No Great Scholar happened upon this discussion in the hall; no one clapped in wonder.
Nor was there any tearful acclaim.
There were only a young Crown Prince and a youthful Vice Director, one asking and one answering, one silent and one pondering.
The speaker did not boast of what he had gained; the listener did not flaunt what he had understood.
Like a secluded orchid in a deep ravine, it bloomed and fell of its own accord, without borrowing the wind to spread its fragrance.
As Laozi had said, "The greatest music is scarcely heard; the greatest image has no form."
What could truly change a person never came from being watched, from being praised, or from something happening beneath the eyes of a crowd.
More often, it was merely a quiet room and an ordinary afternoon.
One person who happened to be willing to lay his heart a little more bare, and another who happened to be willing to take his words to heart.
Two quarters into the Hour of the Goat.
Two or three pieces of candied fruit remained on the plate upon the desk, and a little tea still lingered at the bottom of the porcelain cup.
Wei Nisheng rose and straightened his clothes, first adjusting his Futou, then smoothing his robe's collar.
His movements were as unhurried as when he had first entered, like ink gathering back into an inkstone, its lingering resonance quietly contained.
Jiang Heng rose as well, but made no move to see him off.
However pleased they were, the proprieties between sovereign and subject could not be disturbed!
Disorder would breed disaster.
"Take care, Zi'an," Jiang Heng said with a soft smile.
Wei Nisheng clasped his hands and bowed. "Your subject takes his leave."
The formalities concluded, he turned toward