Volume One, Chapter 16: The Poetry Gathering

Hearing the voice instantly brought Pei Jingzhu’s wandering thoughts back. He was not thinking of Shen Muqing; rather, he had been momentarily dazzled by her fresh and radiant beauty, like a lotus emerging from the water.

Suddenly, a passage from the "Ode to the Nymph of the Luo River" appeared in his mind: "Her form is light as a startled swan, graceful as a wandering dragon. Radiant as autumn chrysanthemums, flourishing like spring pines. She seems veiled like light clouds dimming the moon, drifting like flowing wind circling snow. Viewed from afar, she shines like the sun rising over dawn clouds; examined closely, she glows like a lotus emerging from clear waves."

He sighed at his own lack of literary talent, unable to compose such exquisite lines.

Shen Muqing clutched the carriage shaft and sprang down with a thud, flashing a dazzling smile at Pei Jingzhu. “Good morning, Young Master Pei!”

He returned her smile and cupped his hands toward the two of them. “The wind outside is strong and the snow bitterly cold. Why not come inside and continue our conversation?”

Shen Qingdai responded with a graceful bow. Her brows, like distant mountains, blurred softly in the mist, and even her voice took on a faint, ethereal quality. “Young Master Pei, please lead the way.”

His pace was unhurried, and Shen Qingdai holding Shen Muqing’s hand ensured they did not fall behind. The courtyard sat atop a mountain, where perennial snow still clung, dusting the winding wooden railings in a pristine white.

The old pavilion and corridors, with red tiles and gray walls, were breathtaking. Numerous plum trees were scattered in elegant disorder amid the boundless snow, their branches dotted with bright crimson blossoms, lending the entire scene an added vitality.

Inside, the room was simply furnished with many clay stoves and cushions. By the window stood a clay stove with a purple clay teapot steaming gently.

Cushions were arranged around, and Pei Jingzhu gestured for them to sit. Shen Muqing eagerly pulled Shen Qingdai down.

“I didn’t expect you two to arrive so early. The setting is humble, but allow me to brew some tea to warm you.”

His voice was clear and crisp, his movements smooth and pleasing to watch. Behind him, the snow gleamed in harmony with his calm demeanor.

Shen Qingdai lifted the teacup and took a delicate sip; the rich aroma revealed it to be fine tea, even to her untrained palate.

She was puzzled—how could the modest Pei household afford such exquisite tea?

Shen Muqing also set down his cup, struggling for words before finally managing, “Delicious.”

He inwardly lamented his lack of education, unable to utter a more eloquent compliment.

Glancing at him, Shen Muqing felt a tinge of sympathy.

Pei Jingzhu was puzzled himself; the tea was just ordinary Pu’er, hardly worthy of such extravagant praise.

As he lifted the cup to taste, his expression suddenly stiffened, a chill flickering in his usually indifferent eyes.

This was not his tea.

Such fine tea was rare even in the governor of Jiangnan’s residence. Had his “good father” extended his reach so far?

The tea was a subtle reminder: despite the great distance, he still controlled everything around Pei Jingzhu with ease. Even a single brewed cup of tea was within his grasp.

Pei Jingzhu’s grip on the cup tightened until his knuckles turned white and veins stood out.

Shen Qingdai noticed his unease.

Suddenly, warmth spread across the back of his hand. Startled, he looked up to see Shen Qingdai’s hand resting lightly upon his, her eyes full of concern.

“Are you alright? Do you feel unwell?”

He shook his head, forcing a calm expression. “Perhaps a slight chill. I’ll recover after a moment.”

Shen Qingdai knew it was more than that but did not press him. No one understood the meaning behind those eyes better than she did.

Apparently, this Young Master Pei, like herself, harbored many secrets. Yet he seemed youthful, revealing his emotions so easily.

She adjusted her sleeves and, smiling gently, filled his cup again. “In that case, please drink more to warm yourself.”

Pei Jingzhu nodded slightly and drank, though the slight tremor in his wrist betrayed his restless heart.

Gradually, more guests arrived. Pei Jingzhu greeted them at the door with polite exchanges. Though few, they were all scholars and literati he admired in Yangzhou.

Shen Qingdai had expected more attendees, but there were indeed only a few, and the other young ladies were accompanied by their elder brothers.

Only by her side was a greenhorn boy.

After all, the upcoming event was a paired poetry contest.

If she paired with Shen Muqing, who was scarcely learned, it would be a challenge—and the thought made her smile faintly, albeit with some reluctance.

Shen Muqing was naturally aware of this and felt nervous. The other gentlemen were talented and eloquent; he feared he would only embarrass himself.

Silently he urged his brain: “Hurry and learn!”

Shen Qingdai sipped her tea lightly, smiling to mask her embarrassment.

The room was spacious; others had settled around different clay stoves, brewing tea by the fire. Snowmelt served as ink; some wrote, others painted—a lively scene.

When everyone seemed assembled, Pei Jingzhu returned to his seat, lifting his cup and bowing to the group.

“All present share a passion for knowledge. Today’s poetry gathering is merely to provide a chance for exchange. I did not expect such enthusiasm. Today, I shall offer tea in place of wine, to toast all of you.”

Everyone rose and drained their cups, nodding in agreement.

Perhaps knowing Pei Jingzhu’s quiet nature and reserved demeanor, a scholarly young man dressed plainly spoke up: “Since there are many here today, why not try a special version of the paired poetry game?”

Shen Qingdai recognized his attire as that of a classmate from Huaiyang Academy, evidently close to Pei Jingzhu.

The others agreed eagerly.

Shen Qingdai sighed inwardly, realizing the moment had arrived. She resolved to take time later to tutor Shen Muqing in knowledge and manners.

As everyone formed teams, Shen Qingdai bent down to warn Shen Muqing not to speak impulsively.

But then a familiar, cool voice spoke: “Since Young Miss Shen’s younger brother is new to the elementary scholar examination, I shall join with Miss Shen.”

The scholar nodded, noting their names, then explained: “The rules—since this is a two-person poetry contest—are to decide a theme, then draw lots to determine which teams face each other.”

He paused, continuing, “One person responds with the first line, the other the second. The opposing team’s first responder must incorporate the last word of the previous poem’s final line into the second character of their opening line. Failure to respond correctly loses one point; failure to produce the first line loses two. After two points, the team with fewer points must remain to paint a scroll, adding scenery to this plum grove. Agreed?”

No one objected.

Shen Qingdai glanced at Pei Jingzhu, who maintained his usual aloof and distant demeanor, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever.