It was well into November. Outside, snowflakes drifted thick and fast, light as feathers, dancing across the sky. Though the air was icy, it felt fresh.
Rong Zheng sat by the study window, brush in hand, composing a poem. It was an assignment from his teacher.
He had not been good at poetry before, but thanks to the many poems he had memorized before transmigrating, along with the original owner's memories, what he wrote was passable-nothing outstanding, but not bad either.
Teacher Zhao's assessment of his poetry was: "The structure is sound, and it follows the conventions, but it lacks spirit. It isn't enough to move an examiner yet." He advised Rong Zheng to observe everyday life more closely, jot down any inspiration as it came, and use it in his poems, then weigh each word and phrase to find a way to elevate their artistic conception.
This approach used small things to convey something greater. For Rong Zheng, it was easier to begin with than writing poems full of ornate language.
After all, he had no deep grounding in literature. Writing beautiful lines like Li Bai's "Sunlight on Incense Burner Peak gives rise to violet haze; from afar, a waterfall hangs before the river" was simply a fantasy.
He had considered copying the poems he had memorized outright, but immediately rejected the idea. If he copied one and had the misfortune to encounter something identical, there would be no explaining it.
In ancient examinations, plagiarism was considered cheating. He could be barred from taking the exams and even dragged out and paraded through the streets in disgrace. The punishments were severe indeed!
So Rong Zheng decided to be practical and put more effort into practicing poetry. Diligence could make up for a lack of talent.
After racking his brains, he set down his brush and looked out the window. His gaze fell on the plum trees planted in the courtyard. Against the white snow, their pale red buds looked like little pom-poms, tender and fresh, understated and elegant.
The faint irritation born of his lack of poetic inspiration gradually faded at the sight.
A poem he had memorized surfaced in his mind: "The plum must concede three shades of white to snow, yet snow falls short of the plum's fragrance."
Ah, remembering someone else's poetry was certainly easier than writing his own. Rong Zheng sighed softly.
Ye Yun had brought those two plum trees home especially so that, when Rong Zheng grew tired from studying, he could look up and admire the blossoms to ease his strain and fatigue.
He watched Rong Zheng practice his punches and swordplay with a tree branch in the courtyard before dawn, then head into the study to read and write. After returning from school and eating dinner, he continued reading by lamplight, day after day. Ye Yun could not help aching over how hard his husband studied and wanted to do a few small things for him to lift his spirits.
Rong Zheng admired the plum blossoms for a while. Finding his thoughts still sluggish, he simply left the study and stepped into the courtyard.
Ye Chen was practicing swordplay in the snow with a tree branch. Having only recently begun learning, he was somewhat clumsy, his moves not yet fluid. But the child swung his branch with such concentration that he failed to notice Rong Zheng approaching. He repeated the movements over and over, and the branch grew increasingly obedient in his hands.
Though his face was young and he had yet to grasp the movements properly, his expression was serious and his stance convincing. It seemed mastering them was only a matter of time.
Rong Zheng stood watching for a while without disturbing him, then turned toward the courtyard pavilion.
His gentle, refined husband wore a thick padded robe and a fluffy, snow-white scarf. He sat quietly with his head bowed, his needle and thread flying as he concentrated on making clothes. Rong Zheng had not wanted his husband to strain his eyes over sewing and had suggested buying ready-made clothes, but his husband insisted on making him an outfit himself.
Hot tea was brewing on the stone table. The teapot bubbled, steam rising and curling through the air as the fragrance of tea spread.
Hearing Rong Zheng's footsteps, Ye Yun put down his sewing, stood up, and poured a cup of hot tea, saying:
"Are you tired from studying?"
"Mm, I'm taking a break." Rong Zheng came over and took Ye Yun's hands. "Your hands are cold. It's chilly out-why aren't you sewing in the main room? The fireplace is still burning in there. It's warmer." Then he raised a hand to touch his husband's increasingly smooth face and tidied the hair the wind had blown across his forehead.
"I wanted to watch the snow in the courtyard."
"Then be careful not to catch a chill."
"I will." Ye Yun sat down. "Husband, Doctor Ye asked if I'd be willing to go on house calls with him. What do you think?"
One evening, Rong Zheng had clung to Ye Yun, kissing him until he was dizzy, the corners of his eyes red and his gaze watery. He had insisted that Ye Yun call him "husband" when they were alone, or else face the punishment of more kisses. Ye Yun had remembered ever since. At first, he would blush, but now he was gradually getting used to it.
Lately, after Rong Zheng left for school, Ye Yun would go to Doctor Ye's to learn to identify medicinal herbs. His writing lessons with Rong Zheng had yielded some results, and he could now make out most of the words on prescriptions. He understood some simple ailments and which medicines they required. Usually, he helped out on the side and also learned to brew and decoct medicine. His days were quite fulfilling.
Doctor Ye had always sympathized with Ye Yun's experiences. Now that he saw how many characters Ye Yun knew-and, more importantly, had him helping for free, with Rong Zheng bringing plenty of gifts besides-he was naturally happy to teach him. His own son had already gone to practice at a clinic in town, so he had no fear of Ye Yun learning his skills and stealing his livelihood.
Yesterday, seeing how eager Ye Yun was to learn, Doctor Ye could not help asking, "Would you be willing to accompany me on house calls occasionally?"
Ye Yun was thrilled and instinctively nodded. Then, remembering that he was a ge'er and already married, he asked, "Would the villagers coming for treatment..." Would they object?
"Hmph. If they don't want treatment, they can go find a doctor at a clinic in town." Doctor Ye snorted. The moment he heard Ye Yun's unfinished words, he understood his concern. He was the village's only doctor. The villagers never went to clinics in town for minor illnesses and aches. Aside from the distance, the main issue was how expensive treatment and medicine were.
He was a doctor, and a healer was supposed to have a compassionate heart. When it came to treating illness and saving lives, how could gender matter? He was fairly open-minded about ge'ers learning medicine.
"Thank you, Doctor Ye. I'll go home and ask Rong Zheng."
"Mm, it's good to ask him." In this era, a husband was one's heaven. Seeing Yun-ge'er find time to study medicine almost every day, Doctor Ye had nearly forgotten that he was married. But in his view, that lad Rong Zheng would certainly agree.
The man doted on his husband to an extraordinary degree. Not only did he spare Ye Yun from working in the fields, but he had even delivered a large nanny goat just so Ye Yun could come study medicine! Doctor Ye had made a show of refusing at the time, only for his wife to see through him and give him a scolding.
Doctor Ye had argued in a low voice, "Accepting the gift both puts Rong Zheng at ease and gives our little grandson fresh goat's milk to drink. Two birds with one stone. Besides, now that I've accepted the goat, I'll be sure to teach Ye Yun properly..."
Under his wife's glare, his voice had gradually faded away.
Sure enough, as soon as Ye Yun brought it up, Rong Zheng wholeheartedly agreed. "Of course it's a good thing. More practice will let you build up more experience. But it's cold now, so make sure you keep warm when you go out."
"I will." Happily, Ye Yun picked up his needle and thread, lowered his head, and resumed his work.
Rong Zheng lifted his teacup. As the hot tea reached his stomach, warmth immediately spread throughout his body. It was quite pleasant.
He raised his eyes to admire the snowy scene. The courtyard was peaceful and warm, and his heart stirred as inspiration burst forth. He rose and returned to the study, took up his brush, and thought carefully. Soon, lines of poetry sprang onto the paper, completed in a single flow.