Painted boats cruised the Qinhuai River, both banks ablaze with lights, and on Mid-Autumn night, Jiangning didn't close its city gates. The revelry and celebration would last all night, only dispersing at dawn the next day as the city's streets surged with crowds. Not long after dinner, people emerged from every household, flowing through streets and alleys toward the most prosperous areas centered around Confucius Temple¹and Mingyuan Tower. Flower lanterns wove through the roads like vast, unending streams of fire. Peddlers shouted loudly while dragon and lion dance troupes passed by with gongs and drums, and street performers gathered at corners. From brothels came ethereal songs enticing customers, and sometimes one could glimpse dances inside. People constantly went in and out—extraordinarily lively.

Slightly famous courtesans all had engagements tonight, though occasionally one could still find seats in the main halls. News constantly spread through the streets about which young master at which poetry gathering had produced which new work—this was one of tonight's main events. Then one could hear some famous courtesan in some brothel singing these poems, and then news would come of another fine work emerging at another poetry gathering. Talented scholars competed with each other while beautiful women adorned this talent with a layer of lovely crimson atmosphere. Most people admired the lanterns and watched the excitement, and in such an atmosphere, one could feel the lingering charm of Wei-Jin, the elegance of Tang—it was nothing more than this.

The way of poetry had flourished since Tang times and developed for several more centuries. Though Ning Yi would say things like "great talent or small talent is hard to say" when chatting with Old Qin, that was because their perspective no longer remained at ordinary levels. Actually, the country's upper echelons had already considered the fact that poetry was useless. What standards to use for selecting officials had been repeatedly weighed these past hundred years. The court examinations sometimes excluded poetry from selection criteria, sometimes included it again—constantly weighing, repeatedly changing.

However, even if the upper levels had such considerations, actually poetry's status had at least reached a glorious position in the overall situation. If you could truly write a good poem, you'd absolutely never lack respect and courtesy wherever you went—the atmosphere of refinement was an era's brand. Since Tang, the vast poetry culture had settled here into society's foundation, the most brilliant part of civilization's development history. Countless famous works and pieces like stars and sand highlighted the most important link in Han civilization.

In Jiangning city at this time, places like Wuyi Lane²and Confucius Temple were the liveliest, most prosperous commercial streets where merchants had set up display boards. Presentable poems from various poetry gatherings gradually collected here, and occasionally someone recited loudly. Some merchants arranged girls who could sing to perform a section while on the streets, in nearby teahouses and taverns, at various large and small gatherings, literary students swayed their heads evaluating excellent poems, assessing whose poems could be sung longest. Even illiterate common people could feel this artistic conception in such an atmosphere, evaluating and discussing with those nearby, catching some refined air.

Puyuan's six connected boats had long left the bank, slowly sailing along the river's most beautiful and lively section, though it wasn't closed off. Over ten small boats followed along the Qinhuai River's banks, occasionally ferrying people to the large boat, occasionally carrying people or poems out, like little fish accompanying a water palace. Those boarding would bring tonight's fine works up, also bringing stories and news—for instance, at some banquet a certain important figure announced betrothing his daughter to so-and-so, or which famous person praised a young scholar's excellent poetry.

Puyuan Poetry Gathering's poems were actually presentable—in earlier years there had been incidents of buying poems to cope with this day, but now there was no need to buy poems. Since they had money, they could always invite several truly talented people over, and though still not comparable to the most famous Zhishui Poetry Gathering or Lichuan Poetry Gathering³, after some lively promotion, their reputation would slowly rise.

Mid-Autumn Festival poetry gatherings mostly took the moon as theme, but naturally wouldn't write about the moon all night. Some poetry gatherings had restrictions. Where hosts were relatively forceful, when everyone chatted happily and felt inspired to set a topic... Poetry gatherings were literati societies, and some were quite confrontational or secretly competitive, like Zhishui and Lichuan. Hearing the topic from over there, someone might say: "Speaking of this, this student happened to obtain a verse..." Then with calm expression evaluate it with everyone. On the surface, naturally one mustn't show a competitive heart, though if poetry truly reached very high standards, one indeed couldn't distinguish superiority. But if the difference was great, then fine works and poor works were still obvious at a glance.

This wasn't yet the most heated time, as poetry gatherings would run until dawn. Truly good poems couldn't really be obtained by fortunate accident, and each student would mostly prepare one or two proud works. Those feeling their talent insufficient, with no need to embarrass themselves before top figures, would release early. The climax that made the truly top talented scholars release their trump cards often wouldn't begin until midnight. If one could gain good reputation at tonight's moment and accumulate fame, future official careers could proceed much more smoothly.

Night continuously deepened in this atmosphere as the moon reached mid-sky and the city's atmosphere kept growing more heated. In the Su family's small courtyard, Ning Yi and Xiao Chan had already returned to the room. They'd already watched some of the excitement visible from here, and wind had started outside.

The outer clamor still vaguely reached here, and master and servant had essentially opened a small Mid-Autumn party. Since he couldn't clearly remember Story of the Western Chamber's details, and considering Western Chamber taught young ladies to have affairs, Ning Yi ultimately told Xiao Chan a section of Journey to the West instead. Then Xiao Chan also sang him two ditties, mixed with the young girl's not-very-practiced dancing—reportedly seen at some performance and self-taught. Su Tan'er hadn't considered sending the three girls away or using them to please others in the future, so she had the three girls learn reading, embroidery, and helping manage servants to assist her work, but hadn't taught them instruments or dance. So while they could barely sing, they couldn't dance—though when performed it still appeared light and lovely.

Xiao Chan liked playing Five-in-a-Row, but Ning Yi was sick after all, so such mental labor should be avoided. After Xiao Chan finished singing and dancing, Ning Yi performed a simple magic trick for her—making a game piece disappear in his hand then producing it from her hair or pocket. The little girl watched with startled exclamations. Ning Yi smiled and told her the principle. While Xiao Chan clumsily repeated the process, Ning Yi then said: "I'm going to sleep. It's still early—Xiao Chan, you go play at the Puyuan Poetry Gathering... Oh right, the invitation is on the table..."

"I'll go after Young Master falls asleep," Xiao Chan said smiling.

"Heh, then how about singing me another song?"

"Alright, which would Young Master like to hear?"

Songs at this time were actually mostly poems. Tune patterns had fixed singing methods, though by modern times these singing methods were lost. Xiao Chan actually didn't know many tune-poems. The two took a poetry anthology and selected songs by the bedside.

"Ode to the Fisherman..."

"Xiao Chan doesn't know this one."

"How about this Remembering Jiangnan?"

"I can sing this one." Xiao Chan prepared to sing excitedly.

"Forget it, I don't like this one."

"Does Young Master want to hear Nian Nu Jiao?"

"This Water Melody Prelude is quite good, uh... Water Melody Prelude..."

"I know this one, I know this one."

"You can sing Water Melody Prelude?" Ning Yi thought. "Oh, Xiao Chan knows quite a lot."

"Shall I sing this one?"

"Uh... better sing another one, also Water Melody Prelude..."

Ning Yi was bored and actually remembered the song "When Will the Moon Be Round," though Su Shi⁴of this era apparently hadn't written it yet. He had Xiao Chan bring paper and brush, leaning on the bedside to crookedly write the poem on rice paper for Xiao Chan to sing. Xiao Chan watched with shining eyes: "Did Young Master write this?"

"Oh." Ning Yi thought, seeing Xiao Chan's expectant face, and shrugged. "I wrote it. It's yours. Quick, sing it."

Xiao Chan looked at the lyrics for a while, then seriously sang according to the tune pattern's rhythm. The little girl's singing was light and graceful. Though not very professional, being too serious, she actually went off-key once midway, but the artistic conception was still wonderful. After listening, Ning Yi smiled: "I'll teach you another singing method."

"Ah?" Xiao Chan blinked. "Another... singing method?"

"Mm, I'll sing a line, you sing a line. Should be easy to learn... Heh, mainly I want to hear it."

Though somewhat puzzled, since she could learn something, Xiao Chan immediately became happy. She'd accompanied Ning Yi the longest, so had gradually understood this Young Master often had mysterious and interesting aspects. Then under Ning Yi's guidance, in the room, Xiao Chan learned this Water Melody Prelude line by line following that novel melody.

"When did the bright moon first appear? One raises a cup and asks the blue sky..."

"When did the bright moon first appear? One raises a cup and asks the blue sky..."

"One does not know, in the celestial palaces..."

"One does not know, in the celestial palaces..."

"Mm, not bad... what year it is this evening."

"Mm, not bad... what year it is this evening."

"..."

"Hee, Young Master sing the next line..."

No matter what, not long after, Ning Yi still heard somewhat nostalgic modern songs in this era. Later if possible, he could copy down modern songs to teach Xiao Chan alone, or afterward find someone who could compose and play instruments to compose similar tunes. Anyway, just for private listening—if it couldn't be presented publicly or graced elegant halls, so what.

"How is it? Does it sound good?"

"Very nice..." Though tune patterns had fixed singing methods, these ancient songs shared origins with many operas, mostly monophonic music. In terms of graceful variation, they ultimately couldn't compare to modern songs. Moreover, this song's rhythm took a gentle route, not excessively outrageous relative to this era. If he sang "Mouse Loves Rice" at this time, Xiao Chan would probably either die of disgust or fright. But now the little girl's gaze at him had clearly become admiration and reverence. "Young Master can also compose music..."

Ning Yi laughed: "Just hum this song to yourself. Don't sing it everywhere. You're a little girl—if you dare randomly change tune pattern singing methods, who knows, people might say you don't understand propriety. Understand?"

"Mm." Xiao Chan held that rice paper, nodding forcefully.

"Alright... good night." Ning Yi crawled into the bedding. After a moment he turned his head to find Xiao Chan still sitting on the stool by the bed watching him, like when he had a cold a few days ago sitting by the bed keeping watch. He waved his hand: "I'm fine. Go out." Only then did Xiao Chan react, quickly standing up to walk out.

"Hey, take the invitation on the table. Otherwise be careful they won't let you on the boat..."

After calling out, waiting for Xiao Chan to extinguish the lights, take the invitation, go out and close the door, Ning Yi then yawned greatly as the city's clamor still vaguely reached here. The slight glow reflected on the windows sufficiently proved the current liveliness outside as he smiled: "A night of fish and dragon dances..." and rolled into sleep.

Xiao Chan stood in a daze leaning against the room's wooden pillar for quite a while, and only after confirming Ning Yi had truly fallen asleep did she go downstairs, return to her own room and light a lamp. Taking out brush, ink, paper and inkstone, she lay on her table and copied again those lyrics whose characters appeared unbeautiful because they were written bedside. The little girl's brush characters were very small with a graceful spirit, and she looked at Ning Yi's writing several more times before blushing and hiding it in the bottom of her drawer, just like a thief.

Then she walked out of the courtyard and, seeing no one on the road, jogged all the way toward the main gate. Getting a carriage and an available driver from the steward, she happily went to join the excitement at the Puyuan Poetry Gathering.

Little girls, after all, still very much liked such liveliness.

(End of Chapter)