The pleasure boats drifted down the Qinhuai River, illuminated by the glow of countless lanterns. On this Mid-Autumn night, the gates of Jiangning city remained open, and the celebrations would last until dawn the next day. Crowds surged through the streets, and soon after dinner, people began streaming out of their homes, heading toward the busiest areas centered around the Confucius Temple and the Mingyuan Pavilion. Lanterns lined the streets like an endless river of fire, vendors shouted, dragon and lion dancers paraded, and drum beats filled the air. Street performers gathered at corners, and the haunting songs of courtesans lured customers to the brothels, where the occasional glimpse of dancing girls could be seen through the doors. The entire city was alive with excitement.
Famed courtesans had already been booked for the night, but a seat could still be found in the halls of the brothels for those wanting to enjoy the atmosphere. News frequently spread through the streets about the latest poems presented at the various poetry gatherings, with the most renowned courtesans performing those poems for their audiences. The poets competed, and the courtesans adorned these works with a seductive grace. While many people simply enjoyed the spectacle of the lanterns, they could still savor the refined charm of the ancient arts, which felt like an echo of the elegance of the Wei and Jin dynasties, or the grandeur of Tang times.
Poetry had flourished since the Tang dynasty and continued to develop over the centuries. While Ning Yi and Master Qin occasionally joked about "great talent or little talent," it was because their perspectives extended beyond the ordinary. In reality, at the highest levels of government, there had been ongoing debates about the practical value of poetry. What standards should be used to select civil officials? This question had been weighed for the past century. Sometimes, the imperial examinations excluded poetry from the criteria, while other times, it was reinstated, the decision constantly fluctuating.
Even with these debates, poetry had reached a pinnacle of cultural significance. If you could craft a fine poem, you would be respected and admired wherever you went. Poetry had become a cultural emblem of the times. Since the Tang dynasty, countless masterpieces had been created, enriching the cultural landscape and leaving an indelible mark on Han civilization.
In Jiangning, the busiest commercial areas were the lanes of Wuyi and the Confucius Temple district. Here, shops proudly displayed boards showcasing the best poetry from the various gatherings. Occasionally, someone would recite these poems aloud, while other establishments had hired girls to sing them. Scholars and poets gathered in tea houses and wine shops, nodding in approval as they debated which works would stand the test of time. Even the common folk, uneducated as they might be, could feel the elegance in the air, sharing opinions and appreciating the artistic atmosphere around them.
The six connected boats of the Puyuan Poetry Gathering had already left the dock, drifting along the most beautiful and lively stretch of the river. Though the gathering took place aboard the main boat, it wasn't isolated—dozens of smaller boats followed along, ferrying people to and from the larger vessel, or delivering new poems. These smaller boats were like little fish swimming alongside a grand palace on water. Guests brought fresh works of poetry and shared news—such as which famous individual had announced a daughter's engagement, or who had praised a young scholar's talents.
The poems presented at Puyuan were respectable, though not as renowned as those from the top gatherings, like the Zhishui or Lichuan Poetry Gatherings. However, Puyuan had moved past the days of buying poems to get through the night. With enough wealth, one could always invite truly talented individuals, and Puyuan's reputation gradually rose, even if it couldn't quite match the elite gatherings.
Mid-Autumn poetry gatherings often centered around the theme of the moon, but the entire evening wouldn't be spent on just one topic. At some gatherings, the host, if influential, might dictate the theme based on the mood of the night. Poetry circles were social clubs, and rivalry between them was common, whether openly or subtly. For instance, if someone at Zhishui Gathering heard about a topic raised at Lichuan, they might casually say, "Speaking of that, I happen to have composed something…" before coolly presenting their work. While poetry at the highest levels was often incomparable, true masterpieces were still clearly distinguished from the rest.
The gatherings hadn't yet reached their peak. These events would stretch until midnight, and no one would unveil their best work too early. Most participants prepared a couple of prized compositions, saving them for when they might impress the most notable figures present. The real showdown among the top poets often didn't start until well after midnight, when gaining a reputation for brilliance could pave the way for future success.
The night deepened, the moon rose high, and the city's excitement only grew. In the quiet of the Su family's smaller courtyard, Ning Yi and Xiao Chan had already returned indoors. They had watched some of the festivities, but the wind was picking up outside.
The muffled sounds of celebration drifted in from the distance as master and servant held their own little Mid-Autumn gathering. Ning Yi told her a tale from Journey to the West, choosing not to recount Romance of the Western Chamber since he barely remembered the details—and besides, it was about illicit love, which didn't seem appropriate. Afterward, Xiao Chan performed a couple of songs for him, throwing in a dance she had seen at a performance but hadn't quite mastered yet. Su Tan'er had never planned to give her three maids away to entertain others, so she had them learn to read, embroider, and help manage the household, rather than teach them music or dance. As a result, Xiao Chan's singing was serviceable, but her dancing was a bit rough. Still, she moved gracefully, with an innocent charm.
Xiao Chan enjoyed playing Go, but since Ning Yi was recovering from illness, this type of mental exertion wasn't ideal. After her performance, Ning Yi amused her with a simple magic trick—making a chess piece disappear from his hand, only to pull it out from her hair or pocket. Xiao Chan was wide-eyed with amazement, and after Ning Yi explained the trick, she eagerly attempted to repeat it, albeit awkwardly.
"I should probably get some sleep. It's still early, Xiao Chan. You should go enjoy the Puyuan Poetry Gathering." Ning Yi smiled and pointed at an invitation on the table. "The invitation's right there."
"I'll go after you fall asleep," Xiao Chan replied with a smile.
"Ha, how about one more song?" Ning Yi asked, leaning back.
"Which one would you like to hear, Master?"
At this moment, most songs were essentially poems set to music, with established melodies. Unfortunately, many of these singing styles had been lost to modernity. Xiao Chan didn't know many songs, and the two of them picked up a poetry anthology at the bedside to choose a song.
"Ode to the Fisherman..."
"I can't sing this one," Xiao Chan said.
"How about this one, Recalling Jiangnan?"
"I can sing this one!" Xiao Chan exclaimed excitedly, ready to perform.
"Never mind, I don't really like this one."
"What about Nian Nu Jiao? Would you like to hear it, Master?"
"This Shui Diao Ge Tou is quite nice. Um... Shui Diao Ge Tou..."
"I know that one!"
"You can sing Shui Diao Ge Tou?" Ning Yi thought for a moment. "Oh, Xiao Chan knows quite a lot!"
"Should I sing this one?"
"Uh... let's sing another one, still Shui Diao Ge Tou..."
Ning Yi was feeling a bit bored and was actually reminded of Faye Wong's When Will the Moon Be Bright? However, it seemed that Su Shi hadn't written this one yet. He asked Xiao Chan for paper and ink, leaned over the bed, and awkwardly wrote the lyrics on the xuan paper, asking Xiao Chan to sing them for him. Xiao Chan's eyes sparkled as she looked at the lyrics: "Did you write this, Master?"
"Uh-huh," Ning Yi shrugged, noticing her eager expression. "I wrote it, it's for you. Hurry and sing it."
Xiao Chan studied the lyrics for a moment and began to sing carefully, her voice light and melodious. Though not very professional, her earnestness caused her to miss a note mid-song, yet the essence was still beautiful. After she finished, Ning Yi chuckled: "Let me teach you a different way to sing."
"Ah?" Xiao Chan blinked. "A different... way to sing?"
"Yeah, I'll sing a line and you sing the next line. It should be easy to learn... Haha, mostly because I want to hear it."
Though a bit confused, Xiao Chan became excited at the thought of learning something new. Having spent the most time with Ning Yi, she had gradually come to understand that he often had some mysterious and interesting qualities. Under Ning Yi's guidance, Xiao Chan began to learn the song line by line to the new melody.
"When will the bright moon appear, I raise my glass to ask the heavens…"
"When will the bright moon appear, I raise my glass to ask the heavens…"
"Uncertain of the heavenly palaces…"
"Uncertain of the heavenly palaces…"
"Hmm, not bad... What year is it tonight?"
"Hmm, not bad... What year is it tonight?"
"..."
"Hey, Master, sing the next line!"
Before long, Ning Yi found himself listening to a familiar modern song in this era. If possible, he thought, he could copy down modern song lyrics and teach Xiao Chan to sing them, or find someone who could compose music to create similar tunes. After all, it was fine for his private enjoyment, and it didn't matter if it wasn't something to be shared in public.
"What do you think? Is it nice?"
"It's beautiful..." While the lyrics had fixed melodies, ancient songs shared a common origin with many traditional operas. In terms of variations, they didn't quite compare to modern songs. This particular song had a gentle rhythm, and for this era, it wasn't overly out of place. If they were singing something like The Mouse Loves Rice, Xiao Chan would probably either be disgusted or frightened. But the way she looked at him now was filled with admiration: "Master can even compose songs..."
Ning Yi laughed: "This song is fine to hum quietly, but don't sing it everywhere. You're just a little maid; if you go around changing the lyrics, people might say you're not sensible, understand?"
"Mm." Xiao Chan nodded vigorously, holding the xuan paper.
"Alright... goodnight." Ning Yi climbed into bed, and after a moment, turned his head to find Xiao Chan still sitting on the stool beside him, looking at him as she had when he was sick a few days ago. He waved his hand: "I'm fine, you can go out now."
"Hey, take the invitation on the table. Otherwise, they might not let you on the boat…"
After calling out, once Xiao Chan blew out the lamp, took the invitation, and closed the door behind her, Ning Yi let out a big yawn. The sounds of the city still faintly reached him, and the soft glow from the window confirmed the lively atmosphere outside. He chuckled, "A night of fish and dragons dancing..." Then he fell into a deep sleep.
Xiao Chan leaned against the wooden pillar of the room for a while, confirming that Ning Yi was truly asleep before heading downstairs. Back in her own room, she lit a lamp, took out ink and brush, and copied the lyrics she had written earlier, which had looked a bit messy. Her handwriting was small and delicate, full of a charming spirit. After reading the words Ning Yi had written a few times, she blushed and carefully tucked them away at the bottom of her drawer, like a thief hiding a treasure.
Then she left the courtyard and, seeing that the road was empty, jogged happily toward the main gate. There, she requested a carriage and a free coachman from the steward and cheerfully set off to join the excitement of the Puyuan Poetry Gathering.
As a young maid, she truly enjoyed this kind of lively atmosphere.