Soon, Madam Qin’s table finished dining. Quick-witted maids brought copper basins for hand washing, cleared away the leftovers, and set out fine tea and snacks. The noble ladies continued their animated conversations while the young ladies scattered – some viewing flowers, some feeding fish, others chattering in groups.

Xiang Lan had Mother Wu arrange for two old servants to set up a large rosewood table in the courtyard, laying out brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones and bringing over the poetry topics. Everyone gathered around to look. The topics were typical romantic themes about flowers and willows – precisely the sort that appealed to young ladies’ sensibilities. They all eagerly prepared to try their hand.

Lin Dongxiu, close with two concubines’ daughters from the Liu and Wen families, worried they would be left with difficult topics if they chose late and embarrassed themselves. The three huddled together, whispering, and hurriedly spread their paper to contemplate their chosen topics.

Lin Dongying, who had never enjoyed studying and particularly despised composing poetry, was reluctant to participate. However, glancing around, she saw all the young ladies pensively holding their brushes over the topics, while those not participating – either concubines’ daughters or legitimate daughters she looked down upon – sat chatting and sewing. Being proud and arrogant, Lin Dongying naturally disdained to associate with them. She privately reasoned that not composing a poem would truly lower her status, so she randomly selected one.

She wrote the topic on paper, beckoned her maid Yingluo, and pressed the paper into her hands, whispering, “Go, take this to Third Brother and have him quickly write something to send back.” Yingluo understood and hastily withdrew.

Meanwhile, Lin Dongqi affectionately linked arms with Zheng Jingxian, pointing to a topic and saying softly, “This ‘Late Spring’ is easy to write about. It’s straightforward – there are so many spring elements to describe. Just emphasize ‘late’ and you can write about anything, though avoiding clichés is the challenge.” She pointed to another, “This ‘Night Rain’ is more restrictive, but if you capture the mood well, it might be easier to make clever.”

Zheng Jingxian maintained a reserved, somewhat aloof expression. After reviewing all the topics from top to bottom, she snorted and told Lin Dongqi, “These topics are all common. The real skill lies in bringing a fresh perspective to mundane subjects.” She boldly marked “Late Spring.”

Lin Dongqi slightly furrowed her brow, concealing her displeasure, and simply chose “Night Rain” for herself and began writing.

Seeing Lin Dongqi rebuffed, Lin Dongxiu suppressed a smile and moved closer to Zheng Jingxian, saying, “Sister Xian is talented – even with commonplace topics, you’re sure to write something original.”

Zheng Jingxian glanced at Lin Dongxiu without saying a word.

Lin Dongxiu blushed deeply, fortunately saved by Song Tanchai, who intervened: “Sister Xiu, you already have two lines while I haven’t thought of even one.” Since Madam Qin had ended Lin Dongqi’s hopes regarding Song Ke, Lin Dongqi had grown distant from Song Tanchai, but Lin Dongxiu had become increasingly close to her, and they had developed a friendship.

This successfully diverted the conversation. The young ladies immersed themselves in composition, except for Lin Dongying, who leisurely alternated between watching her mother Wang feed fish, sampling pastries, and drinking heated fruit wine.

Meanwhile, Hua Mei kept urging Qing Lan to compose a poem. When Qing Lan refused, Hua Mei noticed Zhao Yuechan standing gracefully in the corridor and whispered in Qing Lan’s ear, “Sister, what are you afraid of? Even if it’s not good, could it be worse than that demoness? She barely recognizes a few characters – what good is all her scheming? You’ve already gained such face today, if you now compose a good poem, you’ll instantly outshine that woman. Once word spreads, not only will our Madam look at you differently, but you’ll have more prestige among the grand households.”

These words struck exactly the right chord with Qing Lan. Indeed, having studied some, she must be better than the barely literate Zhao Yuechan. Even an average poem would earn her considerable face.

Seeing Qing Lan’s expression change dramatically, Hua Mei immediately sighed softly, saying, “Sister, you’re truly blessed, different from us. I think of everything for you partly out of self-interest. I can tell you’re kind and generous. I only hope that when you achieve status and nobility in the future, you won’t forget to look after me. I don’t ask for much – just a room in our Zhichun Hall would be enough…” Tears appeared in her eyes, and she quickly lowered her head to dab them with her handkerchief.

Qing Lan became increasingly convinced of Hua Mei’s sincerity and hastily grabbed her hands, saying, “Sister, what are you saying? You’re the senior here – I’m the newcomer who needs your guidance. We all serve the Master together, eating and sleeping in the same place, hardly different from real sisters. Saying anything else would be treating me as an outsider.”

Hua Mei nodded repeatedly and continued speaking eloquently, using every persuasive tactic. Qing Lan, thoroughly convinced, felt increasingly compelled to make a showing and went to compose poetry.

Seeing Qing Lan select a topic, Zhao Yuechan gave a cold laugh, feeling somewhat bitter. She then heard Hua Mei loudly telling Ying Ge nearby, “…Concubine Lan comes from an educated family, unlike us. If I had such learning, I might also choose a topic and write something to gain some face.”

Ying Ge sneered, “Yes, they’re different – most different is her precious belly, worth a hundred times more.”

Their back-and-forth irritated Zhao Yuechan, who pointed at them saying, “What are you two whispering and gossiping about?”

They immediately fell silent.

Zhao Yuechan turned back, watching Qing Lan’s delighted face, and muttered through gritted teeth, “You worthless woman, go ahead and write – I’ll deal with you after you’ve had enough.”

Hua Mei, having stirred up trouble on both sides, saw Zhao Yuechan’s anger and cold stare at Qing Lan, and felt satisfied with her scheme.

Ying Ge sensed something amiss, thinking, “That demoness devours people whole, and Hua Mei is no innocent either. I better not get caught between them as their pawn. Best to leave this troublesome place.” She rubbed her temples and said, “Oh, my head aches again. Perhaps I had too much wine and caught a draft. My heart’s racing – I need to lie down for a while.”

Zhao Yuechan waved her away, and Ying Ge left, leaning weakly on Ding Xiang.

Qing Lan had chosen a topic and spread out her paper to write. However, her thoughts were blocked, and having not read or written for long, her mind was blank. As the incense stick on the table was nearly burned out and she still had nothing, seeing everyone else finished, she panicked and quietly sought out Mother Wu.

Mother Wu, finally relaxing after much busy work, had set up a separate table in the corridor with some prominent old servants, selected some good dishes, and heated wine. They were enjoying their meal when Qing Lan approached. Mother Wu quickly stood, scolding, “How could the Honored Concubine come alone without support? Where are Yin Die and Xiao Juan? I’ll beat those little wretches.”

Qing Lan lowered her voice, “Never mind that, Mother. Please help quickly – ask if anyone can compose a poem.”

Mother Wu was annoyed at having her meal interrupted for this, thinking, “This old woman has been busy all day without a word of thanks, and now she won’t even let me eat a hot meal in peace over this trivial poetry matter.” Her face darkened: “Didn’t the Honored Concubine say she wouldn’t compose today?”

Qing Lan urged anxiously, “I’ve changed my mind – please help me figure something out!”

Despite her complaints, Mother Wu couldn’t bear to see Qing Lan lose face. She said, “Let me find someone who can write.” After some thought, remembering Xiang Lan was literate and might be able to compose poetry, she went to the tea room with a troubled expression to find her, saying, “The Honored Concubine has taken on another task – she needs a poem composed. Take a look.” She handed over the paper.

Xiang Lan opened it to see two characters – “Lingering Fragrance.”