After they had eaten and drunk their fill, Zhao Shu Xia cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, while Ning Ji carried off the little table.
The bright moon hung overhead, its light filling the human world and making it seem like a world of glazed crystal. The night air was fresh, and the breeze passing through their sleeves felt cool. Such a mood, such a sky—stealing leisure from busyness was immortality itself.
Three chairs stood side by side beneath the eaves. The old scholar sat in the middle with one leg crossed over the other, lightly patting his knee and humming a country tune as the gentle breeze brushed past his snow-white temples.
Chen Ping'an gently waved a palm-leaf fan. Around his teacher, whether drinking or chatting idly, Chen Ping'an was never as stiff and solemn as his senior brother Zuo, nor as taciturn as Senior Brother Jun Qian.
Lu Chen tucked both hands into his sleeves, leaned against his chair, and stretched out his legs in easy repose. Affairs of the world and household matters, matters at the horizon and matters at hand—all grudges and entanglements rested for the moment.
They casually began discussing the Temple of Literature's investiture of the Five Sacred Mountains Lords of Treasure Bottle Continent and the bestowal of divine titles. According to the old scholar, it posed a minor difficulty. The divine ranks of a continent's mountain lords had no distinction of high or low. If the Temple of Literature sent one Sage to preside over the ceremony alone, then the order in which the Five Mountains Investiture ceremonies were held would become no small issue. Yet holding them simultaneously would also be difficult, since the Temple of Literature would need to dispatch five accompanying Sages, and with affairs so pressing now, it could