What was interesting?

“This Scholar Zhang is both frivolous and superficial.”

“Ah?”

Yan Sanhe’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. “Once the matter is exposed, it will ruin Cui Yingying’s good reputation.”

The maid in red froze as if her acupoints had been struck.

How strange. When their troupe performed this play in various noble households, the young ladies would only feel yearning when they heard this part.

How was it that when it came to her, she was worried about Cui Yingying’s reputation instead?

On stage, the scholar waved his fan and sang—

“I’ve seen countless beauties with rouge and powder, but when have I ever seen such a beauty? My eyes are dazzled and my mouth cannot speak, my soul has flown halfway to heaven…”

How shameless!

Yan Sanhe sneered inwardly. “Did Hongniang deliver the letter?”

“She did.”

“Did Cui Yingying nod in agreement?”

The maid nodded, then shook her head. “At first she scolded Hongniang, but after struggling with herself several times, she still agreed.”

After agreeing, next would be the secret rendezvous.

For some reason, Yan Sanhe’s mind suddenly conjured the long stretch of bluestone bamboo path in Yan Ruxian’s estate.

Bamboo leaves rustling, cool breeze blowing, a bright moon hanging in the sky—perfect timing for a man and woman to meet in secret.

“Did the Minister’s wife discover it?” she asked.

“She did.”

“And then?”

“Then she summoned Hongniang for interrogation.”

The maid continued, “That Hongniang wasn’t afraid at all. She instead reproached the old lady for going back on her word and being ungrateful. She even advised the old lady that if this matter spread, it would be unfavorable to the Cui family’s reputation—better to make it a done deal.”

Yan Sanhe’s brows furrowed even more. “The old lady agreed?”

The maid: “The old lady agreed on one hand, but on the other hand, citing that the Cui family for three generations doesn’t accept white-robed scholars, she forced Scholar Zhang to go to the capital for the imperial examinations.”

Yan Sanhe could guess what came next. Scholar Zhang topped the imperial list, returned to seek marriage, and thus the lovers were finally united.

What a clichéd story!

No, wait!

Yan Sanhe suddenly froze.

In the story of Lu Shi and Tang Zhiwei, one was also a poor scholar and one was also a young lady from a noble family;

The noble young lady had also lost a close relative at a young age;

The young lady also had an exceptionally clever and capable maid named Lin Bi by her side;

The poor scholar also eventually placed third in the palace examinations.

Coincidences came flooding in like a tide. Yan Sanhe stared intently at Lu Shi’s profile for a long while before saying softly, “You may leave. I want to listen to the play properly.”

“Yes.”

On stage, Cui Yingying turned back to smile at Scholar Zhang, stealing half his soul. He could only lament:

“The gate has closed on the pear blossom courtyard deep, the powder walls are higher than the blue sky. I hate that heaven doesn’t grant people convenience, how can I restrain my restless heart and racing thoughts…”

The words were truly well-written—in just a few lines, they captured completely the heart of a man with stirring desires.

All of Yan Sanhe’s restlessness suddenly dissipated. She propped up her chin and gradually immersed herself in the performance…

She didn’t know how much time had passed. When the last sung line fell, she instinctively looked to her left.

Where was Lu Shi in the box? Only a teacup that had long gone cold remained on the square table.

“Where is he?”

“He left long ago.”

Li Buyan waved his hand in front of Yan Sanhe.

“You’ve finally snapped out of it. I called you so many times and you didn’t hear. What was that droning singing about? It almost put me to sleep.”

Yan Sanhe leaned back in her chair, ripples of light dancing in her eyes.

“Buyan, I finally understand why Tang Zhiwei and Tang Jianxi both enjoyed watching opera.”

“Why?”

“Because opera contains life itself.”

“What kind of life?”

“It can’t be explained in a few words.”

Yan Sanhe lowered her voice. “What did you find out on your end?”

At this question, Li Buyan had a bellyful of things to say, yet didn’t know which to start with first. She simply asked, “Let me ask you—what day is it today?”

Yan Sanhe calculated on her fingers. “The first day of the eighth month.”

Li Buyan: “Lu Shi comes here to listen to opera on the first day of every month.”

“The first of every month?”

Yan Sanhe looked astonished. “What kind of special day is this?”

Li Buyan thought to herself, how would she know?

“Moreover, the theater opens to customers in the evenings, but Lu Shi only comes during the day. Supposedly he gave the theater owner a sum of money.”

“So every performance on the first of each month is sung exclusively for Lu Shi?”

“Exactly!”

No wonder she and Li Buyan had spent all those days in wine shops and teahouses without discovering that Lu Shi enjoyed opera.

Yan Sanhe thought this was far too strange.

“Sanhe, there’s something even stranger.”

Li Buyan pointed at the stage. “Lu Shi only listens to ‘Romance of the Western Chamber.'”

“What?”

The astonishment on Yan Sanhe’s face could no longer be described in words.

A fixed day;

A fixed repertoire;

Once a month;

What kind of peculiarity was this?

“Buyan, did you find out when he started this? How many years has it lasted?”

“I did find out. It started eighteen years ago, rain or shine, and he always sits in the box to our left.”

Eighteen years ago?

Actually eighteen years ago?

Yan Sanhe shot up from her seat, kicked aside the chair behind her, rushed to the door of Lu Shi’s box, and stood still.

Above the carved latticework door hung a small plaque with a single character written in running script: Chrysanthemum.

Yan Sanhe returned to her own box entrance and looked up. The plaque prominently displayed a single character: Bamboo.

“I already checked. There are eight boxes total on the second floor, named respectively: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Plum, Orchid, Bamboo, Chrysanthemum.”

“Chrysanthemum?”

Yan Sanhe suddenly felt her head throb with pain.

The Three Friends of Winter referred to: Pine, Bamboo, and Plum.

Lu Shi was Pine; Chu Yanting was Bamboo; Tang Jianxi was Plum.

Lu, Chu, Tang, and Tang Zhiwei were all fellow disciples under the same master. If those three all had literary names, might Tang Zhiwei also have one? Could it be that Chrysanthemum?

“This is absolutely not a coincidence, Buyan.”

Yan Sanhe’s tone was extremely certain. “Eighteen years ago was exactly when Tang Zhiwei redeemed herself from the Performers’ Bureau, cut off her long hair, and became a nun at Water Moon Convent.”

Li Buyan’s heart gave a lurch.

That’s right.

So Lu Shi didn’t listen to opera early on or late, but at this time he came to Singing Spring Garden, booked an entire troupe to sing “Romance of the Western Chamber” specifically for him.

Why?

Li Buyan was completely petrified, thoroughly shocked into stupidity.

Yan Sanhe: “Come, let’s go inside and take a look.”

Li Buyan said dully, “I already looked just now. There’s nothing special about it.”

Yan Sanhe walked in on her own and sat down in the seat where Lu Shi had just been sitting.

Looking down—a teacup already drunk dry;

Looking up—an empty stage.

Yan Sanhe sat in confusion, with a sense of unreality like viewing the sea from a mountain.

The simple meditation room at Water Moon Convent;

Lantern after lantern at the Performers’ Bureau;

Grove after grove of bamboo along the bluestone path…

Huiru, who was both jealous and envious of Jingchen;

Guihua, who kept Nishui company day and night;

Chu Yanting and Tang Jianxi, who protected Tang Zhiwei like a younger sister…

Scene after scene, person after person unfolded like a scroll in Yan Sanhe’s mind. She suddenly felt a sense of absurdity, as if everything was fake, all unreal.

Then what was real?