Su Yao remained seated.
"It's good that Young Master Ye remembers."
This statement was neither angry nor weak.
This answer left Ye Qingyun unable to swallow the anger that was stuck in his throat.
The taste of ink lingered on his tongue, so bitter that he couldn't speak for a long time.
He had considered that Su Yao would feel guilty, and he had also considered that she would be angry. Even if she stood up and cursed at him, it would mean that she still remembered that old marriage certificate.
But she just sat there, as if she had just finished reading an old case that should have been sealed away long ago.
Stamped. Archived. Not worth looking at.
Su Yao picked up her teacup, the lid lightly touching the rim, the clear sound echoing around the women's table.
She didn't look at Ye Qingyun again, but turned to Xie Wanqing.
"You won back that piece of paper that was put on the table for me."
Xie Wanqing's fingertips touched the rim of the cup, the steam making her palms damp, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking.
" Sister Su, I just..."
I owe you something today.
Su Yao interrupted her, her voice still hoarse, but with a hint of sincerity.
Gu Moran saw this scene from afar, her folding fan resting on her lap, her fingertips pressing against the fan ribs, the pressure decreasing repeatedly.
Uncle Fu said in a low voice, "Your Highness, Madam Xie has won this battle."
Gu Moran looked at Xie Wanqing's hand hidden in her sleeve.
She was capable of standing on her own.
Uncle Fu glanced at him.
Those poems...
Gu Moran pressed the fan ribs into his palm, his tone languid.
"She was the one who went up on stage to receive the knife."
Uncle Fu did not ask any further questions.
Ye Qingyun had not yet exhaled his last breath.
He wiped the sweat from his palms into his sleeves, looked up at Gu Moran, his gaze passing over the women's seats, over the judges' seats, and finally settling on that folding fan.
"I, Ye, have lost today."
Xie Wanqing stood before the women's table, not responding, but simply holding her teacup steady.
Ye Qingyun added, "I am completely convinced of my defeat at the hands of the expert from Prince Yi's Residence."
The shouts in the square rose again.
"A master?"
Who are you referring to?
"Who else could he be talking about, staring at Prince Yi?"
"The couplet was composed in five breaths at a time; who came up with such a master?"
"Could he be referring to the Prince Yi's Residence hiring a reclusive master as an advisor?"
"But as far as I know, Prince Yi spends his days arranging flowers and playing with jade, listening to music in brothels. Where would he get any advisors? The only men in his household are Uncle Fu and the cook."
"If a cook can write 'Ascending to the Summit,' then I'll go to the Prince's kitchen tomorrow to become his apprentice."
Xie Huai'an's expression changed first, and he placed his hand on the table, making a soft sound as the teacup tapped against the rim.
Qian Muzhi raised his eyes, and the prayer beads between his fingers stopped.
Zhou Wenyuan didn't speak, but simply opened the roster and closed it again, the sound of pages rustling across the judges' panel.
The second prince sat in front of the nobles, and the lid of his cup touched the rim of the cup.
Although Gu Moran couldn't hear every word of the distant discussion, he could clearly see where Ye Qingyun's knife was going.
Uncle Fu bent down and approached.
"Your Highness, why is he so persistent? Should we ask Duke Qian for help?"
Gu Moran up the folding fan.
"No need, this thing is just a piece of junk food."
He stood up, unfolded his folding fan, and yawned widely in front of everyone.
Several scribes from the Hanlin Academy turned to look at him, their pens hovering over the paper.
Gu Moran rubbed the corner of his eye.
"Master Ye, who is this 'expert' you're talking about?"
Ye Qingyun looked at him but didn't reply.
Gu Moran the folding fan over his shoulder, his moon-white brocade robe billowing in the wind, and the jade pendant at his waist jingling softly.
"Could it be that the master is none other than myself?"
The square fell silent for a moment.
Laughter first came from the second floor of the teahouse, and then some people in the audience lowered their heads and covered their faces.
"Is His Highness Prince Yi a highly skilled person?"
"Isn't he the guy on Chang'an Street who's best at drinking and partying with courtesans?"
"Don't talk nonsense. His Highness even bet on surviving his wedding night, and I heard he won two hundred and fifty taels."
"Is this considered talent?"
Shen Ling'er, holding the teacup, almost choked. She put the cup down and pressed a handkerchief to her lips.
"Husband, are you trying to throw mud at yourself?"
Su Yao looked at Gu Moran, her fingertips lightly tapping the cup lid.
He's making a complete fool of himself.
Shen Ling'er blinked.
"You can smash a pot like that?"
Su Yao looked at Ye Qingyun's expression and didn't say anything more.
Gu Moran stretched.
"Young Master Ye, you do have some discernment, recognizing me as a master. So, when I'm in high spirits after a few drinks tomorrow, I might offer you a few pointers."
Ye Qingyun's face tensed up.
Gu Moran didn't give him a chance to respond, and instead cupped her hands in a gesture of respect towards the judges' panel.
" Duke Qian, Elder Han, esteemed gentlemen, if anyone spreads the word that I am a literary master after today, please help me verify it."
Qian Muzhi looked at him.
"Prove what?"
Gu Moran serious.
"This is not a rumor. His talent is unparalleled in the world; I, the king, am worthy of the title."
The square burst into laughter again.
Gu Moran sighed.
"Speaking of which, I was arguing with Uncle Fu in the manor last night about why a seven-character quatrain shouldn't be written in seven lines."
Uncle Fu stood behind him, his eyelids twitching.
This mess came too fast; we have no choice but to accept it.
Uncle Fu bowed.
"Your Highness, as I mentioned last night, a seven-character quatrain consists of eight lines, with seven characters per line."
Gu Moran turned to look at him.
Did you say so?
"I said it three times."
"You spoke too softly; I didn't hear you."
Uncle Fu bent his waist even lower.
"This old servant will use the gong next time."
The laughter grew even louder.
Han Heting coughed and chuckled.
Ye Qingyun stood below the poetry platform, his hand clenched in his sleeve, then slowly released it.
The scene was absurd.
If he keeps using the term "expert," the whole audience will label him as a sore loser.
But if he retreats, his words will have been in vain.
Zhou Wenyuan noticed that Ye Qingyun was stuck halfway and offered to help him find a way out.
"Your Highness is being modest; there's no need for that."
Gu Moran immediately looked at him.
"Lord Zhou is mistaken."
Zhou Wenyuan's finger stopped on the roster.
Gu Moran waved his fan lazily, but his words were scathing.
"Why should I be modest? I am not only talented, but also have ideas."
"Since it's called a seven-character quatrain, each line should have seven characters, and the whole poem should also have seven lines; that's more precise."
"Lord Zhou, don't just collect your salary and do idle things; quickly remember what I said."
Laughter erupted again from the audience.
Gu Moran then looked at Ye Qingyun.
"Since you wish to receive my guidance, that's fine. Come and kowtow to me to formally become my disciple whenever you have time."
Ye Qingyun gritted his teeth.
"The 'expert' I mentioned does not refer to Your Highness."
Gu Moran nodded immediately.
"You don't want to become my disciple? Then your talent is only at this level. No wonder you lost to my wife."
He sat back down in his chair, closed his fan, and tapped his knee.
"Unfortunately, I almost thought I could cultivate another rising star in the capital's literary world."
As soon as those words were spoken, the laughter gradually subsided.
Ye Qingyun did not answer the call again.
He can't accept it.
Qian Muzhi pressed down on the corner of the poem manuscript with two fingers, and the prayer beads paused for half a beat in his palm.
"Alright, you've laughed enough. Now, let me say a few words."