“Regarding this matter, I can personally vouch for Liheng.”

As this voice rang out near midday, the crowd all turned as one, and there, standing by the long pavilion, was an elderly man in a gray robe, his bearing dignified, his spirit still vigorous. A small portion of those present didn’t recognize him, but Yan Lingzhong and Pan Hongda had already risen to their feet, a note of puzzlement in their voices: “Elder Yao?”

The crowd, too, began cupping their hands in greeting, some even bowing with the formal courtesy owed to a teacher. The man who had appeared here was, of course, none other than Yao Zunian, the strategist of the Qin household. His standing in the world of letters was, in truth, considerable — by any real reckoning, scarcely inferior to men like Qin Siyuan or Kang Xian — only his origins had been more humble, having served as an advisor to Qin Siyuan in his earlier years. Later, after Qin Siyuan had been dismissed from office, Yao Zunian had already built up considerable renown of his own; had he wished to take office himself, it would have been a simple matter. But because of what had happened to Qin Siyuan, he too had grown somewhat disheartened, and had remained in Bianliang as a man of leisure, unattached to office.

And over these past several years, precisely because he had held no official post, his reputation among the Confucian scholars of the literary world had only grown greater still — until Qin Siyuan returned to office and Yao Zunian went to serve as an advisor within the Right Chancellor’s residence, at which point he had gradually withdrawn from this sort of leisurely literary gathering. But by any honest reckoning, men like Qin Mowen or Xue Gongyuan could hardly match his reputation; the members of the Juanwen Society might treat him as an equal in ordinary conversation, but still owed him the deference due an elder. Yan Lingzhong, though he carried the title of Grand Academician, could not necessarily claim to surpass Yao Zunian in scholarship either.

Seeing him appear now, and hearing this first remark from his lips, Yan Lingzhong and the others already understood that they had badly misjudged the matter this time — though for the moment, they still couldn’t guess at the relationship between Yao Zunian and this Ning Yi. Yu Shaoyuan, only recently arrived in the capital, quietly asked the person beside him who this elderly gentleman was. Ji Wanqing glanced at Yu Shaoyuan, already beginning to feel a flicker of alarm — women of the pleasure quarters were, after all, most keenly attuned to the relationships among such men. She had originally heard that someone wanted to make an example of Li Shishi, had asked Yu Shaoyuan to take a hand in it, and with several children of the imperial family involved as well, had thought this a fine opportunity. Even a moment ago, vexed and puzzled as she’d been, she hadn’t felt any real alarm — but Yao Zunian’s appearance now finally made her realize she had inadvertently stepped on something far more dangerous than she’d expected.

Only Li Shishi, at this moment, seemed to have pieced together some clue in her own mind. Ever since Qin Siyuan’s retirement, he had lived in seclusion in Jiangning — the power standing behind Liheng might not be this Yao Zunian at all, but might instead be that formidable, iron-willed man who now served as the reigning Right Chancellor.

This was only a guess on her part, of course, and she had no way of confirming it. By now, Yao Zunian had already approached with an air of easy geniality, exchanging greetings with Yan Lingzhong and the others. Xue Gongyuan, already an old man, though the earlier shock hadn’t caused him any real harm, now looked visibly drained and listless. A man of fiery temper tends, more often than not, to be a man of straightforward, honest character as well; his earlier rebuke of Ning Yi had come from a genuine place, and it was precisely for that reason that, once he’d seen the poem, he’d found himself unable to deceive himself any further. Now he exchanged bows with Yao Zunian, who patted his shoulder, telling him to set his mind at ease.

Yan Lingzhong, a man well versed in the ways of officialdom, knew exactly how to defuse the awkwardness of the moment, and asked directly: “Elder Yao, you really ought to tell us just what this young friend’s background is.”

“That’s precisely why I’ve come.” Yao Zunian sat down, smiling and nodding, making no effort to hide anything from those present. “When I first heard about this matter, I suspected right away that this might be a case of the flood overturning the Dragon King’s own temple, so to speak. Young Liheng is a guest scholar of the Chancellor’s residence — his lord Qin himself thinks very highly of his scholarship.”

Earlier, when it had been said that Ning Yi was a guest scholar of a princely household, the crowd had grown quite excited, feeling they’d caught him in a lie. But now, hearing Yao Zunian call him a guest scholar of the Chancellor’s residence, no one quite knew what to say — a swindler might perhaps deceive some ignorant, unlettered prince, but there was no possible way he could fool men like Yao Zunian or Qin Siyuan. And for Yao Zunian to call him “young friend” — that was a term he would use only for someone he genuinely recognized and respected.

Before anyone could find their voice, Yao Zunian went on with a smile: “This whole matter is simply a misunderstanding. I believe young Liheng won’t take it too much to heart, and none of you need dwell on it either. It’s only natural that people would have their doubts about this — after all, for the past year, not a single new poem has come from Liheng’s hand. Part of that, certainly, is because he isn’t one to seek attention. But it’s also because, from last year until early this year, he was caught up in Hangzhou, in the midst of the war and chaos there, unable to get away.”

Yao Zunian paused. “It was a narrow escape from death, time and again, during that period — I won’t go into all the details. But when Hangzhou eventually fell and the bandit Fang was running rampant, Liheng personally saved a great many lives, and it was in no small part thanks to his help from within that Hangzhou was relieved a full month ahead of schedule earlier this year. At the time, he was trapped inside the city, maneuvering among Fang La and the other bandit leaders, his life hanging by a thread more than once, and it was under those circumstances that he accomplished what he did. Ye Kan, as I understand it, your uncle’s family owed the preservation of their lives, in the end, to Liheng’s protection while inside the bandit camp. You’re welcome to write home and confirm it yourself.”

Ever since Yao Zunian had arrived and taken his seat, he had spoken of the matter with an easy, unhesitating smile, holding nothing back. But by this point, no one present could quite say what complicated expression had settled onto their own face. The young man named Ye Kan, who had once studied under Yao Zunian’s instruction, had gone visibly pale. “This is it… my uncle will never let this go now…” He knew of the news that his uncle’s family had been besieged in Hangzhou and later escaped, but in an age when distances were vast and roads long, he could hardly have known the details in full. He never would have guessed that he had offended the very man who had saved his uncle’s life — even if his uncle never learned of what happened here today, his own strict mother certainly would, and she would very likely have him sent off to kneel in punishment behind closed doors for days on end.

“Don’t worry, this sort of misunderstanding — I’m sure your uncle’s family will understand well enough. As for poetry…” Yao Zunian smiled, seeming to weigh something in his mind. “As for poetry, it’s true that during Liheng’s year trapped in Hangzhou, no new work of his came to light. But… as for whether he’s written anything at all, well — actually, there is something…”

As he said this, his expression grew visibly more deliberate, as though still debating whether to say what came next. But finally, he reached slowly into his sleeve and drew out a small booklet.

“On the way here, I found myself wondering whether these poems ought to be made public at all… Liheng is a man of modest, unassuming temperament, one who prefers substance over empty talk and dislikes idle fame — I don’t know whether this kind of renown would strike him as more trouble than it’s worth. When these pieces first reached us while he was in Hangzhou, His Excellency Qin and I discussed the matter and decided to hold off for the time being, to wait until he’d formally given his consent before doing anything with them. But having seen what happened here today, I realize that if something like this were to happen again, it would only cause further trouble…”

He sighed. “At the time, Liheng, in the midst of fleeing for his life, wounded and ill, fell into the hands of the bandits. These pieces came about in a rather roundabout way, and weren’t, in truth, entirely of his own choosing to write — he composed them on behalf of a woman among the bandits, dashed off almost in passing, and yet more than a dozen of them made their way out in the end. When His Excellency Qin and I read through them, we were struck with both astonishment and disbelief; every time I’ve read them since, I find myself captivated anew by the sheer brilliance of the writing. Talent of this caliber shouldn’t be suppressed by the likes of us, or left to gather dust and mildew hidden away somewhere. We had meant to hold onto it a while longer, but it seems now, heh… “

Yao Zunian stood, holding the booklet with solemn care, and looked to one side. “These dozen-odd pieces, together with the one titled ‘Waves Washing over the Sand’ that Liheng composed just before Hangzhou fell, are all collected here in this booklet. To prevent anything like today’s incident from happening again, it’s time this was brought out into the open. Miss Shishi, of everyone here today, you alone are Liheng’s true friend — let this booklet of poems be entrusted to you, to be circulated on his behalf. I don’t imagine Liheng would object. Once the contents of this booklet become known, I doubt anyone will question Liheng’s talent again — for him, composing verse is nothing more than something that comes easily, a passing amusement in idle moments… Of course, Miss Shishi, you really ought to inform Liheng of this matter properly, in due course.”

He handed the booklet to Li Shishi with a smile. Li Shishi, her expression flickering with mild astonishment, took it in both hands, still uncertain and taken aback. In truth, just as poets relied on reigning courtesans to spread their fame, so too did reigning courtesans need poets to lend them stature in turn; if the contents of this booklet were truly as remarkable as Yao Zunian described, then from this point on, no one would dare question Liheng’s reputation again — and she herself stood to gain enormously from it as well. It was likely, she thought, that for a good long while, Ji Wanqing and all her rivals combined wouldn’t come close to matching her own renown. She understood well enough the weight of what she now held; she simply hadn’t expected Yao Zunian to appear and do something like this.

Yao Zunian said with a smile, “That settles this matter, then. There’s still business waiting for me back at the Chancellor’s residence — once I’ve finished this bowl of red bean soup, I really ought to be on my way. If any of you still have questions, feel free to ask me… Oh, and Miss Shishi — every single poem in that booklet is a fine piece of work; reading them in the past, one can’t help wanting to tap out the rhythm in appreciation, but it’s always been something of a shame that there was no music to accompany them. Your skill on the instrument is unmatched, and since you happen to be here today, why not perform one of them now? I’d like to hear it before I go — what do you say?”

No sooner had he finished than Shishi nodded quickly, sending her maid to fetch her zither. Then, drawing a breath, she settled into her seat and carefully, almost cautiously, opened to the first page. The wind blew past, and the first thing that caught her eye on the page was a title of a few characters… “Ballad of the Chivalrous Guest,” and then…

“A guest from Zhao, in a plain-tasseled cap—”

…

Time slips back a little now, to the road outside the estate, where Ning Yi and Zhou Pei had, for the moment, parted ways.

As for the melancholy of a fifteen-year-old girl about to be married off, Ning Yi couldn’t truly share in the feeling, but he could more or less guess at it.

Marriages arranged by parents and matchmakers had, by this era, become the accepted custom — not that there was anything terribly wrong with it; so long as a person kept their expectations and desires modest enough, plenty of such marriages turned out to be genuinely loving ones. But for someone who was truly clever, such an arrangement wasn’t necessarily bound to bring happiness.

Zhou Pei’s distress stemmed precisely from her own cleverness, and it was this that made Ning Yi feel that forcing a fifteen-year-old girl, one who had only just begun to grasp the meaning of youth, into marriage at this point was, in its way, rather pitiable. But he had no intention of encouraging her to resist, nor of offering her some novel, hopeful alternative — there was, in truth, no way out of it at all.

And so, when Zhou Pei stood before him quietly shedding tears, he couldn’t think of much in the way of useful comfort to offer, and in the end found himself feeling rather awkward about it. Though there weren’t many people around at the moment, the two of them were, after all, teacher and student — being seen like this, and misunderstood, wouldn’t do either of them any good.

So, once Zhou Pei had cried for a while and settled down somewhat, he sent her off first, having her take a carriage back to the Qin residence, while he himself waited here for Yao Zunian and Cheng Zhouhai, whom he’d spotted earlier, to come out.

He’d caught sight of them while leading Zhou Pei out. This was because when Zhuo Yunfeng had excitedly relayed the whole business to Zhou Pei, though he’d mentioned it happened outside the city, he hadn’t gotten the exact location straight, and so Zhou Pei had first rushed to the Chancellor’s residence to find someone, and had then come over together with Yao Zunian and Cheng Zhouhai.

Ning Yi watched Zhou Pei make her way to the carriage and climb in; with the household guards of the princely residence standing watch, there was nothing more to worry about there. After a moment’s thought, he turned and headed back toward the gate of the estate, meaning to wait there for Yao and Cheng to come out and discuss the situation. And then, right in the middle of this stroll, someone suddenly came up beside him, laughing boisterously — and it wasn’t Cheng Zhouhai.

The voice carried a note of malicious, gloating delight.

“Hahahaha… ah hahahaha… Ning! Li! Heng! That’s it, isn’t it, that’s the name! I recognized you the moment I was in there, no trouble at all… how funny is this! Weren’t you going by that other name, that whatever-Feng thing? Remembered now, haven’t you! Remembered now! Hahahaha… let me tell you, there’s nothing I hate more than being made a fool of — my father is Gao Qiu! And you dared to make a fool of me — hmph hmph hmph hmph hmph hahaha… You’re something else, aren’t you, leaving all of them speechless like that, but why did you have to make a fool of me, huh…”

A group of men had come up alongside him — attendants, followers — with the stern-faced lieutenant Lu Qian leading the way. The man beside Ning Yi clapped him on the shoulder, laughing with such wicked, gleeful abandon that he nearly doubled over, as if some grand, universally shared cause for celebration had just occurred…

He wrapped an arm around Ning Yi’s hand, grinning as he leaned in close. “I’ve, got, you, now! What are you going to do about it now…”

Ning Yi simply looked at him, expression calm and unreadable, and said nothing.