“A robe for you.” Gu Wan gestured to the half-finished fabric, her eyes shining as she looked at him. “A straight-collared robe of Suzhou silk. Do you like it?”
Gu Huaiyu examined the fabric and nodded. “I like it.” He paused, catching her wrist. As expected, her fingers were covered in new calluses from the work. “However… I would like it better if Sister weren’t the one making it.”
Gu Wan pulled her hand back, her expression soft. “Clothes made by one’s own family are the only ones that feel truly warm.”
Gu Huaiyu knew her character. Despite her gentle and virtuous appearance, she was incredibly stubborn. Once she decided on something, nothing could move her.
He didn’t try to persuade her further. Instead, he scanned the empty hall. “Where is Jin’er?”
Gu Wan set down her spindle and shook her head helplessly. “He went to the Shanglin Garden to play. If you had come earlier, you could have helped me teach him a lesson.”
“What? He doesn’t even listen to you?” Gu Huaiyu arched an eyebrow. His nephew was a mischievous troublemaker who caused scenes daily. He didn’t seem to take after Gu Wan or Emperor Rui—one wondered whose temperament he had inherited.
Gu Wan glanced at him and put on a stern face. “The household of Grand Preceptor Zhang was holding a funeral recently for their old matriarch. Do you know what that little brat did? In the middle of the night, he climbed the wall of the Grand Preceptor’s courtyard to imitate a ghost’s wail. He nearly frightened the poor man to death.”
Gu Huaiyu let out a short laugh. “He definitely deserves a lesson.”
“Indeed! But Jin’er has his own reasons.” Gu Wan stood up, brushing off some lint, and began to mimic a child’s high-pitched voice. “‘A man must have courage! I am practicing my courage so I can work for my Uncle in the future!’“
Her imitation was perfect, and she didn’t forget to poke Gu Huaiyu’s chest. “Listen to that tone. Is it not exactly like you when you were a boy?”
Gu Huaiyu wouldn’t admit it. He covered a light cough with his hand. “Really? I wasn’t like that.”
“They say a nephew takes after his uncle. He is your spitting image,” Gu Wan said, unable to stop herself from smiling. “The only pity is that Jin’er isn’t as smart as you. He’s nearly five and still can’t memorize the Thousand Character Classic.”
Gu Huaiyu didn’t think that was a bad thing. “He’s a child. Let him play.”
Gu Wan sighed, a trace of regret in her eyes. “My brother could recite the Songs of Chu at five, was versed in the Spring and Autumn Annals at ten, and by fifteen, he had written… a masterpiece that stunned the world.”
She paused, looking at Gu Huaiyu wistfully. “If Jin’er had even half your talent, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.”
Gu Huaiyu disagreed. “It’s better if he isn’t like me,” he said softly.
Gu Wan’s face hardened immediately. “Nonsense!”
“My brother’s talent is unmatched in this world. You govern the state and save the realm—what do those people know?” She stared at Gu Huaiyu, her eyes blazing with stubborn loyalty. Her eyes grew red, but her voice remained firm. “If Jin’er can be even one ten-thousandth like you, it will be the greatest blessing of his life.”
Gu Huaiyu couldn’t argue with her. He let his lips curve into a submissive smile. “I understand, Sister.”
Meanwhile, at the East Pavilion of the palace…
Pei Jingyi leaned back in the most remote corner of the Qionglin Banquet, lazily peeling grapes and tossing them into his mouth. On the stage, dancers in gold and jade twisted and turned; behind them, the flutes and strings wailed like a funeral dirge. The decadent music, mixed with the heavy scent of cosmetics, made his temples throb.
If the Emperor hadn’t personally set the guest list for civil and military officials, he wouldn’t have even stepped through the palace gates.
Not far away, Nie Jin sat alone. The seats around him were empty, as no one dared to approach or offend him.
Pei Jingyi lazily lifted his wine cup in a silent greeting. Nie Jin offered a slight nod, then coldly looked away. Although the two were close, they rarely showed it in public, but Nie Jin’s current air of avoidance was unusual.
Pei Jingyi raised an eyebrow. What’s with that look? He looks like he has a guilty conscience.
Before he could investigate Nie Jin’s strange behavior, an eunuch holding a scroll hurried toward the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, the Top Scholar Xie has presented a new poem: ‘Ode to the Plum’.”
On the dais, the young Emperor seemed lost in thought, staring blankly in one direction. The eunuch knelt for a long time before summoning the courage to call out again. “Your Majesty…”
Yuan Zhuo’s eyelashes fluttered as he returned to reality. He had no interest in these literary displays, but the rules of the Qionglin Banquet required certain formalities—the Top Scholar presents a poem, the Emperor grants a reward, and everyone pretends the court is in harmony.
“Read it.”
The eunuch unfurled the scroll and recited in a clear voice:
“The crowns and carriages of the capital all bow their heads,
A frame of sickly bones bears the burden of the ages.
Save for the three feet of snow by the Sovereign’s side,
Beyond the nine heavens, all else is but a vulgar tide.”*
Before the final word had even fully left the eunuch’s lips, the entire hall fell into a deathly silence. The hundred officials looked at one another, their breath held. Under the glow of a hundred palace lanterns, the wine in the glass cups seemed to freeze. Even the golden bells on the dancers’ wrists went silent.
“…”
“…”
Cold sweat broke out on the eunuch’s forehead. He added in a trembling voice, “The… the title is ‘Ode to the Plum’.”
Not a single mention of the word “plum” appeared in the entire poem. What was he truly praising?
Who exactly was the man described in these verses?
It was truly difficult to guess!
