The lamplight flickered dim and yellow, time seeming to settle like sediment over this space within the Green Ripple Pavilion, gazes and murmured opinions intertwining complexly, as though compressing the air toward some direction, toward some nearly fixed outcome. Amid this mounting pressure, He Fang’s voice rose once more. “For the grand finale, let us have the Su Cloth House’s steward come forward and tell us about the past year’s business, and also…”
Once his rather trivial remarks concluded, nearly everyone turned to look toward the Su family. Su Zhongkan and Su Yunfang sat in silence, frowning slightly. Beside them, Steward Liao lowered his head silently for a moment, then rose with a smile, cupping his hands to the crowd, preparing to step forward. Behind him, the maid named Xiao Chan hesitantly reached to take the brocade box pinned beneath her master’s right hand, then pulled with some effort.
But it didn’t budge.
Ning Yi sat there, his head tilted slightly, as though lost in thought, his gaze calm and quiet—though at this point it had turned somewhat cold and distant, his peripheral vision occasionally drifting toward the Wu family’s table. His right hand remained motionless atop the brocade box.
Steward Liao, about to step forward, had by now noticed Ning Yi’s demeanor. He hesitated a moment, then turned back, attempting to reach for the box himself. “There’s still a chance…” he said softly. Ning Yi smiled faintly, then said coldly, “Let go.”
“Young master, there’s still a chance…”
The room fell quiet for a moment. People likely couldn’t hear the exchange between Ning Yi and Steward Liao, but no one spoke, only watching with sighs or cold smiles. After a moment, Ning Yi’s voice rang out quietly across the hall.
“We… withdraw.”
It was as though the response everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived. Whispers rose, fragmented murmurs and pointed glances, though it had only just begun—people could only just sense that particular mood. Steward Liao frowned, glanced around, and lowered his voice again. “There’s still a chance. Young master, don’t act rashly…”
He had been laboring under enormous pressure for over a month for this very matter, doing everything that could be done. These past few days, believing he’d done all that was humanly possible and seeing little reason left for failure, he’d allowed himself a bit of optimism. It was hard to say just how great his shock had been the moment the Wu family unveiled that bright yellow brocade.
Tonight’s situation was complicated, but as someone directly involved, he could already piece together a dark outline of what had happened. The timing of the Wu family’s cloth reveal, Lord Dong’s arrangements and attitude—everything pressed back against him like a nightmare come true. In truth, Steward Liao, who had actually been managing the Eldest Branch’s affairs tonight, was probably under the greatest pressure of anyone present. But even so, he had just now held back all his emotion, pulling Ning Yi back, still intending to make one last effort—to at least do what needed to be done. Acting impulsively or stubbornly like a headstrong scholar now would change nothing. When circumstances overwhelmed a person, recklessness accomplished nothing—it would only make others think the Su family lacked composure.
But even so, Ning Yi shook his head and repeated himself. “We withdraw.”
Steward Liao, suppressing his temper, was about to speak again when He Fang up front rose, frowning. “Worthy Nephew Ning, today we merely invited your Su family to join this gathering, to speak of your family’s accomplishments and exchange views with the gentlemen present. My Jiangning Textile Bureau conducts itself with dignity and has never involved anyone in anything disreputable. Yet you now stand here declaring your withdrawal—might I ask, withdrawal from what, exactly? Young man, you would do well to think before you speak.”
At this, others nodded amid their whispers, some chuckling softly, remarking on Ning Yi’s loss of composure. Steward Liao grew anxious. Ning Yi had already slowly risen to his feet, his gaze fixed on the Wu family’s table, where Wu Chenghou and his son Wu Qilong smiled back at him. The crowd glanced back and forth, then suddenly heard Ning Yi cry out, “You cannot do this… shameless!” The words weren’t shouted hysterically, but they carried real anger.
“Ning Liheng, mind your conduct!”
He Fang rose to his feet. Beside him, Dong Decheng, who had been watching the proceedings with a smile the whole time, patted his hand. “No matter, no matter. Worthy Nephew Ning is young and full of spirit. Whoever it may be, whatever opinion they hold about tonight’s banquet or about our Textile Bureau, let them speak freely—this official has never stopped anyone from speaking.”
At the same moment, since Ning Yi’s words had been directed at Wu Chenghou, several merchants close to the Wu family had already risen, prepared to help the Wu family continue pressing the Su family down. But Wu Chenghou raised a hand. “Could Worthy Nephew Ning possibly be speaking of my Wu family?”
Just as Dong Decheng’s words had finished, Su Zhongkan, Su Yunfang, and Steward Liao had all paled slightly, fearing Ning Yi might recklessly drag the Textile Bureau itself into this. They were about to speak, but then Ning Yi swept his gaze over Dong Decheng, nodded, took a deep breath, and laughed. Aside from his brief loss of composure when the Wu family unveiled their brocade, and this outburst just now, he had otherwise maintained a calm, composed bearing throughout, even if others could sense something was off. Now he seemed to finally rein in his anger, and turned his gaze toward the Wu family’s table.
“Heh, very well then… didn’t you say you wanted this nephew’s help composing a poem, uncle? Given tonight’s events, this nephew suddenly thought of a poem that would suit perfectly. Let me write it out for you… would you care to see it?”
“Ha ha, excellent.” Wu Chenghou smiled and replied at once, glancing around at the crowd. “My Wu family has been in trade for generations—rather uncultured, I’m afraid, with little literary flair. Worthy Nephew Ning is known by all as Jiangning’s foremost talent. If he’s willing to write a poem for us today, what could possibly be the problem? Everyone, that we should gather here at Green Ripple Pavilion tonight and receive a poem from Jiangning’s foremost talent—what a truly grand occasion. Come, come, quickly bring the young master paper and brush…”
Some rose with smiles; others harbored quiet sighs. Whatever he wrote now would only invite mockery. Though Ning Yi was truly a great talent, what use could that possibly serve in a situation like this? No matter how well he wrote a poem now, people would only say afterward that Ning Yi, in the business of commerce, had lost face. And even if the poem excoriated the Wu family most severely, others would only think that was simply the nature of merchant houses, and it would only serve to build the Wu family’s reputation further while costing him his own.
But by this point, the words were already spoken and couldn’t be taken back. Ning Yi stood there, gazing at the Wu family members. Two young servants brought forward paper and brush, setting them beside him, but he paid them no mind. After a good while like this, he finally turned, picked up the brush, and held it poised in the air.
A crowd of merchants gathered around. Inside it grew somewhat quiet, though whispers continued outside; the fragrance from downstairs wafted up. Among the crowd, Wu Chenghou, Wu Qilong, and Wu Qihao watched the paper on the table with smiles. At last, the brush came down.
Someone leaned in, reading carefully, then read the first line aloud with some confusion.
“A Toast to Pei Di…”
The words carried outward, and people glanced around at one another.
“Is someone here named Pei Di today?”
“Old Mo the Fourth, you really are pitiful…”
“What?”
“This is an ancient poem…”
Voices rose in confusion; some grew puzzled. Though everyone present was a merchant, many still had some learning. “A Toast to Pei Di” was clearly a poem by the Tang dynasty poet Wang Wei—was Ning Yi simply copying it out now? Yet given Ning Yi’s usual eccentric ways, it wasn’t impossible he’d deliberately borrowed the title while writing something entirely new. The next line, however, overturned that guess.
“A toast to you, friend, to ease your heart…”
Ning Yi wrote quickly at this point, his characters neither particularly fine nor particularly poor, somewhat hurried—perhaps evidence of the anger in his heart. When the poem was finished, the rice paper held only a piece of cursive script, unremarkable as literary work: a toast to ease a friend’s troubled heart, for worldly affections shift like rolling waves; old friends who’ve known each other since youth still keep their hands upon their swords, while the newly powerful mock those still climbing; the grass, soaked through by fine rain, holds its color still; the flower buds tremble in the chill spring wind; why concern yourself with the fleeting clouds of worldly affairs—better to lie at ease and eat well instead.
Without a single hesitation, without changing a single character, Ning Yi finished writing, set down the brush, and looked down at it. “Wang Wei’s verse already stands as a pearl beyond compare—I won’t presume to add anything careless of my own. This poem, then, I offer to my uncle of the Wu family. How does that suit you?”
Wu Chenghou looked at the poem, then at Ning Yi, his smile not changing in the slightest, then said calmly, “This is an excellent poem. Though it may sound unpleasant to ordinary ears, it suits the ways of commerce perfectly. I won’t hold your anger against you today, worthy nephew—but this poem, I shall keep. I will treasure it carefully hereafter.”
Ning Yi smiled as well, let out a breath, and set down the brush. Then he turned and said quietly, “Let’s go.” He grabbed the brocade box from the table and, with a casual motion, tossed it straight out the window. It didn’t look like he’d used much force, but the box flew straight through the window, its lid flying open in midair, a streak of bright yellow flashing past everyone’s peripheral vision before falling to the ground below.
Xiao Chan let out a soft cry and hurried downstairs. Ning Yi hadn’t yet reached the stairway when Wu Qilong walked over with a smile, patted his shoulder, and said quietly, “Brother Ning, you’re brimming with talent—why involve yourself in a trade you don’t understand? Wouldn’t it be better to stay home writing poetry and teaching literature? Heh heh.”
Ning Yi glanced at him with a smile, said nothing in reply, and continued down the stairs.
The murmurs behind him began to grow louder…
This unexpected episode had disrupted the flow of the gathering, and though none of the officials present tried to stop it, the remaining fixed proceedings still had to continue. The Su family might no longer concern themselves with the imperial merchant title, but what needed saying still had to be said. Everyone returned to their seats, the discussions unabated. During this, two children dressed as a maid and a page boy stamped their feet indignantly and ran downstairs, but no one paid them any mind now. Wu Chenghou had someone carefully put away the poem Ning Yi had written, “A Toast to Pei Di,” while he chatted politely with those around him.
The Wu family had always conducted its affairs without haste, yet this time, the matter had unfolded with a certain crisp precision—thunder heard where there had been silence. From the moment Ning Yi threw that yellow cloth out the window, most people had roughly guessed what had happened, but under the circumstances, even the Su family, unable to prove anything, could say nothing. Others could only conclude that the Wu family truly was formidable—and this time, they truly had been. The Su family had spent years laying the groundwork, then labored painstakingly for another month, only to have it all overturned by the Wu family with a single stroke.
From this day forward, the Su family would gradually withdraw from its place among Jiangning’s three great textile houses. The one truly rising to power was the Wu family; the Xue family could no longer compete with them either, and would have to remain content with second place. As everyone discussed the excitement of this turning point, they also began reconsidering the Su family’s standing and their own relationships with them. As for Ning Yi, he was, in the end, a pitiable figure—simply caught in the middle of it all, powerless to begin with.
Someone glancing down from upstairs saw the scholar’s figure in his blue robe standing below, looking back up at the building—perhaps to remember it, to mutter a few pitiful, bitter words. All of this was nothing more than the desolate afterimage of a loser. Only the maid Xiao Chan stood beside him. Those upstairs glanced down a few times, then turned back, laughing and chatting with each other once more…
What followed was an adjustment to a new order—for those in the textile trade, it felt more like adapting to a whole new era. As for the loser, he would only exist as dinner-table gossip; sparing him a second glance in earnest was simply a waste of time.
And so, the atmosphere upstairs grew lively once more.
…
“The crab here today seemed pretty good—didn’t get to try it. What a shame.”
Downstairs, Ning Yi stood by the road, looking up at the Green Ripple Pavilion’s signboard, sighing with a touch of regret.
“Then…” Xiao Chan frowned, looking troubled. “Should Xiao Chan go ask for some to take home?”
“You’ve got crab on the brain,” Ning Yi laughed, patting Xiao Chan’s shoulder. “Let’s go, head back. Over a month of hard work, and now there’s nothing left to worry about…”
The night wind stirred. Master and servant walked together toward where the carriage waited. Behind them, Zhou Pei and Zhou Junwu came hurrying to catch up.
A rare night—cool, and light with ease.