Against the Current - Chapter 56

Chapter 56 - Poetry Society (Part 2)

Before long, Madam Qin’s table finished eating, and clever maids promptly brought out bronze basins for hand-washing, cleared away the leftover dishes, and reset the tables with delicate tea and pastries. The noble ladies continued their lively banter and laughter, while the young misses amused themselves—some admiring the flowers, some feeding the fish, and others chattering away together in little groups.

Xianglan had Mother Wu organize a couple of matrons to set up a large pearwood table in the courtyard, spread out the brushes, ink, inkstones, and paper, and fetch the poetry prompts. Everyone crowded around to take a look, only to find that the prompts were nothing more than verses on flowers and willows—a thoroughly romantic and sentimental array that suited the inner-chamber maidens' fancies to a tee. One by one, they rolled up their sleeves, eager to try their hand at it.

Lin Dongxiu was on friendly terms with the two concubine-born daughters of Lord Liu and Vice-Minister Wen. The three of them were terrified that if they chose too late, only the most difficult prompts would remain, leading them to write poorly and make fools of themselves. Huddled together in whispered consultation, they picked their prompts and hurriedly unfolded their paper to ponder over them.

Lin Dongling had never cared for reading, let alone composing poems and couplets, and had originally found the whole exercise a bore. Sweeping her gaze across the courtyard, however, she noticed that every single young miss was holding a brush and pondering over her prompt. The few who were not writing poetry and instead stood chatting or doing needlework on the side were either concubine-born daughters or legitimate daughters she held in utter contempt. Being proud and haughty, Lin Dongling naturally disdained to be lumped in with them. Vaguely figuring that failing to produce a poem at a time like this would seriously damage her social standing, she haphazardly scrawled a selection.

She wrote the poetry prompt on a sheet of paper, beckoned her personal maid Yingluo over, shoved the paper into her hands, and whispered, "Go deliver this to my Third Brother immediately, and tell him to write it up quickly and bring it right back to me." Yingluo understood the intent and hastily withdrew.

Over here, Lin Dongqi affectionately linked arms with Zheng Jingxian, pointing to a specific prompt as she said in a low voice, "This Late Spring is an easy one to write. It's quite straightforward, and there are countless subjects in the spring season; as long as you highlight the character for 'late', you can compose a verse about anything. The only challenge is avoiding clichés." She then pointed to another. "This Night Rain has more limitations, but as long as you capture the atmosphere accurately, it's actually much easier to pull off a clever piece."

Zheng Jingxian wore a reserved, rather haughty expression. After scanning the prompts from top to bottom, she let out a scoff and said to Lin Dongqi, "Every single one of these prompts is trite. You only show your true skill and ability when you can write something fresh and original out of such clichéd topics." With that, she picked up her brush and marked down the Late Spring prompt.

Lin Dongqi's brow twitched slightly; feeling somewhat displeased, she kept her emotions in check, quietly selected Night Rain for herself, and unfolded her paper to begin writing.

Seeing Lin Dongqi get rebuffed, Lin Dongxiu bit her lip in suppressed amusement. She shuffled a bit closer to Zheng Jingxian and said, "Elder Sister Xian is so talented; even with a trite prompt, you're bound to write something remarkably original."

Zheng Jingxian glanced at Lin Dongxiu and didn't even bother to utter a single word in response.

Lin Dongxiu’s face flushed bright red. Fortunately, Song Tanchai stepped in to smooth things over, saying, "Sister Xiu, you've already got two lines down so quickly? I haven't even thought of a single one yet." Ever since Madam Qin had thoroughly extinguished Lin Dongqi’s romantic notions regarding Song Ke, Lin Dongqi had grown much more distant toward Song Tanchai as well. Conversely, Lin Dongxiu had grown increasingly warm toward her, and through their interactions, the two had developed a genuine fondness for each other.

This diversion successfully steered the conversation elsewhere. The young misses buried their heads in poetry composition, leaving only Lin Dongling to wander about in leisurely ease—now watching her mother, Madam Wang, feed the fish; now snatching a pastry from the table; and now demanding a cup of heated fruit wine.

Meanwhile, over on Qinglan’s side, Meimei used every conceivable method of persuasion to urge her to compose a poem. Qinglan naturally demurred, but catching sight of Zhao Yuechan standing with graceful allure beneath the corridor, Meimei murmured low in Qinglan’s ear: "What does Elder Sister have to be afraid of? No matter how poorly you write, could it possibly be worse than that female yaksha? Why, she can barely recognize a few basic characters anyway; what use is a belly full of malicious scheming? Sister has already won such massive prestige up front, and if you compose a fine poem right now, you can instantly eclipse that shrew. Once word spreads, not only will our Madam hold you in even higher regard, but you'll carry yourself with far greater dignity when moving among the great aristocratic households in the future."

These exact words struck right at the heart of Qinglan's hidden ambitions. Indeed! Even at my worst, I am a woman who has spent years reading books; surely I am superior to Zhao Yuechan, who can barely recognize a handful of characters? If I compose a piece—even if it isn't exceptional—it will be more than enough to secure my face and reputation.

Seeing that Qinglan's resolve had been deeply shaken, Meimei immediately let out a soft sigh, lowered her voice, and said, "Sister is a person of great fortune, which ultimately sets you apart from the likes of us. Everything I do to advise Sister is driven by a bit of selfish desire, of course—the moment I laid eyes on you, I could tell Sister was a person of profound benevolence and magnanimity. I only ask that when Sister attains high position and honor in the future, you won't forget to look after me a little. I ask for nothing else; just having a room to call my own in our Zhichun Lodge would satisfy me completely..." As she spoke, a tear welled up at the corner of her eye, and she hastily lowered her head to dab at it with her handkerchief.

Qinglan became even more convinced that Meimei was a sincere, loyal soul. Hastily grasping Meimei’s hands, she exclaimed, "Sister, what are you saying? You are a senior maid here, while I am a newcomer; you are the one who should be guiding me more. We both serve the Eldest Master in the same place, sharing meals and sleeping quarters—we are no different from biological sisters. To speak of anything else is simply treating me as an outsider."

Meimei nodded repeatedly, weaving a tapestry of eloquent words and using every ounce of her eloquence to urge her on. Completely taken in by the flattery, Qinglan became even more determined to make a splash, and thus decided to step up and compose a poem.

Seeing that Qinglan was also going over to select a prompt to write, Zhao Yuechan let out a cold laugh, feeling a distinct pang of bitterness in her heart. Just then, she heard Meimei standing not far away, speaking in a loud voice to Yinge: "...Concubine Lan comes from a family of scholars; how could she possibly be like the rest of us? If I had any inkling of literacy in my own belly, perhaps I'd also step up, pick a prompt, write a verse, and make a grand show to amuse myself."

Yinge offered a cold sneer. "Of course she's different. What's most different of all is her belly—worth a hundred times more in preciousness."

Hearing their back-and-forth chatter set Zhao Yuechan's nerves on edge. Pointing at them, she scolded, "What are you two whispering and chewing the fat about over there?"

The two of them instantly clamped their mouths shut.

Turning her head back to look at Qinglan's triumphant, radiant face, Zhao Yuechan grit her teeth and muttered under her breath, "Vile little hoof, go ahead and write. Write to your heart's content, and I'll deal with you once you're finished."

Meimei, who loved stirring up trouble from the sidelines, watched Zhao Yuechan fly into a rage and saw the cold, murderous glare she fixed upon Qinglan, feeling a quiet swell of satisfaction in her heart.

Yinge also sensed that something was amiss. Thinking to herself, That female yaksha is the sort to devour people without spitting out the bones, and Meimei is no simple character either. I'd better not get caught in the middle and used as their spear. This place of right and wrong is best abandoned quickly, she began massaging her temples and groaned, "Oh, my head is throbbing again. Perhaps it's because I drank a couple too many cups of wine earlier and caught a draft. My heart is pounding wildly against my ribs—I must go back and lie down for a bit."

With a wave of Zhao Yuechan's hand, Yinge supported Dingxiang and departed with a frail, languid gait.

Meanwhile, Qinglan had selected her prompt and unfolded her sheet of paper. Alas, her train of thought was sluggish, and having abandoned reading and writing for so long, her mind was a total blank. Watching the single stick of incense on the desk burn down toward its end without a single character composed, she began to panic and quietly went off to find Mother Wu.

Mother Wu had been busy for ages and had finally snatched a moment of leisure to set up a separate table in the corridor with a few high-ranking matrons, selecting some fine dishes and warming some hot wine. They were right in the middle of drinking and eating with gusto when she saw Qinglan walking over. Hastily rising to her feet, she chided playfully, "Why is the Yi-niang walking over all by herself without anyone to support her? Where are Yindie and Xiaojuan? I'll have to teach those two little hussies a lesson."

Qinglan lowered her voice and said, "Mother, put that aside for a moment and help me quickly. Ask if anyone around here can compose a poem for me."

Seeing that Qinglan was interrupting her meal over such a matter, Mother Wu felt a flicker of annoyance, thinking to herself, This old woman has been working her fingers to the bone all day long without hearing a single word of thanks, and now because of this little poetry business of hers, I can't even enjoy a single hot meal in peace. Her expression darkened slightly as she said, "Didn't Yi-niang say earlier that she wasn't going to write poetry?"

Qinglan urged her with frantic impatience, "I've changed my mind and want to write one now. Mother, please help me think of a solution right away!"

No matter how much Mother Wu grumbled inwardly, she ultimately lacked the heart to watch Qinglan make a fool of herself. With a resigned expression, she replied, "I'll see if I can find someone who knows how to write for you." After racking her brains, she vaguely remembered that Xianglan was literate and might possibly know how to compose poetry. Wearing a pained grimace, she made her way into the pantry to find Xianglan. Handing over a slip of paper, she said, "The Yi-niang has taken on this task after all and needs a poem written. Take a look at this."

Xianglan unfolded it to look, and saw two words inscribed upon it: * lingering fragrance *.