Chapter Fourteen: Stirring the Waters

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Stillwater Poetry Gathering.

Kang Xian suddenly shouted, and the entire hall fell silent at once. Yu Zixing, who had studied under Kang Xian for a brief period, was startled by the teacher’s unexpected outburst—so uncharacteristic of the usually stern master. He hurriedly bowed his head and cupped his hands, stammering, “Master…”

Kang Xian was a renowned scholar in the field of philosophy, with a deep and influential background. Though he had few disciples, his reputation was well known among most present. His gaze swept across the assembly and settled on Yu Zixing, as if he were merely instructing a pupil. “Such words—can you utter them so casually?”

A moment’s silence hung in the air. Kang Xian set down his brush and looked over again. “Let me ask you: today, hundreds of poems have been submitted. If this particular poem were disorderly, ugly, utterly lacking in merit, what would you do?”

Yu Zixing grasped the meaning behind his words, his body trembling slightly. He bowed with a dry voice, “I… I would simply set it aside, pay it no mind.”

“Then, have you ever met this Ning Liheng? Do you know him? Have you heard his name or seen his face? Has any unfavorable rumor about his character reached your ears?”

“I… I have learned my lesson.”

That sufficed. Kang Xian smiled, “Since you understand, take your seat… Gentlemen, tonight’s poetry gathering has yielded many fine works. Earlier, I discussed them with Master Qin; for instance, Mingyi’s poem…” He raised his voice, launching into a series of detailed critiques, highlighting the brilliance of each piece. His scholarship was vast, and his assessments generous yet honest. The poems were indeed excellent, and Yu Zixing’s two works received high praise.

This discourse lasted a considerable time. Finally, Kang Xian placed the sheet bearing “Tune: Water Melody” on the table again. “Now, gentlemen, let us once more appraise this piece. What do you think?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Cao Guan rose from his seat. “Master Kang’s timely admonition has enlightened me. I confess with some embarrassment that this poem is truly exquisite—its literary grace and profound meaning far surpass my own. Earlier, I harbored a spirit of competition, but your instruction has awakened me. To witness such brilliance at this gathering is a great fortune. However, gentlemen, I have composed a few lines myself—perhaps you would care to judge them? Haha, though there are gems before us, this assembly is full of talent. Who among you would help complete my poem, so that the honor of Stillwater Poetry Gathering may be upheld?”

His words brought laughter from Kang Xian. “Such is the conduct of a gentleman.” The crowd responded in kind; the atmosphere grew lively once more. Someone jested, “Zongchen, you have but a few lines—how boldly you speak! I, however, possess a whole poem; restoring the prestige of the gathering falls to me!”

And so, a fierce contest of poetry ensued, more spirited than before. Kang Xian watched the scene with a smile, raising his tea cup to drink. Old Master Qin also chuckled beside him.

“Ha ha, Master Qin, what amuses you?”

“Hehe, Master Kang, you have not acted entirely fairly. In ordinary days, young Liheng merely bested you on a few occasions, and yet you would roast him over the fire. Gentlemen do not bear grudges. Next time you meet, he will surely come to settle accounts with you.”

Though he spoke thus, Old Master Qin’s laughter was full of delight, as if he anticipated only amusement. Literary merit is never absolute; there is no fixed standard for poetry. At certain heights, public opinion matters greatly. Though “Tune: Water Melody” was indeed outstanding, it could not truly make all others “fall far short.” Kang Xian’s few words, however, delivered a clear implication: faced with excellence beyond compare, your first impulse was to disparage the author’s character—this is not the way of a gentleman.

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That night in Qinhuai, not only the poems were carried forth; when Kang Xian’s stern admonitions to the assembly were circulated, the outcome was easily imagined. Even after Master Qin’s remarks, Kang Xian’s smile did not waver; he remained quite pleased.

“Heh. I cherish his talent and aid his rise to fame; if he meets me, he ought to be grateful. Master Qin, your thinking is a little small-minded. As the saying goes, the gentleman is open and at ease; the petty man is always troubled. Ha ha, one must be broad-minded.”

Neither of them had ever witnessed Ning Yi’s true talent firsthand, but from these judgments, it was clear he was exceptional. They were amazed by the poem’s brilliance, and as they joked together, an elder approached, “This Ning Liheng—is he…?” He had played chess with Master Qin by the river and met Ning Yi only once, knowing the family name. Now he guessed the truth, and Pan Guangyan, smiling, joined them, “Could this Ning Yi be related to Master Kang…”

Kang Xian laughed, lowering his voice, “He is a friend to Qin, Du, and myself. As for poetry, I doubt he would feign. He is modest by nature; our friendship is gentle, like water, without much involvement. I ask Elder Crane to keep this confidential, not to spread it further.”

Pan Guangyan understood and laughed.

“Ah, so that’s how it is.”

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Had Ning Yi foreseen all that would unfold in Jiangning that night, he might not have sought a taste of modernity by learning a song from Little Chan. Yet, suffering from a cold, his thoughts were muddled and weary. He had never attended such poetry gatherings, so his mind was far from their concerns.

It was past midnight; Ning Yi was still asleep, oblivious to everything. The carriage moved slowly through streets where the revelry was only beginning to fade. Crowds pressed together, the firelight outside casting glows inside. Su Tan’er gazed at Little Chan, still holding the sheet bearing “Tune: Water Melody.” Chan kept her head down, blinking, lips tightly pursed, afraid to speak.

Tonight’s events seemed strange even to her, leaving her bewildered. She lacked the refined appreciation for poetry, but when she first read the poem, it struck her as stunning—a marvel she could hardly believe had come from Little Chan’s hand. Yet subsequent developments proved she had underestimated it.

Seeing the shocked expression on Xue Jin, who had harbored ill intentions, was delightful, and later when Puyang Yu and the assembled scholars approached, she felt a sense of importance. As a merchant’s daughter, she understood the weight of such recognition.

The world says merchants chase profit and occupy the lowest social rung. Wealth solves many problems and can elevate status, but prejudice lingers. Each year, whether disaster or famine, though they give money and effort, they seldom earn praise. Her grandfather spent a fortune to send the Su family’s children to the academy, hoping to produce scholars—even buying their way in, so that at least they might join the ranks of the literati. She had witnessed this urgency since childhood.

The Puyang family likewise toiled for results, investing heavily in their poetry gatherings. They had achieved some progress—half a foot in the door of the scholar class, though the other half remained elusive. When the Puyang poetry society was mentioned, people first thought of nouveau-riche airs. Their keen regard for this unexpected poem revealed its value. Yet some even claimed it rivaled Cao Guan or Li Pin—how could that be?

Her own standards were not high; she admired poetry from afar, idolizing men like Cao Guan and Li Pin. Before marriage, she had attended several gatherings, witnessed top scholars compose extemporaneously, and felt awe at their talent. These men were the exemplars of Jiangning’s literati, and though her grandfather hoped for family prodigies, he never expected one of their caliber. Yet this poem—brought by Little Chan, said to be the work of her husband, who had never shown much learning, who once composed nonsensical verses like “Three lotuses float on emerald pond, raft may drift on tender thoughts”—how could it be so good? Or was there some hidden truth?

Part of her, colored by awe for the literati and men like Cao Guan and Li Pin, felt uneasy; but the merchant in her remained clear-headed, able to handle the unexpected with composure, only beginning to probe the matter once off the boat. She looked at Little Chan, who seemed to shrink under scrutiny, and finally smiled, “Was it really the master who wrote it?” She had no doubt about Little Chan’s honesty.

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“Mhm.”

“Then… Little Chan, could you tell me everything you did tonight with the master?”

“Oh.” Little Chan nodded, then began recounting the evening’s events after they left, first mentioning the story—she glossed over the details of Journey to the West, merely saying it was about a monkey demon, then singing, dancing, magic tricks.

“Here, you hide the bead in your hand like this…” Little Chan tried to repeat the magic trick, which had failed on the boat when she had planned to show off before her sisters; it failed again, leaving her frustrated. Soon, she moved on to singing and poetry.

“Another way of singing?” Su Tan’er frowned.

“Mhm, it was very pleasant.” Chan nodded, then whispered, “The master told me not to sing it outside; otherwise, people will say a little maid shouldn’t change the tune…”

Actually, others might say more than that, though Little Chan understood this, but with her mistress, she hid nothing. Shortly after, at Su Tan’er’s request, the little maid cleared her throat and began to sing “Tune: Water Melody” with the new method, the melody lingering in the carriage.

When the song ended, Juan’er and Xing’er were still lost in its charm. “It’s lovely…” Su Tan’er, leaning against the carriage wall, was silent for a long time before asking, “Little Chan, you’ve spent the most time with the master—what kind of person do you think he is?”

Little Chan pondered for a while. “The master… I don’t think he’s a bookish scholar; he’s witty, likes to joke at times, but gives a very steady impression, as though nothing troubles him… And when he speaks, he’s not like the scholars, no old-fashioned phrases. Um, that’s it. Anyway, he’s quite different from what people say…”

Su Tan’er listened, then nodded gently.

The carriage turned onto the street ahead, and the Su residence was nearly in sight…