The following afternoon, Pu Yunshan had already washed his hands three times in the copper basin.
He changed into a long gown that he hadn't worn many times, tidied it up neatly, and carefully rolled up the cuffs.
I thought I looked presentable, at least not like the days I spent picking out night soil and smelling terrible.
A long queue had already formed outside Brocade Literature Bookshop. Scholars in blue robes, down-on-their-luck men in gray robes, and several old men carrying bamboo baskets selling calligraphy and paintings were all waiting in front of the door, hoping their clients would accept their manuscripts.
Pu Yunshan, clutching the scroll of poetry wrapped in oiled paper, stood at the end of the line, mentally calculating how to discreetly hand it over later.
Then, by using the traces of the past between the lines, Xie Wanqing recognized him as the Xiaoshanzi who used to chase butterflies with her when they were children.
He had thought about it many times these past few days, trying to figure out how to bring up those old memories in a way that wouldn't seem abrupt but would still rekindle her old feelings.
The line moved slowly forward. When it was the turn of the old man selling calligraphy and paintings in front of him, a vendor selling sesame cakes suddenly passed by, wrinkled his nose, turned his head and took two steps to the side.
What's this smell?
The vendor muttered something, not in a low voice, and several people in the group looked towards Pu Yunshan.
A sharp-eyed scholar recognized him and suddenly exclaimed.
"I recognize him! He's that Pu Xiangong from the public toilet in South Market who won the piglet lottery!"
" The Blue-Robed King of Dung!"
The laughter in the group never stopped as soon as those four words were uttered.
Some people covered their mouths and laughed, while others squatted down and slapped their thighs to laugh. Even the old man at the front of the line turned around and glanced at him, his face showing a look of amusement.
Pu Yunshan stood there, the oil paper package in his hand crumpled from his grip.
He wanted to explain that the smell wasn't on him, but rather the beast's doing last night, but the words only made him feel more ridiculous, so he could only grit his teeth and keep standing there.
Someone in the group added a comment.
"I heard this talented guy even got an excellent grade for sanitation this month while carrying manure; from now on, we should call him Pu Excellent."
Another round of laughter erupted. Pu Yunshan lowered his eyes, staring at the crack in the bluestone slab beneath his feet, cursing Zhao Wuxu countless times in his heart.
Before he came down the mountain, he was a well-known young master of Mount Qingcheng. When he traveled in Chuan-Shu, he was always fawned over. Now, standing in this crowd of ordinary people, being looked at like a monkey, he really didn't feel good.
Fortunately, when it was his turn, the young manager in charge of collecting manuscripts only glanced at him, without saying anything unnecessary, and reached out to take his manuscript.
Pu Yunshan handed it over, his voice extremely low.
"Please inform the employer that I would like to have this manuscript reviewed by them personally."
The person in charge paused for a moment, then looked up and glanced at him again.
"The writing is alright. The master is indeed personally collecting manuscripts today, so you'll have to wait here."
Pu Yunshan retreated to the corridor and sat on a low stool, his heart beating even faster than when he was surrounded by onlookers.
He pondered this poem for three nights, every word of which contained the scenes of his past life at the foot of Mount Qingcheng. "Butterflies on the old path," "offering fruit," "washing silk and old dreams in the stream"—every line was a code. If Xie Wanqing still remembered that, she would surely see through it at a glance.
He even wondered what her reaction would be if she actually recognized him—perhaps surprise, perhaps tears.
Perhaps I'll subtly find an opportunity to meet him and ask where he's been all these years and how he's been.
After waiting for about two incense sticks' worth of time, the waiter from the inner room came out to deliver a message.
"Master Pu, the master has read your manuscript and requests your presence."
Pu Yunshan practically stood up and left, ignoring the painful gash from being rubbed raw by the carrying pole, his only thought being that he would finally see people again.
Passing through the front hall, the room was simply furnished with a long table, several book boxes, and a large screen.
Sitting behind the screen was Xie Wanqing, dressed in a plain-colored ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), with only an old jade hairpin in her hair, looking down as she flipped through his manuscript.
Pu Yunshan stopped, his throat bobbing, about to call out Jiu Nian's name, when he suddenly heard a very soft, cold laugh coming from behind the screen.
His heart skipped a beat. He looked up, but Xie Wanqing seemed perfectly normal, still looking down at her manuscript.
The voice that came out was deep and somewhat lazy, with a casual, teasing tone.
"My lady, what kind of pretentious writing is on this? Read it to me."
Pu Yunshan froze on the spot, feeling a chill run from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
Gu Moran walked to the screen, leaned lazily against a low couch, holding a half-cup of tea in her hand. Her gaze swept over him once, then fell back on the manuscript paper in Xie Wanqing's hand.
Pu Yunshan's last bit of hope vanished completely, but he still maintained the dignity of a scholar and bowed respectfully.
"I was unaware that Your Highness was also here; I have been rude."
Gu Moran didn't answer, but simply gestured with her chin towards Xie Wanqing, indicating that she should continue.
Xie Wanqing held the manuscript paper, her fingertips lingering on the phrase "butterflies on the old path" for a moment, her brows showing little movement, and her tone remaining quite flat.
"The manuscript is certainly well-written and elegant, but it's full of affected sentimentality and lacks any genuine feeling."
Pu Yunshan's heart sank, but he still refused to give up, his voice carrying a deliberate hint of melancholy.
"The poems in this poem are all about my childhood. To be honest, my childhood Xiaoshanzi. I used to play and travel with an old friend when I was a child. Now, looking at these landscapes again, I realize how hard it is to let go of those old feelings."
He spoke bluntly, almost making his point public, hoping to move Xie Wanqing in the slightest.
Xie Wanqing looked up at him through the gap in the screen, her expression unchanged. She simply placed the manuscript on the table and spoke in a calm and indifferent voice.
"What Xiaoshanzi Xiao Shitou? Where did those childhood memories come from?"
Pu Yunshan opened his mouth, wanting to remind her again that she was already four years old that year, but Xie Wanqing continued speaking.
"The rules of Prince Yi's Residence have always been that we do not accept anything from pedantic people of dubious origin. If you genuinely want to submit this manuscript, we will pay you the usual price. But if you're hoping to use a few old words to curry favor with some old friend, then I advise you to give up that idea as soon as possible."
As she said this, she picked up another pen, dipped it in ink, and casually wrote a line on the ledger on the corner of the desk.
Gu Moran sat to the side, holding his teacup without saying a word, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. After watching Xie Wanqing finish writing that line, he walked over and took her hand from the table, gently rubbing his fingertips against her palm.
Xie Wanqing didn't dodge; instead, she took the opportunity to place her hand into his palm. The intimate gesture was hidden under the table, but Pu Yunshan could see the shadow on the screen clearly.
Pu Yunshan finally understood that the relationship between the two people in front of him was not the forced marriage rumored outside, but clearly a mutual affection!