Afternoon wind stirred the curtains of the quiet little room, and slanting sunlight fell through the window lattice.
Peach cookies and fruit wine, shared once more with Xing Han.
Amid idle laughter and talk, slender hands moved languidly; jade fingers broke the peel, releasing the rich fragrance of oranges.
A round silk fan gently stirred scented wisps, brushing faintly past the arches of her brows.
Xie Xinghan waved her fan and said:
"You're right, Young Master. Cao Zijian never gained the throne, and the Wei system, taking warning from the failings of the Han, treated its imperial clansmen harshly. People pitied him, so they often exalted Cao Zhi and disparaged Cao Pi. Yet Zihuan's poetry and prose reached heights that Zijian's did not.
"Though he had fewer gorgeous phrases and ingenious lines, his profound feelings and heartfelt sentiments could move people most deeply. Whenever Huan Ziye heard a lovely song, he would cry, 'What can I do?' My ancestor Lord Anshi said, 'Ziye may truly be called a man of unwavering, profound feeling.' I think Emperor Wen's poetry and prose were much the same.
"'I thought a hundred years our allotted span, that we could long keep one another safe; who could have imagined that within a few years, nearly all would have withered and fallen? Speaking of it breaks my heart.'
"'I have grown older now, with ten thousand thoughts in my heart. At times my worries keep me awake all night. When will my spirit ever be as it was in former days? I have already become an old man; only my hair has yet to turn white.'
"Only someone with deep feelings could write such lines. Whenever I read 'Yan Ge Xing,' I feel its tender, lingering sorrow, its entwined affection and low, circling lament, as though