Chapter Twenty-Six: Consort Shen of Song

Zhan Wenjun’s autumn-like, clear eyes fluttered gently, as if a small pebble had been dropped into a tranquil pool, sending ripples across the surface. She said, “Oh, it seems Sir He knows many things, offering guidance to the world with such elegance. You must not be a man of unknown origin. Yet, I cannot recall any noble family with the surname He in Jingkou—or perhaps it is simply my own ignorance…”

He Ru’s expression settled into calmness; his eyelids lowered as he replied, “I am of a humble, obscure lineage. Madam Guo, it is no surprise you have not heard of us. Besides, the affairs of the world are open to all; one only needs to pay attention and expend some effort. It matters little whether one belongs to a noble house or not.”

Zhan Wenjun smiled, then asked Xu You about his journey, about things seen and amusing happenings along the way. She was particularly impressed to hear that Zuo Wen, formerly a military officer in Yuan Jie’s household, had willingly accompanied Xu You on the arduous journey to Qiantang after leaving his post. As they spoke, the maid who had earlier been sent away to investigate the events at the Guest Pavilion pushed open the side door and entered, approaching Qianqin and whispering her report. Qianqin nodded, her jade-like countenance tinged with a trace of cold severity. She turned to Zhan Wenjun and said, “Lady, it is true. Zhan Ting and Dou Qi are secretly meeting in the room. They claim that the venison taken from the divine stag by Du Jingzhi has been stolen, and since the thief cannot be found, the Guest Pavilion must compensate Dou Qi for all losses—regardless of cost, pledging the reputation and integrity of the Zhan clan.”

Zhan Wenjun sighed, “Zhan Ting is foolish. No matter what, the Zhan clan is his foundation. To conspire with outsiders and betray his own kin—if this were to be known, how could he walk among men in the future…”

Qianqin spoke swiftly, rattling her words like beans in a bamboo tube, “I don’t think so. That one is calculating. Who can say the true value of the divine stag’s meat? It could be worth a thousand gold, or ten thousand. If the entire Zhan clan were ruined over this, outsiders might even praise Zhan for his uncompromising integrity, sacrificing his house to uphold faith, a model for all generations. Who would know he’s just an ungrateful dog that can’t be tamed…”

The sharpness of a woman’s sarcasm, it seemed, surpassed that of any man. Xu You couldn’t help but glance sideways—this Qianqin had a passable appearance, but her words came fast and sharp, full of acerbic wit. She was clearly not someone to be trifled with.

Zhan Wenjun gently admonished, “We have distinguished guests present; do not gossip.”

“Hmph, Lady, this is not gossip. Zhan Gong found him on a snowy night and, fearing he would face scorn as he grew older, pretended he was born of a maid, thus giving him a respectable name and saving him from servitude. In the last years before Zhan Gong’s death, he entrusted him with the management of the Guest Pavilion and other family businesses, all out of trust. Without Lady’s support, his meager talents would have ruined the family long ago! Now, having attached himself to Du Jingzhi, he dares to turn on his benefactor—how can one not be angry?”

“Qianqin!”

“Lady, I am not alarmist. In the Spring and Autumn period, Menzi Liang of Chu ignored his brother’s advice, which later brought disaster upon his son Zi Yue and the entire clan. We must heed past lessons…”

Zhan Wenjun’s expression darkened; Qianqin was revealing family secrets without restraint, and she grew displeased. Seeing her anger, Qianqin obediently fell silent and stepped back, saying no more.

“Please do not take Qianqin’s words too seriously, nor repeat them outside. Wenjun thanks you all in advance.”

Xu You, surprised by the scandalous revelations, replied, “Lady, rest assured. We are not gossip-mongers; nothing said here shall leave this room.”

A mere maid, quoting the Classic of Zuo so fluently—it was impressive, almost embarrassing. Reflecting on the staff of the Guest Pavilion, if Qianqin was right, Zhan Ting was but a figurehead, and the true master was this Zhan lady before him. Xu You could not help but feel curious about her.

Zhan Wenjun smiled softly; her beautiful features always made hearts race in unexpected moments. She tilted her head gracefully and said to He Ru, “Sir He, your words have been confirmed. Yet, with Zhan Ting backed by Du, and using the elusive divine stag as a pretext, the situation is thorny. I wonder what advice you might have—please guide me!”

“I said upon entering that I came precisely to resolve Madam Guo’s urgent dilemma. However,” He Ru opened his eyes and spoke each word with care, “by Madam Guo, I mean Guo Li’s wife, the fourth daughter of the Zhan clan.”

Zhan Wenjun was momentarily speechless, then replied, “Sir He, your words leave me quite baffled. If I am not the fourth daughter of the Zhan clan, then who am I? If I am not, why waste so many words with you gentlemen?”

Xu You was startled as well, but his composure was deep; he knew He Ru would not make baseless claims, and he himself was unfamiliar with Qiantang’s affairs, unable to discern truth from falsehood. So he left everything to He Ru, keeping a calm face and matching He Ru’s demeanor, appearing as if the two were of one mind, which subtly increased the pressure on the others.

He Ru recited, “Outside the flowers, the cuckoo cries; beneath the courtyard, spring sorrow deepens. Each morning, longing for the goddess; each night, yearning for the divine consort. This is the poem written by Lu Xu, famed as the greatest talent in the Three Wu, addressed to Madam Guo. Need I say who Madam Guo is?”

Divine consort?

Xu You vaguely recalled hearing that name before, but could not place it.

Zhan Wenjun countered, “Is Sir He suggesting that I do not resemble the Zhan fourth daughter who gave you a thousand coins the other night?”

“That night was moonless and dark. The fourth daughter wore a black veil—I did not see her face clearly.” The veil, a black gauze attached to the brim of a hat, was worn by women and, in the Northern and Southern Dynasties, even by men of noble families as a mark of status.

“Does my voice differ from hers?”

“She did not speak. Only her maid said a few words to clarify their identity, so I could not hear her voice.”

“Then Sir must have seen Song, the divine consort?”

“I have traveled to Qiantang several times, but Song is Guo Mian’s favored courtesan, not a guest of the Guo household, and is seldom seen.”

“Precisely. Having heard neither one’s voice nor seen either’s face, how can you claim I am Song, the divine consort, and not Zhan Wenjun?”

Song, the divine consort!

Xu You finally remembered: at the river crossing in Changhe, while waiting for inspection, he had heard locals gossip about Guo Mian of the golden banner ship, mentioning Song, the divine consort. Her celebrated song and the famous Xue Ni wine were Guo Mian’s treasures, and thus Guo Mian, Guo the dog-servant, had earned the nickname “Snow Mud and Soaring Swan”—though this elegant title was worlds apart from his actual demeanor.

He Ru’s gaze dropped to Zhan Wenjun’s hands. Her hands were exquisitely beautiful—white as jade, slender and graceful, with fingers long and perfectly proportioned, at what might be called the golden ratio, offering near-perfect aesthetic pleasure both visually and spiritually.

Yet Xu You, with his keen eye, found a tiny flaw—a barely noticeable chip at the tip of her left index finger. Judging by Zhan Wenjun’s attire, she did not seem overly concerned with outward appearance, but precisely because of that, her hands’ perfection highlighted that such a flaw must have arisen from unavoidable circumstances rather than mere carelessness.

Zhan Wenjun, seeing their gaze settle on her hands, did not appear embarrassed. Instead, she gracefully extended her hands, turning them back and forth, her eyes revealing sudden understanding. She said, “So Sir He and Sir Xu deduced my identity from my hands. How amusing that the divine consort thought herself clever, delighting in her supposed success all this time.”

Xu You silently praised her. She was truly remarkable—her masquerade earlier had been calm and natural, and now she admitted the truth with refreshing candor. Such poise and skill in dealing with others could hardly belong to a woman confined to the inner chambers like Zhan Wenjun.

“With the voice of the oriole and the color of the willow, one might hear swine instead of fish and mistake flute for zither, unable to distinguish clarity from muddiness.” He Ru said lightly, “Song, the divine consort, is famed in Qiantang for her zither and her astonishing song. If I could not recognize you, how could I dare boast of helping the fourth daughter of the Zhan clan with her dire troubles?”