A certain official of the rank of Chih fu was passing through the streets of Sendaî, seated in his sedan chair, when a strange commotion across the road drew him from his thoughts.
There was, for the Pavilion of Enlightenment, a peculiarly number of people gathered around the platform. As he came closer, looking down into the crowd, his eyes also shifted to the huge amount of female attention, of all ages and status, rushing around the pavilion to listen to a philosophical lecture!
Halting his chair, the official swept his gaze over the stage and observed the reason arousing such hubbub: a young man wrapped in a dark green cloud-like feather cloak appeared before his eyes in all his grandeur with the imposing demeanour akin to a king demanding deference, and with words commanding credence.
The air rang with words of astonishment. Was there any subject which he had not studied? The crowd was enthralled and impressed by his remarkable and groundbreaking interpretation of the Analects, the Thirteen Classics and the Sacred Edicts. And from time to time they would clap their hands.
Whereas each and every woman swooned over him, mouths agape and hands clasped against their heart. It was nothing he did precisely, but women fell into a trance.
The servants lowered the sedan, next the official had someone summoned before him and inquired about this astonishing young man.
His question caught the old man by surprise. How could this official not have heard of this man? Discerning his reaction, the official smiled faintly and explained that he was a newly appointed prefect who had traveled by sea to take office.
The official learned that three years ago news of this young man spread across the city and beyond, at first attracting many scholars and disciples of the Nine Schools of Thought seeking to meet with him, and debate with him, for he was no ordinary scholar, but the apotheosis of scholars; a rare prodigy showing once every couple of hundred of years.
Then he was told that the discovery of such a genius further excited the greatest interest, not solely with the intellectuals, but with the common folks. Intellectuals and folks alike would travel from the neighbouring towns to hear the most famous personage in Sendaî who spoke with compelling logic and wisdom, and exciting controversy as well.
"I myself journeyed for two days to debate with him. I've been doing so every month for the past year, and still, no matter the subject, I am always defeated by his eloquent argumentation."
The man who had explained all this was a scholar, head full of silvery hair tied neatly into a bun, who was just about to go off to the stage when he added:
"Most scholars would be well past their fifties before gaining such wisdom, "he paused—the emotion mirrored on the scholar's face was adulation before it shifted into envy—"It is nearly superfluous to remark that this man is only thirty years of age!"
"Oh?" said the official in surprise. "And what is the name of this talented youth?"
"Kiyomi Yongso, a man of Arts and Letters. He is a famed thinker, painter and philosopher. However, Master Yongso is widely renowned for his exquisite masterpieces of art and the King himself is an avid collector of his work!"
The official glanced over at the beautiful young woman who was craning her neck to eavesdrop on their conversation the while her bright green eyes fastened on the young man. She gave a satisfied nod to herself, grinning from ear to ear.
"Do you know his lineage or house?" asked the official, ignoring the young lady's impropriety.
The scholar stopped his steps and turned around. He shrugged and said: "It is my understanding that he wishes for his family to remain unknown to shelter his parents from being pestered by the many marriage proposals he receives. However, judging by his dignified appearance and his elegant speech, and the fact that he has a bodyguard, there is no doubting his noble status. I am told he is friend with the magistrate and had helped him many times in matters of the law. Obviously he is also a young man of fine conduct. According to hearsay, he is newly engaged to the magistrate's daughter. "
Upon hearing those last words, the young woman jerked her head to the old man, and her expression transformed into an icy frown. However the scholar had already left, heading towards the pavilion.
She immediately picked up that the official was watching her sternly. Two small incisors playing peekaboo, she smiled awkwardly before concocting a lie. "The lecturer is my older brother. Forgive me, I am so proud of him that I couldn't help myself to eavesdrop on his achievements." Then Emika bowed her head and slipped into the crowd leaving no time for the official to react.
He sighed—had he been friendlier she wouldn't have left in such a hurry—for he wished to know more about her extraordinary brother who had raised such a keen interest.
Thus his servants parted the sea of people, and he walked through, up to the very edge of the platform.
The silvery-haired scholar had just entered the stage and aimed to debate about the sempiternal question—are humans innately good or evil?
Every word uttered by the scholar was like the swift darting of a humming bird, which left an impression that something, it was difficult to say exactly what, came and then was hopelessly gone, impossible to recall, leaving no verbal fingerprints.
Meanwhile, an insect flew across Kiyomi to land on his sleeve; and without for an instant suspending the thread of his discourse, he was attentively examining its colouring and its wings to ascertain to which particularity of coleopteron it must be assigned.
And with words which were simple but far reaching in meaning, Kiyomi came out victorious to the bewilderment of his listeners and to the ultimate silencing of the silvery-haired scholar.
Every mouth openly acknowledged that every one of his words were indeed good words, appropriately chosen that even the inexpert could understand, and many wished for written notes of his clear and approachable wisdom.
The beetle running quickly across Kiyomi's hand opened its translucent wings, flying in the sunshine.
He was a picture of a god towering above all, looking at them with a carefully hidden condescension. His straight lips somehow made him more authoritative than his aura already suggested.
There began to creep over Emika a most peculiar feeling—that every knee of those in heaven, on earth and in the netherworld should bend before him.
She saw a man unlike the man she used to know, a man far away from the original image of her memory. This man was but the reflection of the moon after a pebble distorted the surface of the lake.
"Do you know who was his master?" questioned the official, utterly bemused after finding out that the silvery-haired man was a leading scholar of the Nine Schools of Thought.
Emika jolted back to reality, swallowing her tears into her heart. After giving the young lady a curt nod the official repeated his question.
However a student from the School of Diplomacy shrugged and sighed heavily; he, who was standing beside the official assumed the question was addressed to him, so he said: "A very impressive young man, never was he a disciple, already born a master."
When the official flitted his head back toward the spot where the young woman stood a few seconds ago, she had gone as softly as a summer breeze. He scratched his head, perplexed. 'Is she, perhaps, shy?'
"My Lord, make us a couplet!" Shouted someone from the crowd.
Lecturing and debating over, it was customary to propose lines of couplet both as a mere recreation and as a test of literary ability and character.
For the highest effect of a couplet it required indefinable loftiness of style, each words playing like a melody with flowing tempo.
The King was distinguished for his couplet; this young man however easily eclipsed the King's talent though no one dared say so for fear of the punishment.
The silvery-haired scholar put forth the following line:
"The Phoenix embroidered upon the sides of the shoe; when the shoe advances, the Phoenix dances."
To which Kiyomi responded:
"The dragon drawn upon the face of a fan; when the fan shakes, the Dragon flies."
Emika thought there was no apparent reason for enthusiastic approbation, yet Kiyomi won general applause.
The official proposed the next line:
"The cat sleeps on top of the house; when the wind blows, the hair moves, but the cat does not move."
And Kiyomi vanquished this sentence by replying:
"The tiger drinks from the midst of the tank; when the water immerses it, his whiskers are wet, but the tiger is not wet."
Again, the crowd broke out in a massive round of applause and shout of praise. Emika pouted—she never understood the prince's couplet style, or no one else's for that matter.
Many a time the prince had penned his feelings into poetry as a bridge to her heart, and every time she listened, she pretended to comprehend the words of his heart.
She acted childishly and was frivolous then, always seeking her amusement first. How she wished she had nourished her mind instead of filling her heart with futile desires!
Emika looked around and after not finding Jian, she took a sharp breath and courageously came striding down the path.
Kiyomi was bidding farewell to an exalted audience and to many coquettish women. When he was about to walk past her, she raised her head and gave him a smile, those begonia lips instantly bewitching him.
His lips reflexively shuddered. For some unknown and reason, one shocking thought suddenly floated into his mind: pressing his lips against her begonia lips.
Unconsciously, he shifted his body a couple of steps away.
Emika plucked up the courage to speak; but all she could see were his eyes, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
His eyes filled with hidden depth captivated her. When he disappeared, over the years the contour of his face slowly faded in her memory, but not his eyes. Those eyes swathed her like a blanket of night velvet. She always thought that his irises would be beautiful in any shade, for the intensity and the honesty of his gaze the colour was of no importance.
Kiyomi noticed her staring. She tried to avert her gaze, but she was already too lost in his sight. As for him, he studied how her long eyelashes like threads of silk swept over her eyelid and how under the sunlight her eyes glistened in shades of emerald and jade. Such exotic eyes! He had never seen anything like it before.
At last, her voice chirping like an oriole, she was loud in her expression of admiration for his couplets.
Then she also praised, with a tremble in her voice, a couplet which a friend of hers had said.
"And what was the couplet?" Kiyomi asked.
She replied, "I have forgotten the first line, but the second line was 'Something, Something, Something Spring!'"
The corners of his lips drew up to form a light smile. "Mere talk is empty, the palest ink is final. Then you would have remembered your friend's efforts."
As if he had remembered something himself, in a very low and distant voice he said: "As strange and as unexpected as it may sound, the rhythm of the second line seems familiar..."
This young woman—he truly didn't know the reason why he felt this way but he felt a sense of familiarity.
Something about those eyes and those begonia lips…
He shook his head, clearing this nonsensical feeling overwhelming him.
Soon after, without warning, images that didn't belong to him crashed into his mind until his head hurt as if hit by a bolt of lightning. His hands held his temples, he staggered…