Upon entering Green Ram Temple, Sang Shisi pulled Yang Jingyuan into a corner like a thief.
“Did you run into an enemy?” Yang Jingyuan was particularly puzzled.
Sang Shisi wore a gleefully despicable expression: “Those are my nemeses! They absolutely cannot see me going to appreciate flowers alone.”
He emphasized the words “appreciate flowers” with a meaningful tone, winking suggestively. Through the wafting incense smoke, Yang Jingyuan saw Sang Shisi’s concubines devoutly kowtowing and drawing divination lots. Yang Jingyuan almost burst out laughing. Was Sang Shisi planning to take a fourth concubine home?
The two quickly passed Hunyuan Hall, and the Eight Trigrams Pavilion situated between the Three Pure One’s Hall and Hunyuan Hall came into view. The pavilion was three stories tall, with a high stone platform at the bottom and two levels above. The pavilion’s stone base was square while the body was round, symbolizing the ancient saying “round heaven and square earth.”
The upper two-tiered mountain-style eaves curved upward dramatically, with two rows of chi-wen ornaments crouching along them. The pavilion was surrounded by turtle-patterned partition doors and carved windows. The south-facing main entrance featured a relief carving of the twelve zodiac animals in a tai chi pattern, creating an elegant classical style.
The entire pavilion was constructed of wood and stone, joined together with mortise and tenon. The roof was covered in yellow, green, and purple glazed tiles, with lotus petals supporting a distinctive glazed gourd-shaped treasure vessel at the top. Eight stone pillars stood along the outer eaves, carved with hollow dragon reliefs wrapped around them, creating a magnificent atmosphere as if about to soar into the sky.
Various chrysanthemums lined the path to the Eight Trigrams Pavilion, which was crowded with visitors both inside and out, creating a lively atmosphere.
Outside the pavilion sat a scholar’s desk equipped with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. A group of scholars were enthusiastically composing poetry. They appeared to be classmates from the city academy, mostly young gentlemen, gradually attracting young ladies who had come to view the chrysanthemums.
Both Yang Jingyuan and Sang Shisi had attended school. In those days, one’s calligraphy was like one’s face and clothing—as they say, calligraphy reveals the person. Even without taking the imperial examinations, one needed good handwriting to maintain appearances. Though idle in their studies, both had developed fine penmanship.
As for poetry composition, Yang Jingyuan could recite matching couplets like “heaven matches earth” “rain matches wind” or “continent matches the vast sky.” Sang Shisi could continue with “mountain flowers match sea trees” and “red sun matches blue firmament.” That was about the extent of their poetic ability.
Sang Shisi had come to pursue romance, but seeing the flower-like young ladies only having eyes for the group of scholars, he felt bitter: “Third Brother, I remember when we were in school, you were better at reciting poetry than me, weren’t you?”
Yang Jingyuan wasn’t foolish: “As you said, we only knew how to recite a few poems. Are they comparing poetry recitation now? They’re competing in writing poetry! Haven’t you bought a few poems to keep handy for emergencies?”
“What an oversight!” Sang Shisi lamented painfully, sighing repeatedly, “I did buy some poems from a ghostwriter, preparing for the Brocade Competition on the ninth of the tenth month. Today I was suddenly dragged to Green Ram Temple—where can I find chrysanthemum poems on such short notice? Help me think of something.”
Last-minute cramming shouldn’t depend on me, should it? Yang Jingyuan followed Sang Shisi’s fixed gaze and couldn’t help elbowing him, “Spotted someone?”
“Mm! Better than that wine-server girl.”
The wine-server girl hadn’t succeeded in becoming Sang Shisi’s conquest when he tried flirting with her by raising his chin, but she had successfully become his third concubine. Yang Jingyuan carefully observed the young lady and gained some insight: “Shisi, you like this type? The ones who look like they’d be blown over by the wind?”
Sang Shisi puffed out his chest and gave him a side-eye: “The more delicate the woman, the more manly she makes you feel.”
“They all look like Seventh Miss Niu, don’t they?” Yang Jingyuan chuckled mischievously: “Tell the truth, you really like Seventh Miss Niu, don’t you? You’re just… afraid you can’t beat her?”
A young lady who could lift and throw a hundred-jin Taihu rock at age ten—was that even a woman? Sang Shisi became even more determined to enjoy himself before marriage by taking several concubines.
At this moment, a cheer erupted from the crowd. A young gentleman had composed some fine verses and was bowing to everyone with a face flushed with shy smiles. A certain young lady looked proud by association, her eyes never leaving his face.
The young lady seemed to know the poetry-writing youth. Though Sang Shisi’s heart itched with desire, he could read the situation and dared not rashly approach to flirt and tease.
The youth wore a long robe of bright blue hemp cloth. Washed many times, the color had faded—clearly the garment of a poor scholar. Besides, he wasn’t as handsome as Sang Shisi himself. If only he could compose a good poem, wouldn’t that young lady favor him instead?
The more Sang Shisi thought, the more anxious he became: “Third Brother, help me think of how to praise chrysanthemums. Today, I, Sang Shisi, am going all out.”
Ji Yingying definitely wouldn’t squeeze into the crowd to listen to others recite sour poetry. Where would she be? While chatting idly with Sang Shisi, Yang Jingyuan searched everywhere for Ji Yingying. Today she wore a light green silk dress with a goose-yellow half-sleeve jacket, as delicate as a spring jasmine flower. Not bright enough, not eye-catching enough… Right, look for Second Young Master Zhu instead. Black-red face, big build—he’d be easier to spot than Ji Yingying.
“Third Brother! I’ve got a line, listen!” At this moment, Sang Shisi scratched his head and came up with a verse, “Autumn wind whispers, chrysanthemums fragrant. How is it? Quick, say something!”
“At Eight Trigrams Pavilion, basking in the sun.” Yang Jingyuan casually responded.
“Hey, it even rhymes! Just think of two more lines and we’re done!” Sang Shisi was overjoyed.
“I can’t think of any more.” Yang Jingyuan shook his head, then suddenly had an idea and said with a grin: “You fool, why don’t you announce these two lines and offer one tael of silver for whoever can complete the quatrain? Let those sour talents compose it, then take the chance to flatter them—wouldn’t that let you strike up a conversation with the young lady beside them?”
“Tsk tsk, Third Young Master Yang, I never realized you could be so crafty?” Sang Shisi looked at Yang Jingyuan anew, his face spreading into a broad smile as he gave him a tight hug, “If I can win that young lady’s favor, brother will treat you to wine at Scattered Flowers House!”
Sang Shisi excitedly pushed into the crowd with his two servants: “Everyone, this humble one has just composed two lines…”
Yang Jingyuan couldn’t be bothered to listen further. He circled to the back of the Eight Trigrams Pavilion and, with his sharp eyes, spotted Ji Yingying. He quickly retreated behind a stone pillar and carefully peeked out.
Xiang’er and Ling’er stood on the steps, but Ji Yaoting and Second Young Master Zhu were nowhere to be seen.
On the railing sat a pot of Purple Swallow’s New Makeup chrysanthemums. Yellow stamens with pink-purple petals blooming in profusion—extremely beautiful. Ji Yingying stood before the chrysanthemums, gazing at them intently.
With the purple petals and Ji Yingying’s delicate-colored clothing, Yang Jingyuan had an illusion that her clothes had become the chrysanthemum’s leaves and she had transformed into the flower itself.
Ji Yingying pulled out an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve. Whatever was embroidered on it, she studied it with great concentration, not raising her head for a long while.
What exactly was embroidered on it? Yang Jingyuan was desperately curious. He quickly ran away and went up to the second floor to look down.
The handkerchief in her hand was embroidered with a chrysanthemum, somewhat similar to the color of the Purple Swallow’s New Makeup before her, yet somehow different. She spread out the handkerchief and waved it in her hand, and Yang Jingyuan was shocked to find the chrysanthemum on it had disappeared. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, he tried to look again, but Ji Yaoting and Second Young Master Zhu walked over, and Ji Yingying tucked the handkerchief back into her sleeve.
Yang Jingyuan pulled his head back and leaned quietly against the second-floor railing to listen.
Suddenly he felt a forceful wind approaching. Yang Jingyuan’s hand shot out like lightning to grab the hand reaching for him, saw it was Sang Shisi, and quickly covered his mouth. He was immensely grateful that Sang Shisi, who had intended to startle him, hadn’t called out.
Sang Shisi, held by the shoulder with his mouth covered, stared at him urgently, silently asking: What are you doing?
Yang Jingyuan made a shushing sound and released him.
Sang Shisi craned his neck to look down and recognized Ji Yingying. His eyes lit up with excitement as he whispered: “She’s the one who kicked Seventh Young Master Zhou into the river at Huanhua Creek on the fifteenth of the eighth month and called people to beat us up. Third Brother, good eye! Tell me, how do you want to get revenge?”
Hiding on the second floor to watch Ji Yingying had been misinterpreted by Sang Shisi’s imagination into something else entirely. Yang Jingyuan’s ears grew slightly hot. Faced with Sang Shisi’s burning gaze, an idea came to him, and he hooked Sang Shisi’s neck to whisper in his ear: “She likes that piece of braised pork. How about we stew him?”
Sang Shisi nodded like a pecking chicken: “Good! Then young master here will play the hero and save the beauty! It’s decided!”
You’re going to play the hero? What about me? Yang Jingyuan felt as if his mouth was stuffed with bitter herbs, unable to voice his suffering.
“Earlier there were too many people, and that young lady wouldn’t pay attention to me—it wasn’t convenient to make a move.” Sang Shisi wore the look of a thief who wouldn’t leave empty-handed, twisting the knife in Yang Jingyuan’s heart: “As your brother, I’ll do it beautifully! This thorny rose will be mine!”
Yang Jingyuan: …