Chapter Thirty-Three: A Tongue Sharp as a Blade

Awakened in the middle of the night by the clamor of hurried footsteps outside, Xu You opened his eyes and listened intently. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. So these fools have only now realized something is amiss?

Qiufen entered, hastily throwing on a robe, her expression tinged with alarm. “My lord, I don’t know what’s happening outside, but there are so many people about!”

“Perhaps the night air was too cold and someone’s taken ill. Let’s hope nothing untoward has happened,” Xu You replied, the blessing devoid of sincerity. He sat up and asked, “Did their commotion disturb your rest?”

“Mmm…” Qiufen had clearly slept poorly—her face looked drawn and weary. She knelt beside the bed, carefully tucking the bedding around him, then tilted her head up with a childlike pout. “Young master, I can’t fall back asleep!”

Xu You flung back the covers, hopped off the bed, and took her small hand, leading her outside. He chuckled, “Let’s see who dares disturb my Qiufen’s peaceful slumber?”

“Ah?” Qiufen’s lips parted in surprise as she stumbled after him. “Are we really going? But we’re only guests here; isn’t this improper…”

As they stepped out the side door, they crossed paths with a group hurrying down the corridor. By the steady glow of the lanterns burning through the night, Xu You instantly recognized the woman at the head: the blue-clad maidservant who had accompanied that noble lady he’d briefly met during the day.

“So late at night—may I ask what brings you all to the Elegant Pavilion?” Xu You stood there at leisure, a glint of mockery flickering in his eyes.

The blue-clad maid seemed surprised to see him; she paused, then strode over with a cold, impassive air. “This is the Yuan estate. We may go where we please, when we please. Outsiders are not entitled to question us.”

Xu You feigned astonishment. “I had heard that Lord Yuan governs his household with propriety, that all, from the highest to the lowest, are learned and courteous. I never expected to meet such a sharp-tongued little lady as yourself.”

To insult without vulgarity is the scholar’s art, and Xu You had mastered its subtleties. The maid’s almond-shaped eyes flashed as she retorted, “And what is propriety, pray tell? Do savages ignorant for three generations truly understand what it means to be learned and proper?”

At these words, Qiufen’s expression shifted at once, her hands clenching at her sides. She was not being oversensitive; that phrase was steeped in history.

Xu You’s great-grandfather—Xu Hu, famed for pacifying the southern provinces—once accompanied Emperor An Shiyu on an inspection of Stone City. A city guard, having drunk to excess the night before, disgraced himself before the emperor. General Shen Jing, then Champion General, drew his sword and beheaded the man in front of all present. The emperor, reflecting, said, “A gentleman demands of others only what he first demands of himself, and reproaches others only for faults he himself has overcome. To lack forgiveness in oneself yet preach it to others—such a thing has never been.” And he turned to Shen Jing, “Can you explain these words?”

These were lines from The Great Learning, their meaning straightforward: a gentleman should require virtues from others only if he possesses them himself, and criticize others’ faults only if he has transcended them himself. To lack forbearance yet instruct others is hypocrisy.

Shen Jing, sweating, dropped his bloodied sword and fell to his knees, unable to reply. The emperor then asked Xu Hu for his interpretation. Xu Hu answered calmly, “I hail from the rivers and lakes, and for three generations my family has been illiterate. All we have achieved is thanks to Your Majesty’s grace. Thus, I need not comprehend these sage doctrines—only that I serve loyally, with undivided heart and within my bounds. That is enough.”

The emperor laughed heartily, rewarded Xu Hu with a thousand gold pieces, and did not punish Shen Jing. But from that day, the Shen family of Wuxing regarded the Xu family of Yixing as a thorn in their side, bent on their destruction.

Thereafter, gossips would always add “illiterate for three generations” when mentioning the Xu clan—sometimes in harmless jest, sometimes in pointed mockery. Yet, because of the family’s power, no one dared say it to their faces.

“You—” Qiufen stepped forward, pointing furiously at the blue-clad maid. If not for concern that she might cause trouble for Xu You in the Yuan estate, she would have slapped the girl then and there.

The maid snorted dismissively, ignoring Qiufen, her gaze locked in open challenge on Xu You, as if intent on provoking him.

Xu You smiled faintly, drawing Qiufen back as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Why get angry? If a dog bites you, do you bite it back?”

His words amused her, and glancing at the fierce, belligerent maid, who truly resembled a vicious dog, Qiufen couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The anger in her heart melted away.

“I’ll answer your first question: what is propriety? ‘Propriety is the order of heaven, the righteousness of earth, and the conduct of the people.’” With hands clasped behind his back, Xu You stood tall, his handsome face impassive, as though stating something entirely unconnected to himself. “Since you claim to be learned and proper, and serve as the famed Lady Yuan’s close attendant, you must be well-versed in the Five Classics. Can you explain this saying to me?”

The maid froze. She did not even know the source of the phrase, much less its meaning. But if she failed to answer, she would make a fool of herself tonight. Her own embarrassment was one thing, but Xu You had dragged Lady Yuan Qingqi into the matter, and if word got out, it would stain her mistress’s reputation.

“Who told you I am Lady Yuan’s maid…”

Xu You regarded her as if she were an imbecile. “I thought you were clever, but it turns out you’re foolish. Everyone in this household knows who you are—shall I fetch Steward Feng to confirm it?”

“I, I…” The maid stammered, unable to utter a word. She had always prided herself on her wit and sharp tongue; few in the Yuan estate could best her. Never did she imagine that, faced with Xu You tonight, she would be routed so swiftly. In her desperation and anger, she blurted, “You aren’t worthy to mention Lady Yuan! The letter of annulment is written—you’re nothing but a ruined commoner now. What right have you to speak of her?”

“So you came prepared. If the Xu family still held power, I doubt you’d dare be so brazen. But in the end, you’re merely a girl who curries favor with the mighty. Why waste words on you?” Xu You shook his head, half-amused, then let his tone chill. “You’re just a servant; I don’t expect you’ve ever read the Zuo Zhuan. That quotation is from the twenty-fifth year of Duke Zhao in the Zuo Zhuan. If you don’t understand, go ask your mistress to explain it to you. She should teach you what true propriety means.”

The maid’s face burned with humiliation. For the first time in her life, she felt what it was to be cut to the quick by words as sharp as knives. Not daring to meet Xu You’s gaze, she rounded on her companions. “Why are you all standing there? Move!”

She swept past Xu You with head lowered, hurrying away. Behind her, several people supported Lushuang, who was dressed in ill-fitting clothes that revealed her smooth calves. Her face was ashen, her body trembling, eyes tightly shut—whether from true unconsciousness or sheer embarrassment at the prospect of facing Xu You, it was impossible to tell.

Seeing her in such a state, Xu You felt a pang of pity, but reminded himself that those who harm others are themselves harmed. This minor punishment was already more mercy than she deserved.

Xu You turned and took a few steps, then paused to look back. “Come on, are you reluctant to leave after witnessing such a spectacle?”

Qiufen, as if waking from a dream, hurried after him, peppering him with questions. “My lord, when did you ever read the Zuo Zhuan? I’ve been with you every day, and never once seen such a classic in your study…”

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t sleep? When we get back, I’ll find you a copy. You’re not allowed to sleep until you’ve finished it!”

“My lord, do I really have to read it…”

“Yes, you do!”

“All right… but can I read just a little each night, and finish it over thirty or fifty years?”

“You… you’ll die of laziness one of these days!”

The next morning, after breakfast with Qiufen, Feng Tong appeared at the Pavilion door, smiling. “My lord, did you sleep well last night?”

“Very well—wind in the bamboo, every sound a delight. Steward Feng, your arrangement was excellent; my thanks!”

“I’m glad to hear it, truly glad.” Feng Tong showed no sign of knowing what had transpired the night before. Since he did not mention it, Xu You was content to play the fool. He instructed Qiufen to stay in the room and accompanied Feng Tong to see Yuan Jie.

“Seventh young lord, come and look at this ‘Record of the Xi Hai Pavilion!’”

As Xu You entered, Yuan Jie beckoned him over excitedly. On the desk was spread a long sheet of silken paper, covered in flowing cursive script—lines as endless as a mountain stream, as lively as an ape drinking from a spring, each stroke interlocking with the next. Xu You exclaimed in admiration, “What a superb flying-white style!”

Yuan Jie laughed. “You have a discerning eye. A’Yuan has practiced calligraphy since childhood, learning from many masters, but only Zhang Zhi’s one-stroke style has she truly mastered, capturing seven-tenths of his spirit.”

Zhang Zhi, a Han dynasty figure, was famed for practicing calligraphy by the pond so diligently that the water turned black with ink. Calligraphy thus became known as “practicing by the pond,” and his style as the “one-stroke script.”

So these were Yuan Qingqi’s characters. Xu You’s heart stirred as he bent closer. They say one’s writing reveals one’s character, and upon closer inspection, her brushwork—though bold and free—was tinged with restraint, and within that restraint, a subtle air of ethereal detachment. She had captured the sinewy strength of Zhang Zhi’s style, yet her lines betrayed hesitation and lingering attachment.

She was a person of contradictions, complexity, even loneliness. There must be some great trouble weighing on her mind, haunting her day and night, and naturally it surfaced in her writing.

Yet Yuan Qingqi was born into fortune and fame, gifted and renowned throughout the land. What trouble could possibly be beyond her power to resolve? Once, Xu You might have thought it was the matter of their betrothal, but the letter of annulment was written—their ties severed. Yet the heaviness remained in her script; it must be something else that troubled her.

But whatever it was, Xu You’s impression of Yuan Qingqi had plummeted after last night’s events. All he wanted was to wrap up this business quickly and depart for Yangzhou, pockets full of gold.

“Seventh young lord? Seventh young lord?”

“Oh—” Xu You said sheepishly, “At first glance, these characters conjure an image of Lady Yuan’s peerless grace, and I was momentarily entranced. Forgive me.”

Yuan Jie waved it off, a hint of pride in his eyes. “No need for false modesty. A’Yuan’s calligraphy has its merits, but she is still far behind you.”

Xu You immediately understood that Yuan Jie was competitive by nature. Yesterday, he had seen Xu You write the letter of annulment without hesitation for the sake of money; today, he was showing off Yuan Qingqi’s talent—though not with any intention of rescinding the annulment, but simply unwilling to admit defeat.

Xu You had no desire to bicker with an old man. Smiling, he turned his attention to the essay, reading softly:

“When wind and mist are cleared, the mountains blend with the sky; drifting along the current, free to wander east or west. The city of Jinling stretches for over a hundred li, yet within Lord Yuan’s estate alone are marvelous mountains and waters, unique under heaven. The waters are pure turquoise, unfathomably deep, where fish and tiny stones are visible without obstruction. Torrents rush like arrows, fierce waves like galloping horses. By the high mountains grow chill-clad trees, and there stands a pavilion called Xi Hai. Standing there, one hears springs striking stone, ringing clear and cold. Birds sing in harmony, their calls forming melodies. Cicadas trill without end, apes call without pause. Kites soar into the sky, gazing at peaks to calm their hearts; those entangled in worldly affairs, peering into the valleys, forget to return. The river is shaded overhead, dim even at midday; sparse branches cast flickering shadows, and at times the sun appears…”