0017, Little Stories, Little Amusements

Lu Qingsheng’s face darkened instantly. After a moment’s contemplation, he conceded defeat. There is nothing more disheartening than believing one has played a brilliant move, only to realize, after Zhou Zitian’s response, that it was mere wishful thinking.

Ye Yinghua slumped softly in his chair, murmuring, “Indeed, it was wishful thinking.”

Watching the sunset together, wishful thinking—so exquisitely symmetrical. The three admitted defeat with conviction; if Fang Zizai had felt any dissatisfaction at being interrupted, the moment the Melody of Soul-Stirring Resonance appeared, his hopes were dashed entirely!

Only Zheng Fanren remained unmoved. He had always disliked the literary games played by these scholars, even in his previous life, understanding that such things were merely spiritual indulgences after one’s material needs were met, offering no help in securing an extra piece of meat in the bowl or a larger house to live in. No matter how magnificent the prose, if it couldn’t be sold, it meant nothing.

But he neither wished nor dared to refuse Luoxue’s “beautiful violence,” so he hurriedly rose and walked towards her.

At that moment, Zhou Zitian was not yet done flaunting his pride, nor willing to let Ye Yinghua and the others off. Regaining his composure, he raised his voice and said, “Wait, I have another couplet: ‘The petty bullying the great is called sharpness.’”

In academic matters, he entered the Supreme Mystery Academy before the three, thus referring to himself as the “great.” Their earlier insistence on competing with him was an attempt to bully him, making them the “petty.”

Alas, the three had already lost their morale. In this upper couplet, the union of “petty” and “great” forms “sharpness”—a compound character couplet. The added difficulty was to find a suitable lower couplet to retort, for otherwise, even if the pairing was perfect, they’d have to admit themselves as petty villains.

Seeing the three leave dejectedly, the crowd showed no sympathy. The people of the Han admired true talent and strength; moreover, applause erupted throughout the hall. Mo Dao was first to step forward and declare, “Congratulations, Young Master Zhou! That was brilliant!”

Zhou Zitian replied coolly, “Thank you, Instructor Mo, but there’s nothing worth celebrating.”

Such pride, yet the crowd delighted in it—so long as one had the capital to be proud, no one would begrudge their arrogance.

Zheng Fanren felt no fondness for the three either and, holding the recorded couplets, walked toward Luoxue.

Luoxue had already prepared a wine cup, and the two sat together at a seat.

Zhou Zitian frowned as he took his seat, clearly displeased by Zheng’s actions, but since Luoxue raised no objection, any protest from him would be ill-advised.

Luoxue smiled and asked, “How do you feel?”

Zheng Fanren raised his cup and replied with a smile, “When someone bends over, it’s inevitable they’ll be ridden. Let alone three bending at once—it’s hard not to be ridden.”

His words made Luoxue burst into laughter, her joy evident. The crowd relaxed, settling into their seats, though many were still pondering Zhou Zitian’s insulting couplet.

Though Young Master Zhou’s spine was stiff, making him hard to bend, precisely for that reason, riding upon him would be all the more satisfying.

Luoxue stifled her laughter and carefully examined the couplets recorded by Zheng Fanren. The last one still lacked a lower pair. She looked at Zhou Zitian and said serenely, “Today, the music, chess, and poetry were all splendid. Only calligraphy was missing from the contest—a pity.”

Zhou Zitian made no reply, slowly finishing the wine in his cup. Then he looked around the hall calmly, a hint of lonely smile on his lips. “Since I entered the path of cultivation at seven, my curiosity about the world has grown increasingly faint. Sometimes because things are too simple, sometimes because I cannot find a worthy opponent, I have sunk ever deeper into cultivation. Only calligraphy—I have never forsaken.”

Pouring himself another cup, he continued, “Our Han characters have a long history. The same character, in the hands of different people, in different circumstances, in different combinations, expresses different meanings. To display these wondrous characters with exquisite skill upon rice paper—at that moment, I wish only to appreciate their beauty alone.”

He glanced around again, more lonely than ever. “In my life, I have rarely displayed my calligraphy. When I entered Supreme Mystery Academy, I wrote only a sparse thousand characters in answer to their questions, which are still kept in the dean’s study.”

“The beauty of words is not easily attained by ordinary people, so I seldom write, unless compelled by necessity—such as answering the Academy’s exam.”

“Of course, if I were fortunate enough to meet a master of calligraphy, I might write a few lines. Alas, I have yet to meet one—truly lonely.”

By now, he had drunk several cups, his speech tinged with intoxication.

The hall was silent; everyone watched the coldly aloof Young Master Zhou seated among them, unsure what to say. The normally proud geniuses had already given up competing, just waiting for Luoxue’s choice to soothe his lonely melancholy.

Handsome looks, exquisite talent, confident bearing—coupled with that melancholy expression, he instantly outshone every serving girl present.

But Luoxue truly disliked this extreme display of affectation. She spoke sternly: “Young Master Zhou, I admit you are talented and have every right to be proud, but since you are a student of the Supreme Mystery Academy, you ought to abide by the cosmic principles. Heaven brings sun and rain; earth bears all things. Where does such pretentious pride come from?”

“Besides, last year you entered Luoxue Garden and wrote ‘A Pity’ with a flourished hand. I saw no true mastery in your calligraphy, and I still don’t understand what you meant by ‘a pity’. Today, let me broaden your horizons.”

At this point, Zheng Fanren reacted at once, thinking, “Nearly let her use me as a pawn!”

He hurriedly intervened, “Young Master Zhou is troubled at heart. I have a little story I’d like to share with everyone.”

Mo Dao, knowing Zheng’s tricks, asked coldly, “What good story could you possibly have?”

But Zhou Zitian said, “No matter, speak on.”

He was not interested in the content—if Zheng Fanren remained silent at Luoxue’s side, Zhou would have no opening to attack.

Zheng Fanren rose with a smile, nodded to the crowd, and began calmly: “It is said that a man was tending a fire outside his door. The smoke from the kitchen drifted along the bright eaves, seeping into a swallow’s nest. The parent swallows flew away, but the fledglings in the nest were suffocated and chirped loudly.”

The crowd grew annoyed—what kind of story was this? Boos sounded throughout the hall, some even shouting for him to stop.

Zhou Zitian shook his head with a bitter smile, thinking, “I meant to embarrass him, but it seems unnecessary.”

Luoxue encouraged, “You haven’t finished, have you?”

Zheng Fanren continued calmly, “Later, the man thought the scene was beautiful and devised an upper couplet to commemorate it. But for decades, he never found a perfect lower pair. In the end, he died with regret.”

“Whenever I recall this, I am deeply moved. Today, I share this couplet with you, hoping to gather wisdom from all present.”

At this, the crowd’s faces lit with expectation. Mo Dao laughed, “I thought Brother Zheng had a brilliant story, but it’s just a couplet puzzle. Is there any couplet in the world Young Master Zhou can’t answer?”

Zheng Fanren’s smile deepened as he nodded, “Indeed, I am but an obscure fellow, naturally suited to the little amusements of everyday life.”