Chapter Fifty-Three: Somewhere in the World, Flowers Still Bloom

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"The wife's words grow bitter by the day, the husband's words ever harsher."
"The wife sighs for the husband's fortune, the husband for the wife's hardship."
"The lord lacks a retinue, the lord ends up with a retinue."
...
"Hahaha, splendid verse, splendid indeed! Such literary brilliance is surely a model for our kind!"
"Who else but a scion of the Cai family could compose such extraordinary poetry!"
"Indeed, with this poem revealed, we all must admit our talents pale in comparison!"

These fawning greetings delighted the poet immensely.

"Not at all, not at all," the slick, powdered scholar waved his palm-leaf fan, his sly eyes glancing about with a smug smile. He shook his fan with exaggerated grace, basking in the praise, laughing heartily.

This was Cai Ding, cousin to Cai Mao, son of Cai He.

Now that Sun Jian governed Xiangyang, he relied heavily on the strength of the local gentry. As the most powerful clan in Xiangyang, Sun Jian naturally depended upon them in many ways.

Jiang Wen, however, shook his head in secret. The Cai family patriarch had only just passed, and the descendants should observe three years of mourning, yet this Cai Ding spent his days chasing pleasure—a true wastrel!

Xiao Shu and Diao Chan shook their heads in disappointment. Xiao Shu let her face fall slightly and remarked, "Miss, this so-called Cai He—he writes the same poem over and over, truly disgusting."

"Men of such talent as the master are rare indeed," she continued. "The master is so brilliant, and you, miss, are as beautiful as a celestial maiden—a match made in heaven that should inspire envy. Why must you be a concubine?"

Diao Chan merely smiled softly and said nothing.

"The fading petals, the green apricot small."

Diao Chan’s expression shifted, and Xiao Shu fell silent to listen.

In the dining hall below, Jiang Wen suddenly recited a poem, silencing everyone. Scholars held literature in the highest regard, and when someone composed poetry, none dared make noise.

Jiang Wen stood up and continued, "When swallows fly, green waters encircle homes."

"The willow down on the branches is blown ever thinner."

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"Where in the world is there not fragrant grass?"

Jiang Wen walked to the center of the hall, directly facing Diao Chan’s chamber.

"Within the wall, a swing; outside, a path."
"Outside, the traveler; within, the beauty’s laughter."
"The laughter fades, the voices dwindle."
"The passionate are vexed by the indifferent."

"Excellent poem! Excellent poem!" The scholars were moved, their praise genuine and heartfelt—so different from the flattery that followed Cai Ding. Especially the line, "Where in the world is there not fragrant grass," which struck a chord deep within.

Cai Ding examined Jiang Wen carefully and nodded with confidence, "Not as handsome as I, but what use is greater talent?"

The other scholars approached Jiang Wen, saluted, and asked, "May we know your name, sir?"

Jiang Wen returned the gesture and replied, "I possess some learning and insight, but am unworthy of the title 'sir.' Moreover, I cherish poetry and books, preferring solitude over socializing."

"This..."

Jiang Wen’s words left the scholars speechless, dashing any hope of forming an acquaintance.

The door to the guestroom opened, and two young women descended the wooden stairs. Those who had hoped to befriend Jiang Wen now turned their gaze instantly to the two ladies.

"That must be Diao Chan!"
"Rumor has it her beauty can topple kingdoms, but now she wears a veil—how can we truly see her?"
"Such rare beauty—I’ve heard both the General of the Cavalry and the former General were bewitched by her!"

One young noble clicked his tongue in disbelief, slightly amazed. "Both men bewitched? Impossible!"

The one he contradicted scoffed, "If you don’t believe it, why come at all?!"

"I just heard others speak of her as if she were a goddess—I wanted to see for myself."

Despite the murmuring, Diao Chan paid no heed. Xiao Shu, however, wore an expression of pride and disdain for the crowd, feeling proud of her mistress’s beauty. After all, it is only natural for a servant to glory in her master.

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Diao Chan bowed to the nearby noble sons and said, "May I ask which gentleman composed the poem? I wish to meet him."

The noble sons glanced at one another, momentarily tongue-tied. The beauty had left her chamber, and all wished to glimpse her face, but her attention was fixed on the poet.

As the saying goes, one’s words and actions reveal their character; likewise, a poem shows talent. All present knew that none could match the poet’s skill.

Yet, everyone had come for Diao Chan, and now, seeing such unrivaled beauty, they felt a pang that she was not speaking to them.

Her bright eyes swept the crowd, and though none had met Diao Chan before, each noble straightened his posture, tossed his hair, and tidied his coiffure.

Diao Chan and Xiao Shu looked at the scholar not far ahead. "Was it you who composed the poem, sir?"

"I am Jiang Wen, styled Changsu. Greetings, lady." Jiang Wen bowed to Diao Chan.

Diao Chan returned the gesture, while Xiao Shu sized him up carefully. Diao Chan said, "This inn is full of refined, talented gentlemen. Each day, I hear poems expressing lofty ideals or admiration for beauty. Yet your poem, sir, is not about love for beauty, but rather has a note of sorrow and indignation. May I ask why?"

"Do you find fault with me, sir?" Diao Chan’s smile was alluring, her voice captivating.

"Is he the master?!" Xiao Shu’s eyes widened, then she smiled at Jiang Wen. Handsome and talented—who wouldn't be drawn to such a man? She had imagined that the trusted minister of the current Chancellor, who used her mistress as an agent, would be an old man.

Jiang Wen glanced around, found the place noisy, and said to Diao Chan, "This is not the place to speak, lady. May I invite you elsewhere?"

"Xiao Shu, prepare a carriage for the master."

Diao Chan and Jiang Wen left the inn, leaving the noble sons dumbfounded. After all their longing, she had been whisked away by a single poem?

Watching Diao Chan depart, Cai Ding’s friends teased, "Yi Ju, didn’t you say Diao Chan was destined for you? She’s gone, why not speak up?"

Cai Ding glared fiercely, his friends puzzled by his silence, but Cai Ding dared not utter a word. He had never met the current Director of the Sacrificial Wine, but at least knew his name.

When Jiang Wen revealed his identity, Cai Ding’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly found a place to hide. After all, drunken boasts in the inn—claiming to be Diao Chan’s fated husband—were best kept private. If the real man heard them, it would spell disaster.

Jiang Wen advised his uncle, forcing the Chancellor to kill his own son. Even his uncle feared the Director, let alone Cai Ding himself.

ps: Work has kept me busy lately, but it's finally over. Updates resume tomorrow, two chapters a day. It’s rare for an author to break off like this—my apologies, please vote for me.

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