Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Tree Wishes for Stillness, but the Wind Refuses to Cease (Part Two)

Everyone in the great hall turned their eyes to the group of men speaking loudly and laughing, though those men seemed completely unbothered by the attention. They continued their boisterous conversation for a while, apparently discussing Mid-Autumn Festival poems, before finally seeming to notice the atmosphere around them.

“Apologies, everyone,” said one of the men, “I got carried away chatting with my friends and forgot the occasion. I ask your forgiveness.” He gestured amiably to the man beside him. “This is Liu Mingxin, the third highest scorer in this year’s imperial examinations.” The speaker, Wang Youwei, clapped Liu Mingxin on the shoulder. Liu was a man in his twenties, dressed in a scholar’s robes, and the two appeared to be on very familiar terms.

Liu Mingxin offered a courteous salute to those around him, his manner humble and respectful.

“Haha, my friend Liu here recently had an audience with His Majesty in the palace and composed a poem for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Li Youlin from the Hanlin Academy and Qin Zheng, Minister of Revenue, both praised it highly, and even His Majesty nodded in approval,” Wang Youwei continued. He glanced around and suddenly feigned surprise as his gaze landed on Yang Yaozong. “Ah, Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, you are here as well! My friend Liu and these gentlemen are all successful candidates in the recent examinations and have long admired your name, especially your two poems from the Qixi Festival, which they hold in the highest regard. They have always hoped to meet and exchange ideas with you. What a fortunate coincidence to meet you here on the Mid-Autumn Festival! Why not compose a poem for the occasion, so we might once again admire your work? It would set a fine example for these new scholars.”

Though Wang Youwei’s words seemed humble, his glance at Yang Yaozong carried a hint of mockery.

All eyes in the hall turned to Yang Yaozong. He smiled faintly and replied calmly, “Poetry? The scholars chosen through the imperial examinations are not meant to write verses for the court, the people, or the country. Their knowledge is meant to secure peace and prosperity for the nation. Even if I were to compose a poem now, I would not be an example for them in that regard. Since Brother Liu has already written a Mid-Autumn poem praised by so many learned men, why not recite it for all present to appreciate?”

Those in the hall nodded in agreement with Yang Yaozong’s words. Yin Ruxin, naturally, was pleased; Mu Qinghan and Qin Xueyao both looked at him with admiration. In a corner opposite Yang Yaozong stood another who had been quietly observing him all along; upon hearing these words, he nodded in approval. This was Zhang Lie, the second highest scorer in the recent examinations, who had always wished to meet Yang Yaozong.

Wang Youwei’s expression turned somewhat awkward as he replied, “Grand Tutor, you make a fair point. Securing the nation’s peace and prosperity is indeed paramount. But today is the rare Mid-Autumn Festival. Sharing and appreciating poetry together is also a form of literary exchange, a most elegant pastime. How could you, Grand Tutor, not take the lead in such refined pursuits? Without your example, how could we dare to proceed?”

Yang Yaozong was about to respond when suddenly someone by the window shouted, “Come quickly! Look here!” At his excited call, everyone moved in curiosity toward the window and peered out in the direction he pointed.

There, at the north entrance of the brilliantly lit Qinhuai Avenue, a well-ordered procession advanced, drums and gongs at the fore, drawing the attention of all along the riverbank. The procession was surrounded by uniformed soldiers, and in their midst, a grand stage was drawn by twenty-four horses. Upon the stage stood forty women dressed in ethereal costumes, all portraying the goddess Chang’e. Among them, a few were seated by musical instruments—one by a zither, others with pipas in hand.

The procession stopped in the center of Qinhuai Avenue, directly before the Heaven and Earth Tavern. The forty women spread out across the stage in neat formation.

The previously bustling riverside quieted as everyone’s attention focused on the mysterious troupe. Some whispered, speculating about their purpose.

With a resonant “zheng!” the women at the center plucked their zithers in unison. The notes floated outward, silencing all murmurs; the riverbank grew exceptionally still. The forty women bowed gracefully in all directions and proclaimed, “On this Mid-Autumn Festival, Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince has composed a poem for the occasion. Both His Majesty and the Crown Prince consider it a masterpiece beyond compare! We now share it with the people, that all may enjoy and appreciate it together!”

Those on the third floor above, too, had been watching the scene below; now, after the women’s announcement, all turned to look at Yang Yaozong.

Yang Yaozong furrowed his brow and suddenly thought of Jing Yijun. She had left early that afternoon, and he had assumed she had returned to the palace to celebrate with the emperor. Seeing the performance troupe now, he immediately realized that Jing Yijun and the Crown Prince had arranged this together. The poem to be sung would surely be the very one he had sung that morning: “Prelude to the Water Melody: When Will the Moon Be Clear and Bright?”

With everyone’s eyes upon him, Yang Yaozong felt his cheeks flush. When his gaze met the excited eyes of Yin Ruxin, he gave a silent nod, only to receive a playful, reproachful glance in return.

Beside him, Qin Xueyao glanced from Yang Yaozong to the performers in the street and whispered, “So you already composed a Mid-Autumn poem. No wonder you refused to write another.”

Yang Yaozong gave a helpless smile. “Yes, I wrote one, but I never imagined His Majesty and the Crown Prince would make such a spectacle of it. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Once again, the zither and pipa strings resonated, and the melody began to flow. Some knowledgeable in music softly remarked, “That’s… ‘Prelude to the Water Melody’!”

Then, in unison, the forty women sang out, “Prelude to the Water Melody: When Will the Moon Be Clear and Bright.” Accompanied by their instruments, they sang:

“When will the moon be clear and bright?
With a cup of wine in hand, I ask the clear sky.
In the heavens on this night, I wonder,
What year it would be.
I'd like to ride the wind to fly home.
Yet I fear the crystal and jade mansions
Are much too high and cold for me.
Dancing with my moonlit shadow,
It does not seem like the human world.
The moon rounds the red mansion,
Stoops to silk-pad doors,
Shines upon the sleepless.
Bearing no grudge,
Why does the moon tend to be full when people are apart?
People have sorrow and joy, parting and reunion,
The moon may be dim or bright, round or crescent-shaped,
This imperfection has been going on since the beginning of time.
May we all be blessed with longevity,
Though far apart, we are still able to share the beauty of the moon together.”

While all eyes were fixed on the performance below, Yang Yaozong had a sudden feeling and glanced upward. On a small building to the north of Qinhuai Avenue, he seemed to glimpse a celestial figure in fluttering robes standing atop the roof, gazing in his direction.

Indeed, that distant figure was Jing Yijun. Perceiving his gaze, she knew that at such a distance, he could only make out a vague silhouette, but she still felt a rare shyness, accompanied by a gentle smile. It was a pity no one else saw her then, for surely they would have been astounded by her ethereal beauty.

Because Jing Yijun had the advantage of the evening, she had left early in the afternoon to spend the festival with her father, the emperor. During their conversation, she recalled the poem Yang Yaozong had sung and recited it to the emperor and the Crown Prince. Both were deeply moved. Learning from her that Yang Yaozong did not intend to compose any poetry at the feast that evening, the Crown Prince was indignant—after all, as Grand Tutor, Yang Yaozong represented the royal family’s honor, and the Crown Prince could not stand to see him put in a difficult position. Thus, he urgently arranged this courtly performance troupe.

The poem was sung twice, and everyone present was swept away by the world it conjured; some even wiped tears from their eyes. When the singing ended, from several high points in the city came the loud report of fireworks, and brilliant streams of light shot into the sky, bursting into sprays of silver flowers and illuminating the whole capital in an instant. The grand Mid-Autumn fireworks feast had begun.

The troupe in Qinhuai Avenue moved slowly away under the glow of fireworks, and as the spectacle commenced, the riverside gradually returned to its former lively, bustling atmosphere.