At that moment, Ma Yitong was also watching Yan Qing intently. She never would have imagined that the illegitimate daughter who had attended a poetry gathering at the Liu Mansion would become the seventh young mistress of the Shi Family — a status and standing that Ma Yitong could no longer dream of matching.

Yet Ma Yitong felt it was deeply unfair. She believed Yan Qing was utterly without talent, that she had merely gotten lucky by composing one poem that happened to circulate — as for real literary ability, Yan Qing didn’t even measure up to a tenth of her own.

And now, Yan Qing had the audacity to sit as an equal alongside Jiang Zeluo. During their exchanges, Jiang Zeluo seemed to have taken a particular liking to her; the two chatted from time to time, and throughout, Jiang Zeluo wore a warm smile.

Ma Yitong’s eyes narrowed slightly, her fist clenching involuntarily. She couldn’t help but recall again that person’s instructions.

At precisely seven o’clock, the poetry competition officially began. Male and female contestants were divided into two groups — one for men, one for women.

The men’s competition was intensely fought. After a fiercely contested series of exchanges, the top three finalists were decided.

Yan Qing followed along with Jiang Zeluo’s voting and didn’t make any missteps, which quietly put her mind at ease. She had taught university courses and guided students in various places, yet sitting here she felt strangely hollow and uncertain — pretending to be an expert truly wasn’t an easy thing.

The judging panel passed the selected best works to the Marshal, who reviewed them one by one and offered his commentary and approval. The Marshal’s praise greatly encouraged all the competitors; those who had placed in the top three positively glowed with pride.

After the men’s competition concluded, it was the women’s turn.

Shi Ting, seated at the Marshal’s other side, let his gaze drift through the air to meet Yan Qing’s softly — and gave her an imperceptible nod.

“The competition continues,” the host announced with excitement. “We will now ask the women’s group to begin their competition.”

The words had barely faded when Ma Yitong suddenly rose to her feet.

Every eye in the hall immediately turned to her; those who didn’t know better might have thought she was the first to take the stage.

Ma Yitong simply smiled, her gaze directed toward where Yan Qing sat. “Among today’s judges is someone we all know very well,” she said. “Her two poems have swept through all of Bei Di. Since she is here with us today, why not ask her to compose a poem for us first? With her brilliant work leading the way, those of us competing will surely feel even more inspired.”

She smiled lightly. “Don’t you think so, Miss Yan?”

The moment Yan Qing saw Ma Yitong rise so abruptly, she knew nothing good was coming — and sure enough, the woman had come straight for her.

In truth, there was no real grudge between herself and Ma Yitong. It was only that she had stolen her thunder once at Shi Xin’s poetry gathering, and since this Miss Ma was on close terms with Yan Qin, she had taken a disliking to Yan Qing ever since.

No matter. No matter. She had come to this poetry gathering prepared. A provocation like Ma Yitong’s — why should she even dignify it with a second glance?

Seeing that Yan Qing hadn’t moved, Jiang Zeluo turned a displeased look on Ma Yitong. “Miss, Miss Yan is a judge — asking her to compose a poem right now seems rather inappropriate, doesn’t it? Moreover, everyone else came having prepared in advance, whereas Miss Yan received the invitation at short notice. Writing poetry requires time and inspiration; isn’t what you’re asking a bit too much to demand of someone?”

Ma Yitong hadn’t expected Jiang Zeluo to speak to her like that — and what stung most was that he had called her “Miss,” as if he didn’t even know her name. She had always assumed that her reputation as Shun Cheng’s foremost talented young woman would have at least caught his attention, but now it was plain that he didn’t know her at all.

A hot flush of humiliation blazed across Ma Yitong’s face, but it also fanned the flames of her resentment. “Is Master Jiang so protective of Miss Yan?” she said. “The Marshal and Director Shi are both present, after all.”

The Marshal, mentioned without warning, glanced in mild bewilderment at Shi Ting.

Shi Ting murmured quietly, “It’s fine. Yan Qing can handle it.”

The Marshal nodded. He had a great deal of confidence in his daughter-in-law.

Jiang Zeluo hadn’t expected Ma Yitong to say such a thing in front of so many people, and his brow furrowed immediately.

“Miss Ma is joking.” Yan Qing gestured for Jiang Zeluo to calm himself. “Since Miss Ma has made this request, then I have no choice but to embarrass myself — think of it as my casting a brick to attract jade. I hope everyone will give a fine performance.”

“In that case, please do compose a poem for us, Miss Yan. I’m sure everyone present is eager to see a new work from you.” Ma Yitong let a thin, cold smile cross her lips.

Yan Qing rose from the judges’ seats and walked with graceful, unhurried steps toward the composing platform in the center of the room.

Zhang Dun, who had been watching intently from nearby, saw Yan Qing take her place alone beneath the central pavilion canopy, the entire structure occupied by her alone. He knew the moment had come.

Zhang Dun cast a meaningful glance at one of his subordinates a short distance away. The subordinate understood immediately and slipped soundlessly into the crowd.

Yan Qing settled into the chair without hurry, picked up the brush lying to the side.

She didn’t know many Republican-era poems by heart, but fortunately one rather famous poem had later been adapted into a song, and that song she remembered very clearly.

She swept her gaze across the various orchids arranged all around, and her red lips curved upward in a slight smile. Her eyes seemed to gather the radiance of sun and moon within them; her composure and confidence made even the surrounding flowers and plants seem less vivid by comparison.

Shi Ting watched his little wife with a gentle smile, his eyes full of doting pride. He knew she never went into battle unprepared.

Midway through her writing, Yan Qing suddenly lifted her head and glanced over at him — and he returned it with a warm smile. That smile, framed by the orchids all around, bloomed like fragrant flowers in her heart.

Not only the people in the hall were watching Yan Qing — Zhang Dun, standing nearby, was watching her too. But as time wore on, the smile on his face gradually stiffened, forcing him to raise his wrist repeatedly to check his watch.

Impossible. Why was everything still perfectly calm where Yan Qing sat? How could she still be writing her poem so serenely?

Following Meng Xiangyang’s instructions, he had tampered with the pavilion canopy. Since the roof lacked enough wooden supports, all it would take was pulling out a single beam from behind to bring the entire roof crashing down — and anyone standing beneath it at the time would be crushed flat.

Yet the canopy still stood unharmed. Had something gone wrong with the person he had arranged?

But at that moment, Zhang Dun couldn’t simply leave, because he had noticed that Liu Yin, captain of the Marshal’s bodyguard, was standing right beside him. The slightest movement on his part would draw Liu Yin’s attention.

What to do? What to do?

While Zhang Dun was feverishly anxious, Yan Qing had already completed the poem in her hands.

She gently blew on the fresh ink and handed it to the host beside her. The host took it and first presented it to the Marshal.

Yan Qing’s clear, mellow voice began to speak: “As it happens, this place is filled with orchids today, so I’ve composed a poem with orchids as my theme. It was written hastily — please forgive its shortcomings.”

After reading it, the Marshal nodded repeatedly.

“A poem about orchids — fitting both the occasion and the setting. The verses are simple and easy to understand, yet rich in feeling.” The Marshal’s commentary aroused great curiosity among everyone present.

Only after the poem had been passed around among all the guests did the host take back Yan Qing’s manuscript and begin to read aloud:

I came down from the mountains, Bringing orchid seedlings along, Planted in the little garden, Hoping they’d bloom bright and strong.  Thrice a day I’d come to watch, Watching till the season passed; Wearing out the eager watcher — Not a single bud at last.  Seeing autumn come at last, I moved the plant indoors to stay; When the spring wind comes next year, May your blooms fill every tray!

Everyone who heard it was genuinely surprised. By rights, Yan Qing had had no time to prepare — this was entirely an improvisation on the spot. And yet, not only had she managed to compose a poem on the theme of orchids, she had produced something so plain and accessible, while still being utterly charming. Her reputation as a talented young woman was truly well deserved.

“This poem has no elaborate ornamentation piled on, yet that is precisely its strength — it is unpretentious and sincere. And it is a completely different style from the two poems Miss Yan composed previously; her poetry can adapt to so many different forms.” Jiang Zeluo was unstinting in his praise.

With Jiang, the great literary talent, having praised it, compliments from everyone else came flooding in as well.

Seated in the front row, Ma Yitong had gone completely pale. She hadn’t expected Yan Qing to produce a poem in such a short space of time — and at such quality, with nothing lacking.

Faced with the crowd’s praise, Yan Qing smiled mildly and said, “I have a suggestion. Since we are composing poetry on the spot, we ought to make it fair and equal for everyone — why not have everyone here improvise on the theme of orchids starting now?”

The Marshal listened and nodded with evident approval. “Yan Qing’s suggestion is excellent. From this point forward, let everyone take orchids as their theme and give free rein to their talents.”

Since even the Marshal had agreed, the host immediately produced a numbered draw box.

There were twenty contestants in total. Ma Yitong drew number ten — a middling number: not so early as to be at a disadvantage, nor so late as to be dragged to the very end.

The descriptive vocabulary for orchids was, after all, limited; the earlier you drew, the more material you had to work with. But going too early without producing something memorable made it easy to be forgotten. Number ten was the ideal position.

Just then, the girl who had drawn number twenty suddenly burst into quiet weeping, because no one wanted to be last.

Those around her offered soft words of comfort.

“Miss Ma,” Yan Qing said with a smile, turning to her. “I have long heard that Miss Ma holds the title of Shun Cheng’s foremost talented young woman — not only gifted and beautiful, but also magnanimous and modest in character. A young lady like yourself coming to a poetry gathering like this must surely be confident of victory and merely going through the motions; no matter what number you draw, you’ll make a strong impression. Since that is the case, why not exchange numbers with this young lady? I can see she is quite distressed.”

The moment she said this, the girl actually began crying even harder — and those present had never encountered a situation quite like it, leaving everyone to look on in awkward silence.

Ma Yitong hadn’t expected Yan Qing to make such a demand. She was about to refuse when Jiang Zeluo also chimed in: “Since Miss Ma has the name of a talented young woman, she certainly won’t mind going last, will she?”

With everyone’s eyes upon her, even though every fiber of Ma Yitong’s being refused, for the sake of upholding her reputation for magnanimity and her title as a talented young woman, she couldn’t say no.