A group of six or seven handsome young men surrounded four carriages as they made their way down the street, drawing much attention.
As the New Year approached, more and more people ventured out, especially the ladies of affluent families.
Even amidst the crowded streets, the Chen family entourage turned heads wherever they went.
The youths, brimming with vitality, cleared the way ahead and guarded from behind. From time to time, the fluttering curtains of the carriages revealed the sounds of ladies’ laughter and chatter, accompanied by glimpses of glinting golden hairpins and jade ornaments.
Pedestrians on the street made way for them.
“It’s not yet the season of snow and blooming plum blossoms. Why is the entire Chen family out and about?” someone by the roadside asked curiously.
When officials and wealthy families went out, their carriages and horses often bore insignias to avoid unnecessary trouble caused by those who didn’t know better.
Ordinary folks might not recognize them, but affluent families, educated individuals, social climbers, or even street ruffians who thrived on stirring up trouble were all well-acquainted with such marks.
It didn’t take long for the Chen family’s entourage to be identified.
Traffic on the road quickly made way for them.
“Could it be for the yellow sparrows?” someone remarked with a deadpan expression.
The crowd burst into laughter at the comment.
The Chen family’s exceptional preparation of yellow sparrows had become widely known throughout the capital.
Traditionally considered a wild game for rustic folk to satisfy their craving for meat, yellow sparrow had never graced the tables of the refined elite. However, since word spread that the Chen family made an exceptional version, restaurants across the city began imitating the dish—but it failed to stand out.
Those who had tasted the Chen family’s yellow sparrow claimed there was a secret recipe, which only fueled public curiosity further.
The reputation of Master Chen grew even more prominent.
It was rumored that a restaurant had offered a thousand taels of silver to purchase the secret recipe for the Chen family’s yellow sparrow.
The joke was both timely and amusing, causing even Young Master Qin in the crowd to laugh out loud. He turned to look at Zhou Liu-lang.
“Your cousin is really something,” he remarked.
Zhou Liu-lang’s smiling face instantly fell.
“Of course she’s on your mind,” he said coldly. “It’s fine since I’m the one who heard it, but if someone else overheard, what would you do then?”
Young Master Qin merely chuckled.
“I’d handle it as it comes,” he replied with a laugh. “What a pity, though. Your Old Shan Zhou title could have changed to Sparrow Zhou, but the Chen family beat you to it.”
Zhou Liu-lang frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, spurring his horse forward.
Young Master Qin urged his horse to catch up.
“Do you really think Sparrow Chen surname is actually Chen?” he said, flicking his reins. “Of all times to start eating sparrows, it just happens to coincide with your cousin joining the household. Don’t forget the little fried-snack girl you snatched up.”
Little fried-snack girl…
Fried snacks…
It was Miss who taught me, Miss taught me…
It was made by Miss, earned by Miss treating patients, spoken as Miss taught me…
Her again!
Zhou Liu-lang’s expression hardened, his grip tightening on the horsewhip. Clearly, the same thoughts had crossed his mind.
“Such gluttony!” he muttered slowly.
“Such ingenuity,” Young Master Qin added, “No matter where she is, she remains at ease, turning even the simplest thing into something extraordinary, a masterstroke that brings everything to life.”
Zhou Liu-lang turned to look at him.
Young Master Qin raised a brow and nodded.
“Exactly. That’s what makes her so remarkable,” he said with a smile. “Having such a sister should fill you with pride.”
Zhou Liu-lang turned his horse around.
“Forget plum blossoms. What’s there to see in dead trees and old branches? Women like that sort of thing. I’ll head to the mountains to hunt.”
With that, he spurred his horse forward and rode off.
In the outskirts of the capital, at Bali Town, stood Qieting Temple, which was now bustling with visitors. Laughter and lively chatter filled the air.
“…So the immortal tossed down a peach pit and flew away. Only then did the crowd realize what had happened and hurriedly called out, ‘Wait, wait!’ But it was already too late…” a young gentleman recounted with a laugh. “And so, only this Qieting Temple was left behind.”
The ladies gathered around him nodded and laughed in agreement.
“Fourth Brother, your story is dull,” another young man interjected. “This Qieting Temple came after the stele, not the other way around. And this stele has quite the tale behind it… this stele…” He trailed off, glancing at his siblings, suddenly stopping mid-sentence.
“Where’s Lady Cheng?” he asked, looking around.
Only then did everyone notice that the young lady in the green cloak and hood was nowhere to be seen.
“They went over there to look at the Buddha statues with Dan-niang,” one of the young ladies said.
The boys immediately turned their heads to look in the direction she pointed.
“Let’s go too, let’s go too,” they said in unison.
A few of the girls reached out to hold them back.
“Twelfth Brother, you haven’t finished your story yet!” they called.
“There’s nothing more to tell,” one of the boys replied. “Everyone in the capital knows these stories. You can ask anyone and they’ll tell you.”
This remark drew playful boos from the girls, followed by bursts of laughter and teasing, their cheerful commotion attracting the attention of many onlookers nearby.
In the west side hall, much of the courtyard’s liveliness was muffled.
“Sister, come look! The Buddha statues here are so scary!” Dan-niang said excitedly, trotting ahead with a skip in her step.
Behind her, Cheng Jiao-niang walked at a leisurely pace, accompanied by her maid.
There were four or five other people in the side hall. Hearing the commotion, they glanced over. Upon seeing it was ladies, they politely averted their gaze.
In the capital, where society was open-minded, and with the New Year approaching, ladies’ outings had become common. In summer, they used veils to conceal themselves, but in winter, hoods were more popular.
Dan-niang was fully engrossed in admiring the Buddha statues, but Cheng Jiao-niang’s attention was drawn to the west wall.
Unlike the other halls, where guardian deities stood vigil along the walls, this wall was bare, a blank expanse of white. In the corner, there was even a row of brushes and inkstones neatly arranged.
“That’s for scholars and travelers to compose poems,” the maid whispered softly.
As she spoke, a burst of laughter came from the group of four or five people nearby.
“Excellent poem, Qinglin, excellent!”
Amid the laughter, a man set down his brush and once again admired the poem he had written on the wall.
“Just a humble effort,” he said modestly.
The exchange of compliments and humility blended harmoniously.
The lively scene caught Dan-niang’s attention, and when she saw Cheng Jiao-niang and the maid walking toward the wall, she quickly followed.
As they approached, they could see several scattered poems and verses inscribed on the white wall.
“Sister, are you going to compose a poem too?” Dan-niang asked as she walked over, tugging on Cheng Jiao-niang’s sleeve.
The group of men laughing and chatting nearby turned to look again. Though they couldn’t clearly see her features, the lady’s bearing and fine attire marked her as someone from a wealthy family.
It wasn’t uncommon for affluent families to educate their daughters in reading and writing, and some were even well-versed in poetry and literature. For example, the second daughter of the Li family from An-zhou was famed for her literary talent.
Encountering a lady skilled in poetry could indeed be quite intriguing.
“I don’t know how to,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, glancing at her maid. “Read it.”
The maid immediately responded, and from left to right, she quietly read aloud the poem on the wall.
It turned out she couldn’t read.
The group of people nearby turned their attention away, their interest waning, clearly disappointed. What a pity.
As it was said, one couldn’t easily encounter a talented lady.
“I recognize it too, I recognize it too!” Dan-niang laughed, eagerly taking over the maid’s role and reciting the poem aloud.
Cheng Jiao-niang listened quietly.
“Miss, what do you think?” the maid asked.
“I can’t compose poems, so I don’t know,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“I can, I can! Grandpa taught me!” Dan-niang said, holding her face with her hands and giggling, her gaze falling on the wall with many blank spaces.
During the New Year, when the plum blossoms at Qieting Temple were in full bloom, it was the busiest time, and also when the most scholars and literati gathered. The walls had just been freshly painted, waiting for that time—after the New Year, the wall would surely be filled with writing.
“Very well, I can write. You compose the poem, and I’ll inscribe it. How about that?” Cheng Jiao-niang said, looking at the pale pink wall, feeling a stir in her heart.
She had been practicing calligraphy with her hands and a tree branch for some time. Could she possibly pick up the brush and write now?
“Good, good!” Dan-niang eagerly nodded.
With innocent joy, she only knew how to express her feelings openly, still unaware of the concepts of modesty or hiding one’s shortcomings.
It turned out to be a playful act to entertain the mischievous children. The group of men exchanged amused glances and laughed.
“Then let’s go admire the plum blossoms,” they said, and while chatting and laughing, they exited through the back door.
