Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Zhirong often says about me, “Chunwu carries herself with such grace and charm; who could ever tell she’s completely illiterate and uneducated?”
Back then Shuyi was still alive. In the night breeze that held a light, piercing chill, she would always sit beside the railing, holding a scroll and reciting again and again, each word savored with such lingering tenderness.
To me, it was as incomprehensible as a heavenly scripture, just making me drowsy.
She would gently tap my head.
But what was there worth listening to?
Poets would one moment vow to be a singing girl’s gossamer skirt, and the next, vie to be a swordswoman’s stirrup.
They’d wish to turn into spring blossoms, pinned beside a lady’s cloud of dark hair, or become the thimble on her slender white finger-even enduring the torture of needle pricks all day long, they’d gladly consent.
In my eyes, such hypocrisy was utterly sickening.
They treat their own families like mere fowl; for female slaves like us, they’re even more contemptuous.
What they truly love is power and status.
What they truly wish to become are the shoes under the feet of the powerful.
Hearing my twisted reasoning, Shuyi would only sigh,
“In this world, perhaps only Master Zhe Lu has truly risen above the dusty realm. If I could meet him just once, I would also want to ask him a question.”
The name Zhe Lu I had heard of.
The Governor had sent invitations three times asking him to attend a banquet.
Not only did he not come, he also scattered salt all over his doorstep, signifying the warding off of evil, infuriating the Governor to no end.
Later, the emperor invited him to take office, and he simply retreated deep into the mountains, never to be seen by the world again.
That was three years ago.
Now, the whole city knows: Yan Xuan actually sought to marry a lowly maidservant at the Governor’s evening banquet.
Because of my teasing remark, refined scholars all vied to ghostwrite poems on his behalf.
If they could just cobble together a poem, saving a wretched girl like me from the butcher’s block, they’d create a romantic tale that would be celebrated through the ages.
Why wouldn’t they want to?
Shuyi and Zhirong, the two sisters, were daughters of a convicted official, so they could read and write.
Now, the task of reciting poems naturally fell to Zhirong.
She sorted through a thick stack of papers, murmuring softly, “This is a poem by Shuyu Ke, this by Qiyun Shanren…”
Pressing my forehead, I rubbed my temples, “What do they all say?”
They wrote about him spending gold lavishly, about him striding into the hall with sword and shoes, about how one day he might swap back to straw sandals and wooden clogs and roam with immortals-wouldn’t that be even freer?
I wadded each one into a ball and tossed it out the window, saying, “Hopelessly vulgar.”
Within three days, the Governor had turned the whole affair into a laughingstock.
“Do you know what they’re gossiping about in the city now? They say the maidservant in my mansion has standards higher than an Imperial Academy scholar!”
The crowd chimed in, “The Governor’s magnanimity is extraordinary; naturally, his household harbors hidden dragons and crouching tigers.”
Indifferently, I poured myself drink after drink, refusing to cast anyone a favorable glance, thus cementing the maid’s reputation for looking down on everyone.
Back in my room, Zhirong handed me a crumpled sheet of coarse hemp paper.
It carried a faint whiff of alcohol.
Although I couldn’t read a single character, I could see that the handwriting was wildly unbridled, the force of the brush penetrating through the paper.
“Well?” I asked.
Zhirong hesitated for a long moment, then whispered, “This poem… writes that the master is a wild donkey, its hooves kicking and flailing about all day.”
I stared blankly, then burst into laughter, rocking back and forth. “Who wrote such a thing? So audacious-aren’t they afraid the master will have them cut to pieces in revenge!”
I had long seen through the tricks of the so-called men of fame.
They wanted to annoy the Governor, but they couldn’t truly incense him.
It was like a cat’s light swipe of a claw, or perching on a high spot licking its fur, utterly ignoring the people below trying to tempt it with fish strung on willow branches and all sorts of teasing.
That way, they could flaunt their lofty purity without committing a punishable offense.
The Governor, in turn, would win a name for magnanimity-truly a perfect win-win.
The lunatic who dared to curse him as a donkey’s hoof-who on earth was it?
Zhirong pressed her lips together, her expression rather odd.
“The signature is Li Tai’a, who happens to be visiting Hengzhou recently… His father is a Grand General, his elder brother a Vanguard Commander-I suppose he has no fear of a local governor.”
Tai’a-the ancient sword of might. This person using such a name turned out to be a scion of the Langya Li Clan.
Only, why was he sightseeing here instead of guarding the frontier and slaying enemies alongside his father and brother?
I bent my knuckle and gave the paper a hard knock. “This is the one.”
The evening banquet came again.
The Governor specially had a seat set for me, placing me right beside Yan Xuan to keep him company.
Stroking his beard and smiling, he called to me kindly, “Chunwu, tell us, which great talent’s poem finally managed to satisfy you?”
I rose, smoothing that hemp paper flat on the table. Then, from a lofty vantage, I cast a sidelong glance at Yan Xuan.
“I will not marry Yan Xuan,” I declared loudly. “I want to marry the man who wrote this poem-Langya Li Tai’a.”
At my side, Zhirong shuddered violently, and beneath the cover of her wide sleeve, she pinched my arm with all her might.
The master acted as if he had heard the most ludicrous joke in the world, slapping his thigh and coughing until his face flushed crimson.
“Well done, Chunwu! One poem and your heart is secretly pledged! Master Yan Xuan, a renowned scholar celebrated throughout the land, has now lost to a mere, a mere-!”
Yan Xuan’s hand holding the wine goblet paused, a flicker of astonishment passing through his eyes.
But only for a moment.
I had thought that suffering such a public humiliation would surely make him fly into a rage of embarrassment.
Yet his face betrayed no trace of unease; instead, an inscrutable smile rose to his lips.
“Since Chunwu’s heart belongs to another,” Yan Xuan said unhurriedly, “this Li Tai’a-I would be willing to introduce her to him.”
It was only then that I sensed something distinctly amiss.