The gentle breeze blew on, and the servants brought out chilled red bean soup, refreshingly cool. The mood at the poetry gathering grew ever livelier — everyone present was a man of letters, able to judge the quality of poetry, and each had one or two good pieces held in reserve. Now, one by one, they brought them out for comparison and critique. Among the earlier works, Fang Wenyang had already produced one that drew quite a bit of attention, but then Yu Shaoyuan’s new poem, “Who pulled back a thousand feet of snow from the Miluo,” had everyone feeling it surpassed even that, fully worthy of being remembered for a century.
Every year in Bianliang, a handful of such works would emerge — some praised simply because the mood was right, others genuinely excellent in their own right. Yu Shaoyuan’s fame in the capital had been rising lately, though he still couldn’t match established great talents like Zuo Xiliang and Fang Wenyang who had already been famous for years. But at the height of his good fortune, it truly felt like the stars had aligned for him — this effortlessly brilliant new poem drew admiration from all who heard it. Ji Wanqing, smiling, sang the poem aloud, though inwardly she felt a pang of regret — this poem was even better than the Dragon Boat Festival poem he’d given her earlier; why would he bring it out so casually now? If he’d held onto it, perhaps tomorrow it could have been used to compete directly with Li Shishi.
In Bianliang, among the current top poets, the truly formidable one was still Zhou Bangyan — though now that Zhou Meicheng had returned to official service, when it came to ci poetry, only Li Shishi, who was close to him personally, could still obtain his new work. If he performed well, giving Li Shishi a genuinely excellent poem, then her side, with Yu Shaoyuan’s poem in hand, might just be able to hold its own.
That was what she thought, but since the poem had already been brought out, there was no taking it back now. Yu Shaoyuan himself was quite pleased with his work, modestly deflecting the crowd’s praise, occasionally exchanging meaningful glances with Ji Wanqing, though more of his sidelong glances drifted toward Li Shishi. With him basking in the spotlight, Fang Wenyang inevitably felt somewhat deflated. But the focus of the entire gathering remained, in the end, on these few talented young men. Ning Yi and the others had taken their seats and quickly found their place amid the general lack of attention, joining in the pleasant atmosphere.
“Greetings, Master Lu, I am your student Yu Hezhong. Two years ago I heard you lecture on Mencius at Yueshan Cottage, and benefited greatly from it. Now that we meet again, please allow this student to pay his respects…”
Cutting sideways through the crowd, Yu Hezhong made his way to the front, finding one of the teachers whose lectures he’d once attended. Among these several learned men at the front, five were the most renowned: “Elder Mo” Qin Mowen of the Juanwen Society, and Xue Gongyuan; Lu Mingfang, famed for his commentary on Mencius; Pan Hongda, who ran schools everywhere with students scattered across the realm; and Yan Lingzhong, a man of profound learning serving as academic supervisor at the Imperial College. Yu Hezhong had once attended Lu Mingfang’s lectures; though Lu Mingfang didn’t remember him, he nevertheless received him kindly, asking a few perfunctory questions about his studies and current achievements, offering some encouragement before inviting him to sit nearby.
Gatherings like this were just so — free discussion among friends, casual expression of thoughts. Some present had more learning, some less, but few would press hard against one another. Yu Hezhong’s own learning didn’t match that of the men present, but honestly, even though at times he felt he was merely basking in Shishi’s reflected glow, for the most part he genuinely enjoyed taking part in such gatherings. Even without producing some world-shaking masterpiece himself, simply attending and returning to boast a bit to his fellow clerks at the Ministry of Revenue afterward was already quite a point of pride.
Earlier, he had been somewhat wary that Ji Wanqing’s side might clash with Shishi’s, but now, seeing the harmonious atmosphere, it didn’t seem to be the case after all. Turning around, he saw Chen Sifeng over on the other side chatting and greeting a few acquaintances, while further down the corridor, Ning Yi too was chatting and laughing with those around him, seemingly having blended right into the mood, without drawing much attention. Shishi had gone to the front, where amid the laughter and conversation she’d seen Yu Shaoyuan’s new poem, offering him a look of admiration, and had also complimented Fang Wenyang and others on their works. An ordinary, pleasant poetry gathering scene.
If things had simply continued this way, this gathering would surely have become a fondly remembered event for a long time to come. By now, Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng had both relaxed their guard considerably, and though Shishi felt a faint sense of oddness, for the moment she couldn’t guess what might happen. Most of those attending the gathering were genuinely there just for the occasion, enjoying this rare cool morning before the Dragon Boat Festival, watching Yu Shaoyuan and the others in their moment of glory, occasionally chiming in with a comment or two, quite content. As for the wealthy young men and women who had come purely to watch a spectacle, they too were, for now, simply enjoying the atmosphere of the gathering itself.
Sitting beside Ning Yi in the crowd was a young man named Zheng Kaiqing, who had some modest reputation back home and had spent two or three years in the capital, familiar enough with these circles to have made something of a name for himself — not on the level of Yu Shaoyuan or Fang Wenyang, but being invited to such gatherings at all was itself a mark of standing. Originally he had simply exchanged a greeting or two with the man beside him because he was a friend of Li Shishi’s, but he found that Ning Yi spoke with propriety and ease, carrying himself rather well, so they fell into conversation, occasionally passing draft poems back and forth to critique one another’s work.
After a while, Zheng Kaiqing stepped away briefly. When he returned, just as he was about to sit down and share something amusing with Ning Yi, he heard someone nearby say: “Could this be Ning Liheng of Jiangning?”
Zheng Kaiqing saw the man looking their way, still not quite sure what was happening, when the man added, “Shishi’s friend — could he be the Ning Liheng of Jiangning’s ‘One Night, Fish and Dragons Dance’?”
Zheng Kaiqing had indeed heard of those lines, “one night, fish and dragons dance” and “when will the bright moon come” — at this point, the man beside him stood up, cupping his hands with a smile. “Yes, that would be me…” For a moment, Zheng Kaiqing found himself feeling as though this gathering harbored hidden dragons after all.
As for Ning Yi’s ci poems — though they were impressive enough to overshadow the whole gathering, without the tempering and refinement that comes with time, they hadn’t yet reached the level of instantly commanding universal reverence. Even though they’d been sung in brothels and enjoyed a period of popularity, their fame couldn’t possibly match the decades-long reputation built up by someone like Zhou Bangyan. Before long, people brought those poems out again, and someone mentioned Ning Yi’s status as “Jiangning’s First Talent.” The general feeling was, at most, mild surprise that a figure potentially on par with Yu Shaoyuan or Fang Wenyang happened to be seated here — but given Ning Yi’s modest words and courteous manner in the exchanges that followed, quite a few people took a liking to him, assuming he simply didn’t wish to draw attention to himself right now, or perhaps didn’t have new work ready. As a result, he only received passing notice — it wasn’t as though a few old, established poems would draw everyone’s full attention his way.
Even so, this “old friend of Shishi’s” had already drawn some notice. Zheng Kaiqing paid closer attention to Ning Yi, curious whether something impressive might emerge, but soon a friend called him over to look at a poem. As he stepped away, he heard someone in the crowd murmuring: “That fellow’s nothing but a fraud seeking undeserved fame…” Gatherings like this had their own cliques, and people didn’t guard their words around him. He listened carefully and realized only a small group was saying this — casting doubt on how much substance lay behind this Ning Liheng’s reputation.
“I heard it was said a monk chanted those poems, and he took the credit…”
“Wasn’t it a Daoist priest?”
“Over in Jiangning, he’s already been exposed…”
“Look at him — not a single new poem this whole year, has anyone even heard of anything new from him?”
“Jiangning’s First Talent — that’s supposed to be Cao Guan, isn’t it… I heard this is just something he claims about himself.”
Bianliang gathered talents from across the realm; Jiangning, though a great city, hardly counted for much when it came to claiming “First Talent” on the scale of “the whole realm.” No one here felt any particular awe of the title, and now that doubts had been raised, all sorts of opinions surfaced. Zheng Kaiqing, having heard some of this, turned back with some confusion: could this Ning Liheng really be a fraud seeking undeserved fame?
At a gathering like this, if someone turned out to be a friend of Li Shishi’s with no particular talent, that would be one thing — no one would think much of it or hold any hostility. But if someone with no real talent tried to present himself as being on par with Yu Shaoyuan or Fang Wenyang, gaining fame from it — that gave off an entirely different impression. And just at this moment, over there, someone was already asking something further. Before Zheng Kaiqing could quite catch what was said, a voice suddenly roared out, startling the whole gathering: “You wretch! Do you not remember this old man?”
…
In truth, most of the time, Ning Yi remained rather tolerant and amiable by nature. Taking part in social occasions like this wasn’t any kind of burden for him; he was even happy to watch these literary men in their moments of spirited enthusiasm. Each devoted to their own craft — in his eyes, anyone who poured their heart into their own field deserved respect.
An occasion like this was, after all, just people flattering one another, and Ning Yi was content to sit quietly off to the side. Even when someone brought up his identity, invoking the title “Jiangning’s First Talent,” he was more than willing to offer praise in return; even when asked his opinion, he approved of most of the poems being presented. Under these circumstances, Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng had each produced a poem of their own, while Ning Yi, for his part, responded to everything graciously and appropriately — his bearing was pleasant enough that even without producing any poetry himself, no one thought ill of him. Before long, someone passed over the draft of Yu Shaoyuan’s second poem, and Ning Yi looked it over — it was a Nian Nu Jiao:
“The old customs of Chu and Xiang, I recall rice dumplings sunk into the river, cherishing the memory of a loyal soul. Who pulled back a thousand feet of snow from the Miluo, washing away the departed souls in parting. The children win their prize, red thread wound round their arms, the tale told fondly year after year. Dragon boats race to cross, banners seized, drums pounding fiercely, proud and fierce. Who remembers the poet’s romantic spirit, calamus and peach and willow, recalling the boudoir’s arrangement. Chewing on musical notes, savoring elegant delight, how it compares to the joys of years past. Green apricot orchard, a single cask of warmed wine, ought to wash away this melancholy. The south wind should understand, and blow apart the grief clinging to one’s sleeve.”
This poem really was excellent — even a few of the elders remarked that, judged purely on its own merits, it was good enough to gain entry to the Imperial College. Someone asked, “What does Liheng think?”
Ning Yi replied, “Truly an excellent poem.”
At that, another voice spoke up: “Why doesn’t Liheng try his own hand at one, and see who comes out ahead against Master Yu?”
The one who spoke was a woman — Ning Yi looked up to see it was Princess Zhou Qing from Prince Chong’s mansion, now smiling his way. Zhou Pei had visited him the day before and mentioned that her cousins had all treated her well, and had casually brought up this princess’s name over a meal, so Ning Yi felt rather favorably disposed toward her. Now, as she urged him to compose a poem, the people around chimed in: “Master Ning was able to write ‘One Night, Fish and Dragons Dance’ — surely whatever he produces now will be excellent too.”
Someone laughed. “I’m really looking forward to this — this gathering is about to become legendary.”
Over on the other side, a shadow crossed Yu Shaoyuan’s eyes, though he too cupped his hands and smiled. “I’d very much like to see Brother Ning’s talent myself. It would be an honor to learn from him.”
Ning Yi shook his head with a smile. “Brother Yu’s talent is remarkable — this Nian Nu Jiao is truly a superb work. Seeing it, I can only bow in admiration; I won’t embarrass myself by trying to compete.”
Yu Shaoyuan, having taken this poem quite seriously precisely because it might earn him entry to the Imperial College, had been on guard against Ning Yi. Hearing Ning Yi step back now, he understood this to mean Ning Yi was ceding the spotlight to him. For a moment he wasn’t sure whether to accept graciously or press further, but a smile had already crept onto his face. Just then, someone beside him spoke up: “Are you Ning Liheng?”
Ning Yi answered almost reflexively: “That’s right.”
The man asked again: “Are you really Ning Liheng?”
These two questions, coming one after another, struck Ning Yi as rather odd. He frowned, just as the man in front stood up abruptly, slamming his hand on the table: “You wretch! Do you not remember this old man?”
The man’s hair and beard bristled with fury — it was none other than Xue Gongyuan of the Juanwen Society. Ning Yi immediately placed him: the elder who had scolded him for arguing with him on the street outside Fan Tower with Yun Zhu, the very night he’d first arrived in Bianliang. Ning Yi felt both helpless and rather amused, silently cursing himself for having brought this on himself. Outwardly, of course, he feigned complete ignorance: “Old sir, what do you mean by this?”
“Heh, so you’ve forgotten, have you! A few days ago, outside Fan Tower, you were openly pulling and grabbing at a woman on the street, behaving disgracefully, a disgrace to decency! This old man pointed it out, and you had the nerve to talk back with foul language! Now I recognize you for who you are!”
At this, the whole crowd erupted in murmurs. Ning Yi frowned and cupped his hands. “Old sir, you must be mistaken. No such thing ever happened — you must have the wrong person.”
The matter seemed to come out of nowhere. Xue Gongyuan spoke with utter conviction, while Ning Yi, for his part, appeared entirely innocent and sincere in that brief moment. Shishi had witnessed the incident herself — the moment Ning Yi had been brought over earlier, she’d already remembered it, but by then it had been too late to send him away, so she could only hope the distance between Xue Gongyuan and Ning Yi would keep him from being recognized. But seeing Ning Yi’s performance now, despite her astonishment, she couldn’t help covering her mouth to hide a laugh. The incident was so out of the blue, and so few people actually knew about it, that she didn’t for a moment suspect it was some scheme orchestrated by Ji Wanqing and the others.
But after Ning Yi flatly denied it, Xue Gongyuan grew even angrier, slamming the table again. “You wretch! You dare deny it! Just now, they told me you were a fraud seeking undeserved fame — this old man had his doubts. But now that I’ve recognized you, and you still dare put on this air of innocence — this old man can now say with certainty: a reckless, shameless man like you, unrepentant to boot, that so-called reputation as Jiangning’s talent must be a fraud as well. Today is Bianliang, not Jiangning — this old man will make sure you can’t cheat your way to that reputation here!”
As he finished, the scholar Yan Lingzhong shook his head. “Elder Xue, this matter hasn’t been settled yet — let’s not be so hasty in judgment.”
Someone in the crowd spoke up: “I think he’s a fraud too…” — it was one of the wealthy young men closely associated with Zhou Qing.
With these voices raised, the rest of the crowd broke into clamor. Shishi, sitting there, suddenly frowned and glanced at Ji Wanqing beside her. Ning Yi, too, suddenly furrowed his brow.
Something… didn’t seem quite right.
If this had merely been an unfortunate coincidence sparked by Xue Gongyuan, Ning Yi might have simply chalked it up to bad luck. But now it didn’t look that way at all — judging from what they were saying, it seemed that just in the past little while, someone had already gone around telling those at the front all about Ning Yi’s situation. That a crowd would suddenly erupt with so many doubters and accusers all at once didn’t fit the natural pattern of how such things unfold.
That Ning Yi’s claim to be some kind of “First Talent” might draw skeptics once it reached Bianliang, given the rumors — that wasn’t unusual in itself. But for things to escalate to this degree in such a short span of time, with figures like Xue Gongyuan and Yan Lingzhong all being fed the same one-sided account condemning Ning Yi as a fraud — to call this the natural spread of mere rumor was almost impossible.
He grew wary at once. Meanwhile, Xue Gongyuan kept pounding the table, recounting again what had happened that night outside Fan Tower. Yan Lingzhong and those like him still maintained a cautious stance, urging Xue Gongyuan to restrain himself and give Ning Yi a chance to explain and prove himself. Someone in the crowd remarked that Ning Yi had, after all, produced no poem at all this time.
Yu Shaoyuan, in front, cupped his hands and spoke loudly: “For my part, I’m inclined to believe this Brother Ning. Elder Xue, everyone, why not give him a chance? Brother Ning, you’ve been called Jiangning’s First Talent — surely my humble Nian Nu Jiao here couldn’t possibly fail to catch your eye, or stir any poetic inspiration in you at all?”
Ji Wanqing rose gracefully. “I think we should give Master Ning a chance too. Everyone, after all, he’s someone Miss Shishi brought along — surely we ought to give Miss Shishi some face in this.”
At this point, she had finally linked Ning Yi and Li Shishi together directly. Shishi, meanwhile, had been sitting there since earlier, hiding her lips behind her small fan, seemingly lost in thought. Now she looked around, glanced over at Ning Yi, and spoke up. “Everyone, this is really pressing too hard. As for poetry, Elder Brother Ning did already write one earlier — but it was written for his wife at home, and I promised him I wouldn’t reveal it. Whatever Elder Brother Ning decides to do, all of you suddenly turning on him like this doesn’t seem quite right…”
She too had by now sensed that this wasn’t a simple matter, and was still puzzled as to how things had come to this. As for how Ning Yi planned to respond, she wasn’t sure either, and her words came out somewhat hesitant. If Ning Yi were willing to make that Huanxi Sha public, it could at least resolve this crisis of doubt — but whether he’d be willing to, or what he might come up with on the spot if he refused to use it, all of this turned over in her mind.
But having mentioned earlier that Ning Yi had written a poem, people had grown expectant, and now that she said she couldn’t reveal it, the wave of skepticism surged up at once. Someone said, “Miss Shishi is very kind to her friends, we all know that, but in a situation like this, still trying to shield him — that’s not quite right, is it…”
Another added: “What do you mean you won’t say — if Miss Shishi just recited any old poem and claimed this man wrote it, would we even believe it…”
But there were still plenty among the crowd standing on Shishi’s side: “Are you saying you don’t believe what Miss Shishi says?”
Amid this surging clamor, what had been a lively poetry gathering suddenly turned into something like a tribunal for exposing a fraud, and it grew all the livelier for it. Still, as Shishi and Ning Yi’s eyes swept the crowd, they were roughly able to sort out in their minds who among them were the firm instigators driving this forward, gaining some sense of the overall shape of things. Among the crowd, those who had come purely to watch a spectacle grew even more excited now that the drama had truly begun, watching Ning Yi standing there. In a situation like this, standing alone as the accused before a crowd of doubters put one at an inherent disadvantage no matter what — even Shishi felt a flutter of unease in her heart. Ning Yi, of course, understood this too. Feeling the thorny situation closing in, he smiled and shook his head.
“Even if I wrote a poem, would that prove my innocence?”
Xue Gongyuan roared back: “You dare speak of poetry! Don’t you dare insult poetry! Nothing you write could cover up the fact that your conduct is disgraceful…”
Someone in the crowd said, “Of course it’s not enough just to write any poem — look at ‘One Night, Fish and Dragons Dance,’ if he’s really Jiangning’s First Talent with such great talent, at the very least he’d need to surpass Master Yu’s Nian Nu Jiao to prove it!”
“If it surpasses this Nian Nu Jiao, shouldn’t it be this Master Ning who gets recommended into the Imperial College instead…”
“If he can write that well, he’d certainly have earned the right…”
“Great writing is a gift from heaven — I think just measuring up would be enough…”
In situations like this, the most troublesome part was exactly this kind of endless clamor — meet one demand, and a second appears. Everyone’s standards kept shifting, so that there was always some excuse not to accept the outcome. Even someone with genuine talent, under this kind of public condemnation, might not perform well, and afterward, word would spread and their reputation would still be ruined regardless. And what a thrilling spectacle it would be, to expose a great fraud at a gathering like this — everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves, egging it on. Someone said to Shishi: “Miss Shishi, though your heart is kind, you needn’t get involved in this matter — don’t let this fraud deceive you.”
Lu Mingfang said, “Well said. Even if he is a friend, you shouldn’t be shielding and indulging him at a time like this. Hezhong, this man is your friend too — what do you think?”
Yu Hezhong, who held Lu Mingfang in great reverence and awe, cupped his hands. “This student… this student hasn’t seen him in a long while, and we’re not especially close. If… if he truly is a fraud seeking undeserved fame, this student will of course draw a clear line between us. Only…” He felt this didn’t sound quite right either, and was about to add something more, when Lu Mingfang had already nodded. “Good. You may step back.”
Li Shishi, however, said: “I believe in Elder Brother Ning.”
Amid this chaotic scene, the crowd had by now nearly scattered apart, leaving Ning Yi standing there singled out. At that very moment, at a side door leading into the area, Zhou Pei, having rushed over in haste, was already standing there anxiously looking this way, trying to catch her breath. She knew that even rushing out now would likely do no good — the situation was so thorny that she found herself worried whether Ning Yi could even resolve it. Even if he managed to produce a fine poem on the spot, that might not be enough to settle everything; once he’d written the poem, they would surely test him on other things too, all manner of difficult demands, none of which would let up. No one was skilled at everything — there would inevitably be something he wasn’t good at, and if he simply followed along with their pace, in the end he’d be left with no dignity at all. Even if word got out afterward, someone tested in this manner would, in most cases, still come out looking inferior.
Just then, she heard Ning Yi speak up again.
“I’ve got a strange temper. You all want me to write — well, I simply don’t feel like writing.” He smiled. “I’m rather curious how exactly this all came about. Shishi, there’s no need to bring out that poem… If I don’t write, what exactly can you all do about it?”
This answer was unexpectedly brazen. To refuse to prove himself now meant his reputation would surely be ruined the moment word got out. Yet here he was, standing his ground with such an easy, unbothered attitude, somehow still not appearing to be at a disadvantage — clearly disappointing the crowd who’d been anticipating a show.
Among the five elders at the front, the stern-faced Pan Hongda, clearly displeased by Ning Yi’s attitude, spoke in a grave, dark tone: “Today we gathered as fellow scholars to make friends through poetry, only to have it disrupted by an affair like this. But based on what I’ve just heard, Ning Liheng — if you give no account of yourself today, I, Pan Hongda, promise you this: you will never so much as dream of rank or fortune in Bianliang again. I will report this to the court myself, and see to it that you cannot take a single step in this city — I may even see you thrown in prison for a crime. Do you believe me!”
Among these men, Pan Hongda was known to be extremely strict in his scholarship and notoriously bad-tempered, but no one had expected him to say something like this — after all, being doubted at a poetry gathering, at worst, meant one’s reputation would be ruined; how could it possibly escalate to imprisonment for a crime? Ning Yi glanced at him. “Oh? On what grounds?”
Those nearby couldn’t help but frown too, feeling this had gone too far. Shishi looked up in surprise, and Ji Wanqing frowned. “Elder Pan, that’s rather…”
“What do you know!” Pan Hongda glanced at her. “Hmph. Do you all know — this man isn’t merely a Jiangning talent, he’s also a guest scholar at Prince Kang’s mansion in Jiangning, and the personal tutor to the young lord Zhou Junwu and the princess Zhou Pei of that household!”
At these words, the entire crowd erupted in shock.