Su Yao did not stop.
"Then let's hear what he has to say."
Biyu grew anxious.
"Miss, what if he uses this to humiliate you?"
Su Yao looked toward the poetry platform, keeping her voice perfectly steady.
"If I didn't come, that would be letting him humiliate me as he pleased."
Biyu fell silent and followed her inside.
In the women's seating area, Shen Ling'er saw her and paused with a pine nut candy at her lips, without putting it in her mouth.
Xie Wanqing rose and bowed.
"Sister Su."
Su Yao walked over, first resting her gaze on Xie Wanqing's face, then glancing at Shen Ling'er beside her. She said nothing.
Shen Ling'er moved half an inch to the side and patted the spot.
"Sister Su, sit here. It's right across from the poetry platform, with a good view."
Su Yao glanced at her and sat down.
A tea table stood between the three women, with candied fruit, melon seeds, and the poetry gathering roster laid out on it. Shen Ling'er casually pushed a plate of osmanthus cakes in front of Su Yao.
Su Yao picked up her tea without looking at the cakes.
On the other side of the poetry platform.
Murong Xue entered in a short robe from the Northern Territory. She glanced at the women's seats but did not go over, instead taking Batuer straight up to the second floor of the teahouse on the eastern side and claiming a spot by the railing.
Holding a plate of beef jerky, Batuer looked around below, a little lost.
"Princess, haven't they started fighting yet?"
Murong Xue leaned against the railing.
"People from the Central Plains have to do a lot of talking before they fight."
Batuer tore off a piece of meat and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Then how long will they keep talking?"
Murong Xue swept her gaze over the crowd below. She spotted Ye Qingyun, then Xie Wanqing, before looking at the chair that was still empty. Her turquoise eyes lingered on it a little longer.
"Let's wait until that thick-skinned Central Plains man from the residence gets here."
At the street entrance.
As soon as the horse from the Iron Plum Courtyard came to a stop, Lin Qingdai swung down, tossed her whip to Zitang, and bypassed the main entrance, circling around to the teahouse on the eastern side.
Zitang followed, reminding her in a low voice,
"Miss, His Highness reserved a place for you in the women's seating area."
Lin Qingdai did not look back.
"Who wants to sit where he tells me to?"
She went up to the second floor and took a seat, with exactly three tables between her and Murong Xue.
Murong Xue turned her head and raised her chin.
"You came to watch people from the Central Plains fight with their mouths too?"
Lin Qingdai picked up the teacup on the table and sniffed it, then put it down and pushed it away in disgust.
"I came to see how that good-for-nothing makes a fool of himself."
Murong Xue pointed at Ye Qingyun downstairs.
"That one in plain clothes looks like he wants to win."
Lin Qingdai rested her fingers on her scabbard.
"Plenty of people want to win. Whether he can hold up against Gu Moran is another matter."
Murong Xue glanced at her.
"You have that much faith in him?"
"I only believe he's very good at stirring up trouble."
Lin Qingdai stood her scabbard beside her knee and poured herself a cup of hot tea.
Downstairs, the judges took their seats one after another.
Xie Huai'an had arrived.
Xie Wanqing's grip tightened slightly around her teacup. Her gaze followed her father's back until he had settled just left of center in the judges' seats. Only then did she put her cup down.
Xie Huai'an also glanced over the women's seating area. His gaze paused for a breath on the bamboo-green dress before moving away, and he nodded to Zhou Wenyuan.
Zhou Wenyuan exchanged pleasantries, and Xu Wenli smiled along. Han Heting sat down with his cane and coughed twice, and the surrounding voices gradually quieted.
Only Gu Moran's seat remained empty.
Ye Qingyun glanced at the chair.
Shuhe leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Young master, the third prince isn't too scared to come, is he?"
Inside his sleeve, Ye Qingyun pressed his fingers against his poetry manuscripts, leaving a curved indentation in the paper with his fingertips.
"If he can't witness my talent for himself, it's his loss."
Beside the waiting area, several Hanlin Academy students failed to keep their voices down.
"That's the prime minister's legitimate daughter. She's married to the third prince now."
"I heard she used to be betrothed to someone from another family."
Shuhe took this in, then turned and told Ye Qingyun,
"Young master, the one in white over in the women's seats is Madam Su."
Ye Qingyun looked in that direction.
Su Yao sat sideways to the poetry platform, a cup of tea in her hand. Her back was perfectly straight, and even the way she held her tea was precise. Her expression was calm, and she could not be bothered to look at anyone around her.
Several women with equally striking bearing sat beside her, yet she was recognizable at a glance.
Ye Qingyun's chest began to rise and fall more rapidly.
Just then, Su Yao's gaze swept toward the poetry platform, landing on the cloth drapes onstage.
It was a casual glance, her eyes unfocused.
But Ye Qingyun stood in that direction.
He took it to mean Su Yao was looking at him.
The breath in his chest did not dissipate. Instead, it pressed more firmly inside him.
He straightened his back, pressing the three poetry manuscripts in his sleeve a little tighter against his palm.
Su Yao had already looked away.
She set her teacup back on the table and lowered her head to leaf through the poetry gathering roster, page by page, her expression unchanged.
Just then, the sound of wheels came from outside the Hanlin Academy.
An ebony carriage stopped at the entrance, and Uncle Fu lifted the curtain.
Gu Moran stepped out, dressed in a loose moon-white brocade robe, still holding half a cake he had not finished eating.
He took a bite and raised his head to look around the poetry platform.
He swallowed the cake and wiped his hands.
"It hasn't started yet? Then I'm just in time."
Ye Qingyun stared at him, the three poetry manuscripts in his sleeve pressed against his palm, their edges digging into it with a fine, sharp pain.
Zhou Wenyuan rose from the judges' seats and took two steps forward to greet him with a smile.
"Prince Yi, you've come at just the right time. The poetry gathering is about to begin."
As Gu Moran entered the square, the first thing he smelled was sandalwood. Incense burners stood on either side of the poetry platform, their smoke scattered by the morning breeze and mingling with the scent of flaky pastries drifting from the teahouse.
It was as lively as a temple fair, except that everyone held poetry manuscripts and put on scholarly airs.
Uncle Fu followed behind and took the half-eaten cake from him. The ease of the movement made the eyelids of several nearby clerks twitch.
Gu Moran surveyed the whole gathering.
In the judges' seats, Zhou Wenyuan wore a polite smile, Xu Wenli held his tea in front of his face, Xie Huai'an sat upright, Han Heting's eyes were half closed, and Feng Shouzheng had his head lowered as he looked through the ceremony register.
In the women's seating area, Xie Wanqing sat in her bamboo-green dress, her fingers pressed against her cuff.
Su Yao sat beside her, her expression steady.
Shen Ling'er stuffed a pine nut candy into her sleeve pocket. Gu Moran caught her at it, and she winked at him.
On the second floor of the teahouse, Murong Xue leaned over the railing, while Lin Qingdai sat three tables away.
The two women, who should have found each other displeasing, were now looking in the same direction, both waiting for him to embarrass himself.
Gu Moran ran through it all in his mind.
Su Yao's demeanor showed that the Heavenly Dao had not pulled her away.
Xie Wanqing was holding steady, her killing move well concealed.
Ye Qingyun's momentum was at its height. Today's blade could not strike too soon; he had to let Ye Qingyun build his platform higher first.
Zhou Wenyuan came down two steps from the judges' seats.
"Prince Yi, your seat is this way."
Gu Moran looked at the chair specially reserved for him to the rear and side of the judges' seats. It was a good position: he could see the whole gathering, and everyone could see him.
He did not sit down immediately. Instead, he first walked over to the women's seating area.
Shen Ling'er spoke first.
"Husband, did you come here today to eat cake?"
Gu Moran glanced at the little bulge in her sleeve pocket.
"You haven't eaten any less."
Shen Ling'er immediately pressed a hand over her sleeve.
"This is in case I get hungry."
Su Yao did not look up. She turned her teacup halfway around in her hand.
Gu Moran turned his gaze to Xie Wanqing.
"Are you all right?"
Xie Wanqing raised her head.
"Don't worry, Husband."
She spoke softly, but the final note of her words held firm.
Gu Moran nodded.
"If anyone speaks rudely to you, talk right back. Your husband will back you up."
Su Yao finally glanced at him.
"Did Your Highness come today to teach people how to quarrel?"
Gu Moran looked at her, his gaze resting for two breaths on the pearl hairpin at her temple, where the sunlight fell.
"A poetry gathering is a battlefield too. As long as you win, that's what matters."
Su Yao set her teacup back on the table.
"Then Your Highness had better not lose."
"With my beloved consort watching, how could I lose?"
Su Yao's fingers paused on the rim of her cup for half a breath. She said nothing.
Shen Ling'er raised her teacup to hide part of her face, her shoulders moving slightly.
Xie Wanqing lowered her head to leaf through the poetry gathering roster, the tips of her ears quietly turning a little red.
Gu Moran turned and went to his seat.
Before the gong sounded, Zhou Wenyuan stepped to the front of the platform.
"Esteemed colleagues and students, today the Hanlin Academy holds this poetry gathering to draw upon the spirit of spring and autumn, discuss the backbone of literature, and judge the heights of poetic talent. For all who take the stage, regardless of birth, only their poetry shall be judged."
A murmur of approval rose from below the platform.
Ye Qingyun stood beside the waiting area. When he heard the words "regardless of birth," his lips pressed into a line, and the three poetry manuscripts clenched in his sleeve creased slightly at their centers.
He kept his grip on them and did not let go.