Inside the room, Xiangling leaned over the desk, her fragrant cheek propped on one hand, while Qingwen sat on the couch with her legs crossed, drawing her eyebrows before a mirror. The moment Jia Huan entered, Qingwen set down the bronze mirror and tried to slip away.
"Why are you hiding from me?" Jia Huan called, stopping her.
Qingwen turned away and scolded him under her breath. "What nonsense. Who's hiding from you?"
Xiangling put down the Wolf-Hair Brush and blinked curiously. "Come on, tell me. What secret are you two keeping?"
Qingwen grew flustered, stamped her foot hard, and glared angrily at Jia Huan.
Don't you dare tell her about that embarrassing rouge-tasting business. I'd die of shame.
Jia Huan smiled without answering and strolled to the desk, where he saw elegant, graceful Hairpin-Flower Small Regular Script on the Xuan Paper.
Xiangling explained, her voice full of admiration:
"Master, this is 'Lament for Buried Flowers,' written by my teacher Daiyu. She's so talented. I could never write anything like it in my lifetime."
After reading it, Jia Huan praised it sincerely. "Miss Daiyu truly has unrivaled talent."
Her father had placed third in the imperial examinations, and her teachers had all been metropolitan graduates. Lin Daiyu's talent stood supreme in the Jia household.
"You understand poetry too, Master?" Xiangling asked in surprise.
"A little." Jia Huan nodded.
"Pfft!" Qingwen snorted, then said in a mocking tone:
"Master, boasting to us here in your room is one thing, but don't go talking nonsense outside. If someone actually asks you to compose a poem, you'll be left red-faced with no way to get off the stage!"
Xiangling covered her mouth and giggled.
Jia Huan looked at Qingwen and asked:
"If I really compose one, will you fulfill your promise at once?"
"I'm not afraid of you. Go on, show us your poor attempt!" Qingwen lifted her chin, her lovely face wreathed in smiles.
"Master, Qingwen, stop teasing each other," Xiangling interceded. She had also heard that her master disliked studying and had no interest whatsoever in poetry, often provoking Master Zheng into a towering rage.
But Jia Huan would not let it go. His tone grew firmer:
"It's settled, then. If you dare go back on your word again, I really will be angry."
"Hurry up and write your poem." Qingwen urged him on herself, delighted at the prospect of watching him make a fool of himself. There were no outsiders here anyway.
Jia Huan picked up the Wolf-Hair Brush, soaked it with rich ink, and wrote on the Xuan Paper in one uninterrupted sweep.
At first, Xiangling's brows curved and her eyes shone with amusement. Gradually, however, her smile vanished, giving way to bewilderment and finally profound astonishment.
She stared blankly at the paper.
Seeing this, Qingwen came pattering over, clutching her handkerchief. She knew few characters, but this poem happened to use simple words, and she read it aloud without missing a single one:
"If life were only as when first we met, why should the autumn wind bring sorrow to a painted fan? So lightly you let your heart change toward an old love, yet say an old love's heart is quick to change."
"Xiangling, Xiangling, it's quite ordinary, isn't it?"
But Xiangling stared straight at Jia Huan, her voice turning a little hoarse:
"Master, I... I want to ask my teacher Daiyu to judge it."
She was only a beginner herself and could not say exactly what made this lyric so good, yet the more she pondered it, the better it seemed!
"Remember to keep this quiet! Don't say I wrote it," Jia Huan reminded her.
He had barely finished speaking when Xiangling took to her heels.
Left at a loss, Qingwen muttered:
"I don't believe you can write poetry anyway. I'm going to Xiaoxiang Hall too!"
Jia Huan caught her firmly and feigned anger:
"You promised to let me have a proper taste of the fresh Lip Rouge on your lips. You're not getting away this time. If you break your word again, you'll truly break my heart."
"Wait here. I'll go to Miss Daiyu's first..." Qingwen lowered her eyes and walked away with tiny steps.
"What a comfortable life," Jia Huan sighed contentedly.
He changed into his Flying Fish Uniform and set off for the government offices to collect the gold, silver, jewels, antiques, paintings, and calligraphy seized during the raids on Old Dog Wu's estate and mountain stronghold.
In Grand View Garden, a stretch of whitewashed walls enclosed several elegant rooms, screened by hundreds upon hundreds of green bamboo stalks. A clear stream wound around the foot of the walls, and a twisting path led into secluded depths. With its distinct charm of the lands south of the Yangtze, this was Xiaoxiang Hall, Lin Daiyu's residence.
"Teacher!" Xiangling had run so hard that she called out before even entering the gate:
"Teacher, I've found a wonderful lyric."
Qingwen followed close behind. Back when she had served the Old Madam, she had often played and joked with Miss Daiyu, so they were fairly close. Since she had begun serving her master, however, the distance had meant she seldom visited Xiaoxiang Hall.
"Let me see it. Xueyan, pour some tea."
Lin Daiyu came out to greet them in the side courtyard.
Unable to wait, Xiangling stepped up to her and handed over the Xuan Paper.
"The handwriting... the handwriting..." Lin Daiyu pressed her lips together in a smile, too embarrassed to speak plainly.
What dreadful handwriting!
What fine lyric could someone like this possibly write?
And yet.
When she read the first line, her autumn-clear eyes froze, and the smile stiffened on her snow-white face.
Xiangling watched her teacher.
Qingwen also stared at Miss Daiyu.
Oh no. Can Master really write poetry?
"Teacher, how close does it come to yours?" Xiangling asked.
Lin Daiyu closed her eyes and savored it for a long while, then pointed at her and scolded:
"Say that outside this garden and people will laugh their teeth out! How close does it come to mine? I couldn't write this even if I wracked my brains dry. How could my clumsy boudoir verses compare with the work of a master poet?"
Qingwen's eyes widened into circles.
"What?" Xiangling's emotions surged as she asked incredulously:
"Teacher, you taught me that poetry should use allusions, and that its phrasing should be fresh and refined."
"Shh!" Lin Daiyu flushed bright red and raised a finger to her lips to silence her, then said in annoyance:
"You've made no progress at all. Where did all your learning go? 'Why should the autumn wind bring sorrow to a painted fan?' is precisely an allusion. Ban Jieyu's round fan was cast aside when the bleak autumn winds came. Besides, who said simple wording couldn't make good poetry? The Green Lotus Lay Buddhist's 'Quiet Night Thoughts'-'Before my bed, bright moonlight...'-has still won fame through the ages. If this lyric were circulated, it too could stir great waves among the literati."
"How is that possible?" The more Xiangling heard, the more astonished she became. "Master, he..."
"Ahem!"
Qingwen coughed several times.
You wretched girl, he told you to keep this quiet!
"Master?"
"Brother Huan?"
This time, Lin Daiyu stood as dumbstruck as a wooden chicken.
Only after a long while did she recover and murmur:
"Of course, it's his handwriting! Last year, when Uncle Zheng tested his learning, I read Brother Huan's essay. This is his handwriting. Where did Brother Huan copy it from?"
Hearing someone question Jia Huan made Qingwen very unhappy. She pouted and said:
"Miss Daiyu, that's not fair. Master wrote it himself."
Lin Daiyu shook her head with a laugh. "Brother Huan is a rough sort. He couldn't write such a delicate, beautiful lyric. Besides, he doesn't have such a profound foundation."
"Don't look down on him. Master excels in both letters and arms!" Qingwen insisted.
A little hesitant, Xiangling said softly:
"Teacher, Master wrote the lyric in one uninterrupted sweep, with complete confidence on his face. Perhaps he's been hiding his abilities. He's so capable-perhaps he has a great gift for poetry!"
"I don't believe it!" Lin Daiyu curved her dark brows and sighed:
"'If life were only as when first we met, why should the autumn wind bring sorrow to a painted fan?' How many women in their secluded chambers would have their hearts broken by those two lines? Brother Huan spends all day fighting vicious, fiendish villains. How could he harbor such delicate, sorrowful feelings?"
"No, I must test him. Take me to Brother Huan."
Hearing this, Xiangling grew a little anxious and reminded her repeatedly:
"Teacher, you must keep this secret. Whether he wrote it or not, you mustn't mention it to anyone else."
"Don't worry. I'm not a gossip!" Lin Daiyu rolled her eyes at her.
The three of them left Xiaoxiang Hall with Xueyan and Zijuan. They encountered Jia Baoyu along the way but did not even greet him, heading straight for Jia Huan's courtyard.
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