TSLSILMH Ch 16

Chapter 16

Xie Shu was still deep in thought when a few more people walked toward them.

These newcomers were also from Jinling Academy, but they had long been at odds with Zhang Enshi, Xu Shengkai, and the others.

After all, within the imperial court, distinctions of birth and rank still mattered greatly, and Jinling Academy was no exception.

Zhang Enshi, Xu Shengkai, and their peers all came from common families. They had relied entirely on bitter years of study to pass the examinations. Fortunately, upon becoming xiucai¹, they were entitled to exemption from corvée labor and taxes, with the state providing a scholarship and food stipend, which made life just manageable.

Yet they spent all their time studying, never farming; their lives were always tight and frugal, thus the well-known phrase “poor scholars”.

Another type of student came from the wealthy class—landowners or local officials. Most of them were sent to Jinling Academy by their fathers, having paid heavy fees of “束脩”² (gift money for tuition). For this reason, the academy opened its doors widely and gave them many conveniences.

Such young men, born into abundance, spent freely and extravagantly. Some even frequented brothels and pleasure quarters, naturally slacking in their studies.

So it was not surprising that these two groups of students looked down on each other.

At the head of this particular group stood a refined-looking young master, but his face carried an overbearing arrogance that made others instantly dislike him.

“Well, well,” he sneered, “you’ve quickly claimed your seats. Anyone watching might think you came here solely to freeload.”

Hearing this, Xu Shengkai could not restrain his anger:

“Wan Tianyun, don’t go too far!”

The man before them was Wan Tianyun, son of the Prefect of Ying Tian Prefecture³.

Within the local administrative hierarchy, the levels ran in order: province, prefecture, sub-prefecture, and county. As prefect, Wan’s father was the highest official in Jinling. Hence Wan himself was insufferably arrogant, serving as leader among the idle sons of the wealthy.

Of course, Xu Shengkai and his companions were not particularly fearful. Having passed as xiucai, they were no longer commoners, but part of the scholar-gentry class, entitled to judicial privileges and respectful treatment from officials. Even in the presence of magistrates, they did not need to kneel.

Still, each encounter between the two sides inevitably led to quarrels.

Zhang Enshi forced down his temper.

“Today is a poetry gathering,” he said evenly, “we do not wish for trouble. You should also avoid needless provocation. If disorder breaks out, it will reflect poorly on everyone.”

Wan Tianyun understood this too. His family could not afford to cross the Gu clan, so he only gave a cold snort.

At that moment, he noticed amid their group an unfamiliar yet oddly familiar figure—Xie Shu.

Unlike the others, Xie Shu always conducted himself more tactfully.

Recalling how this man had married into the Yu family three years ago, Wan Tianyun felt condescension at first, but then grew somewhat interested in drawing him over.

His thoughts shifting, he suddenly smiled:

“Xie Shu, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Three years gone and you’ve truly changed. Why don’t you come sit with us instead? What use have you talking with these sour-faced pauper scholars?”

At this, the young dandies behind him laughed loudly, echoing with enthusiasm:

“Yes indeed, Xie Shu, come with us!”

Meanwhile, Xu Shengkai and the others glared at him fire-eyed. Yet all gazes ultimately fell upon Xie Shu.

Many around the gathering had begun to take note as well. If Xie Shu chose Wan Tianyun’s side, the others would lose all face.

But Zhang Enshi, knowing Xie Shu now lived in a world apart from theirs, felt disappointment. Xu Shengkai silently ground his teeth—surely, he thought, Xie Shu would leap at this chance to ingratiate himself.

Surrounded by the weight of such complex expectations, Xie Shu, however, remained calm.

He did not recognize this man’s identity, but judging from attire and air, it was obvious he was some official’s son. Beyond that, Xie Shu had no special regard. Unlike others here, he felt no instinctive deference toward officialdom.

And as for his intentions—Xie Shu could guess well enough.

This was a petty, capricious personality, not suited for genuine friendship. Yet such people were also best not provoked.

So Xie Shu merely said with quiet composure:

“I am flattered that Young Master Wan values me so. Thank you for your kindness. In truth, I did not know of today’s poetry gathering beforehand—it was only thanks to Young Master Zhang’s invitation that I was able to attend. I must ask your pardon, Wan Gongzi, but next time, I would certainly accompany you gladly.”

Wan Tianyun had expected that Xie Shu would leap to curry favor. Hearing instead such polite refusal surprised and irked him.

Still, Xie Shu’s words had given him sufficient face, so he did not show anger. It would not suit him to extend another invitation. Sliding his eyes across the group with a false smile, he turned and left.

Once he departed, Zhang Enshi broke into a relieved smile:

“Truly, Young Master Xie—I did not misjudge you.”

Even Xu Shengkai’s expression softened somewhat, thinking far more favorably of Xie Shu. Suspicion remained, but the open hostility of before eased.

All others who witnessed the scene also revised their opinion of Xie Shu.

Xie Shu himself paid no mind to these reactions. His thoughts still rested on the poetry gathering—when, he wondered, would its host appear?

As he contemplated thus, the Western Garden’s master, Gu Yuanke, finally arrived.

Instantly, all stood to greet him.

He responded with gracious smiles and nods. Yet when his eyes fell on Xie Shu, Gu Yuanke paused, remembering what he had just observed.

His heart grew complicated. Clearly, Xie Shu was not the disgrace the reports had described. He seemed, rather, a man of talent.

Still, Gu Yuanke could not help sighing inwardly: Prince Shao Zhen’s impression of him had already soured—this would be difficult to reverse.

With the host’s arrival, the poetry gathering was ready to begin.

But before it started, Gu Yuanke added with a smile:

“Today, I also have a distant relative here. He has come merely to observe the occasion. His surname is Zheng, style name Ziqi.”

He looked toward the long pavilion.

“Ziqi, come out.”

All eyes turned. A brocaded youth approached—unfamiliar in face, but commanding in presence, clearly not an ordinary figure.

Xie Shu noticed that as the youth drew beside Gu Yuanke, Gu subtly shifted half a step to the side—a silent gesture of deference.

Then, resuming his role, Gu Yuanke invited all to sit. As host, he warmed the atmosphere and proposed:

“My thanks to all for honoring this event. Each of you is learned, and I have long admired scholars. Today we have prepared excellent wines and meats—please enjoy at leisure.

Yet I thought—how dull it would be to simply compare poems as in other gatherings! Let us instead introduce a fresh rule.”

At this, expressions shifted around the seats.

Many had come prepared with ready-made verses, some written by themselves beforehand, others hired from professional writers, hoping to gain renown by reciting them.

So upon hearing that new rules would apply, the truly talented remained calm, while the less gifted grew anxious.

Gu Yuanke feigned oblivion and continued with a smile:

“Let us imitate the ancients with a game of *‘Qu Shui Liu Shang’*⁴—drifting wine cups down the stream. When a cup halts before someone, that person must improvise a line of verse. The form and tone matter not, but it must be completed within three breaths. Fail, and drink three cups of wine as penalty. What does everyone say?”

At these words, many relaxed. The rules did not restrict the subject, so their prepared lines could still be used. A chorus of assent rose.

Then the young Master Zheng spoke:

“But what use is versifying with no prize at stake?”

Gu Yuanke blinked and frowned slightly, having forgotten this detail.

Young Zheng, however, unhurried, unclasped the jade pendant at his waist and declared generously:

“Very well. Let this pendant serve as the prize.”

All eyes were drawn immediately. Even at a distance, the jade gleamed translucent like flowing water, with intricate carvings faint yet exquisite.

Even Wan Tianyun could not help admiring aloud—the extravagance of such a gift was rare indeed.

Gu Yuanke smiled broadly:

“Then, for whoever emerges poet-laureate today, I shall personally award this fine jade. Ziqi, you must not regret your promise.”

To which Zheng laughed heartily, winning the crowd’s warm favor.

The company grew fervent—the glory of winning was honor enough, but to claim the jade before so many of Jinling’s young scholars would secure fame throughout the city.

Since they were already seated by the stream, no adjustments were needed. Beginning upstream, a maid knelt by the bank, filled half a cup with wine, set it in a small dipper, and released it into the current to drift down.

All eyes followed its course nervously, awaiting where it might stop.

Swayed by ripples and petals, it ended first before Wang Jing.

Lifting the cup, Wang Jing paused only briefly before reciting a polished couplet. Imagery filled his lines, refined and untrite.

Applause rose. With such a beginning, all felt easier.

Another cup floated from there downstream.

Thus the game cycled again and again.

At first, all found it manageable—merely one line at a time, not a full poem, hardly onerous. With prior notes to draw upon, each could speak a line.

But by the third round, participants began to falter and withdraw.

Soon, a cup landed before Xu Shengkai. Straining in vain to compose, he had to drink thrice as penalty. Still, he took comfort—Wan Tianyun had already failed earlier.

From Xu, the next cup flowed down—and this time, it halted before Xie Shu.

All eyes turned. Until now, he had been spared by chance.

Without hesitation, Xie Shu lifted the cup and spoke his verse.

In this era, poetry was still relatively new. Though the examinations contained sections on poetry, the marks they carried were not heavy. Hence few devoted much practice.

But Xie Shu, with modern knowledge, had studied extensively the forms and prosody of classical poetry.

His verse came smooth and elegant. Listeners praised him loudly, whispering—had he spent three years immersed in poetry? Still, most suspected he had, like them, merely prepared a crib beforehand.

As rounds wore on, only three remained: Wang Jing, Xie Shu, and another named Cui Cheng, who was gifted in poetry.

At last, Wang Jing himself withdrew with courtesy:

“I can no longer think of a line. Young Masters Xie and Cui surpass me here—let it fall to them.”

Though understandable, his concession startled all. None had expected the jieyuan⁵ himself to bow out.

Of the two left, Cui Cheng was no surprise—known as the “Poetry Demon”⁶, he obsessed daily over verse.

But who was this Xie Shu? By what merit could he rival such men?

Cui himself was astonished. Never had he heard of Xie Shu. Had he known such a talent lived in Jinling, he would surely have sought his company for daily discussion.

Yet even Cui was reaching his limits—the three-breath time stretched thin. It was difficult to compose lines of quality.

At this moment, Master Zheng interjected:

“If this continues, my jade may never find a master. Why not set a proper theme? Let them each compose a full poem here and now, and we can all judge the winner.”

Shao Zhen, watching all, did not like the turn. One of the finalists was Xie Shu—the very man he had spurned. Still, he cared little for the jade itself; it had only been bait to command attention. If it ended with someone he admired, fine; if not, so be it—the effect was already won.

Yet displeasure lingered—this jade would pass to someone he no longer favored.

Thus he proposed the change. The others welcomed it, eager for drama.

Observing keenly, Shao Zhen saw Cui’s face brighten in relief, proof he had been flagging.

But Xie Shu?

His expression remained untroubled, calm and clear, even faintly excited.

Shao Zhen frowned. A strange unease gnawed at him. Could he truly have misjudged this man?

So he added provocatively:

“Since the rules are changed, let me add: the winner may also present one request of Brother Gu.”

Though Shao Zhen himself did not notice, his tone carried aristocratic hauteur. Gu Yuanke, of course, understood well—it was petulance from being unsettled. Yet he could only smile and accept graciously.

Wang Jing’s gaze flickered—unlike many, he knew more of Gu’s family and guessed the deeper implications.

Meanwhile, maids set before Xie and Cui ink, brush, and fresh paper, awaiting the theme.

Eager to forestall further indiscretion, Gu himself proposed:

“Let us take ‘Peach Blossoms’ as the subject. Within the time it takes one stick of incense to burn, each compose a five-character quatrain.”

Cui Cheng grew thoughtful. The topic was not difficult, but to shine with it was not simple.

Peach blossoms carried varied symbolism: in spring they signified youthful flourishing, also a hazy sense of beauty and love. Yet their brief bloom also suggested transience, inspiring sorrow for fleeting seasons—petals lost in water, never regained.

In judging, poetic conception was paramount.

Thus Cui quickly found a line of thought and began writing.

Beside him, Xie Shu gazed toward the peach blossoms scattered among the willows by the stream. His face softened unexpectedly.

When his brush moved, it flowed with elegance and verve.

By the time he laid it aside, the incense was not yet half burned, and the bystanders could not resist crowding forward.

Gu Yuanke himself stepped over to glance. One look, and sudden clarity filled his mind.

So—that was the truth behind it all.

FOOTNOTES

Xiucai (秀才) – the lowest scholarly degree in the imperial exams, also known as shengyuan. Holders had legal privileges and stipends.

束脩 (shùxiū) – traditional gift money given to teachers upon entering study; here refers to tuition-like fees.

Ying Tian Prefecture (應天府) – the administrative name for Nanjing during certain dynasties, making its prefect the top local official.

Qu Shui Liu Shang (曲水流觞) – “flowing cups along the winding stream,” an ancient pastime where cups of wine floated downstream; whoever they stopped before had to compose poetry.

Jieyuan (解元) – the top scorer in a provincial examination.

“Poetry Demon” (詩魔) – a nickname suggesting obsessive dedication to poetry.