Chapter 28: A Song of Wuling Spring

"Mistress Wei is the crown jewel of the Guangyun Pavilion; not only is her beauty heavenly, but her literary talent rivals that of Xie Daoyun."

"And she is a 'pure' performer, selling only her art and not her body. Her rendition of 'Wuling Chun' has made her famous throughout the capital."

"The grandson of the Duke once squandered a thousand taels of silver at the Guangyun Pavilion, yet he couldn't even earn a single smile from her."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. It is truly fascinating; I have never encountered a woman of the demimonde with such pride."

Gu Tingye shrugged, a playful smirk touching his lips.

Zhao Han took up the conversation, "So, Zhonghuai, is this why you brought me to see this Mistress Wei?"

"Brother Zhao, you are new here, so you wouldn't know. Today is Mistress Wei's birthday. Every guest who has frequented the Guangyun Pavilion knows that she favors scholars with exceptional literary talent above all else."

"Every year on her birthday, she invites everyone to compose a poem. Regardless of whether one is of humble origin or noble birth, as long as the poem catches her eye, one is invited into the elegant pavilion to drink with her."

"Last year, a pedantic scholar managed to write a fine piece, but Mistress Wei only poured him a single cup of wine with her own hand. I truly wonder what kind of poetry it takes to win her favor."

Gu Tingye patted Zhao Han’s shoulder warmly. "Brother Zhao, you are overflowing with poetic talent. Why not compose a poem today?"

"If you are fortunate enough to catch her eye, I might be able to share in your reflected glory and drink and make merry with her as well!"

Zhao Han had little interest in Mistress Wei and was about to decline when he saw, not far away, the bead curtains of an elegant pavilion being lightly raised, followed by the tinkling of jade pendants.

The laughter in the hall fell silent instantly as everyone looked up.

Mistress Wei appeared, draped in a smoky-green brocade dress that shimmered with light. Her figure was graceful and willowy; her eyebrows resembled distant mountains, and her eyes were like autumn waters.

Her high-coiled hair was adorned with only a few exquisite hairpins, giving her an air of simple yet captivating charm.

"Brother Zhao, that is Mistress Wei. Isn't she heavenly?"

As he spoke, Gu Tingye’s gaze went vacant, his eyes fixed intently upon her.

Zhao Han nodded, "It is no wonder that even in the midst of a pleasure house, she has the confidence to remain a performer who sells only her art."

"I have kept you all waiting, gentlemen." Mistress Wei’s voice was clear and melodious, drifting slowly into the ears of the crowd.

"Today, as in years past, the one with the most preeminent literary talent shall enter the pavilion to drink with me."

As her voice faded, the hall erupted into a clamor. Many young talents and wealthy sons had been racking their brains for days, agonizing over their compositions.

They hoped to speak with eloquence, shock the crowd, and win Mistress Wei’s favor.

"Brother Zhao, you can do it!" Gu Tingye couldn't help but cheer him on.

Before Zhao Han could reply, Mistress Wei turned gracefully and entered the pavilion. The bead curtains were half-drawn, and by the flickering candlelight, her slender, elegant figure was vaguely visible.

Outside the pavilion stood only her personal maid, Huichun.

Within the time it takes to brew a pot of tea, more than a dozen people had presented their poems, but Mistress Wei had rejected them one by one, gently waving her round fan.

Some sighed at their tables, others were secretly unconvinced, but no one dared to voice any objection.

Just then, a young man dressed in flamboyant clothes, holding a folding fan, with a somewhat shifty-eyed appearance, shouted, "Mistress Wei, please listen to mine!"

His voice was shrill and grating, causing everyone to glance over.

He shook his head and chanted: "Looking from afar, the rock is big; looking up close, it is a big rock. Truly a big rock, the rock is truly big..."

The air in the hall stagnated for a moment, then erupted into thunderous, raucous laughter.

A scholar in fine robes laughed so hard he clutched his stomach, his folding fan falling to the floor unnoticed. He pounded on his table, gasping, "What kind of poem is this? Even a toddler on the roadside could do better than you!"

The young man stiffened his neck and retorted, "What would you commoners know? This is called returning to simplicity, showing great skill through clumsiness. As the saying goes, the Great Way..."

Before he could finish, Huichun frowned and glared. "Where did this scoundrel come from? Disturbing my mistress's birthday—drag him out at once!"

Two burly matrons responded immediately, seizing him by either side and hauling him away.

He remained stubborn, struggling and shouting, "Mistress Wei, the rock poem didn't work, but I also have poems about snow, flowers, and spring..."

The guests in the building burst into even more uproarious laughter.

When the surroundings finally quieted down, Mistress Wei’s voice drifted out again. "I apologize for the disturbance. Is there any other gentleman who wishes to recite a poem?"

Gu Tingye nudged Zhao Han. "Brother Zhao, are you ready?"

Zhao Han glanced at him, took the paper and brush from Changqing’s hand, wrote with rapid strokes, and then handed it to Gu Tingye with a calm expression.

Gu Tingye glanced at it briefly, then stood tall and stepped forward, shouting, "There is one more here!"

"Hey, isn't that the second son of the Gu family?"

"He wants to write a poem too? I fear it will be of the same lineage as that rock poem from earlier!"

"Shh, keep it down. That guy is a complete ruffian. If you anger him, be careful of getting a beating."

Several guests whispered, casting scornful glances at Gu Tingye, and by extension, at Zhao Han.

In their eyes, anyone who shared a table with Gu Tingye must also be a dissolute son who knew only how to gamble and chase birds.

Inside the pavilion, Mistress Wei also wore a look of surprise. The kind of person Gu Tingye was, was known to all in Bianjing.

"Ahem—" Gu Tingye trusted Zhao Han implicitly. He cleared his throat and said clearly, "If life could always be like that first encounter, why would the autumn wind grieve for the painted fan?"

As soon as these lines were spoken, the expressions of the crowd shifted from mockery to astonishment. Several older scholars sat up straight in shock.

"When people easily change their hearts, they say that the heart is easily changed. After the vows at Mount Li were spoken in the dead of night, one does not regret the tears like rain and the ringing bells."

The hall fell into silence once more. The scholars who had mocked Gu Tingye the loudest now looked as if they had swallowed a fly, their faces turning from blue to white; they could barely hold their wine cups steady.

"Quick, read the rest!" an old man with a gray beard urged impatiently.

Gu Tingye gave a light snort, swept his gaze across the room, and declared, "How can one compare to the heartless man in brocade, who once wished to be like birds with joined wings?"

"What a line—'they say that the heart is easily changed'..."

Inside the pavilion, Mistress Wei murmured, her tone filled with an indescribable melancholy.

"Second Brother, did you really write this poem?" Liang Han, the sixth son of the Earl of Yongchang’s manor, looked at Gu Tingye in shock.

He was a man of romantic nature and a lover of beauty; even if Lady Wu had broken his legs, he would have come to such an event.

Others spoke up with certainty, "I absolutely do not believe this poem was written by Gu Erlang."

Gu Tingye looked at the crowd calmly and said frankly, "This poem was indeed not written by me."

He stepped aside and gestured to the man beside him. "This poem is the work of Brother Zhao Han, the eldest of the Zhao family, who is here with me."

Once these words were spoken, the skeptics immediately looked triumphant and sneered, "Hah! I knew it! Since when has Gu Erlang ever possessed such talent?"

Dozens of gazes turned toward Zhao Han.