Qian Muzhi did not answer. He merely lowered the plain sheet of paper half an inch.
Ye Qingyun stared at the movement, and the breath he had just settled caught again.
Below the platform, Shuhe craned his neck and rose on tiptoe.
"Young master, this third poem... it won't be even more frightening than the first two, will it?"
Ye Qingyun lowered his voice.
"By the third poem, the greatest danger is that the momentum will flag."
Shuhe blinked.
"Then what if hers doesn't?"
Ye Qingyun turned his head and glanced at him.
Shuhe immediately clutched the bundle tighter and shrank back half a step.
At last, Qian Muzhi spoke.
"How is Daizong? Its endless green stretches across Qi and Lu."
Someone below the platform frowned.
"A poem about a mountain?"
"The first two were about ascending a tower and bidding farewell, and this one is about Mount Tai?"
"She opens by asking about the mountain, but she's in no hurry to overawe anyone."
The hand in Ye Qingyun's sleeve relaxed a little.
He looked at Xie Wanqing.
It starts too broadly.
When it's broad, it can easily lose focus.
Qian Muzhi continued reading.
"Creation has gathered all its divine beauty here; the mountain cleaves the light from darkness."
Feng Shouzheng's hand stopped turning the pages of the ceremonial register.
Han Heting looked up.
Xie Huai'an had just raised his teacup to his lips, but he set it back on the table.
Several scholars below the platform exchanged glances.
"That line has power."
"'The mountain cleaves the light from darkness'-she's brought the mountain to life."
"She's written all of heaven and earth into it."
Shuhe asked quietly,
"Young master, is that line really so impressive?"
Ye Qingyun stared at the plain sheet, his throat moving.
"Shut up and listen to the end."
Shuhe pressed his lips together.
Qian Muzhi's voice grew deeper.
"Layered clouds rise and stir my breast; I strain my eyes to follow the returning birds."
In the women's section, the pine nut candy in Shen Ling'er's hand stopped at her lips.
"Sister Su, I understood that line."
Su Yao looked at the poetry platform.
"The mountain enters her breast, and she enters the mountain."
Shen Ling'er tilted her head.
"What about Ye Qingyun?"
Su Yao picked up her cold tea, then put it down again.
"He's still standing at the foot of the mountain."
Xie Wanqing heard those words. Her eyelashes lowered slightly, but she did not turn around.
Ye Qingyun's face tightened.
His three poems were about entering the capital, refusing to bend, and Qingyun.
He had written himself as standing very high.
But this poem began with Mount Tai and spread across Qi and Lu. Heaven and earth opened and closed, clouds rose in her breast, and returning birds entered her sight.
She had yet to reach the summit, but her momentum had already arrived.
Qian Muzhi looked at the final couplet.
He did not read it immediately.
Han Heting urged him on.
"Elder Qian, what's the final couplet? Don't keep this old man in suspense."
Qian Muzhi glanced at Xie Wanqing.
"You child, you truly are bold."
Xie Wanqing bowed.
"I merely wrote down what I saw in my heart."
Qian Muzhi laughed and raised the plain sheet.
"One day I shall ascend the highest peak, and see all the mountains small beneath my gaze."
When the final word fell, the square fell silent for several breaths.
Han Heting's cane struck the ground.
"Good!"
Xie Huai'an stood up, his sleeve knocking over the lid of his teacup. Tea wet the edge of the register, but he made no move to set the lid right.
"A line about reaching the summit."
"This couplet alone is enough to crown the collection."
Qian Muzhi laid the plain sheet on the table, holding it down with his fingertips.
"The first two lines ask about the mountain."
"The middle two gaze at the mountain."
"The next two bring it into her breast."
"The final couplet reaches the summit."
He looked at the people below the platform.
"This poem is about the mountain, but it is also about the person."
"When one climbs to a high place, one ought to have such a breadth of vision."
Among the scholars of humble birth, someone repeated in a low voice,
"One day I shall ascend the highest peak, and see all the mountains small beneath my gaze."
Another person followed.
"That line is too grand."
"Brother Ye wrote about Qingyun, but she went straight to ascending the highest peak."
Shuhe's face scrunched up.
"Young master, is she saying you haven't reached the top yet?"
Ye Qingyun glanced at him.
"Shut up."
Shuhe immediately lowered his head and hugged the bundle tighter.
People below the platform had already begun to savor that meaning.
"Ye Qingyun said earlier that one stroke of his brush would send azure clouds pressing down on the nine realms."
"Now that Madam Xie has written this line, even Qingyun is at the foot of the mountain."
"That doesn't sound nice, but that's what the poem means."
Ye Qingyun stood to the side of the poetry platform. His fingers curled inward inside his sleeve, his palm slick with sweat and cold enough to make it tense.
He could refuse to submit to Xie Wanqing.
But he could not speak lightly of this poem.
Qian Muzhi laid the three plain sheets side by side.
"Xie Wanqing."
Xie Wanqing stepped forward half a pace.
"I am here."
"The first poem speaks of ambition."
"The second speaks of breadth."
"The third speaks of momentum."
Qian Muzhi looked at Gazing at the Sacred Mountain.
"Ambition, breadth, and the momentum to ascend the heights."
"I will enter these three poems into the Hanlin Academy's poetry collection."
Zhou Wenyuan finally spoke.
"Duke Qian, the theme of today's second round was spring. These three poems do not share that theme."
Qian Muzhi looked at him.
"I said I would enter them into the poetry collection. I did not say they would count toward the second round."
The words on Zhou Wenyuan's lips were forced back.
Qian Muzhi continued,
"As for the second round's spring theme, Xie Wanqing's Spring Dawn in the Imperial City surpassed Ye Qingyun's by half a move."
"Does anyone object?"
Han Heting said,
"No objection."
Feng Shouzheng opened the ceremonial register.
"Record it."
Xie Huai'an lowered his eyes.
"To avoid suspicion of bias, I will not judge."
Xu Wenli raised his tea, brought the rim to his lips, then set it down again.
"Madam Xie wins."
Zhou Wenyuan looked at the three characters of Ye Qingyun's name in the register. A drop of ink spread beside them.
"Since this is everyone's judgment, I have no objection."
Ye Qingyun stood to the side of the poetry platform, the sweat on his palm already cold.
He could lose one poem.
He could also lose one round.
But the three sheets of paper Xie Wanqing had produced had pressed down everything he had built up today.
Below the platform, Shuhe tugged at the bundle and offered quiet advice.
"Young master, why don't we rest for a bit? You could at least have a drink of water."
Ye Qingyun did not look at him.
He cupped his hands toward Qian Muzhi.
"Duke Qian, I admit defeat in the second round."
Someone below the platform breathed a sigh of relief.
Ye Qingyun raised his head.
"But the poetry gathering has three rounds. There is still one final round."
The tension that had just subsided rose again.
Zhou Wenyuan immediately chimed in.
"That's right."
"The third round was always meant to be composed on the spot. Though the second round has a winner, the final outcome is not yet decided."
Qian Muzhi looked at Ye Qingyun.
"You still want to compete?"
Ye Qingyun's cuff fell, concealing the poem manuscript softened by sweat.
An image flashed through his mind: a rainy night in Jizhou, water leaking through a dilapidated house, and pages of paper soaked through.
If he backed down today, whenever people spoke of Ye Qingyun from now on, they would only say he had been bested by a daughter of the Xie Clan.
He could not retreat.
"I do."
Ye Qingyun looked at Xie Wanqing.
"I will not compete with old works. I ask only to test our poetic inspiration on the spot."
"Madam Xie, do you dare accept the third round?"
The women's section fell quiet.
Shen Ling'er stuffed the pine nut candy back into her sleeve pocket, the wrapper rustling softly between her fingers.
"He really won't step down."
Su Yao looked at Xie Wanqing.
"If he stepped down now, his proud backbone would break."
Shen Ling'er frowned.
"Then what about Sister Wanqing?"
Su Yao rested her fingertips on the rim of her teacup. The tea had gone completely cold.
"She can't back down either."
Xie Wanqing stood on the stage without answering at once.
Winning the second round would preserve her reputation.
If she accepted the third, the momentum she had just built might be scattered.
If she refused, Ye Qingyun could say she relied only on her old works.
Xie Wanqing looked back at Gu Moran.
The crowd stood between them, the scents of tea, ink, and sweat mingling until the air pressed heavily on the chest.
Gu Moran neither nodded nor shook his head.
He merely tapped a fan rib lightly against his knee.
Once.
Xie Wanqing turned back around.
"Wanqing accepts the third round."
Qian Muzhi watched the two of them, tapping a fingertip on the table.
"In that case, the third round will be a paired-verse contest instead."
Zhou Wenyuan frowned.
"Duke Qian, the original plan was to compose on an assigned theme on the spot."
Qian Muzhi said,
"Paired verse is composing on an assigned theme on the spot."
"The theme comes from your opponent's line, and the answer from your own heart. There's no dodging it, no hiding from it."
Han Heting nodded.
"Good. Match them against each other, and we'll know who has true talent and who is a fraud."
Feng Shouzheng picked up his brush.
"What are the rules?"
Qian Muzhi looked at Ye Qingyun and Xie Wanqing.
"One person gives the first line, and the other matches it with the second."
"Fail to compose it within five breaths, and you lose."
"You must not stray from the theme, insult anyone, or use family standing to press others down."
Ye Qingyun cupped his hands.
"I understand."
Xie Wanqing bowed.
"Wanqing understands."
Qian Muzhi picked up a white game piece and set it on the table.
"For the third round, Young Master Ye, please begin."
Ye Qingyun stepped forward half a pace, his blue-gray sleeves hanging at his sides.
"A lone lamp shines through snow at my cold study window."
He had brought the theme back to the hardships of humble origins that he knew best.
Xie Wanqing did not pause for long.
"Ten thousand scrolls unfold to spring in the imperial gardens."
Qian Muzhi tapped a finger on the tabletop.
"She matched it."
Ye Qingyun continued.
"Old paper, silent, buries lofty hopes."
Xie Wanqing said,
"A new work takes up the brush to write of the common folk."
Quiet discussion rose from below the stage.
"She answered quickly."
"He still hasn't drawn her into hardship."
Ye Qingyun stared at Xie Wanqing.
"The wind bullies wild grass, yet its roots remain."
Xie Wanqing looked at him.
"The rain nourishes all living things, and the earth renews itself."
Han Heting struck his walking stick against the ground.
"Good."
Ye Qingyun's breathing grew heavier.
He wanted to write of the unyielding spirit of those from humble families.
Xie Wanqing, however, had put the wild grass back into the spring earth beneath heaven.
Gu Moran lowered his fan onto his knee and chuckled.
Uncle Fu leaned half a step closer.
"Your Highness?"
Gu Moran watched the stage.
"She's found her way."
Ye Qingyun changed direction.
"Wine warms behind vermilion gates; an old pledge is forgotten."
The atmosphere in the room tightened at once.
He had dragged the old pledge back into it.
Su Yao's expression turned cold.
Xie Wanqing looked at Ye Qingyun.
Two of the five breaths had passed.
If she struck back with an insult, she would descend into the commonplace.
If she avoided it, she would seem weak.
On the third breath, Xie Wanqing spoke.
"Let the histories of a thousand ages judge me."
Qian Muzhi's eyes lit up.
"Well said-let the histories judge me."
"She won't quarrel over a few words at the gate, but leaves the judgment to later generations."
Ye Qingyun's sleeve twitched.
Once again, he had gained no advantage in this round.
Zhou Wenyuan's expression darkened.
Xu Wenli glanced repeatedly at Gu Mochen.
Gu Mochen sat among the nobles, his tea untouched.
An adviser lowered his voice.
"Your Highness, Ye Qingyun is being held up."
Gu Mochen looked at Xie Wanqing.
"We can't let Third Brother secure this Xie Clan woman too firmly."
The adviser asked,
"Should we have Xu Wenli step forward?"
Gu Mochen did not answer.
On the poetry stage, Ye Qingyun offered another line.
"With my broken body, I set the cold night ablaze."
Someone among the scholars from humble families called out in approval.
"That line hits hard."
"He's writing with his life. Madam Xie will have trouble matching it."
Xie Wanqing paused.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Shen Ling'er gripped Su Yao's sleeve.
"Sister Su."
Su Yao did not look away.
Gu Moran pressed his fingers against the ribs of his fan.
This line was a dangerous one.
If Xie Wanqing continued writing about all under heaven, her answer could easily seem hollow.
If she followed him in writing of the cold night, Ye Qingyun would lead her down the path of hardship.
The third breath.
Xie Wanqing raised her head.
"May this small heart cast a light that shines forever."
The crowd below the stage fell silent for a moment.
Among the scholars from humble families, someone clutched a sleeve and spoke softly.
"She didn't answer the cold night."
"She lit it up."
The white game piece in Qian Muzhi's hand fell onto the table.
"Good."
Han Heting looked at Ye Qingyun.
"Young Master Ye sets the cold night ablaze with his broken body, writing of one person's suffering."
Then he looked at Xie Wanqing.
"Lady Xie offers her small heart to cast an everlasting light, writing of a path for everyone."
Shuhe scratched his head and whispered,
"So who won?"
Ye Qingyun did not answer.
He stared at Xie Wanqing, as though a mouthful of cold tea were lodged in his throat.
With that line, he had meant to force Xie Wanqing into hardship.
Xie Wanqing had instead turned hardship into a lamp.
You set one cold night ablaze; I cast a light that shines through the ages.
Ye Qingyun pressed down his sleeve.
"Lady Xie, what fine poetic talent."
Xie Wanqing looked at him.
"Young Master Ye, will you give another line?"
Ye Qingyun raised his eyes.
"I will."
Qian Muzhi looked at him.
"Young Master Ye, by the old rules of paired verse, the other party should now offer a line in return."
Ye Qingyun cupped his hands.
"Please."
Xie Wanqing stepped forward half a pace, her bamboo-green sleeve resting against her wrist.
She looked at Ye Qingyun, and also at the scholars from humble families below the stage.
"How could verse be written for a private grudge?"
Su Yao's fingertips stilled on her teacup.
Shen Ling'er said softly,
"Here it comes."
Ye Qingyun's expression changed.
That line did not strike at his poetic talent.
It struck at the very root of his coming onto the stage today under the pretext of the old pledge.
Qian Muzhi looked at Ye Qingyun.
"Five breaths."
One breath.
Ye Qingyun's lips tightened.
Two breaths.
Zhou Wenyuan pressed down on the register beneath his hand on the table.
Three breaths.
The students from humble families watched Ye Qingyun. Not one of them spoke up for him.
Four breaths.
Shuhe was so anxious that sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Young master, answer the couplet."
As the fifth breath approached, Ye Qingyun spoke.
"Fame and rank, too, arise from injustice."
Qian Muzhi did not comment immediately.
Han Heting stroked his beard.
"It works."
Feng Shouzheng picked up his brush and wrote it down.
Qian Muzhi said,
"It works, but the preceding line still has the edge by half an inch."
Ye Qingyun wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, his expression grim.
Now he was beginning to panic. This woman was harder to deal with than he had imagined.