Tang Xianzu’s Story | At Twenty, He Married the Wu Family’s Daughter

At twenty, he married the daughter of the Wu family.

“Crackling! Crackling!” In Wenchang Lane, Linchuan, deafening firecrackers resounded skyward.

“The bride is here, the bride is here!” The crowd surged toward the doorway… After a period of anxious preparations, on the fourth day of the twelfth lunar month in the year when Tang Xianzu turned twenty, he was married. His bride’s family name was Wu; she hailed from Tashui in the eastern township of the neighboring county, descended from a scholarly lineage, and had been well‑versed in literature and etiquette since childhood.

On the wedding night, at the Tang residence in Linchuan, the lamps shone brightly, casting a dazzling glow.

More radiant and dazzling than the lights are the passionate hearts of the newlyweds.

That night, all things murmured; that night, all the world was lost in dreams.

Madame Wu was well‑read and graceful; though she had been sitting upright for quite some time, seeing Tang Xianzu so flustered, she offered no complaint. With a soft “pfft,” she laughed—but in the next instant, she herself grew flustered, her cheeks flushing bright red. Though her husband was neither towering nor imposing, he was refined and cultivated, handsome and distinguished, and this thought filled her heart with quiet delight. She found that even the candlelight seemed all the more enchanting.

“Tired, are you? Get some rest early!” Madam Wu parted her crimson lips, her voice so soft that even she could barely make it out.

“Not tired, not tired,” Tang Xianzu murmured to himself, at a loss for words, unsure what to say. The bride was poised and graceful, unlike the ordinary village women; she exuded a quiet, refined aura that made Tang Xianzu feel as though he had stepped into a world he had never known before. In this world, everything was soft and gentle, sweet and tender—qualities absent from the chill of the window or the stillness of the desk. The night was deepening, yet not quite full. The red candle, mindful of its role, had quietly gone out; the sheer curtain slid softly shut. This single moment of springtime evening was both long and fleeting.
 

After their marriage, Tang Xianzu and Lady Wu shared a deep and harmonious love, spending every day together. Alas, fate was cruel: after giving birth to their second son, Tang Daqi, Lady Wu fell ill and never recovered, passing away not long thereafter. As the saying goes, “A day as husband and wife brings a hundred days of affection.” Tang Xianzu was overcome with grief at her death, so much so that twenty years later he composed in one sitting the five poems titled “Qingming Lament for the Deceased,” in which he mourned his beloved wife: “...The tiled roof, like a chamber, seals off the jade‑like spirit; a new layer of tiles has been laid, scale by scale. How could twenty years seem so light? Fortunately, there remains the tender companion who shares the same grave…”

It is evident that Tang Xianzu and Lady Wu shared a deeply affectionate bond, one that was etched indelibly in his heart and impossible to forget.