelids and responded while threading her needle.

“A little bit, only simple clothes, not complex ones,” Hong Tao admitted honestly.

“Who taught you? Boys learning sewing now?” Mrs. Liu kept busy sewing two pieces together, her needle flying like a sewing machine. Without looking at her stitching, she chatted while sewing two inches in the time it took to say a sentence.

“No one taught me, I taught myself by reading books...” Hong Tao lied casually.

“...Interesting. Second Master, boys these days are into sewing too?” Mrs. Liu finally looked up but didn’t stop her rapid sewing, only occasionally adjusting the fabric.

“How should I know? That brat’s got a lot of tricks. Don’t let him fool you,” the Second Master said without watching Mrs. Liu, continuing his battle with the half-bottle of Maotai.

At first, Hong Tao and his aunt stood watching Mrs. Liu sew. Gradually, other girls in the room gathered, amazed at how quickly and neatly this strange little old lady hand-stitched piece after piece. Although not as fast as a sewing machine or even a manual one, none had ever seen hand sewing done so swiftly and perfectly.

In just over fifty minutes, she finished a simple straight-collar short qipao (with no front placket stitching or curves). She also fashioned several fabric strips into a small fabric button loop, tying a few knots, and sewing them into a delicate yet simple decorative clasp.

“Done, Auntie. No need to be so particular. We have machines for hemming. Your skill would be wasted doing hemming by hand. Auntie, how could you be so inconsiderate, not even offering her some hot water? Oh, and I have some condensed milk—let’s mix some for her,” Hong Tao said, having seen enough to know this bound-foot woman’s skills were truly exceptional—far beyond his own.

For her, sewing a garment was as easy as folding a paper gun for him. She didn’t even need to look at her needlework, showing perfect coordination between mind and fingers—almost like a computer program, flawless and precise. This was a genuine master craftsman. Such skill, if preserved for future generations, might well be recognized as an intangible cultural heritage.

(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please support it with recommendation votes and monthly tickets on Qidian. Your support is my greatest motivation. Mobile users, please visit m.reading.)