Shuhe's face turned pale as he listened.
Ye Qingyun suppressed his anger.
"Prince Yi, watch your words."
Gu Moran stopped three paces away from Ye Qingyun.
"Everyone in the capital knows how pleasing my words are."
He pointed his fan at Ye Qingyun's sleeve.
"What you want isn't just an explanation. What you lack is a moment of glory for everyone to see."
Inside Ye Qingyun's sleeves, his ten fingers curled into his palms one by one.
Shuhe looked at his young master, then at Gu Moran. His lips moved, but he didn't dare make a sound.
Zhou Wenyuan immediately stood up.
If he didn't intervene, Gu Moran would publicly tear down Ye Qingyun's reputation.
"Prince Yi, your words are an affront to propriety."
Gu Moran turned his head.
"Lord Zhou, look, you're getting worked up again."
Zhou Wenyuan frowned but didn't dare reply.
Xu Wenli drew the hand holding his tea back into his sleeve.
Gu Moran couldn't be bothered to look at him any longer and turned back to Ye Qingyun.
"Great Scholar Ye, will you still compete against my wife?"
Ye Qingyun swallowed his anger, his neck rigid.
"Yes."
Gu Moran snapped his fan shut.
"Fine. I'll give you credit for having guts."
He stepped back half a pace, leaving room on the poetry platform.
"Then let poetry and prose do the talking."
Qian Muzhi spoke up to bring the exchange to a close.
"Lady Xie, you will provide this line."
Xie Wanqing glanced at Gu Moran.
Gu Moran gave her no signal. He merely rested his folding fan against his lips, smiled lazily, and swept his wide sleeve as he returned to his seat.
This time, Xie Wanqing spoke for herself.
"May prose open an age of peace."
The entire gathering fell silent.
The line used no elaborate wording and pressed no one, yet it gathered the resentment of those from humble families, the dispute over the old betrothal, the spring dawn over the imperial city, and the view of the mountain from the tower into a single sentence.
Qian Muzhi looked at Ye Qingyun.
"Five breaths."
Ye Qingyun opened his mouth.
The first word didn't come.
One breath.
A rainy night in Jizhou surfaced in his mind: water leaking through a dilapidated house, an old book spread open on his knees, its ink dampened by the rain.
Two breaths.
He wanted to write of injustice.
But with "open an age of peace" before him, injustice seemed narrow.
Three breaths.
He wanted to write of fame and office.
But placed before an age of peace, fame and office seemed light.
Four breaths.
Shuhe's eyes reddened, and he edged forward half a step.
"Young master."
Ye Qingyun was just about to speak in a rush.
Five breaths were up.
Qian Muzhi returned the white stone to the Go box.
"Xie Wanqing wins the third round."
The square was silent for a moment.
Han Heting was the first to clap.
The judges followed.
The civil officials joined in.
The students below the platform followed as well.
Applause spread in waves. Ye Qingyun stood beside the platform, his face drained of color.
Shen Ling'er stuffed a piece of pine nut candy into her mouth and said indistinctly, "That felt good."
Su Yao looked at Xie Wanqing and raised her cup of cold tea, lightly tapping its base against the tea table.
"To her."
Xie Wanqing stood on the poetry platform, the wind lifting her bamboo-green dress, her figure exceptionally straight.
Qian Muzhi personally placed the plain sheet of paper into a box.
"From today's poetry gathering, Xie Wanqing's name shall be entered in the Hanlin Academy's poetry records."
Ye Qingyun raised his head.
Qian Muzhi looked at him again.
"Ye Qingyun's poetry shall also be entered."
Ye Qingyun's throat moved.
He cupped his hands.
"This student thanks Duke Qian."
Qian Muzhi didn't let him catch his breath.
"If your backbone only knows how to ram into others, sooner or later it will break."
Ye Qingyun grew even paler, but still completed his bow.
"This student has been instructed."
It wasn't as though he had never lost before.
When he failed the imperial examinations five times in Jizhou, he could still tell himself he had lost to family background, to the examiners, to his fate as a poor man.
Today was different.
He had lost to a woman at poetry, the very thing he did best.
And she was Gu Moran's woman, at that.
Below the platform, Shuhe was so anxious that his forehead was covered in sweat.
"Young master, let's go."
Ye Qingyun didn't move.
He watched Xie Wanqing return to the women's seats.
Shen Ling'er helped her sit, and Su Yao poured her tea. The three women sat together, and not one of them looked at him.
Ye Qingyun's throat tightened, and he cupped his hands toward Xie Wanqing.
"Lady Xie, your talent is exceptional. I have lost today."
Shen Ling'er clapped until her palms were red, then turned to Su Yao.
"Sister Su, did you hear that? He admitted defeat."
Su Yao looked at Ye Qingyun on the poetry platform.
Then she looked at the old marriage contract.
The edges of the paper had yellowed, and the wind lifted one corner.
Xie Wanqing returned Ye Qingyun's salute.
"You let me win."
She didn't press him any further.
To step on him after winning would cheapen it.
Qian Muzhi looked at Ye Qingyun.
"Young Master Ye, you have talent, and you have backbone."
Ye Qingyun cupped his hands.
"Thank you, Duke Qian."
Qian Muzhi moved his finger to Xie Wanqing's poem.
"But poetic talent cannot be filled with nothing but oneself."
Ye Qingyun's shoulders sank, but he remained standing.
"This junior has been instructed."
Han Heting leaned on his cane and tapped it against the ground.
"There's nothing wrong with young people having fire in them."
He looked at Ye Qingyun. His words weren't harsh, but they weighed so heavily that one couldn't raise one's head.
"Just don't let that fire burn only for grievances over family background."
Ye Qingyun lowered his head.
"Yes."
At the second prince's table, a cup lid closed.
An adviser leaned over and said a few words in Gu Mochen's ear.
Gu Mochen didn't look at Ye Qingyun, only at Xie Wanqing.
"Xie Huai'an has such a daughter. No wonder the Imperial Academy has kept the Imperial University under its thumb these past few years."
The adviser asked quietly, "Your Highness, should we send word?"
Gu Mochen handed his cup to a servant.
"What's the hurry?"
The adviser lowered his hands and withdrew.
Gu Mochen's gaze passed over Xie Wanqing again and settled on Gu Moran.
"My third brother certainly knows how to hide himself today."
Gu Moran sat at his table, his folding fan covering half his face.
He saw the pearl pendant by Xie Wanqing's ear swaying gently in the wind.
The young woman's hands had returned to her sleeves.
She had won, but she still hadn't relaxed.
A system panel lit up before Gu Moran's eyes.
[Xie Wanqing won the third round. Proving herself on the spot complete.] [Ye Qingyun's highlight moment at the poetry gathering has been obstructed. His fortune value has begun to decline.] [Xie Wanqing's affection: +50.] [New tag: Recognized self-worth.] [Congratulations, host. The combined affection value of your six beauties has become positive for the first time.] [Milestone reward triggered: host advances into the ranks of sixth-rank martial artists.] [Martial assessment note: Martial cultivation in this world ranges from the ninth to the first rank. The ninth rank trains skin and flesh, the eighth trains sinews and bones, the seventh trains qi and blood, and the sixth marks entry into the ranks of experts.] [A sixth-rank martial artist's strength flows through both arms. His footwork and reactions far surpass those of an ordinary person. Within three zhang, he can seize the initiative; with his bare hands, he can snap hardwood; and for a short time, he can fight more than ten guards.] [The host has not learned any martial techniques. He has gained only sinews, bones, qi, and blood, but no knowledge of saber or sword techniques.] [Please remember, host: the sixth rank is only enough to preserve your life, not enough to run rampant.]
Gu Moran lowered his eyelids and gently closed the folding fan in his hand.
The fan ribs made a faint sound.
He had only meant to fold the fan, but an uncontrollable force surged into his palm, and he nearly squeezed a crease into its surface.
Uncle Fu immediately looked over.
"Your Highness, what did that fan ever do to you?"
Gu Moran shifted the folding fan to his left hand and hid his right hand in his sleeve.
"Damned fan. Have an iron one made for me later."
Uncle Fu glanced at the fan ribs.
"As you command."
Gu Moran picked up his teacup, but the moment his fingertips touched its side, he let go again.
The cup didn't break, but the tea inside rippled violently.
Uncle Fu said quietly, "Your Highness, are you all right?"
Gu Moran looked at his palm and smiled.
"It's nothing. I just think this teacup is rather interesting today."
Uncle Fu didn't understand, but he knew this wasn't the time to ask more.
Gu Moran glanced at the system panel again, and his smile faded.
Zhou Wenyuan was still there.
The second prince was still there.
Ye Qingyun had not completely fallen yet, either.
Getting carried away with triumph now would be like handing someone else a knife.
Before the poetry platform, Ye Qingyun turned. His gaze passed over Xie Wanqing and the judges' seats, coming to rest on the folding fan in Gu Moran's hand.
He watched it for five breaths.
Gu Moran was covering half his face with the fan as he spoke to Uncle Fu.
"I'm hungry."
Uncle Fu replied in a low voice.
"Your Highness, you ate three pastries this morning."
"Poetry gatherings take a toll on the mind."
"Your Highness hasn't stepped onto the platform once from beginning to end."
"Watching my own wife command the room takes a toll on the mind, too."
The corners of Uncle Fu's mouth twitched, but he held back.
Ye Qingyun couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could see how carefree Gu Moran looked.
From the beginning until now, this good-for-nothing, who had earned his hatred by stealing his wife, had not written a single word. Yet Xie Wanqing had stepped forward at precisely the right moment and dismantled the stage he had built, layer by layer.
If someone claimed there was no one behind it, he wouldn't believe them.
But as for the hand behind the chessboard, he could see its shadow, yet couldn't catch it.
Ye Qingyun withdrew his gaze and bowed to Qian Muzhi again.
"Duke Qian, I accept my loss."
He raised a hand and spoke again, this time toward Su Yao.
"Today, I return the marriage contract. I will no longer use our old engagement to make a name for myself through poetry."