Zhong Mengying

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Zhong Mengying greeted Li Xintian with a gentle bow and said, “I, Zhong Mengying, have met Scholar Li. Please pardon our manners; we are but servants who know little of courtesy.”

Zhang Xiaoman also bowed slightly. “Zhang Xiaoman greets Scholar Li.”

However, the tall and robust young man standing beside Zhang Xiaoman eyed Li Xintian and his companions with open hostility.

“Who are they? And why is that man so openly hostile toward us, even though this is our first meeting?” Li Xintian whispered to Chen Yuanwen and Bai Yang.

Chen Yuanwen replied in a low voice, “Zhong Mengying is the daughter of Prime Minister Zhong—a person of high standing. She’s the host of today’s poetry gathering.”

“As for that man, I’ve seen him at the Zhang residence. He’s General Ren Yuanwu, Zhang Xiaoman’s cousin. The Ren family has produced generals for three generations in the Dayan Empire. Now, all three are distinguished generals serving the court.”

“Zhang Xiaoman is my betrothed,” Bai Yang added. “We’re engaged to be married. When my father, Bai Yongcheng, was facing a death sentence, I visited my future in-laws and met Ren Yuanwu at their home.”

Li Xintian cupped his hands and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Zhong and Miss Zhang.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Since we’re here following your rules, it’s only right to show respect,” he added, turning to Zhong Mengying.

“Scholar Li, you’re far too modest,” Zhong Mengying replied with a soft, pleasant laugh. “In the capital, you are the talk of the town—so sought after that it’s nearly impossible to invite you anywhere. Your presence today brings true honor to this modest gathering of mine.”

Li Xintian thought to himself that with such a melodious voice, she must surely be beautiful beneath her veil.

“Let’s all find our seats and settle down—gentlemen to the left, ladies to the right,” Zhong Mengying announced, perhaps feeling the intensity of so many eager gazes.

Some of the young scholars rushed to claim seats up front, eager to be near her. Li Xintian, however, was indifferent; he was here for Chen Yuanwen’s sake. Bai Yang, ever since catching sight of Zhang Xiaoman, couldn’t take his eyes off her, and it took Li Xintian pulling him to the last table for Bai Yang to snap out of his trance.

Servants quickly arrived, bringing wine, tea, fruit, peanuts, and an array of paper, brushes, and ink.

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“Brother Bai, what’s troubling you? You look unsettled. Is there some obstacle to your engagement?” Li Xintian placed a hand on Bai Yang’s shoulder.

“Is it Ren Yuanwu? He’s sitting up front, chatting and laughing with Miss Zhong and Miss Zhang. He seems a formidable rival. Still, with an engagement in place, you hold the advantage—though I wonder how Zhang Xiaoman truly feels about you.”

“We’re in love, of course,” Bai Yang blurted out, leaping to his feet with a voice so loud that the room fell silent, every pair of eyes turning his way.

“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen—please, carry on,” Li Xintian said, quickly rising to bow and dragging Bai Yang back down.

“What were you thinking, shouting like that? How mortifying,” Li Xintian muttered, wishing he could slap himself. Why had he been so nosy? Now things were thoroughly awkward.

“Scholar Bai, that outburst—was it some sort of brilliant move?” Ren Yuanwu seized the chance to embarrass Bai Yang.

“We were seated too far away and didn’t catch the conversation—could you repeat it?” Chen Yuanwen hurried to smooth things over. He too had been distracted by the ladies and was startled by Bai Yang’s exclamation.

“You three chose to sit so far back, even though there are seats up front. Are you treating this poetry gathering as a mere occasion for feasting and merriment?” Ren Yuanwu pressed, intent on driving them away.

“Let me think—what was it you were saying?” Li Xintian interjected. “You were telling your cousin that her parents disapprove of her engagement to Bai Yang, that they’d prefer she marry you instead. And if she has any reservations, you’d have Bai Yang personally break off the betrothal. When Zhang Xiaoman ignored you, you turned to Miss Zhong for help in persuading her. Am I right?”

Even while speaking with Bai Yang, Li Xintian’s sharp ears had caught every word.

“Utter nonsense,” Ren Yuanwu snapped, his voice strangled as if gripped by an invisible hand.

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“Why don’t I start things off?” Li Xintian suggested. “After all, it’s been many years since I last returned to the capital. Let me write a poem about longing for home.”

“On the coast, sharp peaks like sword blades,
In autumn, sorrow cuts through my heart.
If only I could become a thousand million selves,
I’d scatter across the mountain tops to gaze toward home.”

Li Xintian took a sheet of paper and, with a brush, signed the poem with the name Haochu.

“Pardon me for borrowing your brush—thank you,” he murmured to himself, not signing his real name.

No sooner had he finished than a nearby servant picked up the poem and passed it to Zhong Mengying.

“Haochu: ‘On the coast, sharp peaks like sword blades, In autumn, sorrow cuts through my heart. If only I could become a thousand million selves, I’d scatter across the mountain tops to gaze toward home.’” Zhong Mengying read aloud. At her words, everyone’s necks seemed to shrink in awe.

“Scholar Li, it’s been years since we last met, but your talent remains undiminished,” Zhong Mengying said after a moment’s thought. “In just twenty-eight characters, you express such a profound sorrow and longing for home. A perfect seven-character quatrain. With this, your fame will surely spread throughout the land.”

“This is your gathering, Miss Zhong, not mine. It’s your name that will resound far and wide. Consider this poem a gift to you,” Li Xintian replied, understanding the intent behind her words.

“Then I thank you, Scholar Li,” Zhong Mengying said, rising with a delighted bow.

The other young ladies watched her with envy, though jealousy burned beneath their composed expressions. Only those already married or engaged felt a pang of regret in their hearts.

“No need for thanks, Miss Zhong. Since it’s my first time attending, I thought I’d leave a good impression,” Li Xintian replied with a cheerful smile.

“You’re insane, cousin! That was the original manuscript—do you know what it’ll be worth one day? How could you just give it away?” Chen Yuanwen hissed in a low voice.

“You don’t understand. I paid such a price for a glimpse of her beauty. How could I hold back now?” Li Xintian was indeed captivated by the thought of Zhong Mengying’s face beneath the veil—willing to pay any price for even a fleeting glimpse.