Chapter 106: Riding a Horse

The Song Penal Code did not explicitly stipulate a marriageable age, but since the Song dynasty, it had followed the edict from the Li Tang period: “Males aged fifteen and above, females aged thirteen and above, may marry.” In other words, a man must be at least fifteen and a woman at least thirteen to marry without breaking the law.

However, despite this legal allowance, most Song families adhered to ancient customs, where girls typically married around the age of eighteen or even later. Thus, eighteen served as a sort of threshold; marrying before reaching eighteen was considered early marriage. Consequently, most Song women married after reaching eighteen.

Generally, the age at which Song girls began to marry was fifteen. Still, most chose to wait until around nineteen, marrying relatively late. The main reason was the civil service examination system. Scholars who endured years of hardship studying, upon passing the imperial exams, obtained a ticket to officialdom. Once they became jinshi graduates, they were appointed to government posts with limitless prospects.

Therefore, the ideal match for a Song woman was a jinshi graduate—“marrying a scholar at the right time.” But in reality, “marrying at the right time” and “marrying a scholar” often conflicted. Most jinshi graduates were over twenty, sometimes even in their forties or fifties. So, women of good standing who wished to marry a jinshi had to wait for a suitable match.

Though hundreds of jinshi were selected every three years, they still represented a small fraction of all candidates. Many women of marriageable age waited anxiously and hesitated for a long time.

Some never found a jinshi to marry or could not wait indefinitely, so they became concubines of jinshi graduates or married someone else as they grew older.

Likewise, men mostly married after twenty.

Li Sanjian had just turned seventeen this year, not yet eighteen, but Madam Fu had arranged a marriage for him through an intermediary.

The bride-to-be belonged to the Lu family, merchants from Kaifeng in the Eastern Capital. The Lu daughter was sixteen and came from a relatively affluent household. Hearing that Li Sanjian was a failed candidate in the imperial exams, they were somewhat reluctant but agreed nonetheless, having heard he was still studying and planned to retake the exams the following year.

The principle of being prepared and cautious was well understood, especially in merchant families like the Lu’s. If Li Sanjian passed the next examination, it would be an unexpected windfall.

If he failed again and the marriage was not official yet, they could find an excuse to break it off—this was the Lu family’s plan.

“Mother, my dear mother,” Li Sanjian said, half laughing and half crying when he understood what his mother was discussing with him. “I am only seventeen; why are you in such a hurry?”

“I am a little anxious…” Madam Fu replied, hesitating. “But… you are the only one left in the Li family. I just want to start early.”

“I understand your intentions,” said Madam Fu, stammering slightly. Li Sanjian clearly understood her thoughts.

The Li family had only one heir, and Madam Fu wished to have grandchildren soon, fulfilling the trust placed by Li Sanjian’s late father and continuing the Li lineage.

Moreover, the recent incident with the Cai family had left Madam Fu feeling somewhat guilty toward Li Sanjian, increasing her urgency to arrange a marriage for him.

Supporting Madam Fu gently, Li Sanjian said softly, “My studies are not yet finished; I am not ready to marry. Besides… even when I do marry, I don’t want to wed a stranger.”

He was well aware of the old saying: “Parents’ orders, matchmaker’s words.” Many couples had never even met before marriage, and whether the bride was beautiful or plain, tall or short, was left to fate.

But even so, Li Sanjian was unwilling to marry a girl he did not know.

“A stranger? Child, isn’t that how it is in this world?” Madam Fu hesitated, then said, “Sanlang, do you have someone in your heart? Ah, child, that won’t do… Our family cannot accept that.”

How could Madam Fu be unaware of Li Sanjian’s feelings for Li Qingzhao? The beautiful and talented Li Qingzhao was someone Madam Fu admired greatly, but as a daughter from an official family, she was far above what the Li family could aspire to.

Once, Madam Fu kept her promise and went to the Cai household to propose marriage simply to fulfill an obligation, though she held little hope at the time.

Li Sanjian fell silent, unsure how to respond.

He was fond of the gifted, refined Li Qingzhao, deeply so, yet he seemed to be avoiding her, whether intentionally or not, and even he could not explain why.

Perhaps it was because Li Qingzhao was a celebrated figure of the day and he felt unworthy; or because she came from an official family and he could only admire from afar. Though they had shared some intimate moments recently, this feeling lingered.

“Sanlang, what are you thinking about?” Madam Fu asked anxiously, noticing his distracted expression.

“Nothing, nothing, mother. Let’s not discuss this marriage anymore, okay?” Li Sanjian said hurriedly.

Madam Fu sighed. “Very well, as you wish. But Sanlang, marriage is important. Think it through carefully and don’t delay too long. Your father’s spirit in heaven cannot wait, and I also want to hold grandchildren soon.”

“What does my dead father know?” Li Sanjian muttered to himself.

“Everything will be as you wish, mother,” he smiled seeing her unwillingness to relent. “I promise to settle down sooner or later, but then I fear that when I want to marry, no one will want me.”

“Brother, don’t worry,” the young Douya piped up. “When Douya grows up, she’ll marry you.”

Her words made both Madam Fu and Li Sanjian laugh.

Madam Fu chuckled and said to Douya, “Your brother won’t wait that long.”

Li Sanjian shook his head, smiling. “Little girl, do you even know what marriage means? What happens after marriage?”

“Um…” Douya thought hard, then answered, “After marriage, you live together.”

“But aren’t we already living together? Then why get married?” Li Sanjian asked with a smile.

“Ah… well…” Douya stammered, unable to answer.

“Alright, don’t tease her,” Madam Fu told Li Sanjian. “Sanlang, Douya is growing up. You can’t keep calling her Douya forever. She needs a proper name.”

“You’re right,” Li Sanjian nodded. “How about you name her, mother?”

“I can barely recognize a few characters; you do it,” Madam Fu said, smiling faintly.

“Then she’ll have the surname Li. Douya is from Lingnan, so let’s name her Li Nan,” Li Sanjian said thoughtfully.

Typically, girls, especially from poor families, had only a surname without a given name. But Li Sanjian disagreed; girls were people too, so why not have both a surname and a name?

“Li Nan? Nan Nan? Hmm… from now on, Douya will be Nan Nan,” Madam Fu approved.

“Nan Nan? That’s lovely, that’s lovely. Thank you, brother!” Li Nan clapped happily.

……

At the residence of Prince Duan of Song,

“Hold the reins with both hands; the reins should wrap between the ring and little fingers, gripped in the palm with the thumb pressing lightly on top. Both hands must hold reins of equal length. Sit upright on the horse, chest out, back straight; your upper arms aligned with your torso, and your forearms and reins should appear straight from every angle,” explained Gao Er, the prince’s football coach, patiently teaching Li Sanjian how to ride a horse. “You must learn to ‘rise and sit’…”

In this world, horses and carriages were the primary means of transportation. Without riding skills, travel would be difficult.

Whether officials or common folk, many could ride horses, especially court officials. From prime ministers to ordinary bureaucrats, most rode horseback to court, so Li Sanjian had to learn riding.

Fortunately, the Duan Prince’s residence had many horses and skilled riders. Gao Er was a competent horseman and took it upon himself to teach Li Sanjian.

“‘Rise and sit’?” Li Sanjian laughed at Gao Er’s expression.

“Yes, exactly, ‘rise and sit’,” Gao Er was puzzled by Li Sanjian’s laughter but continued, “When the horse trots, you use your legs to stand and sit in rhythm on the saddle. When standing, press your legs tightly against the horse’s belly. When sitting, relax your hips but keep your calves close, gripping the horse’s sides.”

“Now, place your feet firmly in the stirrups and hold the reins tight,” Gao Er said, handing the reins to Li Sanjian and helping him onto the saddle. Once Li Sanjian was seated steadily, Gao Er gave the horse a hard slap on the rump.

The horse, feeling the pain, neighed loudly and galloped wildly across the prince’s riding grounds.

At first, Li Sanjian sat firmly, but when the horse suddenly burst into a gallop, he leaned back sharply and almost fell off.

He bent forward, clinging to the saddle, gripping the reins tightly.

His “rise and sit” was clumsy and uncoordinated; the jolting saddle bruised his backside, and the horse ran uncontrollably in all directions.

“Move aside! Move aside!” Li Sanjian suddenly spotted a girl in red nearby and shouted in alarm.

The girl, terrified, paled and let out a sharp scream but was frozen in place, unable to move.

Gao Er and others were too far away to intervene in time.

In this moment of crisis, Li Sanjian squeezed the horse’s belly tightly and pulled hard on the reins.

The horse shrieked in pain and reared up.

“Ouch…” Li Sanjian cried out as he fell off the horse, landing in the dust.