Hangzhou and Nanjing both belonged to the Jiangnan region and the Wu dialect family, but their accents and cuisine differed.

Nanjing people were obsessed with duck—a single duck under a Nanjing person’s knife had at least a thousand ways to die. Hangzhou people preferred the fresh flavors of fish and crab, arranging these river delicacies on cutting boards with perfect precision.

Both Mu Chun and Hu Shanwei loved the dish called “crab roe pouches”—crab roe and paste extracted and mixed with pork fat, wrapped in tofu skin and steamed.

Hu Shanwei could eat four.

Mu Chun ate ten and still wanted more, as if focusing intensely on eating could erase the memory of his “tall and big” recitation at Leifeng Pagoda.

When eating crab and river delicacies, nothing was better than light, sweet, refreshing chrysanthemum rice wine to cut the richness and remove the fishy smell. It was also suitable for someone like Hu Shanwei who wasn’t good with alcohol—a perfect match.

They would return to Nanjing early the next morning. Mu Chun was reluctant to leave, “If only I could live in Hangzhou forever and never go back.”

This was also one of the few happy periods in Hu Shanwei’s first twenty years. She said, “I like it here too, but I made a military pledge to Fan Gongzheng with a ten-day deadline—I must return to the capital to report. Why don’t you stay in Hangzhou? When the storm passes in Nanjing and your father’s anger subsides, you can return then.”

Mu Chun shook his head repeatedly, “No, if Sister Shanwei leaves, being alone in Hangzhou would be boring. Besides, we’ve already visited all the places worth seeing these past few days. I’ll return to the capital with you.”

Hu Shanwei asked, “Aren’t you afraid both the Mu and Feng families will give you grief? I heard from Ji Gang that your uncle Feng Cheng beat your father at the celebration banquet.”

Mu Chun clapped, “Well done! Brilliantly done!”

Hu Shanwei asked, “Aren’t you afraid your father will take his anger out on you?”

Mu Chun said, “It doesn’t matter. As soon as I return to the capital, I’ll pay respects to Empress Mother. As long as Her Majesty speaks up, my father won’t dare hit me.”

Mu Chun was very clear that in his current situation where his father didn’t love him and his uncle didn’t care for him, only the Emperor and Empress were his support.

Seeing that mentioning the tangled family affairs brought a shadow of gloom to Mu Chun’s eyes, Hu Shanwei felt sorry and deliberately changed the subject, pointing to the steamed crab and chrysanthemum wine, “Thank you for treating me to this meal today. How about I write a poem about crab and chrysanthemum wine as a gift for you?”

Mu Chun clapped again, “Wonderful, wonderful!”

Hu Shanwei thought for a moment. Judging from his “tall and big” and “round and bright” performance, Mu Chun was completely unlettered. She couldn’t write anything too complex—it had to be simple and easy to understand, with every character he could recognize. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to read it at all.

The shop assistant brought ink and brush and was about to lay out paper when Mu Chun took out his own decorative folding fan, “Sister Shanwei, please write on this.”

This was an expensive Sichuan gold fan. Mu Chun had seen wealthy young gentlemen in Hangzhou carrying them and bought one for himself—of course, with money borrowed from Ji Gang.

Hu Shanwei took up the brush and wrote: “The gutless gentleman should be charming, donning armor and wielding halberds like jade flutes at the pass. Conquering eight thousand li beyond the frontier, seeing cooking smoke, he removes his armor to visit chrysanthemums.”

Crabs have no intestines, so they’re also called “gutless gentlemen.” With hard shells and claws, Hu Shanwei compared them to armor and halberds, meaning: “Impressive indeed, my gutless gentleman, wearing armor, wielding halberds, conquering eight thousand li, listening to flute music at Jade Gate Pass, achieving success and retiring, seeing cooking smoke, removing armor, planting an acre of chrysanthemums, and retreating to the mountains.”

This poem was simple, and Mu Chun understood it immediately, exclaiming, “Good poem! Good poem!”

Seeing how a simple doggerel made Mu Chun as happy as a child and forget his troubles, Hu Shanwei couldn’t help but smile, “It’s written ordinarily. You can read it yourself, but don’t show it to others.”

Mu Chun nodded repeatedly, agreeing wholeheartedly, “I’ll treasure everything Sister Shanwei gives me. I certainly won’t show it to unrelated people.”

However…

That night, Mu Chun lay in his inn bed, holding the inscribed Sichuan gold fan, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. It wasn’t until midnight, when the bell from Leifeng Pagoda sounded, that Mu Chun could bear it no longer. He took the fan to Ji Gang’s room next door.

Ji Gang was from the Jinyiwei and kept a knife under his pillow. Sensing someone approaching in his sleep, without even opening his eyes, he drew his blade and slashed while rolling over.

“It’s me.” Mu Chun retreated repeatedly.

“Young Master Mu?” Ji Gang still gripped his knife warily, “What are you sneaking around my bedroom for in the middle of the night?”

Could it be that he’s taken a fancy to my fair skin, beauty, and long legs and wants to molest me?

Mu Chun’s General of Mobile Troops rank had been temporarily bestowed during the Jiangxi bandit suppression and would automatically disappear upon his victorious return to the capital. Now he was just a low-ranking Jinyiwei member, so Ji Gang called him Young Master Mu.

With a snap, Mu Chun opened the Sichuan gold fan, “Look, Sister Shanwei’s crab and chrysanthemum poem for me. Isn’t it written particularly well?”

The fan’s title read “Twentieth Day of Seventh Month, Eating Crab and Drinking Chrysanthemum Wine with Jingchun at a Hangzhou Wine House.”

Jingchun was Mu Chun’s courtesy name.

The content was “The gutless gentleman should be charming, donning armor and wielding halberds like jade flutes at the pass. Conquering eight thousand li beyond the frontier, seeing cooking smoke, he removes his armor to visit chrysanthemums.”

The signature read “Hu Shanwei.”

Ji Gang lit a candle and read it once. As a martial man, he was even less cultured than Mu Chun, “The gutless gentleman should be charming? Isn’t ‘charming’ used to describe women? How can it describe men? Conquering eight thousand li beyond the frontier? Is it eight thousand li from Nanjing to Jade Gate Pass? Are you sure? Seems like more than that, right?”

“Also, why visit chrysanthemums after fighting? Won’t peach blossoms work? If I went to fight at Jade Gate Pass and survived against all odds, returning to Nanjing, I wouldn’t want to visit any flowers—I’d want to go to the flower houses on Qinhuai River, drink the strongest wine, and sleep with the most beautiful courtesan. This poem is complete nonsense!”

Mu Chun: “You…”

Mu Chun now deeply understood what Sister Shanwei must have felt today at Leifeng Pagoda when he recited “Look at this pagoda, it’s both tall and big. Look at this sun, it’s both round and bright.”

Just like how he felt now hearing Ji Gang interpret Sister Shanwei’s poem—embarrassed, uncomfortable, and slightly wanting to beat him up.

While Hu Shanwei had only thought about it, Mu Chun actually acted. He kicked the knife from Ji Gang’s hand, then pounced on him on the bed and gave him a thorough beating.

“How dare you say Sister Shanwei’s poem is nonsense?” Mu Chun threw the brush at Ji Gang, “Come on, here’s a brush for you—you write something!”

In the quiet of the night, Hu Shanwei was awakened. She put on clothes and pushed open a crack in the window to look out, just in time to see Mu Chun emerge from Ji Gang’s room wearing torn nightclothes, dragging his shoes, and cursing.

Ji Gang, covering his injured chest, opened the door and threw a brush like a hidden weapon, hitting Mu Chun squarely on the back of the head, “I may be no good, but you’re not much better than this brush!”

Hu Shanwei: “…”

The next morning, five hundred and fifty new books were packed into boxes, loaded onto the official boat, covered with waterproof oiled cloth, and set sail.

Mu Chun and Ji Gang looked at each other with mutual disgust. Their comradeship forged in battle at Guaishi Ridge was shattered, and they didn’t speak throughout the journey.

Mu Chun locked himself in the cabin, not knowing what he was doing. When Jinyiwei subordinates brought him meals, they heard muttering inside, as if he was talking to himself.

The subordinate knocked on the door, Mu Chun let him in to set down the food, then left. Mu Chun closed the door to eat, put the empty bowls and dishes in the food box, carried it to the door, and continued his closed-door muttering endlessly.

The official boat traveled day and night. After sailing for a day and two nights, it finally arrived at Nanjing’s Longjiang Station at dawn.

The Qinhuai River flowed into the Yangtze River here, flowing endlessly.

The official boat turned from the Yangtze into the Qinhuai River, sailing from the west water gate at Sanshan Gate into Nanjing’s inner city. Just as they were about to reach Taoye Ferry, Mu Chun, who had been cooped up in the cabin for a day and two nights, finally “emerged from seclusion.”

He carried a book that was nearly falling apart from use and found Hu Shanwei on deck.

“I’ve memorized it all. Pick any poem at random to test me.” Mu Chun handed Hu Shanwei a poetry collection by Master Dao Yan called “Solitary Hermitage Collection.”

Hu Shanwei was very surprised, “So you locked yourself in the cabin to memorize books?”

Mu Chun nodded, “Sister Shanwei likes Master Dao Yan’s poetry and can recite the ‘Solitary Hermitage Collection’ backwards and forwards. I only know one ‘Green Island Song,’ so we couldn’t really chat about it. I can’t compose poetry, but rote memorization is still manageable. If you don’t believe me, Sister Shanwei, test me.”

Hu Shanwei held the poetry collection. She revered Master Dao Yan and knew this book inside and out. She casually asked, “Which literary giant of the Great Ming wrote the preface recommending this ‘Solitary Hermitage Collection’?”

Mu Chun: “…”

Prefaces were the most important element in literary publishing at that time. Getting a contemporary literary giant to write a recommendatory preface would raise the book’s value, ensure good sales, maintain a good reputation, and achieve wide circulation.

The preface occupied the most prominent position on the first page of the poetry collection—it was the book’s face. Hu Shanwei thought this question was the simplest.

But Mu Chun had only focused on memorizing poems without noticing the densely packed preface on the first page. How would he know who wrote the preface?

Hu Shanwei returned the “Solitary Hermitage Collection” to Mu Chun, who stood dazed like a wooden post, “If you don’t genuinely like it, don’t force yourself. You and I are already close friends—why force yourself to cater to me? It has no meaning. You are you, unique and irreplaceable. Whether you can recite the ‘Solitary Hermitage Collection’ doesn’t matter at all.”

Hu Shanwei pointed to Ji Gang at the other end of the deck directing the official boat’s docking, “Would I appreciate him just because he can recite the ‘Solitary Hermitage Collection’? Friendship between gentlemen is as light as water—friends don’t need to cater to each other or curry favor.”

Ji Gang: What does this have to do with me?

The official boat docked. Hu Shanwei personally watched boxes of books being loaded into horse carts and securely tied before boarding the carriage back to the palace.

Mu Chun rode horseback, escorting Hu Shanwei and the books. On horseback, he opened the “Solitary Hermitage Collection.” The preface signature clearly read Gao Qi, a literary giant of the Great Ming, known with Yang Ji, Zhang Yu, and Xu Ben as the “Four Outstanding Talents of Wu,” and ranked alongside Liu Ji and Song Lian as one of the three great masters of early Ming.

Mu Chun thought to himself: Gao Qi, I’ll remember you forever. Even if I forget my own father’s name in this lifetime, I won’t forget you. Even as a ghost, I won’t forget you…

Hu Shanwei returned to the palace, stored the new books in the harem’s Category C warehouse, took three sample books, and went to the Palace Administration Office to report to Fan Gongzheng.

Fan Gongzheng touched the gilded cover and casually flipped through it. The butterfly-bound book fluttered like butterfly wings, releasing waves of ink fragrance.

Looking closely at the characters, each was black and shiny as lacquer with rich, deep ink color. The white cotton paper was delicate and soft. Fan Gongzheng came from a scholarly family—she was the granddaughter of Fan Peng, one of the four great Yuan Dynasty poets. She could be said to have read countless books, but this was the first time she’d seen such beautiful books.

They had indeed found the right person! Fan Gongzheng was known for her serious and dignified demeanor, but now she couldn’t help showing her joy, “I’ll immediately report to Her Majesty the Empress that the books are printed. Her Majesty is also a book lover—she’ll definitely be pleased.”

Fan Gongzheng carried the new book to the door, turned around, and beckoned to Hu Shanwei, “Why are you still standing there dazed? Come with me to Kunning Palace.”

“I…” Hu Shanwei couldn’t believe it, “This subordinate is travel-worn and dusty. Going to see Her Majesty the Empress like this might cause improper behavior before the throne and embarrass Fan Gongzheng.”

Fan Gongzheng smiled, “It’s good to let Her Majesty the Empress see your hard work. Come on.”

Hu Shanwei closely followed Fan Gongzheng. Outside, the sun blazed fiercely, and several palace maids held umbrellas to shade the two female officials.

At Kunning Palace, Hu Shanwei and Fan Gongzheng waited outside for summons. Soon, Liu Siyan came out to announce that the two female officials should have an audience.

In the sweltering heat, Empress Ma was sewing military cotton clothes in her embroidery room, which had a jar of ice blocks making it quite cool.

Both bowed. Hu Shanwei lowered her head and held three books above her head. Fan Gongzheng took one book and presented it to Empress Ma.

Seeing the gilded cover, Empress Ma stopped her needlework to examine the book. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyebrows raised slightly, apparently satisfied.

Empress Ma slowly turned the pages, confirming the content was correct before closing the book, “Hangzhou truly deserves its reputation as a place of books. This book is very well made and should be heavily rewarded. Hu Shanwei, what do you want?”

Hu Shanwei hadn’t expected Empress Ma to spontaneously speak her name and was momentarily overwhelmed, not knowing what to say.

Fan Gongzheng secretly pinched her arm through her sleeve, “Her Majesty the Empress is asking you a question.”

Hu Shanwei suddenly snapped awake and said, “Previously, while assisting Fan Gongzheng in book compilation, this subject was promoted two levels to seventh-rank典正. Fan Gongzheng entrusted this subject with printing, distributing, and explaining the books. This subject has only completed the printing step—still far from completing the task. If this subject were to seek more rewards, I would be ashamed to accept them.”

Empress Ma found this interesting and said, “Come here, you are granted a seat. I’ve only heard your name before but never seen you. This time I want to take a good look at you.”

Liu Siyan brought an embroidered stool and placed it beside Empress Ma’s arhat bed.

“Thank you for the seat, Your Majesty the Empress.” Hu Shanwei took a deep breath, stepped over, and sat down steadily.