When Xie Wanqing rose, the breeze from her sleeve sent several melon seeds beside the tea table rolling half a turn.
Shen Ling'er quickly took her wrist and gave it a squeeze, but did not let go.
"Your hand is so cold."
Xie Wanqing lowered her head and looked at her hand.
"It's all right."
Shen Ling'er slipped a pine nut candy into her palm.
"Keep it in your mouth. Don't faint."
Xie Wanqing stared at the candy in her palm, stunned for half a breath.
"Candy?"
"Have something sweet before you go onstage. You'll have the strength to scold people."
Su Yao pushed her teacup over, keeping her eyes on the poetry platform instead of looking at Xie Wanqing.
"By bringing up the old engagement, he's not just striking at me. He's striking at the prince's residence too."
Xie Wanqing picked up the tea and took a small sip. The warm tea soothed the dryness in her throat.
"I understand."
She picked up her book and walked toward the poetry platform.
Her bamboo-green dress emerged from the women's seating area, the morning light flashing on its subtle patterns with each step she took.
She walked at an unhurried pace, each step landing along the center line of the flagstones.
Behind Gu Moran, Uncle Fu lowered his voice.
"Your Highness, Madam Xie's steps are remarkably steady."
Gu Moran rested his folding fan on his knee, his gaze falling on the hand she had tucked into her sleeve.
"The sweat on her palm has nearly soaked the paper soft."
"And she still dares to go?"
Gu Moran watched her draw closer, his tone growing a little more languid.
"She's afraid and still walking forward. That's what's valuable."
Uncle Fu thought for a moment.
"Your Highness, you seem to have everything well in hand?"
Gu Moran did not answer. He only asked,
"How long has that white-haired old Qian been sitting there?"
Uncle Fu looked behind the judges' seats.
"From the start until now, he hasn't said an extra word."
"That's enough, then."
On the poetry platform, Ye Qingyun had already written three or four lines.
He wrote so quickly that, as his brush passed over the paper, the ink joined into lines with hardly a pause.
More than ten other scholars competing beside him were still weighing their opening lines. Some bit their brushes, while others wiped away sweat.
Shuhe stood below the platform, growing more pleased the longer he watched.
"My young master must be finished, right?"
Ye Qingyun finished his final stroke, placed his poem facedown on the table, and stepped aside with his arms folded.
Low murmurs of admiration rose from below the platform.
"How long has it been?"
"Less than a third of an incense stick."
"That's true literary talent."
"No wonder a scholar from a humble family who made it this far dared to break off his engagement."
Gu Moran heard the last remark but did not even lift an eyelid.
The better the poem, the more breaking off the engagement would look like strength of character; if the poem was not good enough, it would be a joke.
I'll let you run a lap first.
Seeing that the incense stick was almost half burned, Zhou Wenyuan was about to urge them along when he caught sight of Xie Wanqing approaching. The smile on his face faded somewhat.
"What are you doing here?"
Xie Wanqing stopped three paces before the judges' seats and bowed to all five judges.
"Xie Wanqing of Prince Yi's Residence."
A buzz immediately rose from the crowd below.
"Lady Xie?"
"Why has she come forward?"
"It's one thing for a woman to listen at a poetry gathering, but she wants to go onstage too?"
"Has today's Hanlin Academy poetry gathering become an elegant gathering for the women's quarters?"
Xie Huai'an sat to the side of the judges' seats. His expression changed, and he pressed a hand against his chair's armrest, about to rise.
Han Heting reached out and pressed down on his sleeve.
"Huai'an, sit."
Xie Huai'an looked at him.
"Sir, my daughter doesn't know any better."
Han Heting looked at Xie Wanqing and withdrew his hand.
"Your daughter is standing steadier than you are."
For a moment, Xie Huai'an had no words.
Zhou Wenyuan glanced at Xie Huai'an, then at Xie Wanqing.
"Lady Xie, the poetry gathering has rules."
"This junior knows."
"Then have you come forward to observe the judging?"
"If I may be so bold, this junior would also like to try composing on the given theme."
As soon as she spoke, several young scholars laughed aloud.
One stood by the waiting area, his mouth half covered.
"Lady Xie, this isn't a game of grass-fighting in the women's chambers."
Another chimed in.
"You have half an incense stick to compose on the theme. You can't go home, spend three days writing, and then have your father and brothers polish it."
Listening from the women's seats, Shen Ling'er narrowed her eyes.
"Can I give him something to make him mute?"
Su Yao held her tea.
"Drug a whole crowd, and even the Imperial Medical Bureau won't be able to protect you."
Ye Qingyun stood beside the poetry platform and looked at Xie Wanqing.
"You want to compose a poem too?"
Xie Wanqing turned to him.
"If you can compose one, Young Master Ye, why can't I?"
Ye Qingyun glanced at the book in her hands.
"The poetry gathering is about literary talent displayed on the spot."
"I'm aware."
"If you prepared beforehand, it would be against the rules."
Xie Wanqing held the book firmly and raised her eyes to look at him.
"Young Master Ye, you never speak without mentioning the old engagement, yet aren't you standing here talking about strength of character?"
The discussion below the platform quieted somewhat.
Ye Qingyun's expression darkened.
"Are you standing up for Prince Yi's Residence?"
"So this is the extent of your magnanimity, Young Master Ye."
Ye Qingyun was stunned.
"Then go ahead!"
Zhou Wenyuan, however, did not immediately grant permission.
"Lady Xie, there is no precedent in past years for women taking part in the Hanlin Academy's poetry gathering."
Xie Wanqing bowed.
"If you gentlemen find it improper, this junior will leave at once."
She raised her head and looked at Zhou Wenyuan.
"Only, this junior remembers that at the start, Lord Zhou said it was open to all, regardless of background."
Having said that, she took half a step back.
She neither argued nor made a scene.
If Zhou Wenyuan refused, the foremost of the capital's four talented women would be barred from the platform, and her father, Xie Huai'an, would lose face too.
Xu Wenli raised his tea, concealing half his face.
Feng Shouzheng leafed through the etiquette register, his fingertip stopping on a blank space.
Han Heting tapped his cane.
"Academy Head Qian hasn't spoken yet. What's your hurry?"
Only then did everyone look toward the center rear of the judges' seats.
The white-haired old man opened his eyes, and the strand of old wooden prayer beads in his hand came to a stop.
Qian Muzhi, the Hanlin Academy's presiding academician, was seventy-two years old and had not originally been on today's list of judges.
The day before the poetry gathering, he had merely sent word to the Hanlin Academy that he wished to come and listen.
Zhou Wenyuan had not dared stop him and could only add another chair behind the judges' seats.
Qian Muzhi looked at Xie Wanqing.
"Xie Wanqing."
Xie Wanqing bowed again.
"At your service."
"The foremost of the capital's four talented women. I've heard of you."
"A hollow reputation, nothing more."
Qian Muzhi nodded.
"Since you want to try, go ahead and write."
Zhou Wenyuan's brows twitched.
"Lord Qian, the rules..."
Qian Muzhi looked at him.
"Today you said that background would not matter, only the poems."
Zhou Wenyuan did not reply.
Qian Muzhi continued.
"What? Background doesn't matter, but whether someone is a man or a woman does?"
The laughter below the platform died away.
Xie Huai'an lowered his hand from the armrest.
Gu Moran looked at Qian Muzhi and lightly tapped a rib of his fan.
Uncle Fu said quietly,
"Your Highness, is Academy Head Qian helping Madam Xie?"
Gu Moran said,
"He's helping protect the Hanlin Academy's good name."
Uncle Fu asked,
"Zhou Wenyuan won't be happy, will he?"
"Whether he's happy or not doesn't matter."
Gu Moran smiled.
"With so many people watching today, whoever puts the words 'a woman' ahead of the poetry will be the first to show a narrow outlook."
Xie Wanqing walked to a side table.
A sheet of white paper lay spread flat on the table, and ink had already been ground in the inkstone. Everyone waited for her to put brush to paper.
She set the book at the corner of the table, picked up the brush, and dipped it in ink.
Before setting the brush tip down, she paused beside the inkstone for a moment and went over the poem Gu Moran had given her in her mind.
Gu Moran's words from the night before came back to her.
You're not going to beg for their approval.
Standing there is weight enough in itself.
Xie Wanqing set brush to paper.
Lines of ink spread across the page.
When she finished, she read it over from the beginning, put down her brush, and presented the plain sheet with both hands.
Half an incense stick had just burned out.
The dozen or so other scholars also put down their brushes one after another. Attendants collected their poems and delivered them to the judges' table.
Qian Muzhi leafed through them one by one.
Some he put to his left after reading two lines.
Others he read through, nodded once, and placed to his right.
In the end, only two sheets remained in his hands.
Ye Qingyun's.
Xie Wanqing's.
Han Heting turned sideways.
"Elder Qian?"
Qian Muzhi did not answer. He handed Xie Wanqing's plain sheet to him.
Han Heting took it and scanned three lines. His coughing stopped.
Feng Shouzheng and Xu Wenli leaned over at the same time.
One closed the ceremonial register.
The other set his teacup back on the table.
Xie Huai'an sat beside them, unable to see the whole poem. He could only see his old friends' reactions.
His frown deepened.
Ye Qingyun lowered the arms he had folded before him.
Shuhe said softly,
"Young master, why aren't any of them speaking?"
Ye Qingyun did not answer.
The plain sheet made a round through the hands of all five judges.
The confidence he had suppressed after finishing his poem was beginning to retreat.
Xie Wanqing stood beside the writing table, her hands pressed palm to palm inside her sleeves, the sweat still there.
At last, Qian Muzhi pressed the plain sheet onto the table and picked up Ye Qingyun's manuscript with a smile.
"Young Master Ye, would you be willing to let this old man read yours aloud to everyone as well?"
Ye Qingyun glanced at Xie Wanqing.
"Yes."
Qian Muzhi stood.
The murmur across the gathering slowly died down.
"Today's theme is spring. Young Master Ye wrote on the spot, while Lady Xie decided to enter on a whim."
"By the rules, Young Master Ye naturally has the advantage."
Ye Qingyun's expression eased slightly.
Xie Wanqing did not move.
Qian Muzhi continued,
"But since this gathering is about poetry, and everyone has ears, why not listen first and discuss it afterward?"
"I'll read Young Master Ye's first."
Ye Qingyun stood a little straighter.
Qian Muzhi recited,
"Spring enters the long street, and hooves fall light; as the old snow melts, a traveler wakes from dreams."
Someone below the stage nodded.
Qian Muzhi continued,
"Cold branches will not bend toward vermilion gates; wild grass insists on growing from cracks in stone."
Someone among the scholars of humble birth immediately cried out in praise.
"Good!"
Qian Muzhi did not stop.
"A sheet of fleeting fame drifts away with the water; ten years of lamplight shine until daybreak."
Ye Qingyun looked toward Su Yao.
Qian Muzhi recited the final line.
"Today, Qingyun rises on the wind; without borrowing the east wind, he still reaches the capital."
Applause soon rang out.
Zhou Wenyuan was the first to clap.
"A fine work."
Xu Wenli nodded.
"To produce such a piece in half an incense stick's time is indeed remarkable."
Shuhe stamped his feet with excitement.
"Young master, you've won."
Ye Qingyun kept his smile from showing too plainly and looked only at the other sheet in Qian Muzhi's hand.
Qian Muzhi waited for the applause to subside, then unfolded Xie Wanqing's plain sheet.
"Now for Lady Xie's."
The square fell silent.
Xie Wanqing's hands tightened inside her sleeves.
Gu Moran leaned against the table, his fan resting across his knee, his gaze fixed on the plain sheet.
Qian Muzhi began to recite the first line.