“What a wonderful poem!”

Shen Zhuxi was still in a daze when Li Que slapped his chopsticks down on the table with a crack and began clapping enthusiastically.

“Worthy of Elder Brother! Such a sharp mind, a poem springing forth from his lips just like that!” Li Que declared loudly.

“It was merely an impromptu expression of feeling — nothing fit for a proper audience.” Li Wu shook his head in modest demurral, though the corners of his mouth curved upward with an unstoppable momentum that no eight oxen could have reined back in.

“Elder Brother is not only extraordinarily talented, but his character also leaves this younger brother in complete admiration!” Li Que said with an earnest expression. “The poem Elder Brother composed on a whim is perfectly balanced in structure and deeply sincere in emotion. It moves those who hear it to sorrow and brings tears to those who see it. If even this is not fit for a proper audience, then what are those celebrated as ‘Immortal Poets’ and ‘Ghost Poets’ supposed to think of themselves?”

Li Que kicked Li Kun, who was buried head-down in his food, and said, “Second Brother, do you think the poem Elder Brother just composed is good or not?”

“Good, good…” Li Kun huffed and puffed as he gnawed on a roasted chicken, “…so good to eat…”

“See, even Second Brother has been deeply moved by Elder Brother’s heroic verse.” Li Que said. “Elder Brother has achieved this level of mastery composing his very first poem — who knows how ashamed those destitute scholars who’ve toiled in poverty for decades without any accomplishment would feel upon hearing this.”

Shen Zhuxi: “……”

Li Que was brimming with sincerity, his face nine parts wonder and one part gravity — that solemn expression making it seem as though every word of praise had been sifted through the scrutiny of his very soul and subjected to the inquisition of his conscience, as though every single character had emerged from the deepest reaches of his heart. His earnest and endlessly admiring expression was as though he had just heard an earth-shaking masterpiece that struck a chord in every heart — so convincing was it that Shen Zhuxi began to doubt her own ears, and to doubt her own sense of aesthetic judgment.

Perhaps the “Lament for the Pig Trotter” she had just heard was in fact a demonic sound carried over from another world, which had secretly replaced the genuinely heartfelt masterpiece that Li Wu had spoken aloud.

“…So, what do you think?” Li Wu suddenly cast a sidelong glance at her.

“…What do I think of what?”

“What do you think of the poem?” Li Wu immediately put on a sour face. “Were you not listening to me just now?”

Shen Zhuxi laughed dryly. “I was listening…”

“So what do you think?” Li Wu pressed relentlessly, his sharp, dark eyes fixed unwaveringly on Shen Zhuxi.

Being stared at like that made Shen Zhuxi’s heart flutter with unease, and she said instinctively:

“It’s quite good…”

“I think it’s quite good too.” Li Wu immediately replied, the corners of his mouth curling upward again.

Shen Zhuxi lowered her head and dared not speak, her heart still mired in the alarm of “Lament for the Pig Trotter.”

Lament for the Pig Trotter? Lament for the Pig Trotter? Lament for the Pig Trotter?

Those three words kept flashing in an endless loop through Shen Zhuxi’s mind. Had he heard some storyteller’s telling of “The Lament of Zhongyong” somewhere and taken inspiration from it?

“I’ve long said that composing poetry is nothing remarkable.”

Li Wu was still singing his own praises, and before his words had fully left his lips, Li Que’s applause rang out right on cue.

“For Elder Brother, it truly is nothing at all!”

Li Wu said, “What’s the difference between composing poetry and having a conversation? Aren’t both just a matter of flapping one’s mouth?”

Li Que slapped the table as though struck by sudden enlightenment and echoed in agreement: “Truly a profound maxim — deeply thought-provoking. Elder Brother’s clarity of vision is, as always, unparalleled!”

Li Wu said, “In books… ahem, the poems they discuss are all far too complicated. These scholars are just petty and narrow-minded — they don’t want others to learn how to compose poetry too. Composing poetry is actually not difficult at all; it’s much easier than doing most other things.”

Li Que nodded in agreement, seemingly resonating deeply: “Most scholars are small-minded and stingy. If everyone were like Elder Brother — noble in character, upright and candid, sharing what one knows and learns without the slightest reluctance — the world would long ago have become a paradise. Second Brother, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Right, right…” Li Kun kept nodding, his chopsticks stretching toward the chicken wings that Shen Zhuxi had been eyeing earlier. “…I’ll have another pair of chicken wings…”

Shen Zhuxi: “……”

Who was she? Where was she? What was she doing here?

How was it that she could not understand a single word these people were saying?

“Lament for the Pig Trotter” was still echoing through her heart, and she genuinely had no spare mental energy to process these extraordinary utterances.

“Don’t believe me? Listen — I can compose another one right now.” Li Wu cleared his throat. “A cloud hangs in the sky above, a trotter lies upon the ground below…”

Shen Zhuxi erupted into a coughing fit, gasping for breath.

“What’s the matter with you?” Li Wu paused, his momentum half-launched.

“I — I’m fine… cough, cough, cough…” Shen Zhuxi covered her mouth and turned to cough toward an empty corner of the room.

“I called you a little fool and you wouldn’t believe it — you’ve managed to choke on your own saliva.” Li Wu said.

A familiar hand appeared on her back, patting her gently, one light tap at a time.

Shen Zhuxi coughed until her face turned crimson, but at last managed to sort out her breathing. And through this one interruption, Li Wu also lost his enthusiasm for reciting poetry. He snatched a roasted chicken wing from beneath Li Kun’s chopsticks, turned, and placed it into Shen Zhuxi’s bowl.

Shen Zhuxi kept her head down and focused on her food, not daring to say a word — afraid that someone might set Li Wu’s poetic inspiration alight again.

After the midday meal was done, Li Que went off to clear away the bowls and chopsticks. Li Kun, never one for formalities, simply found a sunny patch by the riverbank, lay down right there, and before long the sound of his thunderous snoring was drifting out from beyond the bamboo hut.

Shen Zhuxi had not eaten much, but her stomach remained persistently unsettled — perhaps the lingering aftershock of “Lament for the Pig Trotter.”

She followed the river upstream, taking a leisurely stroll to settle her digestion.

Though the riverside bamboo hut was modest and simple, there was nothing lacking in the surrounding scenery. The stream was clear enough to see straight to the bottom, and both banks were sprinkled with scattered, charming little wildflowers. Shen Zhuxi picked her way along the smooth river stones and crouched down before a cluster of small pink-and-white blooms.

She counted the petals, then examined these little flowers — which she had never seen in the palace — with a lighthearted and contented eye. The stems were delicate and slender. On a whim, she plucked the one in fullest bloom.

Shen Zhuxi glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then walked to the river’s edge and, using the water’s reflection as her mirror, tried placing the flower through the empty hole in her earlobe.

The slender stem slipped through with ease. The small pink-and-white flower bloomed against her ear with vibrant life — possessing a charm entirely its own compared to gold, silver, and jewels. While Shen Zhuxi was gazing at her reflection in the river, indulging in a moment of quiet self-admiration, Li Wu’s voice suddenly reached her from behind:

“Why aren’t you wearing your earrings?”

Shen Zhuxi reacted as though caught red-handed doing something wrong, reflexively yanking the flower from her earlobe.

The misshapen little bloom drifted lightly through the air and fell powerlessly onto the surface of the river, carried away in an instant by the current.

“I…” Shen Zhuxi stood there at a loss.

“Why are you so startled? I’m not going to scold you.” Li Wu frowned.

“I was just wearing it for fun… I’m not going anywhere.” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to wear it just for fun — you can wear it out too.” Li Wu said. “It looks good.”

Shen Zhuxi blinked in surprise, her gaze lifting to meet Li Wu’s calm, steady eyes.

“…Really?”

“Really.”

Li Wu casually found himself a spot to sit beside her, stretching out his long legs in an easy, unhurried sprawl. With his right hand he absently yanked a wild blade of grass and held it between his fingers, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger from the base of the stem.

“Those brightly colored clothes you bought before — why haven’t I seen you wearing them?”

Shen Zhuxi lowered her gaze, passing it briefly over her cream-colored garments.

She could not collect and bury her parents’ remains and give them a proper funeral send-off — but she could not forget that she was still within the period of deep mourning.

Even if neither of them had truly cared for her in their lifetimes, they were still her only parents — the only anchor she had possessed from birth. From the very moment she entered this world, she had had no choice but to love them.

Shen Zhuxi was searching for an excuse to brush the question aside when Li Wu took that first step and found one for her.

He said, “If you want to observe mourning for Princess of Yue, then observe it. Wear whatever you like — as long as it’s what you yourself want to wear.”

Shen Zhuxi’s heart stirred with emotion. “Li Wu, thank you…”

“I don’t like you thanking me — it makes me feel like an outsider.” Li Wu tossed aside the blade of grass he’d been holding.

Shen Zhuxi felt somewhat at a loss and did not know how to answer him, but fortunately Li Wu did not press any further on that particular point, and instead changed the subject. “This afternoon I need to go to the neighboring town to pick up a few things. I’ll be back a bit later than usual. This place is rather remote, so I’ll leave someone here to keep you company. Would you prefer Diao’er or Que’er to stay?”

“Either one is fine,” Shen Zhuxi said quickly. “Since you have business to attend to, you should go first. You make the choice.”

Li Wu thought for a moment, then said, “In that case, I’ll leave Que’er here and take Diao’er with me.”

Shen Zhuxi agreed. Li Wu rose from the ground, his gaze settled steadily on her.

“I need to go back and give Que’er a few instructions — will you come back with me, or would you rather stay here?”

“I’d like to walk around a little more.”

“Don’t go any farther ahead — walk back the way you came.” Li Wu placed something in her hand. “Be careful, you little fool — don’t let yourself get swept away by the river. Come back soon.”

After Li Wu turned and left, Shen Zhuxi opened her palm.

A small pink-and-white flower in perfect bloom rested in the center of her hand. Where the blossom touched her palm, there was a faint warmth — as though Li Wu’s temperature lingered there, quietly searing.

Shen Zhuxi placed the little flower back through her earlobe. She lowered her head and looked at her reflection in the water.

The figure in the water looked back at her with a smile — an expression free of the guarded restraint she’d worn before, as though some kind of shackle had been lifted, her face relaxed, with just a hint of shyness.

Shen Zhuxi had not been called beautiful very often. Every instance she could remember — every “you look good” — seemed to have come from Li Wu.

A rough-handed country man she had known for no more than three months.

Just three months ago, one of them had been sky, and the other earth — destined never to cross paths for as long as they both lived.

How strange.

Shen Zhuxi looked at the face of the figure in the water — the smile that had appeared there without her even willing it — and thought to herself: this strange twist of fate is not so bad after all.

When she returned to the bamboo hut, she carried with her a small bundle of assorted wildflowers and a length of bamboo tube she had found along the way.

The tube was filled with clear river water, and wild blooms floated within it — common flowers, yet full of vitality. Around the various-sized blossoms, tufts of fluffy foxtail grass served as decoration.

Foxtail grass and wildflowers were both worthless. The Shen Zhuxi of the past would have disdained them without a second glance, just like everyone else.

But today’s Shen Zhuxi tended to them with the same care and precision she might have given to the most prized peonies in the imperial gardens, gently adjusting the position of each flower and each blade of grass.

They did not fear anyone’s gaze. Wherever they found themselves, they grew upward with something close to ferocity.

Like Li Wu.

Like every ordinary person in this world.

Once, she had believed that the Emperor was the sky, and that if the sky collapsed, all the living creatures beneath it would naturally fall into ruin and devastation. Now she understood: the Emperor was in fact the one most easily replaced of all.

Without an Emperor, the common people’s lives continued as before.

Without the common people, the Emperor could not take a single step.

So what, then, was the meaning of an Emperor’s existence? If even an Emperor could be considered dispensable, how much more so were the palace concubines, the imperial princes and princesses — were they not even more utterly inconsequential?

She and every woman under this sky — it turned out they were not different at all.

While Shen Zhuxi sat lost in thought, gazing at the flower arrangement she had made herself, Li Wu appeared in the doorway of the bamboo hut.

“I’m leaving. Que’er will stay home and keep you company.”

Shen Zhuxi stood to see him off. Li Wu reached the doorway, pressed his hand gently down on top of her head, and said the same thing as before:

“Wait for me to bring back a gift.”

“…Would you please stop patting my head all the time.” Shen Zhuxi said the words, but her feet stayed rooted to the spot.

Li Wu said, “That depends on you.”

“Depends on me how?”

“On what other places you’ll let me touch from here on out.” Li Wu turned away and walked out, waving a hand over his shoulder without looking back. “I’m off!”

Shen Zhuxi stood there for a while before the full meaning of his words sank in. Her face flushed a deep red, and she could only glare helplessly at the retreating figure already long gone in the distance.

So much for not taking advantage of her!

Li the Scoundrel! Country bumpkin! Street thug! Good-for-nothing!

He goes back on his word — no question he’s not a decent person!