The clouds overhead hung soft and unbroken, like scattered fish scales; as the afternoon sunlight spread out from among the clouds at the horizon, flocks of birds crossed the sky above the lake’s surface. West Lake’s waters lay calm, with Xiaoyingzhou nestled within them — the most beautiful garden amid the water, its banks ringed with lush, verdant trees, pavilions and winding bridges scattered throughout. All around, along the crowded embankments, the lotus blossoms on the water were in full, lush bloom, patch after patch of pink.

At the very center of Xiaoyingzhou stood Bao’an Temple, and some people, having a bit of spare time, went inside to burn incense and pay their respects to the Buddha.

Such a layout would no longer be seen in later ages.

Boat after boat of pleasure craft now curved like a crescent moon around one side of Xiaoyingzhou, and quite a crowd had already gathered aboard the largest ship at the center. Following the pattern of previous years, around the hour of shen everyone would board the boats and take their seats; afterward the prefect would say a few words, and a few of the elders would speak as well, followed by general discussion and mingling among the guests. As the sun set, the chefs of Fuqing Tower would present exquisite dishes, and everyone would eat, drink, and compose poetry; in the evening they would admire the night scenery and set out flower lanterns and water lanterns — that was, roughly, the usual course of events.

There was still a bit of free time before everyone was due to board. In fact, the hour of shen ran from three to five in the afternoon, and people typically didn’t formally take their seats — with the prefect and others emerging — until two quarters into the hour of shen, or after four o’clock. Before then, figures such as the current Hangzhou prefect Lu Tuizhi, the great scholars Qian Xiwen, Mu Bochang, and Tang Xiuxuan, generally paid calls on one another or met privately with certain people — and just what sort of interests, deep or shallow, changed hands in these meetings was not something outsiders needed to know.

This Start-of-Autumn poetry gathering in the city of Hangzhou, which had begun during the great drought of the third year of Jingtan in the Wu Dynasty, had at various points determined a great many matters both open and hidden. Of course, for people who had only just arrived in Hangzhou this year — such as Ning Yi and his wife — no matter how gifted they might be, there was naturally no way for them to know what lay beneath the surface, and after this, they wouldn’t have much opportunity to learn what it had all actually been about either.

This particular gathering, in the ninth year of Jingtan, would not run to its conclusion.

What happened partway through this gathering — an incident that would strike with a suddenness no one could brace for — would shake the entire southeastern region of the country, and would leave a great many matters unable to reach their intended end. Of course, at this present moment, everyone was still going about their business as usual, anticipating the natural course of events to come. Beneath the shade of the trees along the embankment, a woman plucking a zither sang softly, letting the wind carry her voice out across the little island.

Aboard the Qian family’s boat, Qian Xiwen had just finished meeting with a young relative of the Chang family, and at this moment was saying a few things to his steward — including, in passing, a question or two about Ning Yi and his wife. He had already sent Ning Yi an invitation card, and had earlier made a few indirect inquiries with Lou Jinlin about the Su family’s daughter and Ning Yi. If Ning Yi were to come pay him a visit now, he would receive him — but Ning Yi and his wife, though said to have already arrived, hadn’t come aboard directly to request an audience, which left him with a certain amused curiosity. For the moment he simply smiled and had Qian Yu go call in a few other people to sit with him.

In truth, what he cared for was scholarship — spending his ordinary days lecturing here and there, seeking, above the interests of his own clan, the great and moderate course of things. If others found themselves anxious about their standing, he could understand it well enough, but it wasn’t something he much cared for in his heart.

Elsewhere, having left the Qian family’s boat, the current head of the Chang family had gone on to pay calls on Mu Bochang, Tang Xiuxuan, and others. Along the way he was greeted and exchanged pleasantries with by a great many people, all of whom he attended to one by one, becoming something of a center of attention wherever he went, to the point of nearly blocking the causeway path along the embankment.

The heads of Hangzhou’s few truly great families were, without exception, men of profound scholarship — after all, this was an age ruled by men of letters, and a family that couldn’t pass down a tradition of poetry and prose could never achieve true standing. Chang Yu’an of the Chang family had passed away earlier this year, but because the family’s foundations had been laid so well, the Chang family showed no sign of decline in Hangzhou even now. On the contrary, since the current family head was Chang Yu’an’s son, all the elders treated him as they would a nephew, and at this gathering, anyone who knew him would inevitably stop to ask after his welfare with warm concern. Peers and juniors alike would inevitably reminisce about the late Elder Chang’s accomplishments with sighs of admiration; at the banquet later, the prefect’s own remarks would surely touch on this same theme as well. Handled well, the Chang family stood to become the true center of attention at this banquet.

All these pleasantries being exchanged would, in the eyes of men of letters, largely be seen as the doings of sycophants and social climbers. Meanwhile, beneath the shade of the trees, in the cool breeze, elegantly dressed young scholars were already fanning their folding fans back and forth, listening to a few young ladies play the zither with one ear while composing occasional verses to suit the occasion with the other; whenever a particularly fine piece emerged, it would circulate and spread among those nearby.

Moored among the many pleasure boats, aboard the Lou family’s vessel, Lou Jinlin had just seen off an elderly visitor, his face full of smiles, though his mind was turning over certain matters from just before. A short while ago, out on the lake, the Qian family’s boat had come drawing over of its own accord, with Qian Xiwen personally, warmly inviting him over for a chat — and this had left him currently rather puzzled in his own mind.

The Qian and Lou families hadn’t had a great deal of contact before this. The other side was a family that had passed scholarship down through generations, a great landholding clan entrenched in the region, while the Lou family was, at most, a great house that had risen through its many connections in officialdom. In the eyes of others, the standing of the two families might differ by only the thinnest of margins, but he himself knew that this thin margin, without a generation or two of striving effort and good fortune, was likely an unbridgeable gap. Qian Xiwen wasn’t much older than he was, but should the two of them ever meet, Lou Jinlin would still have to address him respectfully as “Elder Qian.”

That two families with so little previous contact should suddenly draw close together, chatting idly about this and that — even a man as seasoned as he was found it difficult to be certain what the other party’s intentions actually were, or whether this counted as some kind of gesture of goodwill. Or perhaps, with Chang Yu’an having passed away, those elders were, for some reason, preparing to make a move against the Chang family? If those people really were to lash out at some point, the Lou family playing it by ear — this sort of ambiguous hint would, in fact, be sufficient for that purpose. And yet, however he turned it over, it still seemed unlikely.

In the course of their idle chat, Qian Xiwen had also happened to mention Ning Yi and Su Tan’er as a couple, though in Lou Jinlin’s mind, he naturally didn’t think this was the reason behind it. The distance between the Lou family and the Su family was, in truth, rather similar to the situation between the Qian and Lou families. Back when it had been suggested that Su Tan’er marry Lou Shuweng, it had purely been on the thinking that Su Tan’er might make a capable helpmate for his second son. Even so, at the time it had been approached with a certain sense of condescension, and afterward both sides had simply laughed it off and let the matter drop — a common enough occurrence.

This time, though Su Tan’er and Ning Yi’s visit had been warmly received once, there had really been no special feeling attached to it — the old marriage proposal had only ever been a joke. As far as Lou Jinlin was concerned, there was nothing particularly remarkable about this couple. Granted, Su Tan’er had some ability, but so did his own daughter — the two of them were close friends, and that was their own affair. Ning Yi being some so-called First Talent of Jiangning was of no great matter either — even his own son-in-law Song Zhiqian, if he went to Jiangning, could probably style himself the First Talent of Hangzhou for all anyone knew. At his own station in life, being a “great talent” wasn’t such an astonishing status after all.

Using the name of First Talent to get close to a great scholar like Qian Xiwen was nothing unusual, but even as First Talent, Ning Yi could hardly have been important enough to make Qian Xiwen personally come inquire about their relationship. And so Lou Jinlin didn’t factor any of this into his thinking after all.

Meanwhile, in the side hall of the main gathering boat, a group of officials and scholars had assembled, led of course by the current prefect of Hangzhou, Lu Tuizhi. This Prefect Lu was easygoing by nature — or at least, he liked to appear unconventional on the surface — and since this wasn’t a particularly formal setting, everyone chatted freely and happily. A large group of men gathered together, and when they weren’t talking about football, it was basically politics.

“…Now that the beacon fires have risen in the north, I wish to cast aside the writing brush and take up arms, march north with the army, and drive out the barbarian invaders alongside our royal forces, to reclaim Yanyun…”

“Brother Liang’s sense of righteousness is admirable, but the war between Jin and Liao has already dragged on for quite some time now, and yet no definite word of troop movements has come from the capital — could it be…”

“Brother Ziran worries too much. In fact, the six armies in the north have already been reorganizing these past days, and now there’s also news of Chancellor Qin’s return to office — proof enough that His Majesty planned far ahead in this matter, having prepared for it these eight years past, and will surely not let it fizzle out halfway. In my view, within a month or so, the matter will be settled.”

“It does seem our court deliberately chose to move troops before the autumn harvest — once the campaign begins, there’ll be fresh grain coming in, so the existing stores won’t run short…”

“Our Su-Hang region has always been a land of fish and rice — I imagine the burden of stockpiling and transport will fall heavily here as well. When the time comes, the prefect will have his hands full.”

“…It’s a pity there’s still banditry in the southwest, and it seems to be worsening by the day, of late…”

“Ai! Brother Chen, you’re mistaken there. The bandit Fang’s troubles are but a trifling matter — in my view…”

Little pockets of lively chatter here and there, each with its own musings and opinions — these were mere interludes, small and unremarkable episodes on the eve of the poetry gathering, all coming together to form the grand spectacle of the crowd assembled on Xiaoyingzhou.

At that same moment, Lou Shuweng stood on the deck platform of a pleasure boat, looking down. This particular flower boat’s second-floor platform stood rather high, and from up here, looking down, the embankment surrounding Xiaoyingzhou was thick with lush green trees; in the distance, Bao’an Temple could be seen nestled there. The sun poured down from the sky onto him, feeling rather hot — which was why most people at this hour preferred to stroll in the shade of the paths below.

Lou Shuweng had just extricated himself from a crowd of flatterers, and now, with no one nearby, a certain wistful, lingering mood suddenly came over him. He found the whole present business rather tedious.

In truth, he often felt this way — perhaps everyone did — though the mood that had just come over him was mainly because of one particular thing: he had just run into Su Tan’er.

The circumstances, incidentally, were as follows:

He had come over from elsewhere with some friends, and had come upon a group composing poetry. Struck by sudden inspiration at the time, he’d composed one on the spot — a piece in a relatively bold, unrestrained style, dashed off in one continuous stroke. His habitual style was one people praised as carrying the flavor of the Tang dynasty, and after all these years of writing, this particular piece could well be counted among his representative works. What mattered most, though, wasn’t really the poem itself, but the demeanor, the mood, and the effortless flair with which he’d composed it. Amid his own satisfaction, he’d also noticed that while he was composing, Su Tan’er and another woman had been watching nearby — the other woman must have been Luo Tian’s wife, Wen Haiying. The two of them had clearly been quite impressed with him.

Then they’d exchanged greetings, and the women had walked off.

This too was ordinary enough — for Lou Shuweng, writing poetry and being admired for it was simply routine, nothing out of the ordinary. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time. But afterward, when he’d gone off to get some water and found himself alone, all sorts of thoughts had come bubbling up in his mind.

Mostly it was about Su Tan’er’s looks, her smile, her ability in the marketplace, her running back and forth these past days, this and that. Originally, he couldn’t really claim to have been particularly smitten with Su Tan’er — after all, having played the field for so many years, though Su Tan’er was a beauty, Lou Shuweng had certainly seen women more beautiful than her. But none of them had her independence, none of them had… her particular presence. And the most important thing was that a certain feeling had resurfaced — the feeling that had come over him when, just over a month ago, his father had joked: “That Miss Su very nearly became your wife, once…”

There existed a certain possibility: that conquering a woman like this would feel entirely different from conquering any other young lady. Just thinking about it now was enough to stir something restless in his chest. Take how his younger sister sometimes teased him about it — he genuinely didn’t think the old possibility of a marriage arrangement was any great matter, but these feelings were unavoidable all the same.

Now that she’d seen him composing his poem, what must she be thinking? That earnest gaze from before — he’d definitely seen it. Admiration, surely, was there. What a pity, though — she was already married, and to some so-called First Talent who’d married into her family, no less. Even granting the man some talent, they were on entirely different levels in terms of bearing and presence — how could there be any comparison?

With these emotions swirling in his mind, he suddenly found himself no longer in the mood to mingle with those people. Having just given such a fine performance, he now felt a certain hollow loneliness — something along the lines of “a heart like a fierce tiger, delicately sniffing roses; after the grand feast, tears streaming down the face.” And so, he wandered off on foot.

Walking amid the crowd, with none of his friends coming over for a while, even when someone greeted him he simply nodded and smiled absently, not much in the mood for conversation. As he was nearing a fork in the path ahead, he saw beneath the trees a woman playing and singing, with two other women beside her chatting and laughing, a crowd gathered around. He recognized these women — he’d praised and supported them before — though they were still courtesans of some standing, he felt no particular urge to compete for their attention or go pay court to them at the moment. Nothing much worth seeing there.

Turning his gaze elsewhere, there were only more people walking about — how tedious, truly… But then, he spotted two figures by the lotus pond.

Those two were also listening to the music; since the crowd over here was too dense and unpleasant, they were standing off to the other side of the lotus pond, looking over at a slant from beneath the trees. One of them was Ning Liheng, and the other was one of the docile little maids who attended Su Tan’er — he didn’t know her name.

He could have gone over and greeted them, but after watching for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly instead. The master and servant over there were talking; the little maid was sometimes laughing happily, sometimes looking downcast, sometimes pouting slightly, sometimes acting coquettishly, occasionally even hopping a little as she glanced over toward the woman playing the zither by the pond. And Ning Liheng’s face, too, was full of smiles — quite unlike the reserved manner he displayed when together with Su Tan’er. Then Lou Shuweng noticed that at one point, Ning Liheng had even taken hold of the little maid’s hand.

How very intimate…

He fanned himself, smiling to himself over there, then glanced around, thinking: what would Su Tan’er make of this, if she saw it? He wasn’t the type to go tattling behind someone’s back, but Su Tan’er was nowhere in sight anyway. With his thoughts churning in a complicated jumble, he walked over that way, intending to give them a bit of a scare — it seemed like it might be rather amusing.

A matrilocal son-in-law getting involved with a maid — no different, really, from that stable hand back at home who’d once gotten a maid pregnant…

That was how he thought of it. And as he drew closer and closer, a certain notion sprouted in his mind out of nowhere, and instantly grew.

He had always been the unrestrained, romantic sort — once the thought occurred to him, he simply acted on it…

Here, Ning Yi and Xiao Chan’s backs were also just a small interlude on this great stage — and one about to turn into a somewhat larger, middling sort of interlude.

Lou Shuweng approached the two of them from behind and clapped Ning Yi on the shoulder.

“Ning Liheng!”

The instant Ning Yi turned around, he threw a punch straight at his face…