Morning. The spring sunlight was bright and clear, and the sound of a pipa drifted through the air.

A spring outing was not a formal literary gathering, so there was no need for everyone to sit properly through the whole affair while an organizer presided from a platform and a group of great scholars sat up front to act as judges. Of course, plenty of seating had still been arranged here on the meadow. To one side of the grass, a young woman danced leisurely under everyone’s gaze. When the dance finished, the gathered young talents applauded and cheered, and afterward everyone began chatting, discussing matters of poetry.

“…Master Chen really found a fine spot. The sky is clear today, and from here we can take in the full splendor of the Yangtze in the distance. I propose we all compose a few verses on the theme of the Yangtze, and let our top graduate scholar offer his judgment on them. What do you all think…”

“That sounds wonderful…”

Keeping a gathering like this lively under such loose conditions was, in truth, simple enough. The scholars present were the sort who would dash off a couple of lines at the slightest excuse, and now that they were gathered together, their poetic urges were hard to suppress. Naturally, the opening theme needed to be an easy one — nothing obscure to start with — so the Yangtze River made a fine subject that nearly everyone could manage a verse or two about. As soon as this was proposed, everyone agreed it was a fine idea, and one beauty picked up her instrument and said with a smile, “This one would be glad to sing for Young Master Xue.” Young Master Xue felt rather pleased with himself and hurried to compose something. A fine poem, sung well, would only shine brighter — and amid the laughter and chatter, before long the sound of the zither and singing rose up.

Out on the meadow, not everyone was gathered in one place. Aside from this particularly lively crowd, Li Shishi, Zhou Bangyan, and the others had gathered not far off, with Chen Luoyuan there greeting people, smiling as he looked this way and listened to the verses being sung. Others were scattered here and there in twos and threes, chatting among themselves, though most kept half an eye on what was happening over here.

Qin Shaohe was mixed in with the largest crowd. As the top graduate scholar, he couldn’t avoid attention once people noticed him, and besides, he was genuinely interested in the learning of these talented young men of Jiangning, so he didn’t mind joining the fun. Even as he indulged his taste for appreciating fine verse, though, his gaze would occasionally drift toward one particular direction. He hadn’t greeted Ning Yi and the others since arriving today. At that moment, Ning Yi was crouched at the edge of the meadow with two girls dressed as men, looking down over the slope.

“Whoa, this grass slope is pretty steep. Good long grade too — looks like it’d be a rush…”

This was the spot with the widest view along the edge of the meadow — from here one could see the Yangtze and the Stone City in the distance. Along the mountainside below stretched a long grassy slope, noticeably steep, well past forty-five degrees — the kind a person could tumble straight down in one go. Below that lay a stretch of forest, lush and green. Ning Yi had listened to a song for a while and realized the real festivities hadn’t started yet, so he’d wandered over with an eye on this grassy slope. His main purpose today, after all, was simply to bring Yun Zhu out for some fun.

A servant, seeing them at the edge, hurried over to warn them it was dangerous here. Ning Yi merely waved him off and sent him to fetch some tools. Not long after, Prince Consort Kang Xian wandered over as well. “What are you up to this time, you rascal?”

“Master Chen really did find a fine spot. What official post did he hold, that he could afford to buy up a whole hillside like this?”

Ning Yi looked around and asked with a grin.

“Chen Luoyuan only ever served as a county magistrate, and after that just held idle posts. He made his name through scholarship, really — he was never much good at handling affairs. Any post he held would have come to about the same.”

“Tsk.” Ning Yi lowered his voice. “Three years an honest magistrate, and still a hundred thousand taels of silver.”

“Ha! You rascal, judging a gentleman’s heart by a petty man’s measure. The Chen family has always been major landowners here in Jiangning. Your Su family may be well off now, but a merchant family is like a tree without roots — you can hardly compare.”

Ning Yi shrugged, then tilted his chin toward the slope. “I’m going to slide down from here.”

“Eh?” Kang Xian blinked.

“There are a few rocks in the way, but I’ve already picked out my line — shouldn’t be a problem. Though this sort of sport isn’t really suited to the elderly, Prince Consort Kang. You’ll just have to watch.”

“Ha ha…” Kang Xian laughed. “Nonsense — still as reckless as ever, aren’t you. Today all these worthies have gathered, and instead of thinking of something refined, you want to play some child’s game like this. You’re supposed to be Jiangning’s foremost talent, and today the scholars from the capital are right here — aren’t you afraid of being laughed at?”

“What’s there to laugh about? A spring outing is meant for having fun. If we were by the river, I’d want to fly a kite and grill some meat too.”

“Fair enough.” Kang Xian thought it over. “Still, this game of yours is far too dangerous. Since you’re all here to play, let me tell you — later on you can head further up the mountain, there’s a hot spring up there. This game of yours is so risky — how’s Miss Nie supposed to slide down with you?”

The old man finished speaking with a broad smile on his face, and Yun Zhu’s cheeks flushed slightly. Ning Yi thought it over and decided the old man had a point. Before long the servant returned with two planks of wood and two iron rods. Ning Yi looked at the rods and realized at once they wouldn’t do — too rigid; if one slipped from his grip and stuck into the ground, a person could be run straight through. He’d done this sort of thing many times before, though, so he simply strapped the wooden boards to his shoes, improvising a sled.

As he busied himself with this, many of the others couldn’t help glancing this way too. Li Shishi, Qilan, Zhou Bangyan, Cao Guan, Liu Qingdi — all of them, to varying degrees, had noticed what Ning Yi was doing, though most of them also knew he had always kept his distance from these literary affairs. It was a strange feeling, really — the scholars of Jiangning half hoped to witness some astonishing new verse, yet at the same time half hoped Ning Yi wouldn’t act at all. This feeling was strongest among the very top-ranked talents like Cao Guan and Liu Qingdi. Whichever of them it was, they would probably have to admit that, at this point, the name Ning Liheng carried a certain weight of apprehension.

Ordinary poets like Cao Guan wrote a great many verses — some fine, some poor — and their reputations had built up gradually through gathering after gathering, debate after debate. At most, even their best-known representative works numbered only a handful. Ning Yi, on the other hand, rarely took part in such gatherings at all, and yet had built his reputation on just a few poems. It was a rather unconventional path, to be sure, but there was no denying that the three lyrics Ning Yi had produced were not the sort meant for polite discussion — they were the sort meant to steal the whole show outright.

Works of consummate skill, obviously destined to endure — whether it was “When Will the Moon Be Bright Again,” “Green Jade Cup,” or “Calming the Wind and Waves” — any one of these, once written, left the reader’s heart pounding. If there had ever been a literary contest, a single one of these lyrics would have settled the outcome on the spot. But once such a lyric had been written, there was nothing left for anyone else to write. What more could they possibly add?

Earlier, word had spread that Qilan had invited Ning Yi to compose something, and Cao Guan and the others had grown wary, privately telling themselves to bring their best to the table. He didn’t think his own level fell that far short of Ning Liheng’s, and besides, the man couldn’t possibly produce a fine lyric every single time. But now that he’d arrived and saw Ning Yi apparently planning to stay out of it, he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief — followed, a moment later, by a flicker of irritation.

Over among Zhou Bangyan’s group, meanwhile, people were puzzling over what exactly Ning Yi was doing. Watching him strap the boards to his shoes and then slide down the grassy slope, from which came cries of “Whoa, whoa, whoaaa…” — it was only then they realized he was playing some childish game, and couldn’t help feeling caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

After a good while, Ning Yi finally climbed back up. He sat for a moment at the top of the slope, and everyone watched as Qilan carried her zither over, crouched down, and exchanged a few words with him. Once she’d finished, Ning Yi apparently found his enthusiasm renewed, and slid back down the slope again.

Everyone was left a little helpless. Then suddenly a cry of alarm rang out from below — “Ah!” — and Qilan, still holding her zither, stood there with her face drained of color, while two men dressed as scholars nearby were already preparing to climb down after him. No one knew quite what had happened, until a voice called up from below: “It’s fine, it’s fine — the board just wasn’t sturdy enough…” Many people hurried over in concern. Ning Yi was climbing back up from below — apparently he’d tumbled a few times on the slope, his robe was somewhat disheveled, though he wasn’t hurt. One of the long boards strapped to his foot, however, had snapped clean in two.

When he came up, everyone laughingly asked if he was all right. Chen Luoyuan had also come over by now, and knowing who he was, urged him with concern to go change into fresh clothes down at the estate. In truth the robe was still clean enough, so Ning Yi politely declined. Around this time, the group had been asking Qin Shaohe to compose a poem, and he had already written one. Now he said with a laugh, “As for poetry, that’s really not my strong suit. Among all of you, there are plenty who write better than I do — Liheng here, for instance, is quite formidable. While the rest of us have been composing over here, he’s been off tumbling down that slope — quite the mood-killer. Perhaps we ought to fine him three poems as penalty, what do you all say?”

Ning Yi brushed the dust off his robe and laughed. “I just took a tumble, and you want me to write poetry? Want a doggerel verse instead?” Beside him, Yun Zhu, sharp-eyed, noticed that his robe had come loose at the seam, with a small tear at the hem, and quickly pointed it out. Ning Yi frowned and adjusted his clothing. Seeing that he genuinely had something to deal with, Qin Shaohe laughed and let the matter drop. A moment later, someone was heard to say, “I hear Liheng and Miss Shishi were childhood acquaintances?”

Everyone had gathered round just now to check whether Ning Yi was hurt, and Li Shishi, Zhou Bangyan, and the others had drifted into the crowd along with everyone else, chatting and laughing. When that remark was made, Shishi paused slightly, then glanced over at Ning Yi with a smile. Ning Yi’s brow furrowed faintly as well. Then someone else said, “Is that really true?”

This piece of news caught everyone by surprise, and a murmur rippled through the crowd — some displeased, some envious, some jealous. In truth, in that brief moment just past, more than a few of the young scholars of Jiangning had likely already taken a liking to Li Shishi — after all, the aura of being the capital’s most celebrated beauty was a powerful draw. Li Shishi was lovely to look at and warm in manner besides; earlier, while everyone had been composing, she had sat off to the side, and although she hadn’t personally sung for anyone, she had offered gracious remarks on each poem afterward. Most of these young men already had someone they were fond of here in Jiangning, but today the capital’s number-one beauty had come to visit — winning her favor would be no small honor indeed.

No one was interested in hearing about how close their crush was with some other man, and Zhou Bangyan and the others felt a flicker of displeasure in their hearts as well. In truth, it was Yu Hezhong who had spread this news around. Seeing Zhou Bangyan and the others so pleased with themselves irritated him, and knowing his own poetic skill was limited — while this concerned Shishi’s reputation, which he had no wish to bungle — after learning that “young Ning” was in fact Ning Liheng, he’d been stunned for a while before an idea struck him.

Rather than let Zhou Bangyan and the others steal the spotlight for Shishi’s sake, why not let Liheng eclipse them all instead? They were old acquaintances, after all — surely Liheng would be willing to help.

So as soon as he’d arrived, Yu Hezhong had gone around asking after news of Ning Liheng, then deliberately, as if by accident, brought up the old history between Shishi and him. After some stirring of the pot, Ning Yi and Li Shishi had become the center of attention.

“Liheng…” Li Shishi thought for a moment, then lowered her head with a smile. “It’s true he and I are old acquaintances. Back then, this humble one studied the zither under Madam Li here in Jiangning, and happened to live right at the mouth of Sanlian Lane — and as it happens, Liheng’s family lived on Sanlian Lane too, so we became acquainted then. I never imagined that little Ning back then would become today’s Master Ning — I only recognized him for certain upon meeting him again today.”

“Is that really so? That must have been quite a few years ago, then?” someone asked, intrigued.

Ning Yi nodded. “Indeed… that’s exactly how it was.”

A fresh murmur rippled through the crowd. Liu Qingdi, standing among them, had originally been quite displeased, but now his eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced at Li Shishi, then over at Jin’er on the other side, and a thought occurred to him. He stepped forward with a smile.

“Friends since childhood, innocent playmates from the start. Back then Liheng surely never imagined that the little girl he knew would become today’s Miss Shishi, whose fame fills the capital — and back then, Miss Shishi surely never imagined that Brother Ning would one day be praised throughout Jiangning as its foremost talent. Talent and beauty, both at their peak, meeting again today — as the Buddhists would say, this is fate. In my humble opinion, the two of you must have a great many feelings stirred up right now. If today’s gathering is to produce a fine tale worth telling, why not have Liheng compose a verse for Miss Shishi, and let Miss Shishi sing it in response? What does everyone think?”

He had quarreled with Yun Zhu and Jin’er that very morning, and now, as rivals in love tend to do, he had come with no good intentions at all. Ning Yi looked at him with something between a smile and a smirk, and Liu Qingdi returned the look just as pointedly. Behind them, Jin’er pursed her lips in disdain — Liu Qingdi was being far too childish. If she really were fond of Ning Yi, seeing his literary talent effortlessly win over the crowd and captivate the capital’s top beauty would surely leave some resentment in her — though most likely it would only upset Sister Yun Zhu instead. Still, no matter — she could simply take the opportunity to slip in and steal Sister Yun Zhu’s place in his heart.

If Ning Yi really produced some enduring masterpiece now and won Li Shishi over on the spot, the spotlight would belong entirely to him — Cao Guan wouldn’t be pleased, and neither would Zhou Bangyan and the rest. But most of the crowd had no personal stake in the matter, and they were only hoping the whole affair would grow bigger — unable to be the leads themselves, they could still bask in the reflected excitement as spectators. As soon as Liu Qingdi finished speaking, people began chiming in at once. Kang Xian threw in his own remark: “This old man finds this rather interesting.” And Qin Shaoqian, over on the other side, immediately started egging them on: “The young couple, friends since childhood — write it, you must write it!” Even the shy Xu Xiaohu kept nodding along: “That’s right, that’s right.” He was a martial man, and had always admired these gatherings of literary men — he was dying to witness a proper romantic scene of literary flair unfold.

Li Shishi’s gaze wavered, her face flushing slightly, and she said nothing, playing her part just right. Ning Yi’s eyes swept across the crowd a few times; Yun Zhu, standing behind him, was out of his sight. After a long silence, he finally nodded and spoke.

“…All right, then.” Ning Yi thought it over, then walked straight to a writing desk set up nearby, drew out paper, took up brush and ink, dipped the brush. “A little doggerel, then — don’t laugh at me, everyone.”

Judging by his expression, though, it clearly wasn’t going to be a doggerel verse. The crowd gathered around the desk — some laughing, some falling quiet. Around the meadow, those who’d been standing off on their own also began drifting over, one by one, curiosity plain on their faces. Cao Guan, Zhou Bangyan, and the others frowned, watching in silence — the outing had only just begun, and if some enduring masterpiece were to appear now, everything after would surely feel dull by comparison. Everyone else’s brilliance would be eclipsed by this single poem. Li Shishi, meanwhile, stood off to the side with a faint smile, though there was a flicker of anticipation in her eyes too — this poem concerned her, after all, and she genuinely wanted to see what this old friend, already hailed as Jiangning’s foremost talent, could produce.

The brush came down. The characters were fine indeed — and it was, after all, not a doggerel verse.

Only, as the crowd watched, their smiles gradually faded into silence, then confusion, and finally something oddly puzzled…

On the paper were eight lines in all…

[The eight lines of verse describe how some stand atop high towers while others linger in deep ditches, some shine with dazzling glory while others are worn and rusted through — that among the countless kinds of people in this world, one should not chase after fleeting clouds, for when a person is as rare and radiant as a rainbow, only in meeting them does one come to know they truly exist.]

What sort of poem was this, exactly?