Inside the Jade Tower Spring, you could hear a pin drop.
The flames in the copper basin had died out, leaving only a pile of paper ashes. Occasionally, a faint spark popped with a crack, sounding harsh in the silent hall. The line "Suddenly turning my head, that person is there, where the lights are dim" still echoed among the beams and pillars, lingering for a long time.
Zhao Tai was slumped in his armchair, his folding fan dropped on the floor. One of the fan's ribs had snapped from the fall, but he didn't even try to pick it up. His eyes stared blankly and his lips trembled, wearing an expression as if he had seen a ghost.
"How is this possible..."
Zhao Tai's voice was very low, muttering to himself: "Isn't she just a good-for-nothing who only knows how to count money? Isn't she a merchant's daughter reeking of copper? Even the top scholar couldn't compare to this kind of talent."
No one paid attention to him.
Everyone's gaze was still fixed on Xu Qinghuan, who was looking at the brazier with heartache.
On the high platform, Xie An, who had sat in the imperial court for forty years, finally moved. He stood up, supported by Xie Fu's arm, and walked down the steps.
The soles of his boots stepped on the Persian carpet, making a muffled sound. Every step made the crowd's hearts tighten. Xie An stopped in front of Xu Qinghuan. He stared at the woman before him with cloudy yet sharp eyes, as if trying to see through her soul.
"County Princess Xu."
Xie An called her full title, his voice hoarse and his tone complex: "This old man has one thing he does not understand."
Xu Qinghuan was still mourning her burned silver. Hearing this, she wasn't in a good mood and merely gave a perfunctory bow.
"Master Xie, please speak."
"Since you possess such world-encompassing talent and such a compassionate heart, why do you pretend to be so... so mercenary in your daily life? You even go so far as to tarnish your own reputation, willing to be a despised wicked woman?"
Xie An's eyes carried regret and heartache. "With your talent and learning, if you were not a woman, entering the cabinet and becoming a prime minister would not be difficult. Why must you wallow in this muddy pit of merchants?"
The people around them all pricked up their ears; this was also what everyone could not figure out. How could someone who could write the aloofness of fishing alone in the cold river snow, who could write the deep affection of where the lights are dim, be someone who haggled over a few taels of silver?
Unless she was hiding her true brilliance, unless this world was too dark, forcing her to disguise herself.
Xu Qinghuan froze for a moment. Looking at Xie An's expression of "I understand you, you have been wronged," the corners of her mouth couldn't help but twitch twice.
Isn't this old man's imagination a bit too wild?
She lowered her head, glanced at the empty banknote box, and then at the paper ashes covering the floor. A heart-wrenching sorrow emerged in her eyes.
"Because it's expensive."
Xu Qinghuan sighed, her voice carrying a genuine sob. "Master Xie does not know the high cost of daily necessities. Every single word here was exchanged for real gold and silver. If I am not mercenary, if I do not haggle over every penny, what will I use to fill this bottomless pit?"
Xie An was stunned, a trace of shock flashing through his eyes.
Every word was exchanged with blood and sweat. Yes, literature is naturally formed, and a skilled hand occasionally captures it. But in the process of capturing it, how many days and nights of hard studying by the cold window did it take? How many epiphanies from traveling the mountains and rivers?
That is priceless.
Yet from Xu Qinghuan's mouth, she compared this priceless blood and sweat to real gold and silver. What a great self-deprecation this was! And what a great irony!
"What a fine 'not knowing the high cost of daily necessities'."
Xie An took half a step back, cupped his hands to Xu Qinghuan, and looked serious. "It is this old man who is shallow. Talent is priceless. The teachings of the County Princess today, Xie will remember."
Xu Qinghuan: "..."
Just then, a cold and trembling voice rang out.
"Hold on."
Xie Yunwan stood up. Her face was deathly pale, and her figure was teetering, but her eyes were full of unwillingness.
She was the proud daughter of the Xie family, the face of the Jiangnan literary circles. If she admitted defeat just like this today, losing to a merchant's daughter, then her more than ten years of pride and the Xie family's century-old pristine reputation would be completely ruined.
"County Princess Xu truly has great talent."
Xie Yunwan walked over step by step, each step taken with great difficulty. "In poetry and songs, Yunwan is ashamed of her inferiority. But the great path of this world is not only the path of poetry."
Xu Qinghuan rolled her eyes, a bit impatient.
"What? What else does Eldest Miss Xie want to compete in? Compete with the abacus? Or compete on who has more gold hairpins on their head?"
"Compete in essays."
Xie Yunwan stared fixedly at Xu Qinghuan, pausing after every word. "Poetry only expresses petty affections and little loves; it is a minor path. Essays carry the Way, clearly distinguishing right from wrong; that is the Great Path!"
She took a deep breath. This was her last chance.
"Recently, Butterfly Lovers has taken Jiangning by storm. County Princess Xu highly praises the word 'love' in the book, even using it to attack the rites and moral teachings. Some say this is bewitching people's hearts."
"Since today is a literary gathering, why don't we take 'love and rites' as the topic, each write a piece, and ask my grandfather and the great scholars present to judge!"
"Let us debate whether the love in this world should overstep the rites and laws! Whether the illusion of turning into butterflies is more precious, or the rules of restraining oneself and returning to the rites are more important!"
This move was too ruthless. This was directly flipping the table and changing the rules of the game. Poetry depends on inspiration; perhaps Xu Qinghuan had memorized some rare, lost manuscript.
But these policy essays tested logic, citing classics and quoting historical records. They tested the values instilled since childhood over a dozen years in a prestigious aristocratic family.
Moreover, this was the Xie family's home turf.
Those present had all grown up reading the books of sages; in their bones, they agreed that emotions should be expressed but kept within the bounds of propriety. As long as Xu Qinghuan dared to continue advocating that kind of rebellious free love, she would be making an enemy of the entire literati class in Jiangnan.
"Good!"
Dai Wenbo of the Yuelu Academy felt his spirits lift and immediately cheered loudly. "The Eldest Miss is right! Poetry is a plaything; essays are the orthodox way! Xu Qinghuan, do you dare to compete?"
Xie An frowned. He glanced at his granddaughter and said nothing.
This was tacit consent. He also wanted to see whether this exceptionally talented woman could still produce such astonishing brilliance when facing a debate on such major issues of right and wrong.
Xu Qinghuan cursed inwardly.
Is there no end to this?
Are these people sick in the head? Do they insist on having their faces slapped until they swell before they stop?
"System."
She called out in her mind. "Do you have something... about love, something that can leave them speechless? Preferably something cheaper."
The system's cold voice sounded. "Searching... Based on the current scenario, I recommend redeeming the Tang Dynasty poet Li Shangyin's 'Untitled: Hard it is to meet, and hard it is to part'. This poem is a masterpiece of love through the ages, and it is also the best interpretation of the word 'love'."
"How much?"
"Sixty-six thousand taels."
Xu Qinghuan's vision went dark, and she almost couldn't stand steady.
"Why don't you just rob me?! The last one was only fifty thousand!"
"Host, please note that this poem has an extremely high emotional density, containing imagery like the spring silkworm and the wax torch. It will have a devastating psychological strike effect on this group of feudal moral defenders. Sixty-six thousand is a lucky number."
Xu Qinghuan ground her back teeth. She looked at the aggressive Xie Yunwan opposite her, and then at those sour pedants waiting to watch a joke.
Fine.
Sixty-six thousand.
I'm buying it!
"Please go ahead."
Seeing Xu Qinghuan remain silent, Xie Yunwan thought she was scared. She walked to the desk and picked up a writing brush. She closed her eyes to ponder for a moment, and then began to write.
"Propriety is the order of heaven and earth. Though emotions arise from within, they must be restrained by propriety. If one indulges in emotions and abandons propriety, human relations will fall into chaos, and the nation will be in peril..."
The five-hundred-word essay was completed in one breath.
It had to be said that Xie Yunwan was indeed talented. This political essay ranged from the Book of Rites to the Spring and Autumn Annals, quoting classics and historical records with rigorous logic, clearly explaining the principle that emotions may arise naturally but must be kept in check by propriety.
Finishing her writing, she set down her brush and tilted her chin up, a victor's expression on her face.
"Excellent writing!"
"The Eldest Miss's essay is profoundly insightful, balanced, and peaceful. It truly shows the demeanor of a great master!"
"This is the true orthodoxy! This is the Great Way!"
Cheers from the surroundings rose one after another. With this move, Xie Yunwan had managed to claw back half the face she had lost earlier.
Everyone's eyes turned back to Xu Qinghuan.
Rice paper was spread out on the desk, and the ink had already been ground. But Xu Qinghuan did not pick up a brush. She didn't even spare the paper a single glance.
She simply turned around, turning her back to the hall full of guests, and walked step by step to the window. Outside the window lay the Qinhuai River, its waters reflecting the lights from both banks. A cold wind blew in, carrying a flurry of snow that tangled the golden step-shake hairpin on her head.
"An essay?"
Xu Qinghuan's voice was very soft, yet it reached everyone's ears. "If the word 'love' could be clearly defined by the rigid rules and regulations of propriety, then it would no longer be love."
She reached out, resting her hand on the window frame, and gazed into the dark night. In her mind, those sixty-six thousand taels of silver were going up in flames. Her heart ached terribly.
This heartache, mixed with the poignant beauty of the poem itself, filled her tone with despair.
"Hard it is to meet... and hard it is to part."
The first line fell from her lips.
The crowd, which had just been cheering for Xie Yunwan, instantly fell silent. The voices abruptly stopped.
There was no flowery rhetoric, no grand principles quoting the classics. There were only the most straightforward, most helpless words.
Meeting is hard, and parting is even harder.
This was not just about the romantic love between a man and a woman; it captured all the unattainable desires and agonizing separations in this world.
The reserved pride on Xie Yunwan's face froze.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to argue that this did not fit the rules of a political essay, Xu Qinghuan's second line arrived.
"The east wind is powerless... and all the flowers wither."
The wind was powerless, and the flowers were withering. An irresistible sense of fate descended upon the room.
Xie An's fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair. He remembered that night under the crabapple tree in the rain, remembered that name buried at the bottom of his heart for forty years. At that time, too, the east wind was powerless, and all the flowers withered.
Xu Qinghuan did not look back. At that moment, her silhouette appeared so fragile, yet so profoundly heavy.
She turned around, her gaze passing over the crowd to look into the void.
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
Those were tears drawn out by the system scamming her out of her money, but to the onlookers, they were the tears of someone loving too deeply and hurting to the extreme.
"The spring silkworm's thread will only end... when it dies."
Xu Qinghuan's voice choked with emotion.
With a clatter, the writing brush in Xie Yunwan's hand dropped to the floor. Ink splattered onto the essay she was so proud of, blooming into a dark stain.
The spring silkworm.
Until death.
The thread finally ends.
What kind of devotion was this? What kind of passionate entanglement?
In the face of these words, her five-hundred-word grand theory turned into a pile of dull nonsense, pale and ridiculous.
But Xu Qinghuan did not stop.
She looked at Xie Yunwan, looking at this noble young lady who was full of propriety but understood nothing of true love, and recited the final, lethal line of the poem.
It was also the final strike, worth every bit of those sixty-six thousand taels of silver.
"The candle will only stop shedding its tears... when it turns to ashes."
Only when the candle burns to ashes will its tears run dry.
This was not just love.
This was fate.
It was a life burning away, a soul weeping.
Everyone was stunned to their core, and a dead silence filled the hall.
Xie Yunwan went limp, collapsing into her chair. Her eyes lost their focus as she muttered to herself, "The candle will only stop shedding its tears... when it turns to ashes..."
