“Warm winds spread through the branches, mist plays over the clearing sky, the whole pond is filled with the colors of spring…”

Spring filled the air, and a melodious voice rose over the meadow — it was Li Shishi, playing her zither and singing. The tune followed the melody of “The Court is Ever Long”; the woman’s fingers moved lightly over the strings, her brow lowered, her head bent, not smiling and gazing out at the audience the way most performers did, but instead losing herself entirely in the song. Since the lyrics had just been composed by Zhou Bangyan, she was still savoring their meaning as she sang, and this careful attentiveness lent her figure a rapt, self-forgetting quality.

Zhou Bangyan stood off to one side of the crowd, listening to that melodious voice, though his gaze wasn’t fixed on Li Shishi — instead it had drifted toward the hillside beside them, as if he’d sunk into some distant memory.

He was quite pleased with this lyric, composed gradually amid the earlier conversation and laughter with everyone.

“…It is truly a night in the hall with no moon, the Cold Food Festival deep and dark. The swallow among the beams, the guest from last year’s shrine — it seems to mock my solitude behind closed doors… Fallen blossoms drift past, fragrant herbs beyond the courtyard wall, the ground strewn in disarray…”

This wasn’t a piece entirely suited to festive celebration. Zhou Bangyan excelled at using objects to express emotion, and his lyrics often carried a wistful, melancholy air. The conversation just now had originally touched on his time serving as an official in the capital, but since he had recently been dismissed from that post, the talk had moved on to other topics; stirred by others’ remarks, his poetic inspiration had come to him. Once he’d written the first two lines, the rest had followed naturally.

This lyric described the scene during the Cold Food Festival days. The line “It is truly a night in the hall with no moon, the Cold Food Festival deep and dark” drew on a line from Bai Juyi’s poem “Cold Food Night”: “No moon, no lamp on Cold Food night, deep into the dark I still stand before the flowers.” Drawing on the words of earlier writers to build new emotion was a hallmark of Zhou Bangyan’s style. Once Shishi finished singing the first stanza, she narrowed her eyes slightly and carried the emotion of the second stanza through in her singing.

“…I still remember that time — a chance encounter, her carriage stopped just outside the city gate. And now again I see the passing of the imperial candle-flame, smoke drifting into the homes of the nobility. Green, green the grass, lost along the path. Reluctantly I bring wine, searching carefully for traces of the past. The market bridge lies far off; beneath the willows, the people there still recognize me.”

The first stanza described the present scene, the second turned to memory — the earlier lines laying the groundwork, the later ones elevating the emotion, echoing each other closely. The lines “again I see the passing of the imperial candle-flame, smoke drifting into the homes of the nobility” drew on a Tang poem by Han Hong titled “Cold Food”: “In the spring city, flowers drift everywhere; on Cold Food day, the east wind bends the palace willows. At dusk the imperial candles are passed through the Han palace, and light smoke drifts into the homes of the five noble clans.” The allusion was used masterfully, and the lyric as a whole was truly a rare and accomplished work.

Of course, if Ning Yi had been present, he might well have laughed a little — and perhaps Puyang Yi, mixed in among the crowd, was laughing about it even now. Earlier, Ning Yi had written the line “among the countless kinds of people in this world, don’t go chasing after fleeting clouds,” aimed at Li Shishi. He’d probably felt that writing something outright praising Shishi would come across as fawning, and so, for the sake of appearances, had instead written a poem reminiscing about an old flame — which, boiled down, amounted to: “I once had a girl, and let me tell you about her…” — signaling that he wasn’t the sort to be hopelessly infatuated with Li Shishi.

Of course, whatever his true intentions, only a handful of people were sharp enough to grasp such a subtle undercurrent of thought. The lyric itself was, in the end, a fine piece of work, and once written, it immediately overshadowed everyone else’s compositions. After Shishi finished singing, she lingered over it for a long while before finally lifting her fingers from the strings — young women were generally quite fond of works recalling old romances. Everyone else applauded and cheered as well, their emotions stirred, unable to settle right away.

Zhou Bangyan had written this lyric with a bit of an ulterior motive, true, but for the most part it had come from genuine feeling — having finished the second stanza, he truly had found himself thinking of an old acquaintance, his heart tinged faintly with melancholy. As others praised him, he smiled modestly, though for the moment this lyric was, without question, the finest work of the morning. Cao Guan had already written one himself, but compared to this “The Court is Ever Long,” it still fell somewhat short. The capital’s foremost talent was living up to his reputation — some people, joking among themselves, thought to go looking for Ning Yi, but naturally he was nowhere to be found.

After a while, Zhou Bangyan slipped away and, opening his fan, walked toward the nearby forest. His thoughts were occupied with memories of old romance, and for the moment, having come out on top in the literary competition, he let himself sink freely into his wistful mood, feeling something close to invincible, unmatched. He’d walked only a short way when someone came up quietly from behind. “Elder Brother Zhou is so deeply sentimental — this little sister is truly moved.” It was Li Shishi, her expression also tinged faintly with melancholy.

Zhou Bangyan turned to look — they had already walked quite far; the figures behind them were nearly lost among the gaps in the trees. “Isn’t Shishi needed back there? Following me out here like this might not look proper.”

“It’s fine. They’ve finished their round of composing for now… Elder Brother Zhou, I only meant to come rest for a bit… Elder Brother, you wrote ‘the market bridge lies far off; beneath the willows, the people there still recognize me.’ I wonder which lady that refers to?”

“Ha ha, Shishi is so clever — of course you understand that one must sometimes force a bit of longing into a new lyric for the sake of the craft. Even a woman glimpsed only once could hardly still recognize you.”

“Either way, Elder Brother Zhou’s lyric is surely going to take first place at today’s gathering. It’s just that it came out so early — there’s still half a day left, and I doubt anyone else will be able to top it now.”

“Shishi flatters me.” Zhou Bangyan shook his head, smiling, though there was a certain pride in his eyes. Then he added, “That old friend of yours who ‘still recognizes’ you hasn’t made a move yet, has he? I wonder where he’s gotten off to.”

Shishi lowered her head slightly. “Young Ning’s lyrics are indeed fine, but Elder Brother’s piece here has reached true excellence in both language and mood. Young Ning has only written three lyrics these past few years — he must simply prefer to polish his work carefully — he can hardly be expected to produce a fine piece every time.”

These few remarks set Zhou Bangyan’s lyric side by side with Ning Yi’s three — in truth, Zhou Bangyan himself knew there was still some gap between this “The Court is Ever Long” and those three lyrics. Yet even as Li Shishi’s words carried a flattering tone, they also, in effect, affirmed Ning Yi’s talent, subtly implying “perhaps he can’t quite match you.” Hearing this, Zhou Bangyan felt an odd twinge of discomfort — he thought to himself that he could produce fine work on a whim, while the other man took years to write just three pieces; surely, even at his best, that man could hardly compare to him. For a moment his melancholy faded, replaced instead by a faint competitive urge — he found himself thinking that if he happened to run into this Ning Liheng later, he really ought to test himself against the man.

Outwardly, of course, he kept his smile in place. He was genuinely pleased that Shishi had chosen to slip away from the others to walk with him, and chatting together, the two of them continued deeper into the woods.

…

The forest wasn’t especially deep. By the time Zhou Bangyan and Li Shishi wandered in, Ning Yi was sitting on that rock, letting Yun Zhu beside him sew up the tear in his robe with her needle and thread. Bathed in sunlight, they talked as she worked.

Having spent so much time together, the two of them naturally never lacked things to talk about — daily life, little trivial matters. They often had chances to be alone together like this, though Jin’er always made a point of interfering, so naturally the conversation turned to a few jokes about her absence, wondering aloud whether she’d come storming over any moment now, teeth bared. Then they moved on to talk about the fine weather that day. Yun Zhu sat cross-legged on the grass beside him, sewing slowly, clearly savoring this time together. After chatting a while, she asked, “You’ll be leaving after the Start of Summer, won’t you?”

Ning Yi and Su Tan’er were planning to travel around the Su-Hang region, and he’d told her about it long before. Now that the date was drawing near, Yun Zhu couldn’t help thinking about it. Ning Yi fell silent for a moment before nodding, though what he said was, “The exact date of departure still isn’t set. It might end up being a bit later than planned.”

Yun Zhu smiled faintly. “I just hope you come back soon.” A moment later she added, “If you don’t come back, I might just go chasing after you. I’d open a shop in Hangzhou too, then.”

“It won’t take that long.”

“Maybe Miss Su will be with child by then, and with the journey being so far, it might not be convenient for her to come back to Jiangning to give birth.”

Yun Zhu was thinking further ahead, bringing up the possibility of Su Tan’er being pregnant. Ning Yi considered this, unsure quite how to respond. He knew Yun Zhu’s gentle, accommodating nature — he understood it and had accepted it as it was — and yet discussing Su Tan’er in front of her still left him feeling he wasn’t being entirely fair to her. Yun Zhu, watching his expression, laughed suddenly, then blushed. “Or else, why don’t we… before you leave… um… that is…”

She trailed off, her face only growing redder, unable to say anything further. She lowered her head and tied off a knot, biting through the thread. Ning Yi, of course, understood exactly what she meant. “We’ll have to find some way to get rid of Jin’er first, though — that girl clings tighter than taffy. How do we manage to keep her away long enough?”

Yun Zhu naturally wasn’t about to join in this discussion of “how to distract the watchdog so I can have my way with you.” She turned slightly, leaning her head and shoulder against Ning Yi. Since he was sitting higher than her, he rested one hand on her other shoulder, then gently brushed his fingers against her cheek — her cheek was warm to the touch, and Yun Zhu narrowed her eyes.

“Jin’er really is fond of you, you know…” Ning Yi sighed.

“Mm.”

“When I’m gone — if it’s a long while, and there’s someone else who…”

Ning Yi spoke slowly, but before he could finish, Yun Zhu shifted her head slightly against him and said quietly, eyes closed, “I’m not the sort of woman who drifts from man to man. It might not sound like much to be proud of, but over these years, how many men have I encountered? I’ve only ever cared for you — once I care for someone, that doesn’t change. Those other things… before or after, none of it matters. Even three years, even five — I’ll still only care for you. Liheng, I never dreamed of marrying into the Su family. I only ever wanted to marry into the Ning family. Whether or not you take me as your wife, if I bear you a child one day, he’ll carry the Ning name regardless…”

She didn’t react strongly to what he’d said; her tone remained calm and gentle, yet carried its usual quiet resolve. Ning Yi smiled and ran his fingers along the edge of her lips; she laughed. “That tickles.”

“Sorry, that was the wrong thing to say.”

“I’m not upset.”

Yun Zhu sat there for a moment, then laughed again. “Though, you really did write a poem for that Miss Li just now. Jealous, hm…”

She was obviously teasing, and Ning Yi laughed. “Ha, they all said it was a terrible poem.”

“I thought it was rather good, actually — it reminded me a bit of those songs you always hum… ‘Outside the pavilion, along the ancient road, fragrant grass stretches to meet the sky…'”

She hummed a few lines softly.

Their conversation drifted along in fragments, not really one exchanging lines with the other in turn — the mood was unhurried, and so was their talk, a thought here, a remark there. If the earlier part of their conversation had covered a fair amount, this part was truly the sort of intimate talk shared only between lovers. Not far off in the trees, two figures were just about to quietly withdraw — Zhou Bangyan and Li Shishi, who had wandered into the area without meaning to. They’d listened for a while and finally felt it wasn’t quite proper to linger.

And having heard him admit to writing a “terrible poem” just now, Li Shishi couldn’t help but feel a bit bothered by it — she was, after all, the capital’s reigning beauty, and an old friend besides, and yet he hadn’t bothered to show her proper respect, tossing off some “terrible poem” instead.

As they backed away a few steps, amid the dappled shade of the trees, they heard Ning Yi laugh wistfully, as if moved by the woman’s words. After a moment, a few more lines drifted over — his voice not loud, unhurried, as if he were thinking aloud, half to himself: “A waning moon… hangs on the sparse wutong tree… ha, the water clock has run dry, and all is still as people settle for the night…”

Ah — those were lines of verse.

The two of them stopped in their tracks without meaning to.

Neither had heard this one before…