Dou Zhao’s brazen decision to enlist Song Yan as a scribe left Ji Yong and He Yu dumbfounded.
“What’s the problem?” Dou Zhao asked nonchalantly, ignoring their reactions. “It’s all ghostwriting anyway, so what difference does it make who does it? Besides, Song Yan’s handwriting is much better than mine.”
Thrilled at the opportunity to assist the brilliant young scholar Ji Jianming in writing Spring Festival couplets, Song Yan’s face flushed with excitement. Upon hearing Dou Zhao’s words, he cast her a grateful glance and eagerly exclaimed, “Mr. Ji, while my calligraphy may not be as good as Fourth Miss claims, I assure you I’ll write with utmost diligence…”
Unexpectedly, Ji Yong retorted bluntly, “If your writing isn’t as good as Fourth Miss says, what qualifies you to write couplets for me?”
Song Yan froze, utterly mortified.
Dou Zhao’s face paled with anger. She sneered, “He was just being modest and polite. You didn’t have to take it so literally.” Turning to Song Yan, she said, “Since Mr. Ji doesn’t need assistance here, let’s head back!”
He Yu stood by, smiling with narrowed eyes.
Ji Yong’s face immediately turned ashen. He called out to Song Yan, “Wait! Write a couple of characters for me to see!”
Song Yan glanced hesitantly between Dou Zhao and Ji Yong, clearly conflicted.
Dou Zhao inwardly sighed.
A scholar meeting a successful candidate was like a son meeting his father, let alone Song Yan who held no academic title. She had brought him here; she couldn’t just abandon him now.
Smiling at Song Yan, Dou Zhao encouraged, “Go ahead and write a few characters for Mr. Ji to see.” Then, feigning competitiveness, she added, “Don’t let Mr. Ji look down on us!” Her words deftly diffused the earlier awkwardness.
He Yu’s eyes brightened with interest.
Song Yan repeatedly agreed, approaching the writing desk with trepidation.
Ji Yong watched, his expression softening slightly as he followed.
As soon as Song Yan picked up the brush, he transformed. A look of determination crossed his face as he began writing with steady, powerful strokes. His formal Yan-style script was dignified and correct, demonstrating considerable skill. Even Ji Yong let out a surprised “Oh!”, setting aside his earlier disdain to observe more seriously.
He Yu glanced at Dou Zhao before moving closer to watch as well.
Dou Zhao shot Ji Yong a mocking look.
Setting down the brush, Song Yan respectfully stepped aside, inviting Ji Yong’s critique.
Standing in place with his hands behind his back, Ji Yong cast a casual glance at the desk and asked, “Can you compose matching couplets?”
His demeanor was solemn, his tone aloof, exuding the superiority of a distinguished scholar. For the first time, Dou Zhao saw glimpses of the proud young man who had earned the title of Juren.
“Please instruct me, sir!” Song Yan replied anxiously, bracing himself.
Ji Yong proclaimed loudly, “Cold winter, plum bones proud.”
Everyone in the courtyard widened their eyes.
Such a… trite couplet?
He Yu let out a soft chuckle. “How about matching it with ‘Snow gone, horse hooves light’?” A hint of mockery flashed in his eyes.
Ji Yong shot He Yu a cold glance.
He Yu raised an eyebrow, unfazed.
Song Yan, however, lowered his head in deep contemplation.
Dou Zhao also found herself pondering intently.
What was Ji Yong’s true intention?
He shouldn’t have posed such a simple couplet.
What response would satisfy him?
“Warm breeze, grass heart fragrant?”
That seemed too simplistic.
As Dou Zhao speculated, Song Yan nervously offered his response: “Warm spring, all things revive.”
“That’ll do!” Ji Yong declared. “You can use this desk. Once you’ve written two hundred pairs of couplets, you’re finished.”
Song Yan exhaled deeply, his face beaming with joy as he responded, “Yes, sir!” He hurried to the desk to begin cutting paper, as if fearing any delay might cost him this opportunity.
Dou Zhao smiled wryly.
He Yu, however, asked in bewilderment, “Isn’t that couplet a bit too plain?”
Ji Yong retorted sharply, “This isn’t a poetry competition at the imperial court. If I used phrases like ‘Confucius, Mencius, Laozi,’ would these people understand? For the streets and alleys during the New Year, auspicious and festive sentiments suffice.”
He Yu’s face reddened slightly.
Song Yan nodded repeatedly, clearly elated at having correctly guessed Ji Yong’s intentions.
Ji Yong seized the moment to lecture, “Why do many who write flowery essays often fail in examinations? It’s because they don’t understand what the chief examiner is truly testing. Asked to write 800 characters, they insist on writing 8,000. Even if every word is a pearl, what’s the use? That’s why composing eight-legged essays is the easiest thing in the world. Follow the formula, and you can’t go wrong.” His tone was exceedingly arrogant.
He Yu looked embarrassed.
Song Yan, on the other hand, was utterly amazed, his eyes shining with undisguised admiration for Ji Yong.
Seeing her presence was no longer needed, Dou Zhao bid farewell to Ji Yong and He Yu, intending to visit Mrs. Ji. After a few steps, she noticed the window of the east study slightly ajar, with Dou Dechang beckoning to her from behind it.
Maintaining her composure, she entered the study.
Dou Dechang, sprawled in his chair, said, “Fourth Sister, you’re usually so astute. How did Ji Jianming trick you into coming here too? If you hadn’t brought Song Yan to help, I would’ve had to go out there and write couplets for him myself.”
“What has Mr. Ji done now?” Dou Zhao teased. “Why does everyone seem so eager to avoid him?”