In late March, the peony garden of the Imperial Tutor's Mansion was a dazzling spectacle. The emerald green of the "Drunken Yang Fei" was drenched in morning dew, its rouge-colored petals curling layer upon layer, painting the winding corridor like a splash-ink, richly colored silk painting. Chen Weiwan, clutching a piece of iced sour plum cake, hid behind a delicate Taihu stone, gazing at the dazzling mass of white in the flower hall ahead—Chen Ruorou had actually arrived. Her moon-white blouse, embroidered with a few half-dead plum blossoms, paired with her forcedly gentle smile, looked like a withered flower framed on rice paper.

"I heard the Second Young Lady is a vegetarian at Ciyun Temple, chanting Buddhist scriptures. How could she still be interested in attending a poetry gathering?" The daughter of the Minister of Personnel gently waved her round fan, the pearl tassels clacking against the jade armor. She deliberately stood in the sunlight, letting the gold-thread embroidered peony pattern sway before Shen Ruorou's eyes.

Shen Ruorou's fingertips suddenly dug into the soft satin handkerchief, her nails nearly piercing the lotus embroidery. When she lowered her eyelashes, they cast a trembling shadow under her eyes. When she raised them again, tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm just here to pay my respects to the Grand Tutor's wife on behalf of my sister. It happened to be a poetry gathering, so I just wanted to join in the fun." Before she finished her words, the corner of her eye accurately swept across the figure behind the rockery, and she suddenly raised her voice, "Speaking of which, how are you doing, sister? I heard that a few days ago..."

"Thanks to my cousin," Shen Weiwan suddenly said, the crumbs of sour plum cake sticking to the corners of her mouth, but she was completely unaware. "I eat well and sleep well, but I'm always woken up at night by the street kids' jingles - things like 'The second young lady has filthy hands, she stole the bracelet and hid it at the bottom of the box'. It's a headache."

These words, like an embroidery needle, pierced Shen Ruorou's sore spot. The surrounding noble ladies suddenly burst into muffled laughter. Some covered their mouths with round fans, their shoulders trembling like leaves in the autumn wind. The Grand Tutor's wife tapped the bronze incense burner on the table, the gilded winding branches making a dull sound under her fingertips. "Today's theme is 'Spring Dusk'. Ladies, please feel free to express yourself."

Shen Ruorou, as if granted amnesty, practically rushed forward and unfolded the wrinkled manuscript of her poem. She deliberately raised her chin, her white sleeves brushing across the desk, leaving behind a wisp of the scent of ink. "Then I'll present my new poem, titled 'Ode to the Late Spring': 'A few plum blossoms in the corner, blooming alone in the cold...'"

"Puff—" Shen Weiwan couldn't help herself, and the sour plum cake crumbs splashed onto the blue brick floor. She hurriedly covered her mouth with a handkerchief, but a cunning glint leaked out from between her fingers: "Cousin, wait a minute! I seem to have heard this poem somewhere before?"

The hall was suddenly so quiet that one could hear the soft clatter of iron railings on the eaves. All eyes were focused on Shen Ruorou like searchlights. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the manuscript, and the plum blossom pattern on her cuffs was deformed from her grip. "Sister, you're joking. This is what I pondered over last night..."

"Thinking hard?" Chen Weiwan approached with her head tilted, her fingertips tapping the Duan inkstone on the table, causing ripples in the ink. "Why do I remember this is Wang Anshi's 'Plum Blossoms'? The next line should be 'I know it's not snow from afar, because of the subtle fragrance.' Did you remember the season wrong, cousin? It's late spring now, how can plum blossoms bloom proudly in the snow?"

"Nonsense!" Shen Ruorou screamed, her manuscript clattering to the ground. The edge of the rice paper landed right next to the inkstone, leaving a crooked black mark stained by the ink. As if suddenly remembering something, she raised her voice to defend herself, "I'm paraphrasing! Do you understand paraphrase? It's a literary elegance for a poet to paraphrase a line from their predecessors!"

"Parody?" Madam Taifu picked up the manuscript, her reading glasses sliding to the tip of her nose. "Wang Anshi was a poet from a hundred years ago. Second Miss, you're 'paraphrasing' me? You're so lazy you didn't even bother changing the season?"

"Hahaha!" I don't know who burst out laughing first, and the whole room suddenly exploded.

"I was wondering why it sounded so familiar! Turns out it was copied!"

"There were still 'a few plum blossoms in the corner,' but now even the wintersweet tree has no leaves!"

"I'm dying of laughter! The Second Miss's character of a talented woman, I'm afraid she didn't rent it from a bookstore?"

Shen Ruorou's face was like cloth in a dye vat, turning from white to red, and then from red to purple. She suddenly looked at Shen Weiwan - she was looking at her with her head tilted, the teardrop mole at the end of her eye trembling slightly under the candlelight, clearly a plan laid long ago! Last night, she asked Xiaolian to go to Zui Mo Zhai to copy poems, saying only that she wanted Wing Chun, but the maid brought back a copy of "A Hundred Poems" and casually flipped through a poem about plum blossoms for her. She didn't even look at the author or the season...

"You're plotting against me!" Shen Ruoruo lunged forward like a mad tiger, the pearl hairpin in her hair teetering on the edge of her hair. Chuntao quickly blocked the attack, her embroidered shoe nearly stepping on the hem of Shen Weiwan's skirt: "Second Miss, please respect yourself! Our young lady is just trying to give you a good warning, so why are you still trying to make a move?"

"She framed me!" Shen Ruoruo was so angry that she was shaking all over. Her hair bun was completely undone, and a few strands of hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks. "Chen Weiwan! You vicious woman!"

"Framed?" A clear laugh suddenly echoed from the moonlit gate. The Seventh Prince, Xiao Yu, entered, waving a folding fan, the hem of his moon-white robe brushing against the drooping wisteria blossoms. "I heard that Second Miss Shen had her maid go to Zui Mo Zhai and buy a copy of 'A Hundred Poems' in order to participate in the poetry gathering." He paused, tapping the tip of his folding fan against the manuscript on the ground. "So, is the owner of Zui Mo Zhai actually the reincarnation of Wang Anshi?"

"Puff!" The Taifu's wife finally gave up, and a few drops of Biluochun tea splashed out of her teacup, scalding her fingertips. The ladies in the hall were laughing so hard that they collapsed on the floor. Some leaned over the shoulders of the maids, slapping their hands on the table with laughter.

Shen Ruorou watched the playful glint in Xiao Yu's eyes, then scanned the undisguised contempt on the faces of those around her. She felt her world spinning. The image she had painstakingly cultivated as a "talented woman of the capital" was now shattered more completely than the manuscripts on the ground. Those copied verses, the bought praise, the feigned gentleness, all became a colossal joke after Shen Weiwan's casual revelation.

"Enough!" Madam Taifu slammed the table, shaking the copper incense burner on the table and causing the incense ash to fall. "Second Miss Chen, plagiarizing someone else's poem and trying to get away with it, how shameful! Come, send Second Miss to the side hall to 'rest'!"

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