Arriving at the pavilion door, Cheng Yuan straightened his robes and looked left and right to ensure everything was in perfect order before gently knocking on the door.

There was a moment of silence inside. Cheng Yuan stood outside the door, bowing inward, and said unhurriedly: “It’s been many days since we’ve met. How are you, Madam?”

Finally came a response from inside: “Come in.”

Cheng Yuan smiled faintly, took a key from the silk pouch he carried, and unlocked the lock hanging on the door.

A woman with a graceful figure sat silently by the window, gazing at the white crescent moon on the horizon. Only when he approached did she turn her head slightly toward him. Her flawless face was as bright as moonlight, making him instantly feel the worldly dust he had accumulated during the day disappear, his mind becoming pure and clear, with a thread of tender feelings unconsciously spreading to his eyes.

He greeted her again, politely addressing her as “Lady Ju.” She turned her head back indifferently, looking into the distance: “I am Wu Qiuniang.”

Cheng Yuan smiled without saying more about this, glancing at the dishes still full of food on the table and asking Qiuniang: “These meals still don’t satisfy your taste?”

Qiuniang didn’t answer. Cheng Yuan continued gently: “The kitchen maid in the garden has excellent skills. Whatever you wish to eat, tell someone to inform her, and she’ll prepare it on time.”

Qiuniang couldn’t help but laugh coldly: “Who can I tell? The servants in this garden are either deaf or mute, and they’re illiterate too. Usually when I want some uncommon item, I have to gesture for ages. Asking them to convey my feelings would be harder than ascending to heaven.” She turned to face Cheng Yuan, her cold smile taking on a mocking tone: “Master Cheng can certainly rest assured.”

Cheng Yuan’s smile remained very gentle, his humble attitude impeccable: “Whatever you need, telling me now would be the same.”

“Then,” Qiuniang made a request, “don’t lock the pavilion door. Let me walk around the garden daily, and let me prepare my three meals myself.”

Cheng Yuan said gently: “If I’m not here and you go downstairs to tour the garden, the crude servants might not serve you well and could cause incidents. Better to wait for a day when the weather is pleasant and I personally invite you downstairs to accompany you in flower viewing. Moreover, with your precious body, you should reside in jade towers and palatial buildings. Living in this small garden already wrongs you – how could I dare trouble you with kitchen work and have your jade fingers, which should be tuning instruments and plucking strings, stained with spring water?”

Cheng Yuan asked again about her dietary needs, but Qiuniang didn’t answer. Cheng Yuan walked to the window, surveyed the garden scenery, then bowed and asked Qiuniang: “You’ve always loved rare flowers and plants. Among those in the garden now, have any caught your eye?”

Qiuniang still didn’t respond and simply closed her eyes.

“Recently, I acquired a famous flower – the viburnum you once mentioned to the late emperor years ago.” He paused briefly, seeing Qiuniang had no intention of opening her eyes, then continued: “Viburnum finds it extremely difficult to survive after leaving Yangzhou. Fortunately, I’ve spent these years studying horticulture in my spare time and have achieved some success. I’m confident I can grow this viburnum well this time.” He pointed to a spot by the pond in the garden, asking Qiuniang to look: “I’ve already chosen the garden plot – right there.”

Qiuniang didn’t open her eyes as he wished. Only the slight curve at her lips, devoid of warmth, showed her disdain.

Cheng Yuan was helpless, sighed softly, and recited as if mocking himself: “You may despise me, but won’t you even come to admire the flowering orange trees before the house?”

This light remark made Qiuniang’s eyelashes tremble slightly. She opened her eyes, looking at Cheng Yuan with confusion and a trace of indescribable pain. After a moment, she raised her eyes toward the pond outside the building, letting that pool of autumn water, rippled by evening wind, draw her into an old dream.

She didn’t know who her parents were. Since becoming aware, she had lived in the Celestial Music Academy, adopted by various musicians and dancers. Because she was born in autumn when chrysanthemums bloomed everywhere, someone gave her the childhood name “Ju’an” (Chrysanthemum Peace). Her adoptive mothers changed too frequently – she wasn’t sure whose surname to take and refused to take any of theirs, so everyone only called her by name without adding a surname.

She encountered few kind adoptive mothers. Most treated her like a servant, beating and scolding her at the slightest disagreement. Only when occasionally teaching her song, dance, and music did they gradually discover her amazing talent in these areas.

Realizing this advantage, she practiced song and dance even more actively, dodging her adoptive mothers’ sticks while secretly studying the dance movements of the most beautiful dancers in the Celestial Music Department. She often snuck out after her adoptive mother fell asleep, dancing alone again and again in the silent moonlight.

Finally, one day when her adoptive mother raised a stick toward her again, she raised her hand to press down the wooden rod and glared at her adoptive mother: “I heard Director Yin is sick and can’t perform the Liangzhou dance before His Majesty tomorrow. The Celestial Music Director is very anxious. In the entire Celestial Music Academy, besides Director Yin, only I can perform the Liangzhou dance. If you injure me, I’m afraid it won’t be easy to explain to the Celestial Music Director and His Majesty.”

Her adoptive mother was stunned, and the hand holding the stick immediately went limp.

The next day, as Director Yin’s replacement, she was sent into the Son of Heaven’s hall by the Celestial Music Director in a desperate mood. She danced before the burning gazes of a hall full of guests. Celestial music swirled around, flying flowers filled her sleeves. At the height of her dance, she felt her sleeves floating, her body becoming light. In that instant, she seemed about to transform into a goddess from a wall painting and drift away with the wind.

“Come, come, hold her fast,” she heard His Majesty on the imperial seat laugh gently.

Male dancers came forward to catch her swirling silk scarves, and she gradually stopped dancing.

His Majesty asked her name kindly. She said her name was “Ju’an.” “What’s your surname?” he asked again.

She quietly raised her eyelids to meet his gaze: “No surname. Just call me Ju’an.”

He was startled, then found that faint smile again and instructed his attendants: “Bestow upon Ju Ji a golden brocade robe, a bushel of Eastern pearls, and six pieces of spiral shell slate.”

That year, she was only fifteen.

After that famous dance, His Majesty often summoned her to sing and dance before him, compose poetry and admire the moon, and often commanded her to attend him. When she said she wanted to read and practice calligraphy, he even personally instructed her. In others’ eyes, the favor she received was no less than His Majesty’s most beloved noble consorts. However, His Majesty never summoned her to his bedchamber or favored her sexually. She thus accompanied him year after year in pure innocence, dancing, until she was promoted to head of the Celestial Music Academy, the famous Director Ju. Though people respectfully called her “Lady Ju,” she still wasn’t included among the imperial consorts.

Even so, she inevitably felt hostility from the Empress. Her behavior was constrained in various ways – without imperial summons, she wasn’t permitted to approach Funing Hall or seek audience with His Majesty.

Fine, if I can’t go, I won’t go. He’ll come find me anyway. Ju’an faced the warm spring sunshine, lazily lowering her eyelashes gilded with melting gold.

Perhaps considering the Empress’s dignity, His Majesty didn’t come find her for a long time. She waited and waited, gradually growing resentful. When His Majesty finally sent Cheng Yuan to summon her, she said she was weak and tired, her appearance poor, unfit to serve before the imperial presence, and refused the command.

After three such refusals, Ju’an still wouldn’t respond to His Majesty’s summons. Cheng Yuan was very worried she would anger His Majesty and racked his brains for gentle excuses to explain for her. But His Majesty didn’t mind, telling Cheng Yuan: “Ju Ji is different from others. Even with a cold face toward heaven, she’s still pitiable. Why must she daily present a joyful countenance with the crowd?”

After speaking, he raised his eyes toward the curtain, seeing flowers blooming like brocade in the courtyard with beautiful scenery. He smiled and had Cheng Yuan bring brush and ink. On a piece of azure cloud and spring tree writing paper, he wrote a few words, carefully folded it, attached a cherry blossom, and had Cheng Yuan deliver it to Ju Ji.

Ju’an unfolded the flower note and silently read the words in her heart: “You may despise me, but won’t you even come to admire the flowering orange trees before the house?”

Her gaze passed over the note repeatedly, caressing it gently. For a moment, her thoughts wandered dreamily, her heart warming, losing the strength to resist. When Cheng Yuan again invited her to go to Funing Hall, she no longer refused.

In Funing Hall, His Majesty smiled and summoned her close, dismissed the attendants, and sat with her alone under the eaves admiring flowers, telling her the story behind this: “Recently I received Japanese envoys and discussed poetry between our two countries. They presented several volumes of poetry collections, saying they were classics from their country. When I opened and read them, I immediately felt one line was pure and delightful. Today it suits this situation and scenery, so I wrote it on the flower note to share with you.” Having said this, he stood up: “Those poetry volumes are still in my hall. I’ll go get them to show you.”

As soon as he turned around, Ju’an immediately rose and embraced his waist from behind, resting one cheek against his back, her weak voice nearly sobbing: “Keep me by your side.”

She felt his body suddenly stiffen, but he quickly regained composure, loosened her hands from his waist, turned to hold her right hand instead, and said gently: “How is your practice of slender gold calligraphy coming along? Come, write some for me to see.”

He led her to the writing desk, using brush, ink, and copybooks to dissolve the previous romantic atmosphere.

Note: The line “You may despise me” comes from the “Man’yōshū” (Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves).