The morning light on Zhuque Street flowed like molten honey, slowly flowing over the three-story carved eaves of Jinxiu Pavilion, gilding the bluestone pavement with a flowing, warm golden hue. On the corner of the street, a few sparrows chirped and preened their feathers in the century-old locust tree. Suddenly, startled by the boisterous voices below, they fluttered into flight. The stall holding Shen Weiwan's "Collection of Sand Sculpture Poems" was already packed, the crowd so dense that even the shadow cast by the old locust tree was completely obscured.

At a simple desk made of bamboo, Chuntao's fingers were rubbed red from counting copper coins. The copper coins in the bamboo basket piled up like a mountain, each one stained with morning dew and the whiff of street life, tinkling with her trembling fingertips. An old man wearing a blue apron and wearing a tofu-pudding-like appearance finally squeezed through the crowd to the front row. His rough palm slammed three copper coins onto the desk, his calloused fingertips rubbing the rice paper to a frayed edge. "Girl! Write a poem for me to scold the women in the backyard! Yesterday, my wife imitated Madam Liu and dug out the twenty coins I had hidden under my shoe!"

Shen Weiwan was sketching on translucent cicada-wing paper with a wolf-hair brush. She smiled as she heard the words. The morning light fell just on the corners of her slightly upturned eyes, glittering like two broken diamonds. With a flick of her wrist, the tip of the brush traced a playful arc across the paper, and the Hui ink spread a faint trace across the rice paper. "Master, listen carefully—"

"The small abacus has eight strings,

My aunt is happily spinning with her fingertips.

Counting forward, backward, and up and down,

Count the family property.

Counting the brows and mouths,

Calculate all your conscience and do all the good.

Once the abacus beads scatter,

Smashed his own purple gold crown!

The moment the last note fell, the crowd burst like bursting pea pods, their roaring applause nearly blowing off the sign of the silk shop. Uncle Wang, selling candied haws, heaved his shoulder pole onto his shoulder, the straw target with red berries nearly jabbing the nose of the peddler next to him: "This poem is great! Just like when my wife rummages through the secret money under my pillow!" Several porters in coarse shorts laughed so hard, slapping their thighs and shaking their shoulder poles. Women, baskets of vegetables swaying, muttered as they walked home, the wooden hairpins in their hair jingling with the movement of their heads. Even the passing troikas stopped, and through the gaps in the curtains, the ladies' faces, their faces hidden by round fans, could be seen, trying to suppress laughter.

At that moment, in the main hall of the Liu residence, a pearwood teacup shattered with a clatter on the green bricks, sending shards of celadon splattering onto the hem of Liu's lotus-embroidered skirt, startling the pug perched at her feet and causing it to whine. A maid clutched a newly purchased poetry collection, her fingertips trembling like fallen leaves in the autumn wind. The five characters "Auntie's Abacus Poem" written in cinnabar on the rice paper were a brilliant crimson, like five red-hot iron needles piercing Liu's eyes.

"It's rebellious! It's simply rebellious!" Liu raised her foot and stepped on the manuscript. The four words "consider all conscience" were blurred by the red gold heel inlaid with pigeon blood rubies, and the rice paper fibers made a squeaking groan on the sole of the shoe. "An unmarried girl sells these filthy things on the street. She has brought shame to the general's mansion! She has brought shame to my Liu family for eighteen generations!" She turned around abruptly, and the red gold phoenix hairpin on her bun shook violently. A string of pearl tassels crackled on her cheeks, leaving several red marks.

Shen Ruorou covered her swollen cheeks, crying with grievance: "Mother, the whole street is singing this poem now. Just now, I went to the 'Miaoshou Huichun' rouge shop, and the shopkeeper Zhang asked me... asked me if the Liu Mansion really deducted even the servants' monthly wages..."

"What do I want to ask you?" Liu slapped Shen Ruorou in the face with her backhand. The emerald armor left three thin red marks on her face. "Who are you showing your sad face to? Go! Call the four strongest servants in the mansion and smash the stall of that little bitch on Zhuque Street! I want to see what she can use to deceive people without this crappy poem!" Her temples were throbbing as she spoke, and the gold foil flowers on her temples trembled.

Half an hour later, four burly servants, carrying water and fire sticks, rushed to the bookstall, their iron bells clattering. The lead servant kicked over the desk, sending cicada-wing paper mixed with copper coins tumbling to the floor. Several pages of poetry, still wet with ink, were stuck to the bluestone slab. "Chen Weiwan is spreading evil and misleading the people. She's selling banned books on the street. Come with us to see the officials!" His voice boomed, but was instantly drowned out by the roar of the people.

"Why are you smashing your stall?" Uncle Wang, who was selling candied haws, swung his shoulder pole horizontally, and the straw target with red haws on it almost hit the servant's Adam's apple. "Isn't this poem about Madam Liu withholding her servants' monthly wages? We're so happy to hear it!"

"That's right! I spent ten cents to buy this poem, why can't I sell it? Can the Liu family really cover up everything?"

"Is Madam Liu anxious? The poem about wealth being considered a broken head is about that mean face of hers!"

The common people surged forward like a tide. Vegetable vendors held up their greens, water carriers shouldered their poles, and even the long-gowned scholars preparing for the imperial examinations squeezed forward, clutching their greasy manuscripts of poetry. The servants were jostled, their fire and water sticks held high in the air, their faces flushed redder than pig livers, beads of sweat trickling down their scars.

Chen Weiwan, however, emerged from the crowd, brandishing a newly written poem. The silver hairpin in her hair gleamed in the morning light, and the small silver bell on the end of the hairpin tinkled softly: "Neighbors, Madam Liu complained that I was calculating in my poem, but every word and sentence is what we ordinary people really think." She cleared her throat, deliberately drawing out her words, her eyes sweeping across the crowd, "How about I write another poem called 'The Roaming Servants of the Liu Mansion'? Tell me how they bully the old man selling tofu pudding?"

"Great!" The people laughed so hard that they fell over. Copper coins fell like raindrops into the bamboo basket in Chuntao's arms. Chuntao laughed so hard that her teeth were showing and she stuffed the coins into her purse in a hurry. The three copper coin bags hanging on her skirt were pressed down and the ropes were almost broken.

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