Scholars and men of letters, dueling in poetry and prose, fought over pride as much as anything — even in losing, one couldn’t lose composure, couldn’t lose grace. Men like Gu Yanzhen had seen this sort of thing plenty of times before; usually, once you’d seen the opening moves, you could already guess how it would end.

Ordinarily, since no one claimed to be truly first in letters, a somewhat weaker poem wouldn’t cause much trouble. But this time, with Chen Jiwen present, and the two Su brothers falling short by such a wide margin, after a round of mockery the other side had pushed the ink, paper, and brush over to them — and Su Wending and the others didn’t dare pick up the brush again, for fear of becoming even more of a laughingstock. Out on the street, a situation like this might well have come to blows; but with so many onlookers gathered here, a fight breaking out at this gathering would only get both sides dragged out by the guards keeping order. For the moment, they stood there red-faced, unable to say a word.

Once Li Pin had come upstairs and shown that he knew the Su brothers, there was likely no escaping the situation now. Then Chen Jiwen had openly issued his challenge, and once word of it reached Gu Yanzhen and Shen Miao’s side, they’d laughed — this pointless little squabble had finally gotten interesting.

Who could have guessed that, in the space of just a few exchanged words after that, the once tense standoff seemed to have a basin of cold water thrown over it. The confrontation carried on as before, but that edge of sharpness seemed to have been pressed down by something unseen. Li Pin had done no more than exchange a few greetings before stepping aside with his companions, apparently no longer intending to get involved — and yet the men who’d meant to write their poems now hesitated, unable to put brush to paper. Gu Yanzhen had already seen their talent firsthand, Chen Jiwen especially — brush raised, he seemed to be weighed down by some private concern, as though he had lines in mind yet kept hesitating to commit them to paper. How could such a thing even happen?

From where they sat, they couldn’t hear what was being said over there, and could only piece things together as word slowly drifted across. A strange mood spread among the onlooking scholars, murmurs and pointed glances passing back and forth. The Su brothers had visibly relaxed, though they too seemed unsure what to do next, exchanging glances with each other before looking over toward Li Pin again.

“Dexin’s arrival made Chen Jiwen hesitate to put brush to paper? Since when has such a thing ever happened?” Gu Yanzhen frowned — though he’d been away from Jiangning for several years, so this too left him genuinely shaken.

Shen Miao shook his head. “He was challenging Dexin himself just a moment ago — why would he suddenly be unable to write now?”

“Could it be he thought he had a fine verse in mind, only to realize just now that one line wasn’t quite right?”

His companion offered this guess, and then one of them rose from his seat. “Let me go take a look.”

The man wove past a few tables toward the whispering crowd, asked around, then looked over toward the window seats where Li Pin’s group sat. Something seemed to dawn on him, and he made his way back, laughing. “So that’s it — it’s not because of Dexin at all, it’s the man sitting beside him. Chen Jiwen and his friends really are having some rotten luck this time…”

“Who is that young man, exactly?”

“Ning Yi.”

“…Ning Yi of the Su household? Ning Liheng?” Shen Miao blinked, then let out a dry laugh. “Ha, no wonder… so that’s who’s had Chen Jiwen hesitating all this while. The man never attends social gatherings, no wonder we didn’t recognize him. If I had to go write verse with him sitting right there, I’d probably hesitate a good while myself. Chen Jiwen’s really in a bind this time…”

“The Ning Liheng behind the Water Tune Prelude and Green Jade Cup? Even back in the Eastern Capital I often heard talk of that ‘When Will the Bright Moon Appear’ — but for it to have come to this…” Gu Yanzhen frowned, puzzled at first, then fell silent, watching the scene unfold across the way, turning those two lyrics over in his mind, uncertain what to make of it all.

Chen Jiwen hesitated a long while before finally setting brush to paper. His companions crowded around as though granted a reprieve, visibly relieved. The poem was then carried over to the other side — though his gaze kept drifting back toward the window. All his earlier arrogance, his relentless mockery, had vanished entirely; what remained now was little more than a few polite, face-saving words, followed by a somewhat anxious wait for the response.

…

By the window, Ning Yi had, by now, sensed that the standoff on the other side wasn’t nearly as amiable as it had first appeared. But it had nothing to do with him, and his mind wasn’t on it anyway.

On the way upstairs, something outside had caught a flicker of light, and he thought he’d glimpsed something — though even he couldn’t say for certain what.

It seemed like nothing more than a fleeting impression, caught by chance in some idle gap of thought — the fleeting glimpse from that night at the Lantern Festival, when he’d been writing the line about turning around suddenly. Honestly, he hadn’t managed to see the woman assassin’s face that night, only registered something in her eyes — and now, recalling it, four months had already passed. The image that had struck him just now, coming up the stairs with Li Pin, even he couldn’t say with any certainty what it really was.

Wandering around the grounds earlier, he had in fact spotted Commandant Song Xian, chatting and laughing with others while flanked by a few of his personal guards — which had brought the woman assassin to mind again. Tonight bore some resemblance to certain scenes from that Lantern Festival night too, and he judged, in his own mind, that this excess feeling had probably arisen simply from that. Still, once seated, he found himself glancing down below now and then, whether he meant to or not, and as the crowd came and went in his field of view, the impression grew fainter and fainter.

Must have been a misjudgment.

Just as he’d let the standoff in the tavern slip entirely from his mind, Chen Jiwen, on the other side, truly was hesitating over the name Ning Liheng. Ning Yi had no idea of the man’s reputation, but there was no way the other man hadn’t heard of the Water Tune Prelude and Green Jade Cup — largely because Ning Yi had taken such an unconventional path, calculating human nature and public opinion down to the finest degree. Where others built a reputation as a talented scholar through dozens, even hundreds of poems, flaunted at every gathering, Ning Yi had produced only two — the coincidence of timing, the technique of holding back before releasing, and that offhand remark about “a Daoist reciting two verses,” followed by his consistently low profile since — meant others could, at most, call him an eccentric recluse of unusual temperament, but they could no longer possibly ignore his presence.

And a recluse, thanks to the mystery surrounding him, was sometimes all the harder to get a handle on.

Chen Jiwen wasn’t without talent himself — with proper preparation, he could genuinely have held his own against the likes of Li Pin. But now, thinking of the other man’s two lyrics, and then thinking of the piece he’d just prepared, he found himself endlessly second-guessing. Even after finally gritting his teeth and writing it out, he still couldn’t summon any confidence, and could only wait now to see how the other side would respond.

By the window, Ning Yi hadn’t paid much attention to any of this. Li Pin, however, had caught on right away — while Chen Jiwen was writing his poem, he’d gone and asked around about what was unfolding, then came back smiling to explain it. Looking over at Chen Jiwen’s complicated expression, Ning Yi finally understood why the man had spoken the way he had, and couldn’t help a dry laugh. He glanced over at Su Wending and Su Wenfang, then rose and went over.

Just then, the other side was taking Chen Jiwen’s poem over, struggling to find a few polite words that wouldn’t cause offense, clearly agonizing over it, before finally saying: “Master Gu Yanzhen and his friends are over there too, hmph — unlearned is unlearned. That assessment just now wasn’t only my own opinion, you know!”

Li Pin glanced over toward where Gu Yanzhen and his group sat, while Su Wending and the others hurriedly handed the poem to him for his judgment. Li Pin took it with a smile. “Things seemed a bit chaotic just now — I haven’t yet greeted Miss Tang properly. My apologies.” He said this first to Tang Jing, who’d been left standing off to the side, overlooked.

Only then did Su Wending and the others realize — caught up in their own embarrassment, they’d forgotten this entirely. Tang Jing herself hadn’t known what to do, and then, suddenly hearing names like Li Pin’s, and even Ning Yi’s — Ning Liheng — spoken aloud, she found herself at a loss for how to greet them properly, with Su Wending not even bothering to introduce her. A young woman, none too old herself, left standing there ignored, made for a rather pitiful sight. Only now could she finally exchange proper greetings with Li Pin, and then Ning Yi came over as well: “My apologies for not greeting Miss Tang sooner.”

Tang Jing’s heart lifted with delight, and she quickly bowed. “This humble woman is Tang Jing, greeting Young Master Ning. Young Master Ning is too gracious — it should have been this humble woman greeting you first.”

“Ha, come to think of it, wasn’t Miss Tang dancing on the central drum stage earlier? I hadn’t realized you knew Wenfang and Wending.”

“Did Young Master Ning happen to see my performance just now?” Tang Jing’s face flushed instantly, her eyes wide with a touch of nervousness.

“Of course I saw it. You danced beautifully.” Ning Yi nodded with a smile. “Dexin was there too, wasn’t he?” Tang Jing, thoroughly flattered, said, “Thank you, Young Master Ning, Young Master Li.” She glanced once more at Su Wending, and with that, the tension in the room had all but dissolved. After a good while, the conversation turned to the business of the literary gathering itself. Ning Yi looked over the poems on the table, and Li Pin handed him the one in his hand. “A fine poem — take a look, Liheng.” He turned and cupped his hands toward Chen Jiwen in a bow.

Ning Yi read it over with a smile, then nodded. “Mm, a fine poem.” He offered a bow of his own, at which Chen Jiwen’s expression finally relaxed, returning the bow without saying much more.

“This one’s a fine poem too.” A little later, Ning Yi picked up the one Su Wending had written, looked it over, then handed it to Tang Jing. “What matters is a heart of true sincerity — you should keep this one safe, Miss Tang.”

Of the poems on the table, most were odes to the beauty in question; Ning Yi had chosen the weakest one of the lot to hand over. Tang Jing nodded quickly. “Yes.” She tucked the poem slip into her robe.

These few offhand remarks left the others, however much they might have wanted to say something, unable to find the words for it.

…

“…’What matters is a heart of true sincerity’?”

Gu Yanzhen had been watching the whole exchange unfold, catching word of it as it drifted over. He himself had laughed at that poem earlier, and yet in this man’s mouth, a single line had turned it into a “fine poem” — and Tang Jing had tucked it away so carefully besides. For a moment, the whole thing struck him as faintly absurd. He too was a proud man, confident in his own talent, and watching this scene play out left him with rather mixed feelings.

He thought back over those two lyrics, having always assumed himself not far behind in skill — but now, thinking it over carefully, he realized that if he’d had to put brush to paper himself just now, he probably would have hesitated too.

There was nothing much left to watch on the other side — Chen Jiwen had lost his edge for the moment, and however displeased he might feel inside, he had no strong work left to offer in proof of himself. Shen Miao said with a smile, “Dexin’s over there too — shall we go say hello?”

Gu Yanzhen shook his head. “No need. Miaomiao’s performance is about to start, let’s head down first — we can greet him another time… Today’s business really has been interesting, though.”

…

Just how word would spread by tomorrow, of Li Pin and Ning Yi’s appearance at Wenmo Tower leaving Chen Jiwen unable to even put brush to paper, was hard to say. To Ning Yi, it was perhaps a small matter, and his mind wasn’t on it at all. But to Tang Jing, Su Wending, and the rest, it was a significant thing indeed — Tang Jing especially, given how little reputation she’d had to her name before this, and now here were Li Pin and Ning Yi both, praising her dancing besides — her feelings were hard to put into words.

Everyone chatted upstairs for a while longer, and when Xiao Chan went to fetch some snacks, Ning Yi caught sight of Song Xian’s figure down below, strolling about leisurely with a few soldiers, before disappearing from view on the other side. He frowned, then stood.

“Something I need to see to — I’ll head down for a bit, be back shortly.”

“Hm?” Xiao Chan, in the middle of popping a tiny crystal bun into her mouth, looked up and clapped her hands, meaning to follow along. But Ning Yi only smiled and patted her shoulder. “No need to come with me. Stay up here and eat something — I’ll be right back. We still need to go watch the performances together later. Brother Li, everyone — no need to wait for me if you have things to attend to.”

With that, he turned and headed downstairs.

Some things were always better confirmed, for his own peace of mind…

Meanwhile, in the crowd not far from Wenmo Tower, Gu Yanzhen had broken off from his group, following, with some puzzlement, a black-robed young man walking a short distance ahead. The man in the black robe was tall and slender, holding a folding fan, wearing a scholar’s cap — from a distance he cut rather a fine figure, the sort of pale, delicate-featured young man likely to catch a woman’s eye. He was walking along now, glancing this way and that, seemingly keeping watch for someone in particular…