Currently, Feng Ruyi was strolling through the vibrant festival streets, her eyes wide with excitement. She was like a child in a massive candy store, eager to explore everything the Lantern Festival had to offer. The guards assigned to follow her found themselves perpetually trailing behind, muttering to each other as Ruyi darted from stall to stall like a butterfly.
"Ooh, what's that?" she exclaimed, spotting a brightly decorated stall that had drawn a small but frustrated crowd. Painted banners draped over the wooden booth proclaimed in bold calligraphy: "Echoes of the Sage"
Intrigued, Ruyi squeezed her way through the crowd, her interest piqued by the collective groans and furrowed brows of the participants.
"Alright, here's the next question," the stallkeeper announced, his voice booming with theatrical flair. "This is not for the faint of heart! Listen closely: 'I have cities but no houses, forests but no trees, rivers but no water. What am I?'"
The crowd buzzed with confusion.
"Uh… a painting?" ventured one man, scratching his head.
"No, no, it must be some kind of metaphor!" another suggested.
Ruyi held back a snicker. Seriously? she thought. This is one of the oldest riddles in the book. She couldn't resist the urge to step forward. "It's a map," she said confidently.
A hush fell over the crowd before the stallkeeper's face lit up with an approving grin. "Correct! A map it is!" He grabbed a silk pouch from under the counter and handed it to her. "A prize for our clever scholar! Inside are handmade incense sticks crafted from the finest sandalwood."
Ruyi accepted the pouch with a polite bow, her lips curling into a triumphant smile.
"Miss, with your sharp mind, would you consider participating in our poetry contest? The prize is a rare jade hairpin," the stallkeeper asked, gesturing toward a nearby table set up for the competition.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the hairpin—it was exquisite, intricately carved with patterns of clouds and cranes. How could she resist?
"I'd be honored," she said with a gracious nod, though her inner thoughts were less demure. That hairpin is as good as mine.
Before Feng Ruyi began to write, she took a moment to survey the competition. The poetry contest was already underway, and several participants sat at long wooden tables, their heads bowed in concentration. A few parchments had already been submitted, displayed prominently for the growing crowd to admire.
She leaned closer to one of the guards trailing her, whispering, "Let's see what I'm up against." With a subtle smirk, she moved closer to the displayed poems, pretending to study them with a critical eye.
An older gentleman with a scholarly air stepped forward to read one aloud. His voice carried the rhythm of a seasoned performer as he recited:
"The plum blossoms bloom in winter's frost,
Undeterred by cold or bitter loss.
A steadfast heart endures the strain,
And thrives anew with spring's refrain."
A murmur of approval rippled through the audience.
"That's a fine piece!" someone said.
"Truly captures the spirit of resilience," added another.
Ruyi nodded slowly, as if impressed, but in truth, she was already calculating how to outshine them. Her eyes drifted to another poem written in a more youthful hand. A young man, no older than sixteen, blushed as someone read it aloud for him:
"The lantern's glow reflects the stars,
A fleeting beauty seen from afar.
Yet hearts united in shared delight,
Will outshine even the brightest night."
The crowd gave polite applause, some nodding with genuine appreciation, though a few whispered critiques about its simplicity.
Settling into her seat, she lifted the brush, letting it hover over the paper. She cast a quick glance at the jade hairpin on the prize table, its intricate carvings glinting under the lantern light.
"Apologies in advance to my fellow poets," she muttered under her breath. "And a special sorry to Su Shi—I swear this is for a good cause. Your masterpiece is about to help me secure some ancient bling."
With that, she began to write, confident her "borrowed" masterpiece would leave the competition in the dust.
The crowd fell silent as Feng Ruyi handed her parchment to the stall master. He read it aloud, his voice steady, almost reverent:
"The rolling river flows eastward,
Its waves have washed away heroes of the past.
Right and wrong, success and failure,
Turn to nothing under the expanse of the sky.
The green mountains remain,
As if laughing at the fleeting mortal world."
As his voice faded, murmurs rippled through the onlookers. A scholar in the audience adjusted his glasses and stepped closer to examine the poem.
"This is no ordinary piece of writing," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "The imagery of the rolling river symbolizes the relentless passage of time, sweeping away all who have come before us, whether heroes or common folk. It speaks of the futility of human ambition—how triumph and failure are equally fleeting under the boundless heavens."
Another elder, a retired court poet, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Indeed. And yet, amidst this impermanence, the green mountains endure. They laugh—not in mockery, but in their quiet, unchanging witness to the vanity of mortal struggles. It's a profound reflection on the nature of life and death, impermanence and eternity."
The crowd nodded in agreement, many looking at Feng Ruyi with newfound respect.
Someone in the crowd whispered, "Such wisdom in one so young—who could have imagined?"
Feng Ruyi forced a modest smile, though inside, her thoughts were anything but humble. Sorry, great poet of history, but I really want that prize.
She clasped her hands behind her back, feigning a serene humility. "The words merely came to me," she said lightly, casting her eyes downward to complete the act.
The crowd chuckled at her modesty, though a few were already whispering among themselves about the prodigious talent of this mysterious young woman.
The stallkeeper handed her the jade hairpin with reverence. "A masterpiece deserves a worthy reward."
As Feng Ruyi walked away, tucking the prize securely into her sash, she glanced up at the night sky and whispered with mock sincerity, "Thanks, Su Shi. I owe you one." A sly smile tugged at her lips.
But Feng Ruyi's curiosity wasn't sated yet. The lively festival buzzed around her, a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and scents that pulled her from one attraction to the next. Her gaze caught on a performer balancing on a tightrope, a vendor selling intricately carved wooden trinkets, and a crowd laughing at a man juggling fire. Her feet moved before she had time to think, weaving through the throng of people, leaving her guards scrambling behind her.
"Miss Ruyi, please slow down!" one of the guards called out, his voice lost in the cacophony of the festival.
But Feng Ruyi was already entranced by her next target—a stall selling Bing Tanghulu. She darted toward it with childlike excitement, her steps light and quick as she disappeared into the crowd.
Meanwhile, the guards were in disarray, their heads swiveling in every direction as they tried to keep track of her.
"Where did she go now?" Guard 1 asked, exasperation in his tone.
"I think she went to buy Bing Tanghulu," Guard 2 replied, scanning the stalls nearby.
Just as he said this, Guard 3 came running back to the group, his face flushed with a mix of tiredness and panic. "I can't find her."
Guard 1 and Guard 2 turned to him in alarm. "What do you mean you can't find her?" they asked simultaneously.
"I mean she's gone!" Guard 3 wheezed, leaning forward to catch his breath. "I looked everywhere—the trivia stall, the poetry contest area, the nearby food stands—but she's nowhere to be found. She just disappeared into the crowd!"
The three guards exchanged a deep, meaningful look. A collective thought passed between them: We're dead.
One of them muttered under his breath, "The Prime Minister is going to have our heads if we don't find her."
Another added grimly, "And the Crown Prince won't be much kinder."
They quickly sprang into action, splitting up and plunging into the dense crowd to resume their frantic search, all the while dreading the consequences if they returned empty-handed.