March in Jinling already carried a faint hint of summer.
The willows beside the Qinhuai River gleamed green; whenever the wind passed, ten thousand silken strands swayed together.
Painted pleasure boats plied the river, faint music drifting over the water before the wind scattered it into the fragrance of tea along both banks.
Wei Nisheng had arranged to meet Liu Ruo at a secluded little retreat beside the river.
A bamboo fence served as its gate, and moss crept up its steps.
In the courtyard stood a few slender bamboo stems, an old osmanthus tree, two stone stools, and a stone table.
A window stood half-open on the waterside wall. Reflected light slipped through it, spreading a wavering brightness across the white plaster.
This elegant retreat rather suited that line from the New Account of Tales of the World...
"One need not travel far to find what speaks to the heart; shaded woods and waters alone can summon thoughts of the Hao and Pu rivers."
When Wei Nisheng arrived, Liu Ruo was already there.
He stood beneath the bamboo, gazing absently at the painted boats on the river.
At the sound of footsteps, he turned.
He was several years older than Wei Nisheng, twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a short beard, fine brows, and gentle eyes.
He wore a blue silk robe belted with a plain silk sash and held a folding fan of xiang consort bamboo.
He was composed and unhurried, the very image of an elegant Jiangnan scholar.
"Brother Zi'an!"
Liu Ruo cupped his hands and came forward with a warm smile:
"It must have been four years since we parted at the Qionglin Banquet.
Brother Zi'an, your bearing is even finer than it was then."
"Brother Zijin, it has been too long." Wei Nisheng returned his greeting