At that same hour, in the rooms of the Pan residence's rear courtyard, the women who had come to perform were in their various chambers, putting on makeup or resting. The garden of the Zhishui poetry gathering lay only a wall away; stepping out into the corridor, one could watch the whole affair from behind the gauze curtain at the passage mouth.
Most of the women who could perform tonight were already names of some repute along the Qinhuai River, each with her own attractions. At an ordinary poetry gathering, any one of them could have carried the whole thing; tonight that would not do.
Not everyone who came to the Zhishui poetry gathering was male — many had brought companions, Old Qin with his poetry-knowing concubine Yunniang, and plenty of others with wives or with the young ladies of some household.
On an occasion like this they absolutely could not be the center of attention; they could not even sit out during the performances to draw the eye.
Still, even if they came out only to sing and dance, outstanding skill was enough to leave a deep impression. Women of their sort — when the company was nothing but men, they held themselves high and kept a cool reserve. At an occasion like this, they quietly played the supporting role, moistening things so softly that no one noticed, and let people remember them all the same. Haughtiness and reserve were only means; fame was the only thing that truly mattered.
By most reckonings, the two most famous women here tonight were Yuan Jin'er of Jinfeng Tower and Lu Caicai of Yinchun Pavilion. In her room just now, Yuan Jin'er was cupping her cheeks and turning her face this way and that before the bronze mirror, checking her finished makeup, while her maid Kou'er watched from beside her, chatting and giggling with her mistress: "Miss, when you went out to perform just now, that Young Master Cao kept looking your way the whole time — he didn't blink once!"
Yuan Jin'er shot her a smiling glance. "When I go out to perform, of course they look my way. What's strange about that? What's strange is you, Kou'er — you only saw Young Master Cao."
"Miss! It's true!" Kou'er wrinkled her little red face in protest. "He didn't take his eyes off you for a moment!"
"And if you hadn't been staring at him without blinking, how would you know he was staring at me?" Yuan Jin'er teased on. The little maid puffed out her lips in embarrassment and resolved to ignore her — but a moment later she leaned close again. "Miss, who do you suppose will take the top prize in tonight's poetry contest?"
Yuan Jin'er tilted her head and tucked a small flower into her hair at the temple.
"In letters there is no first place, and a poetry contest has no true standard either, so how could there be a champion? You silly girl, always asking this sort of thing. But which of the poems will be sung longest — that much you can see."
She picked up several written slips from the table.
"Young Master Wang's, Young Master Xi's, and this one by the Young Master Cao you like — 'The blue sky like water, the Silver River clear and shallow.' Heh, this one is probably the best. There, does that please you? ... And over Lichuan way, Young Master Li, Young Master Tang..."
The little maid pouted. "Who says I like Young Master Cao?"
"Oh? You dislike him, then?" Yuan Jin'er gave her a bright, dancing look.
"I didn't say that either. But Kou'er is only thinking of you, Miss. Young Master Cao likes you, and you came here with him today. If you had Young Master Cao's support, next year's Qinhuai Flower Queen would most likely be yours. And if he places high in next spring's imperial examination—"
The little maid chattered on without pause. Yuan Jin'er laughed and tapped her on the nose. "I know." Then she picked up the ci that Cao Guan had written. Of the two of them, Lu Caicai and herself, Lu Caicai excelled on the pipa and she on the zither, and in singing she was the better; this was the ci she would go out and sing later. She read it over, humming it softly in her mind, and found herself smiling — she looked, in fact, like a woman happy to be courted by a great talent.
In truth, almost any courtesan on the Qinhuai who practiced her trade with some seriousness claimed a hard and bitter past; most of it was false, invented. But the invention was only in the details — that they had a hard and bitter past was, broadly speaking, no lie.
By the time women reached the rank of a Yuan Jin'er or a Lu Caicai, having studied letters and verse, they naturally came to admire men of talent and learning of every kind.
And yet, though now and again a famous courtesan who simply admired a man's gifts married a poor scholar and it was passed down as a fine tale, such cases were truly the rarest of the rare.
She had accepted the Pan family's invitation today and had come in the same carriage as Cao Guan, which looked intimate enough, and she did admire his talent. But whether she liked him — liked him the way Kou'er meant — was something even she herself could not say.
To women like them, who seemed to have the moon and the stars gathered about them, the chances to truly choose were never many.
Still, setting all that aside, tonight's poetry gathering had genuinely been a rewarding one for her.
She sang the ci and its tune over and over. After a while Kou'er came over from the doorway: "Miss, miss, there seems to be more fine poetry. Let's go have a look."
"Oh?" Smiling, she set down the slip and went out with Kou'er toward the gauze curtain at the head of the long corridor. Several of the women had already gathered there, Lu Caicai among them; she said softly, "Sisters, what's going on?" Then she too leaned in at the curtain to watch, just as a voice from beyond it carried over: "holding up my wine, I ask the blue sky." Pan Guangyan had read the piece once already; this was a second recitation by one of the scholars.
By now the mood at the gathering had turned a little strange, a little quieter. Earlier, in the full swing of things, everyone had been eager to compose and recite, all smiles and talk; now it was as though some force had pressed them down. The crowd was still savoring the verses. Then the women, too, got hold of a slip with the ci copied out, and gathered around to read the whole piece through, and then read it through again. Yuan Jin'er lifted her head and happened to meet Lu Caicai's eyes.
"The Puyuan poetry gathering's—"
"How could that be—"
"The Su residence, Ning Yi, Ning Liheng. Who is that?"
"Never heard of him..."
Compared with those scholars outside, who had first sunk into the poetry itself, the women here — once they sensed how remarkable this ci was — cared first of all about who on earth had written it. Several of them read the signature over and over, asking one another, and not one had ever heard the name. Outside, someone had already asked, "Well? What does everyone think of this ci?"
"People have their sorrow and joy, parting and reunion; the moon has its dark and bright, waxing and waning. This has never been perfect since ancient times..."
"This ci..."
"Who on earth wrote this ci?"
For a time no one gave a verdict; someone only nodded, murmuring faintly, "superb." Then the man reading raised the slip again and read out the signature: "The Su residence — Ning Yi, Ning Liheng. Does anyone know who this man is?"
Silence fell.
"But if his surname is Ning, why is it signed the Su residence?"
"Which Su residence?"
"The Su residence from the Puyuan poetry gathering — surely not the one belonging to the Su family cloth shop?"
"Could this fellow be some steward or accountant of the Su family?"
"Never heard of this person before..."
For a moment everyone was looking at everyone else, all talking at once, but the name left them wholly in the dark; no one had heard it. In the end Pan Guangyan had to call over the man who had been sent out to fetch the poem slips. He was no servant but something of a disciple of his, a man of some talent himself, and when his teacher asked, he smiled and told what he knew.
"Ah, this one, I hear, is a live-in son-in-law of the Su family; he entered the household only a few months ago, as the husband of the Su family's second young lady, Su Tan'er. The amusing part is that I've heard some talk about it.
They say this Ning Liheng came down with a chill today and never came to the Puyuan gathering at all.
This evening, resting at home, he spoke this ci to a little maid — amusing himself, nothing more — but when someone at the gathering said he had no poetic talent whatsoever, the little maid couldn't stand to hear it and brought the ci out...
Heh.
That's what they're saying over there; whether it's true I can't vouch."
"The Su residence... a live-in son-in-law?"
At these words, not only those in the garden but the women behind the gauze curtain stared at one another; then the voices rose.
"He never came?"
"This is far too bizarre..."
"I've... I've never heard of a live-in son-in-law with talent like this..."
"Ning Yi, Ning Liheng — no, never heard of him..."
Behind the curtain, the little maid Kou'er said, puzzled, "This wasn't bought by someone trying to make a name at the Puyuan poetry gathering, was it?"
Every year at these poetry gatherings, buying a poem to make a name was nothing rare; everyone knew the dealings behind it. But even if it were bought, one could hardly buy verses of such quality. Now that they knew who the man was, that suspicion rose in most minds. If he truly had talent like this, why would he ever go and become a live-in son-in-law? Just then, someone out there put the doubt into words.
"This is rather hard to believe..."
"Could it be that the Su family bought this ci to make a name for themselves?"
The voice was not loud, and the speaker's tone was merely tentative, but everyone could hear it. After a moment of silence, someone was plainly about to agree: "A thing like this, well..."
At first the crowd had been moved by the ci and had not thought much further; then the words "live-in son-in-law," "nobody," came surging in, and set beside the poem they made a vast and jarring contrast. Doubtful thoughts welled up almost beyond stopping. Some steady heads in the crowd said nothing, to be sure, but tonight's gathering held a good deal of competitive spirit after all, and some blurted it out without thinking. It was at that very moment that a stern voice came cracking down from the platform: "Zixing! Shut your mouth!"
The man speaking was named Yu Zixing. Startled by the shout, he looked up and saw Old Kang holding his writing brush and staring at him, his gaze severe, imposing without any show of anger, and it pressed every murmur in the garden flat. For a moment the whole place fell silent.