Murong and Jing Zhi were both taken aback upon hearing this. Jing Zhi’s face immediately flushed red.

Yan Qing said: “You two are not young anymore — if you don’t marry soon you’ll be old spinsters.”

Murong hastily replied: “As long as Miss doesn’t mind, Murong will never leave Miss’s side. Murong is willing to serve Miss for the rest of her life.”

“Same for me.” Jing Zhi’s eyes reddened. “Miss, please don’t drive us away.”

“Who said anything about driving you away?” Yan Qing shook her head with a smile. “Even after you’re married, you can still stay at my side. There’s no rule that says married women must lose their livelihoods.”

She patted Jing Zhi’s hand. “Jing Zhi, Jin Shan has always been very fond of you, and I can see you’re not averse to him. Jin Shan may only be a junior aide right now, but Shi Ting won’t stop there. When he accomplishes great things, Jin Shan will certainly be one of his most capable hands — his prospects are limitless. If you followed him, I would also feel at ease.”

Jing Zhi’s face reddened further, and she twisted her hands shyly: “Miss, you’re teasing me again.”

Yan Qing saw that she showed not the slightest reluctance, and knew that Jing Zhi also harbored feelings for Jin Shan, even if she always put on an air of indifference.

“As for Murong — you and Di Huai are old acquaintances to begin with, and these past days when you’ve gone out on errands, it’s always been the two of you together. I don’t know how you feel about Di Huai, but I asked him privately, and he said that as long as you are willing, he will take you as his wife and devote himself to you and you alone.”

Murong, however composed her nature, when it came to discussing her own marriage, could not help blushing — just not as dramatically as Jing Zhi.

“Di Huai is like my right-hand man — capable, shrewd and steady, and a man of integrity who never involves himself in improper relationships. If you feel you can get along with him, why not give it a try?” Yan Qing smiled at her two maids. Though they were her maids by station, to her they were as close as family. “My reason for choosing these two men, first, is that their character and ability are both of the highest order. And second, they are my and Shi Ting’s people. As long as we are here, we can watch over them and keep them in line — if they treat you badly even in the slightest, I will be the first to show them no mercy.”

Jing Zhi and Murong both understood perfectly what Yan Qing had in mind — every thought she had was for their sake.

Their hearts warmed, and they rose from their seats, moving as if to kneel.

“You two again.” Yan Qing was somewhat vexed. “How many times have I said it — in front of others, we are mistress and maids, but when there are no outsiders, we are family. If you go on dropping to your knees at the slightest thing, I’ll kneel in front of you too.”

Jing Zhi and Murong exchanged smiles. “Miss, we won’t kneel.”

“This is merely my suggestion. No matter how fine these two men are, if either of you has even the smallest dislike or reluctance, pretend I never said anything.”

Murong quickly said: “Miss, I’m willing.”

She had never thought about her own marriage before. But watching Yan Qing and Shi Ting in their constant harmony, she would sometimes imagine what her own future husband might look like. If that person were Di Huai, she could accept it. Though right now her feelings for him were nothing more than friendship.

Miss’s arrangements gave thought to her in every way, and Di Huai was a rare talent. To marry him would be no bad deal.

Jing Zhi’s face flushed red, and her voice came out somewhat small. “Miss, I — I’m also willing.”

Seeing not the slightest hint of reluctance on either of their faces, Yan Qing felt reassured. “I’ll prepare a generous dowry for both of you, and have two courtyards arranged. Whether you marry or whatever happens in the future, as long as you are willing, this will always be your home.”

Jing Zhi and Murong’s eyes grew hot, and they could not help crying.

What virtue did they have, that they could have encountered such a wonderful young mistress? Surely it was blessing stored up from a previous life.

“Miss, which dress would you like to wear tonight? I’ve picked out a few — please choose.” Wiping her tears, Jing Zhi remembered there was something important to attend to.

Tonight was the Double Evening Festival, and there would be a Night Wanderers’ gathering in the evening. The main event of the Night Wanderers’ gathering was the annual poetry recital, which brought together all of Shun Cheng’s men of letters and could be considered a great literary banquet.

At the poetry recital, the top three poems would be chosen that night. The poet who claimed first place might well become famous overnight, their reputation soaring. So many literary figures had been working themselves up at home, determined to fight for a good ranking tonight.

Yan Qing had become a judge for that evening owing to two poems widely circulated under her name — “Re-Leaving Cambridge” and “April in the World of Men.” She also held the title of the Seventh Young Madam of the Shi family.

Yan Qing herself knew nothing about poetry and verse, and making her a judge was truly doing a disservice to all those great literary talents. But in the eyes of outsiders, Yan Qing was a poet of brilliant gifts, with two poems none could surpass.

By evening, flowers of every variety were lit up along the Liao He riverbanks, and single men and women streamed out of their homes — along with many ordinary townspeople who had simply come to enjoy the spectacle.

When Yan Qing arrived at the poetry recital venue, many people had already come ahead of her.

It was a temporary structure, but lavish — at the innermost end of the canopy was a performance stage. The stone floor of the stage was engraved by hand with mountain and water designs, and lines of poetry seemed to float faintly among them. Every variety of orchid in full bloom was arranged around the stage; orchids, revered as the nobleman of flowers, perfectly complemented these assembled literary figures.

At the center of the performance stage stood a rectangular writing desk, its surface laid with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Participating poets would come forward one by one to write their verses here, then present them to the judges for commentary.

Directly across from the judges’ platform was the distinguished guests’ area, furnished with five splendid seats.

When Yan Qing appeared, those already present stopped what they were doing and looked over with curiosity.

She was dressed in a pale blue, elegant qipao, with two small shells dangling from her ears as earrings. Her hair was swept up high and fastened with a jade hairpin, revealing a long, snowy white swan-neck.

She was inherently beautiful, and now with a refined application of makeup, her brows arched like emerald feathers, her eyes deep and clear as autumn waters, and the corner of her lips curved upward just enough — not so much as to seem cold, nor so much as to seem overly warm.

“Miss Yan has arrived!”

“Miss Yan is so beautiful — heavens, this is the first time I’ve seen her, and she truly is everything the rumors said.”

“Her bearing is wonderful too — she exudes an air of scholarly refinement.”

“I’ve had Miss Yan’s poems memorized front to back.”

Yan Qing hadn’t expected to see Jiang Zeluo here. She had previously been told that Jiang Zeluo was ill and would be unable to attend the poetry recital.

“Yan Qing, come sit over here.” Jiang Zeluo waved warmly at her.

Yan Qing walked over calmly and sat in the seat beside him. “Is your health better?”

“Much better. The thought of missing the most important literary gathering of the year when it only comes once a year left me unsettled.” Jiang Zeluo smiled. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Poetry and verse are beyond me, but I’m good at joining in for the fun.”

Jiang Zeluo knew that Yan Qing was not really the type who enjoyed joining in, and so he smiled: “Your being here is an honor to us all. After all, your status is different now.”

“In front of true literary talents like yourself, how could I presume to mention my status?”

Jiang Zeluo laughed heartily: “Yan Qing, you are far too modest.”

Yan Qing thought to herself — what modesty? She was genuinely hopeless at poetry. But since Jiang Zeluo was here, she decided to attach herself to his coattails: whatever he said was good, she would say was good; whatever he shook his head at, she would mark with a cross.

At this moment, Yan Qing noticed a short, stout middle-aged man standing outside, talking. Going by Di Huai’s description, this man should be Zhang Dun, the person in charge of the event — and Zhang Dun lived up to his name, being remarkably solid in build.

As she looked, Zhang Dun’s gaze also drifted toward Yan Qing, and when he saw her chatting casually with Jiang Zeluo without a care, the corner of his mouth curved into a cold smile.

This woman probably didn’t yet know that today was the end of her.

With that thought, he gave a small nod in the direction of the crowd not far away.

As night fell, flower lanterns of every kind were lit around the canopy, and their light flooded the venue in a brilliant glow.

Yan Qing greeted the three judges who arrived after her, and everyone took their seats in order.

On the distinguished guests’ platform across from them sat three people, all from the Department of Culture, including the Minister of Culture, Cui Changlin.

Two seats remained empty, presumably reserved for the Marshal.

The Marshal attended this gathering every year. Though he was a military man, he valued cultural development greatly, and each year at this time he would appear in person at the venue to encourage the men of letters.

Before the competition had begun, outside suddenly grew lively, and seeing the Department of Culture officials streaming out to receive someone, it was clear the Marshal had arrived.

Beside the Marshal stood Shi Ting, and behind him followed two more people.

The poets inside who were taking part in the competition also rose to their feet. Someone started the applause — no one knew who began it — and the clapping thundered like rolling waves, subsiding only gradually once the Marshal had taken his seat.

“It’s the Marshal — the Marshal has truly come.”

The Marshal greeted those present with an amiable expression and walked to the distinguished guests’ area and sat down. “There is no need for formality, everyone. I have simply come to witness the brilliance of your poets. As the saying goes: arms can bring peace to a nation, but culture makes it flourish. To have so many outstanding scholars here in our northern lands is a blessing for the north. All of you, perform at your very best. Perform at your very best.”

The fact that the Marshal had come in person to the poetry recital confirmed the recognition he afforded to men of letters. Every literary figure present was without exception filled with encouragement.

At seven o’clock precisely, the poetry recital officially began. The host announced the competition proceedings and introduced the guests and the panel of judges to all present.

The participating poets were both men and women, seated on the left and right sides respectively.

Among the women, Yan Qing spotted Ma Yitong — this talented woman, like Shi Yutong, had refused all proposals out of her unyielding devotion to Jiang Zeluo.

In truth, whether Ma Yitong or Shi Yutong, neither seemed a good match to Yan Qing. Shi Yutong went without saying — whether she could marry at all was still a question. As for Ma Yitong, her pride and cutting nature made her wholly unworthy of the brilliant Jiang Zeluo.