Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Maiden’s Affinities, Her Presence at the Literary Gathering

Lotus stems gently sway, sending ripples across the water’s surface that expand lightly and vanish in a moment. Several red carp frolic near the edge of the pond, entwining head and tail as they chase each other in playful competition.

Beside the pond, in the waterside pavilion, Ming Su of the Bai Li clan leans against the railing, turning her body slightly as she gazes back. Her right arm rests upon the crimson balustrade, fingers pinching a handful of fish feed, which she gently rolls in her left hand. As she admires the carp, she occasionally tosses morsels into the water, inciting a lively scramble among the fish as their tails splash droplets into the air.

Her brows are serene, the corners of her lips softly curved—neither wholly still nor in motion, as if she herself were a flawless painting brought to life.

“Why does Sister Ming Su sit here alone, instead of joining us for conversation?” Three girls of graceful youth enter the pavilion, two in red, one in green. The speaker, dressed in green, is the leader among them.

Without turning, Ming Su knows precisely who they are. When she does glance, her suspicions are confirmed—it is her three closest companions.

The girl in green is Lin Bingqing, eldest daughter of Lin Jieling, the Chief Magistrate of Dali Temple. To either side, both girls are clad in red: on the left is Wu Wan Jun, granddaughter of Wu Zhongyuan, Grand Censor; on the right is Gu Hua Zhao, youngest daughter of Gu Yongnian, Deputy Minister of Justice.

Among all daughters of officials in Ding Xing, Ming Su is closest to these three—her dearest friends in the inner chambers. Each possesses her own distinct beauty, their grace like autumn’s colors.

As the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together; beauty attracts beauty, while the unattractive gather among themselves. It is ever thus.

Though the three are lovely, Ming Su’s radiance still surpasses theirs. Her reputation as one of Ding Xing’s three great beauties is no mere idle boast.

Today’s gathering is a literary event in the Lotus Garden, drawing the daughters of various households to join the festivities. Those yet unmarried quietly observe, hoping to find someone who stirs their heart.

Thus, separated by winding corridors, the scholars drink wine and discuss philosophy on one side of the garden, while the other is filled with laughter and dazzling beauty.

Ming Su throws the remaining fish feed into the pond and smiles. “I am already wed; it is not appropriate for me to join you in seeking talented gentlemen.”

Gu Hua Zhao covers her mouth and laughs. “Sister, you have been married only a few days, yet your thoughts have changed so swiftly—I can hardly believe it! You must be deeply in love, your feelings as profound as the sea.”

Wu Wan Jun teases, “Indeed, Sister Ming Su’s husband is a poet of unmatched talent—seven poems in succession, each a classic. Such brilliance—how many young ladies must envy her! With such a husband, it is only right for lotus flowers to bloom in harmony, for your cheeks to touch as you whisper together.”

The three laugh softly.

Gu Hua Zhao adds, “Others may scoff at his status as a son-in-law, but little do they know how many sisters envy you. He cannot take concubines, nor stray—Sister Ming Su and her husband are truly a pair for life. But Sister, promise you won’t mistreat him.”

“Don’t speak nonsense,” Lin Bingqing scolds Hua Zhao with a smile. “Sister Ming Su has always been cultured and reasonable; she will surely treat her husband with respect and care—she needs no reminder from you.”

Gu Hua Zhao protests, “Oh, I was wrong! Sister, please don’t be upset.”

Ming Su pays no mind to her friends’ teasing; they are always lively, while she herself prefers peace and rarely joins in.

She laughs, “I am hardly a jealous wife. If you truly envy me, why not ask your families if you might become my husband’s concubines?”

“Sister, how can you say such things?”

“So shameless, oh dear…”

“We would never…” Though they seem bold, the three are easily embarrassed. Ming Su’s simple words leave them blushing and stomping their feet in shy protest.

Ming Su smiles gently and asks, “Today’s gathering brings together Ding Xing’s finest young men. Have you found anyone to your liking?”

Their blushes linger, and they all shake their heads.

Wu Wan Jun says, “The gathering has only just begun; no news has reached us yet. We don’t know which talented scholar will shine today.”

Gu Hua Zhao sighs with regret, “If only today were a poetry contest—then Sister Ming Su’s husband would surely stand above the rest.”

“He should be grateful it is not, for he can enjoy his fame for a few more days. Alas, fate is seldom kind—Scholar Zhao Ziqian has already exposed him.”

Their conversation is interrupted as five more girls arrive together, led by one with a mocking smile.

“What unmatched poetic talent? He is merely a fraud, deceiving the world,” she scoffs.

Ming Su glances at her, brows tightening slightly, though she betrays no emotion.

Gu Hua Zhao places her hands on her hips. “Wang Luohe, what nonsense are you spouting? If you keep talking like this, you’ll fall into the river one day!”

Ming Su is known for her quiet nature; among the many daughters in Ding Xing, few are close to her. Aside from Lin Bingqing and her two friends, Wang Luohe is the only other who interacts with her.

Yet their relationship is different: Lin Bingqing and the others are friendly, while Wang Luohe is antagonistic.

The reason is simple. Wang Luohe considers herself worthy of being counted among the three beauties of Ding Xing—or, perhaps, redefining it as four beauties rather than three. Yet she has never received such acclaim, and jealousy has taken root in her heart, so she targets Ming Su at every turn.

Ming Su’s marriage to a gifted husband only intensifies her envy.

Why not target the other two beauties? One, General Qin Zhaoning, is a formidable warrior—not wise to provoke. The other, Xiao Yourong, has vanished without a trace.

Thus, only Ming Su remains as a target.

Wang Luohe’s appearance is flirtatious, her attire bold, every gesture radiating seductive charm.

“Nonsense?” Wang Luohe laughs lightly, rolling her eyes with an alluring glance. “I am not lying. News has just arrived—something has happened. Scholar Zhao Ziqian has exposed Han Fu, revealing those seven poems were not his own, but written by Zhao Ziqian himself and hung on the wall. Some time ago, Zhao’s home was robbed; a few valuables were stolen. Who would have thought the thief remembered the poems…”

Wang Luohe is delighted to deliver this blow, recounting every detail with satisfaction, not forgetting to sneer at the end. “Tsk, tsk… One of Ding Xing’s famed beauties, married to a thief—how pitiful.”

“What?”

“This can’t be true.”

“Sister Ming Su…” Lin Bingqing and her friends are stunned, gazing at Ming Su with anxious concern.

“What is impossible about it? Scholar Zhao Ziqian is renowned—could he be lying?” Wang Luohe replies with a laugh.

Ming Su is momentarily shocked, but quickly dismisses Wang Luohe’s words in her heart. If Han Fu were truly a thief, how could he have composed “Dreamlike Ode”? According to Wang Luohe, Zhao Ziqian lost only seven poems—the exact number matching the contest’s theme. Too coincidental.

Moreover, Han Fu’s unique calligraphy is clearly the work of true talent.

Ming Su suspects there is more to the story.

She surveys the scene; her friends are worried, while Wang Luohe and her companions are amused, delighting in her misfortune.

Ming Su remains calm, stepping forward. “Whether it is true or not, we shall see for ourselves.”

Though men and women are separated, there is no great barrier.

Lin Bingqing and the others hesitate, but follow Ming Su.

“Let’s go—we’ll see for ourselves how Sister Ming Su’s husband falls from grace. Tsk… Both a son-in-law and a thief, how amusing.” Wang Luohe sways her hips as she follows, whispering sarcastically to her friends.

The corridors on either side are separated, yet connected.

Ming Su pays no heed to the gazes of other girls as she walks along the corridor. At the intersection, she meets another young woman.

This girl is elegant and delicate, her skin fairer than snow—the daughter of the River Prefect, Lu Zhiyu.

“Sister Ming Su.” Lu Zhiyu greets her with a respectful bow.

Ming Su, preoccupied, returns the gesture lightly. “Zhiyu, when did you return?”

“Two days ago,” Lu Zhiyu replies with a gentle smile. “Let me accompany you, Sister—I wish to see as well.”

“Very well.”

Ming Su resumes her journey, and soon they arrive at the site of the literary gathering.

By now, the scholars are in heated debate, their words all directed at Han Fu.

Wen Qingjuan and three esteemed scholars watch from the sidelines, their expressions unreadable.

Ming Su looks around, and soon spots Han Fu.

He sits alone, calmly drinking wine, composed and unruffled.

It is as if he is isolated from the world, indifferent to the waves of accusation surrounding him.