18
Before Shen Hua could finish speaking, Ming Tan instinctively glanced at her, while Bai Minmin and Zhou Jingwan, who knew the truth, also turned to look in surprise.
The other women, unaware of the true circumstances, heard Shen Hua’s words and immediately assumed an expression of sudden understanding.
Ah, so this Third Miss Ming, relying on her superficial knowledge of martial arts, has been bullying people within her own household.
This Third Miss Ming truly lacks any sense of propriety; born of a concubine, she dares to behave so arrogantly. Not content with deliberately causing someone to fall into the water, she constantly hopes and prays that the victim suffers some lasting injury from the fall. Her malice is indeed one in a million.
Thinking thus, they never once suspected Shen Hua of lying. Although Shen Hua and Ming Tan were nominally cousins, their relationship was clearly not close. When going out together, they usually moved in separate circles and occasionally even competed subtly behind the scenes. Under such circumstances, how could Shen Hua possibly defend Ming Tan without cause?
It is likely that this Third Miss Ming has been so arrogant and overbearing that she has become intolerable to others. Moreover, since she does not hesitate to whip even her own younger sister born of the principal wife, Shen Hua, this distant cousin residing in the household, must have suffered no small amount of humiliation at her hands.
Thinking thus, many cast glances toward Ming Chu filled with disdain and disgust.
Shen Hua also looked straight at Ming Chu. Seeing Ming Chu snap out of her confusion and prepare to defend herself, Shen Hua gently cut her off before she could speak: “In truth, it is quite enough for a young lady to know a few moves for self-defense. Accidentally injuring someone is hardly proper, and moreover, one might easily end up hurting oneself instead.”
Ming Chu: “I—”
Ming Tan gently pressed her temples and, taking up Shen Hua’s words, spoke softly with a hint of frailty: “Cousin is right; I merely feel dizzy from having skipped breakfast. It has nothing to do with falling into the water that day. The physician has already taken my pulse and prescribed medicine; there are no signs of catching a chill. Third Sister need not keep this matter constantly in mind.”
Ming Chu: “Shangyuan—”
“The fireworks of the Shangyuan Lantern Festival, Third Sister will surely see them next year,” Shen Hua said with a soothing smile, then explained to everyone, “Third Sister still has the heart of a young girl. On her way back from Yangxi Road, she kept urging us forward, hoping to return to the capital in time for the Lantern Night to witness the Shangyuan fireworks. But given the bitter cold and the long journey, how could one possibly arrive so quickly?”
Upon hearing this, a hint of helplessness immediately appeared on Ming Tan’s face as she chimed in, “Actually, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been talking with the young maids about how lively the capital is during Shangyuan, and Third Sister happened to overhear and recall her own regrettable circumstances, she wouldn’t have inexplicably become upset and taken out her frustration by whipping around in the garden.”
“Speaking of Shangyuan, the glutinous rice balls Ah Tan made by hand this year truly taste delightful,” Bai Minmin added, suddenly catching on.
Zhou Jingwan covered her mouth with her hand and spoke softly, “I must say, I also find it most regrettable. During the Lantern Festival, A-Tan sent me an invitation to visit her residence and taste the glutinous rice balls she made by hand. Alas, my health is truly unreliable; every autumn and winter, I am plagued by chills and fever for several days, forcing me to remain bedridden for recovery.”
Ming Chu: “…?”
Damn those glutinous rice balls—were they eaten in the Xian River?
Are you telling barefaced lies with your eyes wide open?
“Jingwan, my elderly mistress has just found a prescription to strengthen one’s constitution; I shall have it delivered to your residence tomorrow. Please ask a physician to examine whether it might also be suitable for you.”
“A-Tan, are you still feeling dizzy? It simply will not do to leave home without breakfast; even hastily eating some pastries would be better than nothing.”
“What kind of dumplings? You’ve made me crave a taste! Why didn’t you send some my way, Ah Tan? You stingy thing—hurry up and return the sachet I made for you!”
..
Before Ming Chu could untangle the fabrications spun by those few, the conversation had already veered off course, leaving her no opportunity to speak at all.
Before long, the talented scholars invited by Zhang Huaiyu had all arrived one after another. The crowd’s attention was once again drawn to the adjacent garden, separated only by a lattice wall with openings, and they eagerly approached under the pretext of admiring the flowers, lingering there with great interest.
Shen Hua deliberately fell behind, and as she brushed past Ming Chu, she whispered a warning: “I advise you to behave yourself. If you ruin your fourth sister’s virtue, do you truly believe you’ll still be able to find a good match? Outsiders will merely say that even daughters born of the principal wife, raised in luxury within the capital, are no better than this; there’s no need even to mention those raised by concubines.”
“Perhaps the Marquis cherishes you too much to punish you, but what about the Marchioness? What about the Changguo Duke’s household? Even if the Marquis loves you as his own life and insists on protecting you, what then of your mother? As the mistress of the house, does she need any reason to discipline a concubine? If you die, you die.”
Ming Chu suddenly froze, her spine stiffening.
She stood there for a long while, digesting the words, her mind filled with Shen Hua’s casual tone as she had said, “If someone dies, they die.”
Princess Fengzhao noticed Ming Chu still standing in the pavilion. She approached, casting a disdainful glance over her, and asked with suspicion, “Was what they just said about the reason for falling into the water true?”
Ming Chu pressed her lips together, remaining stiff for a moment, before finally gritting her teeth and nodding.
Fengzhao had never intended to waste even half a sentence on such a lowly concubine-born daughter. Finding the exchange dull, she turned away with a sneer and left.
This scene fell upon Ming Tan’s eyes from not far away; she lowered her gaze, gently inhaling the scent of the fallen pear blossoms, without uttering a word.
Before long, poems praising spring began to emanate frequently from the garden next door. Shu Jingran had already been highly esteemed by scholars and talented men in the capital during ordinary times, and now, having achieved high honors in the imperial examinations, he was even more celebrated. Many who composed poems would first seek his appreciation and critique.
Seeing this, the young ladies on the women’s side also grew restless. One bold enough called out in a delicate voice toward the lattice-flower wall: “The Third-Rank Scholar possesses talent surpassing all; might he not also offer us girls some guidance?”
Upon these words, many joined in clamoring. Some spoke with modesty, others with bewilderment, while still others heaped flattery upon the Third-Rank Scholar. Word followed word, each speaker a delicately raised daughter of noble houses; few indeed could withstand such attention.
Shu Er shook his head helplessly, then smiled and agreed, replying gently, “I dare not claim to offer guidance; each of you young ladies is undoubtedly gifted in both talent and grace.”
Bai Minmin, who had been enthusiastically egging things on just moments before, was now peering eagerly through the lattice wall adorned with blooming flowers, boldly proclaiming, “Did you hear that? Young Master Shu Er praised me for being gifted in both talent and grace!”
Ming Tan: “…”
Zhou Jingwan: “…”
Both wore expressions that seemed to say, “As long as you’re happy.”
Of course, Bai Minmin was merely speaking for the sake of it; she couldn’t actually compose poetry.
In terms of poetic talent, Zhou Jingwan stands out among all the young ladies, while Shen Hua, who has always been deeply devoted to this art, also ranks within the top three.
Ming Tan could compose poetry, yet among the four arts of zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting, her most outstanding talent lay in playing the zither. Her skill at chess was also considered superior among young ladies of good family. As for calligraphy and painting, however, she could hardly be deemed exceptional; indeed, her reputation in calligraphy largely rested on the mere attractiveness of her handwriting. Her poetry composition could only be described as unremarkable—neither flawed nor distinguished.
Once everyone had finished writing, their poems were gathered into a stack and sent to the garden next door.
“‘Camellia shadows hang late; new leaves filter spring light.’ A fine poem,” Shu Jingran remarked after pondering it for some time, finally offering his praise.
In the adjacent garden, all eyes turned toward Zhou Jingwan: “Wanwan, did you write this?”
Zhou Jingwan nodded with reserved grace.
Subsequently, Shu Jingran praised Shen Hua’s poem lamenting the passing of spring, then expressed great surprise as he inquired about the verses composed by Princess Fengzhao. However, Princess Fengzhao responded evasively, stumbling over her words; realizing the truth, he did not press further.
“Ten thousand branches break beneath the falling rain; fragrance drifts down from the moonlit tips.” These lines depict pear blossoms.
Shu Jingran gazed upon this delicate floral script—the poem itself was at best of mediocre quality—yet for some reason, the paper seemed to reveal a faint vision of pear blossoms trembling under rainfall, while a subtle scent of pear flowers appeared to linger around his nostrils.
He held the paper up to the sunlight, squinting as he examined it, then leaned in to take a gentle sniff before suddenly smiling. “I wonder which young lady composed this poem? It is truly most elegant and refined.”
Ming Tan stood before the lattice-flower wall and replied, “Second Young Master Shu flatters me excessively.”
Shu Jingran raised an eyebrow, his gaze also shifting toward that lattice-flower wall he had deliberately ignored until now.
At that glance, he felt slightly surprised. “Fourth Miss Ming?”
“How does the second young master of the Shu family know me?” Ming Tan asked curiously.
Shu Er was at a loss for words; he could hardly admit that on the night of the Lantern Festival, when she fell into the water, he had been standing nearby, earnestly watching the spectacle. Fortunately, a sudden spark of inspiration struck him—he recalled that several years ago, during his own grandmother’s birthday celebration, this Fourth Miss must have attended alongside the Marchioness of Jing’an.
After this explanation, Ming Tan found it remarkably fated. Her own distant glance toward Shu Er had also occurred at that very birthday banquet hosted by the Shu family.
Who would have thought that from merely one distant encounter, Shu Er had remembered her? And now he could still recognize her—what else could this be but a marriage ordained by heaven?
Shu Er then shifted the topic, asking how this floral fragrance and dancing shadows had come to be.
Ming Tan replied modestly, “It was merely that I found the falling pear blossoms somewhat pitiful just now, so I ground them into the ink to capture a hint of their delicate fragrance. As for the flower shadows, one can simply crush the petals to extract their juice and then paint them onto paper.”
Shu Jingran understood clearly and bowed from afar, saying, “I am honored by your instruction.”
Ming Tan returned the bow from a distance, her heart filled with great joy.
She had long known that composing poetry would be unavoidable at the poetry gathering, yet her poetic talent was not outstanding; thus, she could only devote extra effort in other areas.
The method just mentioned was merely a rough idea; casually executing it could never achieve such elegance. Moreover, the delicate fragrance of pear blossoms would be completely overwhelmed by the scent of ink if mixed directly. The true essence of this technique lies in the paper itself. Three days ago, she had already prepared these sheets at her residence, thoroughly infused with pear blossom fragrance and subtly adorned with hidden landscapes; today, she had simply brought them along for substitution.
In truth, the pretext for composing poetry was nothing more than flowers, trees, and the shimmering beauty of spring. She could easily have followed Princess Fengzhao’s example, commissioning several poems in advance from a talented scholar to recite when needed.
Yet she had long anticipated that should anyone pose a few probing questions she couldn’t answer, or should she be suddenly requested to compose an original poem on the spot that didn’t fit any pre-prepared verses, the situation would become exceedingly awkward—precisely as it now was for Princess Fengzhao.
And at this very moment, the deeply embarrassed Princess Fengzhao harbored intense resentment toward Ming Tan!
The Second Young Master Shu had actually spoken quite a few words to her, and even after several years since their single meeting, he still remembered her! She was so furious that her hands clenched until they turned white. Pointing at a cluster of peonies nearby, she said coldly, “Miss Ming the Fourth is highly talented, yet this pear blossom poem ultimately feels rather petty. Why not compose a poem about peonies for Second Young Master Shu to judge instead?”
“…”
The Poem of the Peony.
She is deliberately making things difficult for others.
In previous years, during the imperial selection of consorts, a young woman, seeking to curry favor with Noble Consort Yu, who was then overseeing the selection, compared her to the King of Flowers, the peony, and composed a poem lavishly praising her.
Composing a poem about the peony itself is not objectionable; however, within the palace, only one worthy of being likened to the King of Flowers, the peony, could never be merely a noble consort.
Later, the poem reached Emperor Chengkang’s ears, enraging him so greatly that he immediately issued an edict confining Noble Consort Yu to her quarters for reflection. He further ordered the head matron of the Rites Office to escort the candidate out of the palace gates, issuing a severe reprimand before them all: “If one cannot compose poetry, one need not; if one cannot speak properly, one should remain silent.”
Subsequently, her father submitted a memorial pleading guilty, while rumors spread throughout the household that the young lady had suffered a high fever that would not break, resulting in the loss of her voice.
The fury of Emperor Chengkang still strikes terror into hearts even now; consequently, in recent years, no noble ladies in the capital have dared to compose poems about peonies. Even simple praises devoid of metaphorical comparisons have ceased to be written. Naturally, Ming Tan neither wished nor dared to invite such misfortune upon herself.
At this moment, Feng Zhao was blinded by jealousy, no longer bothering to maintain any pretense of amiability. Her mind was fixed solely on the fact that she was already a princess of supreme nobility and precious status; why should she care about the expressions of these women? She was determined to make them understand the clear distinctions between high and low, noble and base!
Thus, everyone watched helplessly as Princess Fengzhao stepped forward, plucked a precious peony, toyed with it in her hand, and recited a poem aloud.
Having finished speaking, she stood before Ming Tan, tucked the peony into her hair, sized her up, and remarked, “Miss Ming the Fourth is indeed delicate and moving, yet you hardly match this peony.” She then knocked the flower down, stepped on it, and lightly crushed it beneath the tip of her foot.
The garden fell into a hushed silence.
Everyone felt that Princess Fengzhao must have lost her mind.
Yet they could not deny the truth in her words: as the daughter of an imperial prince, she was entitled to compose such a poem and pluck such flowers. What royal princess would dare not? Would His Majesty truly trouble his own niece over a single line of verse?
But just then, the entire household of the Duke of Pingguo, including the duke and duchess themselves, came hurrying forward in a bustling procession, surrounding a eunuch who held aloft an imperial edict in bright yellow silk.
“An imperial edict has arrived. The fourth lady of the Jing’an Marquis’s household, receive the edict—”
The eunuch’s shrill voice echoed through the open space; before anyone could react, bewildered and dazed, the crowd hastily dropped to their knees in a sprawling mass.
Ming Tan was completely stunned.
An imperial decree for her? What decree could possibly be meant for her? Had it truly been proclaimed here at the Pingguo Duke’s residence? Could there have been a mistake in the name? It should have been for the fourth young lady of the Pingguo Duke’s household—yet, as far as she knew, there was no fourth young lady in that family.
She remained frozen for a long moment until Zhou Jingwan tugged at her, prompting her to kneel properly and obediently.
The eunuch then unfurled the imperial edict and proclaimed in a loud voice: “By the mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: Ming Tan, the fourth daughter of the Ming family, virtuous and refined, dignified and wise, well-versed in the duties of women… is hereby betrothed to the Prince of Dingbei and conferred the title of Princess of Dingbei. So be it!”