The Start-of-Autumn poetry gathering brought everyone together in one place, but naturally, a gathering like this had always been reserved for people of status and standing. Here on Xiaoyingzhou, though quite a few people had come alone and only later joined up with acquaintances, those actually qualified to attend the banquet numbered perhaps only a quarter or a fifth of everyone present; the rest were all maids, manservants, and the like, along with soldiers dispatched by the Hangzhou prefecture to maintain order and guard against trouble around the perimeter — none of these were counted among the attendees of the gathering proper.

On Ning Yi’s side, the only ones who could actually go aboard the main boat were the couple themselves and the two Su brothers — four people in total. Besides them, the three maids, along with the boatman handling the vessel and Dongzhu the driver who stayed in the rear cabin — these five would simply have to wait aboard their own pleasure boat below while the banquet was underway.

And so, when it came time to disembark and walk around Xiaoyingzhou, Ning Yi and Su Tan’er hadn’t brought Juan’er and Xing’er along with them — only Xiao Chan had been called to accompany them, with the understanding that she’d need to head back once she was no longer needed to attend them aboard the main boat.

Ning Yi had just told Su Tan’er about Xiao Chan’s private troubles. Given Su Tan’er’s temperament, she wouldn’t leave this little maid — whom she thought of like a sister — feeling wronged for long, but with so many people around, it wasn’t really a moment suited to private conversation. Before long they ran into Wen Haiying, and Su Tan’er went off with her. Ning Yi and Xiao Chan continued touring the grounds together, making their way over to Bao’an Temple in the middle of the lake, where they lit a stick of incense; since it was crowded, he simply had Xiao Chan stand a little off to the side and bow along with him.

At that moment, the girl had closed her eyes, her expression devout, murmuring something under her breath; her wispy bangs, caught in the slanting sunlight, seemed to glow with a faint radiance. Seeing this, Ning Yi felt something in his own heart purified, and pressed his own hands together to bow as well.

“Young Master, did you make a wish just now?” Xiao Chan asked curiously as they walked out of the temple gate together.

“What about you?”

Xiao Chan shook her head: “Not telling. If I say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

“Oh, so you’re hoping my wish doesn’t come true…” Ning Yi laughed, glancing at her. “Actually, my wish was for Xiao Chan to grow… a bit bigger.”

Xiao Chan’s figure was actually fine — it was just that she usually wore loose, bulky clothes when out and about, making her look like some little girl out of a New Year’s painting. But having spent so much time together, on the occasions when he’d seen her at home in more form-fitting clothes, her figure did in fact have quite lovely curves, rather alluring. It was just that her face looked so young and childlike — cute, certainly, but it kept making Ning Yi wonder whether she’d still look this way even at thirty or forty… Which was, of course, actually a good thing. Ning Yi rarely made wishes when worshipping, and had really only said this offhand — but Xiao Chan seemed to misunderstand his meaning, and lowered her head slightly, muttering under her breath: “Xiao Chan is already quite grown up…”

She had, in fact, already turned seventeen — out in the world, a girl her age would generally already be married. Xiao Chan was probably thinking of today’s business, and a wave of melancholy came over her; not wanting any hint of complaint to slip into her words, she kept her voice very small. Ning Yi couldn’t help but laugh at this, reaching out to pat her on the head, but Xiao Chan, well-practiced by now, covered her head and scurried off.

The two of them wandered about like this for a while, and before long stopped to rest in the shade of some trees by the water. Flecks of golden light filtered down through the gaps in the leaves, drifting over people like golden cicadas; all around, people came and went, and beneath the trees on the other side of the water, a woman was playing the zither. Earlier, with Su Tan’er present, Xiao Chan hadn’t wanted to seem too lively in front of both her mistress and her master, out of a maid’s proper reserve — but now, alone with Ning Yi, she was much livelier, telling him all about the woman over there.

“…Her, apparently, her name is Lü Yingtong — one of the most famous courtesans here in Hangzhou, on friendly terms with all sorts of official young ladies. I heard that this Miss Lü once fell for a poor scholar and spent her entire savings sending him off to the capital for the imperial examinations, and she’s still faithfully waiting for him to return in triumph even now. When people heard the story, they were so moved — even wealthy young ladies and daughters of officials have gone to console her, apparently…”

“Oh, oh, how moving…”

“Miss Lü is so beautiful. If I could play the zither that well, Juan’er and Sister Xing’er would be so envious. And that scholar who went off to the exams — when he comes back someday…” Xiao Chan cradled her cheeks in her hands, stars practically shining in her eyes.

Ning Yi wasn’t particularly moved by that kind of story, but Xiao Chan’s fondness for it came from such simple, genuine feeling that he had no wish to spoil it for her, and said with a smile: “So does Xiao Chan also know some poor scholar heading off to the exams without enough travel money?”

“No, I don’t. Xiao Chan, in the future… um, once I marry Young Master, if Young Master ever needs to go to the capital, Xiao Chan will bring out all her savings, and… it would be best if Young Master takes Xiao Chan along too — if we run out of money once we’re in the capital, Xiao Chan can start a business and earn it all back…”

“Oh.” Ning Yi nodded, saying softly, “So how much in private savings have you managed to put away, then?”

Xiao Chan had been joking up to this point, but now she blushed: “It-it’s not really that much money…”

The two of them talked about private savings for a while, Ning Yi’s intention being simply to cheer her up, praising her as being even more impressive than that Lü Yingtong. Xiao Chan waved her hands frantically: “No, no, not at all.” Before long she’d cast her worries aside entirely, and went bounding around again, chattering about various recent gossip she’d picked up regarding Hangzhou’s talented scholars and beautiful women. However Su Tan’er had trained her into a capable little powerhouse of a girl, she — like Juan’er and Xing’er back home — still naturally enjoyed gossiping about these sorts of things in her free time, occasionally imagining herself as the heroine of some such story, or comparing it to matters closer to home.

“I think, actually, that Young Master and Miss are happier than they are… um, happier than any of those couples in the stories. Juan’er and Xing’er think so too…”

Xiao Chan finished saying this with a flush on her face, when suddenly a voice rang out from behind them: “Ning Liheng.” Ning Yi turned around, and so did she — and in their field of view, Lou Shuweng, fan in hand and clad in flowing white robes, threw a punch straight into Ning Yi’s face…

…

Su Tan’er and Wen Haiying were resting for a while in a pavilion on one side of Xiaoyingzhou.

The shade of the trees around them was filled mostly with women — apparently wives and ladies of this or that household. They had already exchanged greetings with a few of them, though for the most part everyone still seemed like strangers.

Here in Hangzhou, Luo Tian’s wife Wen Haiying could be counted as something of a local fixture. In her youth, she’d been the daughter of an official family and had known many of Hangzhou’s upper-class women. But her temperament had always been gentle and retiring, and once she’d married into a merchant family, she’d lost touch with her old circle of sisters; these several years of secluded living had left her spirits knotted up, making it all the harder for her to socialize much with others. Though her mood had by now largely opened up, when it came to actually conversing with people, Su Tan’er beside her was, if anything, far more open and forthright.

Of course, among so many delicate, gentle women, Su Tan’er’s bearing, though distinctive, wasn’t entirely unique either. According to Wen Haiying’s introductions, she knew a few other women who were not only virtuous and outstanding in temperament, admired for managing their households and raising their children well, but also skilled at moving gracefully among a whole circle of women — much the same type as Su Tan’er.

“Over the years, it’s become something of a tradition here in Hangzhou — there’s a Crimson Kerchief Society, so called because it means women needn’t yield to men. It’s not any strict formal organization, just women who, around the time they come of age, join in once they hear of it — sometimes gathering together to chat, do needlework, that sort of thing. I was still young when my elder sister brought me in, though I didn’t get to know too many people. Later I got married, and I stopped attending gatherings. You see, that woman under the tree over there, Sister Xia — she’s the granddaughter of Elder Tang Xiuxuan, very amiable, though I was too timid back then and never talked with her much…”

Wen Haiying, not having much contact with people ordinarily, found herself quite talkative now that she had a trusted friend, sharing all sorts of anecdotes from her girlhood. She thought of herself back then as having been rather withdrawn, assuming no one would remember her — but a moment later, sure enough, two women came over to greet them: one the daughter-in-law of a Hangzhou assistant prefect, the other a granddaughter-in-law of the Chang family. After introductions, they didn’t seem to mind at all that Su Tan’er was a merchant’s daughter, and sat down to chat in the pavilion together.

After a while spent on Wen Haiying’s girlhood memories, then talk of Wen Haiying’s elder sister, then talk of Wen Haiying’s own reputation as a talented young woman back in the day, the conversation naturally drifted to today’s gathering. As married women now, they could hardly discuss something as vulgar as men, of course, so naturally the talk turned to poetry. Earlier, Lou Shuweng and his group had been composing poems nearby, and these two women had been watching as well, observing those men so full of spirited pride as they passed their verses around — naturally, the group of women had their own opinions to offer.

“…I saw Miss Su exchanging a few words with Lou Shuweng earlier — it seems the two families know each other. Honestly, that poem of Young Master Lou’s was truly excellent — just a few lines, and he captured the whole atmosphere of Xiaoyingzhou perfectly… oh, but speaking of poetry, Sister Wen’s talent was truly the finest back in the day. What do you think, Sister Wen?”

Wen Haiying thought it over: “I really haven’t written much these past years, but… it truly was quite good…”

When it came Su Tan’er’s turn, she naturally agreed as well: “I don’t have as deep an understanding of poetry as you sisters, but from what I heard, it was very good too.” In truth, as far as she was concerned, anyone who could write poetry at all was impressive; back in her girlhood, whoever got the most praise at a poetry gathering, she simply assumed must be the best, and she’d been quite swept away by such things herself at the time. After marrying Ning Yi, those feelings had faded considerably, but when it came to judging good from bad, she still mostly went by what others applauded.

They chatted a bit more about poetry, with Su Tan’er listening to them discuss the merits of the verses, occasionally chiming in and nodding earnestly. After a while, something occurred to her, and she said, quite naturally in the course of conversation: “Actually, a few days ago, when my husband and I were boating on the lake, we came here too, and he composed a poem as well — it seemed to come to him quite offhand at the time. I only remember a few lines, but it’s rather similar to what these gentlemen were writing. Let me think…”

She strained to recall it: “‘All around West Lake’s shores stand temple towers, their pavilions dim and bright as if reclining in robes. Bao’an sits again in… the finest spot, water and light merging on all sides, boundless and unbroken. No carriage dust reaches here, no horse hooves pass, and now and then the sea-moon lingers, in mutual company…’ He recited four lines at the time, but I only remember these three.” She pursed her lips, looking somewhat regretful.

This was, in fact, a poem written by Qin Guan, titled “Sending Off a Monk Returning to Bao’an” — ten lines in full, a hundred and forty characters altogether. Ning Yi had once read this long poem but couldn’t recall it in full either; he only remembered the first four lines, with the rest coming to him only in fragments. During those days when the family had gone touring all over, Ning Yi had naturally recited a couple of half-remembered lines here and there to express his feelings, or made remarks like “if you want to tour West Lake properly, a sunny lake can’t compare to a rainy lake, a rainy lake can’t compare to a moonlit lake, and a moonlit lake can’t compare to a snowy lake” — and the family had gotten along happily enough with such little exchanges.

He’d recited four lines of this particular poem; Su Tan’er, trying hard to remember, had only retained three — but they sounded pleasing enough to the ear, and she assumed her husband’s talent, overflowing as it was in every direction, must surely have produced a fine poem. There was also, admittedly, a certain element of showing off involved. Had Lou Shuweng witnessed this scene, he would probably have realized that Su Tan’er held no admiration whatsoever for his own poem — that her praise of it to Wen Haiying had merely been polite courtesy.

Sure enough, fragment though it was, once she recited it, the other three women fell into stunned silence for a good while, then asked about Su Tan’er’s husband. Su Tan’er, delighted inside, demurred modestly on the surface. Wen Haiying turned the verse over and over in her mind, then said quietly: “No wonder your husband is the First Talent of Jiangning…” Having been out of social circulation for so long, she knew nothing at all about Ning Yi’s other poems. The other two women then asked further, and exclaimed in astonishment: “Could it be the Ning Liheng of the ‘Prelude to Water Melody’?” “The Ning Liheng of the ‘Green Jade Cup’?” And they went on to discuss those pieces as well, with Wen Haiying listening in astonishment along with them. Having achieved her little moment of pride, Su Tan’er happily chatted on about how she and her husband had come to be here, naturally making no mention of Ning Yi’s status as a matrilocal son-in-law — that, after all, hardly mattered.

At just this moment, on the other side of Xiaoyingzhou, some manner of commotion seemed to be gradually stirring up. Among the shadows of the trees, people were turning to look that way, and then some began hurrying over in that direction — from the looks of it, something big had broken out over there, drawing a crowd of onlookers. The four women in the pavilion exchanged a few glances, then, chatting and laughing, made their way over there as well.

Before long, they caught their first glimpse of what was happening amid the crowd on that side…

…

Time now rewinds to a moment earlier — to Lou Shuweng’s fist, landing squarely on Ning Yi’s face.

Whatever else might be said, this was a relatively peaceful age. Even though Ning Yi kept himself in shape day to day and practiced without fail the internal cultivation techniques left behind by Lu Hongti, when it came to split-second reactions, without any mental preparation, he wasn’t all that much sharper than an ordinary person. Lou Shuweng’s sudden punch was, naturally, not something he could dodge.

The blow knocked his face sharply to one side; Lou Shuweng’s figure swam into view, and Ning Yi’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Had the man been holding a knife, Ning Yi likely would have reacted instantly. But since he wasn’t, the first thought that surfaced in Ning Yi’s mind wasn’t anything like retaliation — it was, in keeping with his character, closer to: what exactly is going on here, and what terrible thing have I done this time.

That first punch had landed a little too squarely — this, perhaps, was the starting point of the whole tragedy.

Lou Shuweng, though unrestrained and romantic by nature, was after all a scholar, and his family carried tremendous influence — actually coming to blows with someone, throwing a punch himself, was a rare occurrence for him. To be honest, this punch of his hadn’t done much damage to Ning Yi at all, but Lou Shuweng himself, of course, had no such awareness. He’d thrown that punch with real force, landing it squarely on the side of Ning Yi’s face — it had connected so cleanly, felt so satisfying, that his next move came almost without thought: pulling his fist back, he threw a second punch, trying to keep chasing that feeling of unrestrained, Tang-dynasty-style abandon.

Ning Yi raised a hand to try to block it, and at the same moment, Xiao Chan suddenly lunged forward from behind: “What are you doing!”

Xiao Chan, who usually seemed so gentle and delicate, suddenly moved like a she-wolf snapping into action — the kind of presence the three maids of the household might show when actually managing affairs or scolding the servants. She waved her arms, trying to block Lou Shuweng’s assault, though of course, hers was a body with plenty of spirit but no real strength behind it. Lou Shuweng had no particular goodwill toward her either; the fist heading Ning Yi’s way shifted direction slightly, pulling back just a bit of its force, and struck Xiao Chan on the shoulder instead: “Get out of the way!”

Xiao Chan cried out and went tumbling backward; Ning Yi’s hand shot out to grab her arm.

Should have shouted “get out of the way, you slut,” the thought flashed through Lou Shuweng’s mind. This punch hadn’t landed as cleanly as the first, but his momentum was still strong; he swung a kick straight at Ning Yi. But in that same instant, as his gaze lifted, he caught the change in Ning Yi’s expression — Ning Yi’s eyes, having turned back from Xiao Chan’s direction, were, for that one instant, utterly blank.

It was like seeing the darkest look his own father wore right before he unleashed fury on someone.

That look — he’d only ever seen it once in his life, years ago, when his family had clashed with the Chen family of Suzhou in a conflict that had nearly escalated to a fight to the death; his mother had fallen ill and died because of it. That evening, going to see his father, he’d found the courtyard unlit, his father sitting alone in the master’s chair in the room, seeming almost to have merged with the surrounding darkness. Not long after, the Chen family had been all but wiped out entirely. Looking back on it now, he felt his father had seemed, in that moment, like a lion crouched in the darkness.

He’d been at the height of his youthful vigor back then, and greatly favored by his father — he hadn’t exactly been afraid, but he had been deeply awed by it, and had later reined himself in somewhat, taking on more household responsibilities, hoping that he too might one day carry that same presence. It had felt good, that hope. But it wasn’t evening now, and nowhere here was dark — yet in that instant, he seemed to glimpse that same darkness again.

The kick landed with a thud squarely on Ning Yi’s chest.

Then came a crisp crack, startling the sunlight and the leaves.

The two men were roughly matched in build; Lou Shuweng lacked a martial artist’s solid frame but wasn’t exactly frail either, while Ning Yi, too, had merely the tall, lean look of a scholar. Lou Shuweng’s kick landed on Ning Yi’s chest, and Ning Yi’s body barely moved at all — instead, his hand shot back and delivered a startling slap in return.

Lou Shuweng’s body spun through the air, as though he’d used Ning Yi’s chest as a springboard to launch himself upward — and then, with a splash, he plunged into the pond beside them.

…

After a moment’s stunned silence, the crowd, more or less grasping what had happened, gathered around. Ning Yi drew Xiao Chan close to his side and asked after her condition. In the pond, Lou Shuweng — his head evidently ringing for a good while — was, fortunately, able to swim, and after thrashing about a bit, coughing, blood flowing from his nose and mouth, he pointed upward, his arm, mouth, and entire face twisted and trembling: “You-you-you-you-you…”

“Brother Lou, are you sure you haven’t gotten something confused?”

Ning Yi looked down at him and asked, enunciating each word clearly, a shoe-print still visible on his chest.

Then, from the shore, people began pushing forward, someone shouting: “Brother Lou! What happened!”

“Brother Lou, did this kid cause trouble?”

“Brother Lou…”

The shouting instantly swallowed up the whole scene. Ning Yi drew a breath and let it out again with a certain weariness — he already had a fairly good idea of what would come next. What did catch him somewhat off guard, though, was Lou Shuweng’s next reaction — which also happened to answer the question that had been nagging at him.

Nearly everyone recognized who Lou Shuweng was, and combined with his family’s standing, his circle of friends had already come crowding over. Lou Shuweng, having by now come to his senses, pointed at Ning Yi and shouted loudly: “Seize him! Seize them! Adulterer and whore! This Ning Yi is a man who married into another family as a matrilocal son-in-law, and here he is carrying on with a maid! Seize them! A disgrace to public morals! Seize them and drown them in a pig cage—”

“Such a thing could really happen!”

“Shameless!”

“Seize them!”

Several scholars rushed forward. Ning Yi glanced at them, then at Lou Shuweng, and said in a low, steady voice: “Not interested in talking this through?” His bearing was calm and composed, and there was a natural authority in his words. But at that very moment, an elderly man in the crowd shouted, eyebrows raised in fury: “Worthy nephew Lou, such a thing really happened! Don’t you worry! Come, everyone, seize this adulterer and his whore for me!”

Xiao Chan curled her body against Ning Yi’s side, her hands clutching at his clothes, on the verge of tears. One scholar reached out to grab at Xiao Chan; Ning Yi’s eyes turned sharp, and with a crack, the first man to reach him went sprawling flat on the ground. A second scholar threw a punch at Ning Yi; Ning Yi deflected it with a casual motion and sent the man tumbling into the pond.

The commotion began to spread wider…