Shen Qingchen's head immediately went "buzz".
Song Yue hesitated before taking the paper from Sun Siwu's hand, unfolded it, glanced at it, and then walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. "You like this kind of poetry?"
Qingchen's ears immediately turned red. "No..."
Sunlight streamed through the lattice screen, falling obliquely on her, making her fair cheeks appear clear and bright, but also highlighting the blush on her ears.
Looking at the top-ranked student in the second class, the best among the junior scholars, Song Yue suddenly recalled the image of her reciting the poem—a slightly magnetic, clear voice, a slow and unhurried pace, and her pale red lips opening and closing… It was a rather indescribable feeling.
Looking down at his student, he added, "Completed in one go. Did your thoughts flow freely while you were doing it?"
"...Teacher, this poem wasn't written by me. I just... glanced at it." Her voice trailed off.
He raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me, who did it?"
She shook her head. "The student doesn't know."
Seeing that the situation was not good, Gu Shaoheng immediately stood up and said, "Teacher, I can testify for Shen Qingchen that this poem was not written by him."
“Gu Shaoheng, are you confused? This poem was clearly written by Shen Qingchen.” Xu Silin’s henchman Lin Mo also stood up. “Just now, Sun Siwu wanted to read it, but he wouldn’t let him. If it wasn’t him, then who was it?”
"Lin Mo, you bastard, stop talking nonsense. You guys always bully him..." Gu Shaoheng said indignantly, glancing at Xu Silin, the veins on his neck bulging slightly.
Xu Silin watched this scene thoughtfully. After a while, he raised his eyes and glanced at Lin Mo without saying a word, his handsome face slightly furrowed.
Song Yue glanced around at the crowd, his voice cool and clear, "Does anyone recognize me?"
The room fell silent; no one dared to respond.
"No one claims it?" He folded the paper and put it in his sleeve. "Then I will keep it for now. If no one comes to claim it in seven days, then Shen Qingchen can come and claim it."
Qingchen understood what Teacher Song meant—someone had to take responsibility for this matter. The laws of the Ming Dynasty were strict, and the severity of this matter was in his hands; it was still unknown how he would punish him.
She glanced at him; his handsome face, devoid of a smile, remained aloof and refined, his indifferent gaze conveying a sense of coldness and ruthlessness.
After class, Gu Shaoheng said to Qingchen with a resentful look, "Don't worry, I'll go and talk to Teacher Song right now. Lin Mo won't be able to frame you."
"Shaoheng," Qingchen shook his head and said, "I don't have any evidence to prove myself yet, nor do I know who wrote the poem. If you go to the teacher now, what you say won't be much more than what was said in class just now. You and Lin Mo each have your own version of events, which will only make things difficult for the teacher."
"But I can't just stand by and watch you be wronged!"
Seeing his loyalty, Qingchen was touched. "Thank you, Shaoheng. I will find a way to prove my innocence."
At the same time, Lin Mo, who had just left the classroom, couldn't wait to take credit from Xu Silin, saying, "Brother Xu, I really got revenge for you today."
Xu Silin glanced at him sideways without saying a word, his face looking very stern, and walked straight up the corridor in his black boots.
Lin Mo was a little puzzled and pressed, "What's wrong? We've messed with him several times, but we haven't gained any advantage and have even suffered a loss. Look at how he was speechless in front of Teacher Song today, does that make you feel relieved?... Hey, what's wrong with you today?"
Once no one was around, Xu Silin stopped and looked at him with a gloomy expression:
"Listen to me clearly, from today onwards, I can bully Shen Qingchen, but you can't."
At the same time, Shen Qingchen took the books to the back room to find Chen An.
There was no one else in the hall. A plaque hanging high above read "Xuan Fen San Fu" (meaning "Spreading Fragrance and Spreading Blossoms"). The antique shelves were piled high with books, and a pot of tea on the table by the window had stopped steaming. Chen An seemed to have just finished his business in the hall; there were still unorganized books piled on the table, and he was currently trimming weeds on a potted plant. The plant looked very familiar.
When Chen An saw her arrive, he greeted her, "Qingchen, you're here. Have a seat... You don't look too well, what's wrong?"
She was preoccupied, her mind still replaying the chaotic and awkward scene in class earlier that day, wondering what her teacher would think of her. Now that she had to discuss scholarship with Chen An, she could only force herself to be cheerful, "It's nothing... Does Lord Chen also enjoy playing with pots?"
"Oh, this purple bamboo doesn't belong to me, it belongs to your teacher, Lord Song. Lord Song left after finishing his lesson today, and asked me to water it for him. I'm just taking the opportunity to prune it a bit."
Shen Qingchen looked at the lush green leaves and couldn't help but recall the scene from a few days ago. This tiny plant had been so carefully tended by the Grand Secretary; even the way he looked at it was unusually tender…
Chen An continued, "I heard this was a gift to him, and the master treasures it greatly. It was originally kept in the inner cabinet office, but now it's been moved to the Hanlin Academy. They say the Hanlin Academy is for nurturing people, or perhaps it's called 'bamboo nurturing'..."
“Here, help me lift it up a bit, I want to see it from a different angle.” With that, he handed the bamboo to her.
Qingchen nodded, then suddenly felt a sharp, pulling pain in her stomach. She looked at the toy Chen An was handing her, but she couldn't quite catch it...
"Smack!"
It broke again.
"I'm sorry, Lord Chen, it was my fault..." she said hurriedly.
She grew up in poverty, which led to stomach problems at a young age, occasionally causing spasms. This time it came so suddenly…
Chen An carefully picked up the purple bamboo and comforted him, "It's alright, it's alright. I'll bring a new basin tomorrow to replace it. I'll just tell the master that I broke it by accident, and he won't blame me. Anyway, he said that someone broke a basin a few days ago, and this one was just replaced."
She shook her head. "No, thank you, Lord Chen. I did it, and I should be the one apologizing to Teacher Song. If you help me, I will feel guilty."
Chen An patted her shoulder and comforted her, "It's alright, don't think too much about it." He then carefully placed the purple bamboo, soil and all, onto the display shelf. "You don't look well, are you really alright?"
Qingchen shook her head. "It's nothing, I'm fine."
Outside the window, a light rain began to fall.
By the time the two finished their discussion and prepared to go home, it was already getting late. After leaving the Daming Gate, Shen Qingchen bid farewell to Chen An.
Qingchen didn't bring an umbrella, so she covered her head with her sleeve and ran a short distance in the rain. However, the rain got heavier and heavier, soaking her to the bone and making it difficult for her to walk. She had no choice but to find a nearby awning to take shelter from the rain.
The world was shrouded in a gray haze. Only rows of bluish-gray tiles on the eaves of nearby houses were visible, their roofs obscured. Large raindrops pattered on the stone pavement, blooming into glistening rain flowers. All sorts of signs and banners were soaked through, clinging damply to their wooden poles, their vibrant colors faded.
It was September, and the temperature in the capital was just right when the sun was out, but it got bitterly cold when it rained. Shen Qingchen emptied the rainwater from his sleeves, wrung them out a couple of times, and rubbed his arms together.
Just then, a carriage drove up in the rain and slowly stopped in front of her. The person inside lifted the curtain and said, "Get in."
Qingchen paused for a moment, hastily wiped the water from his face, and bowed, saying, "This student greets the teacher."
He said calmly, "Come up quickly. I want to discuss that poem with you."
Shen Qingchen blushed again, looking at the boundless rain in the vast expanse of sky and earth, "Now?"
"Now."
"The students are soaking wet, they'll get the teacher's carriage wet."
"It's alright." He lowered the carriage curtain.
After Shen Qingchen boarded the carriage, it continued its journey. The carriage was quite crowded. She held the food box to her chest and carefully straightened her dripping robe.
Once she was seated, Song Yue turned his head and glanced at her. He had seen her as soon as she stepped out of the Daming Gate, and had ordered the driver to follow her slowly. At that time, the rain was not heavy, and her slender figure moved through the rain like a lost fawn in the forest.
She was soaking wet, and her face, washed by the rain, appeared even whiter. Her long, fine eyelashes were pressed together, separating only after a couple of blinks, giving her an air of poverty compounded by bad weather.
Qingchen didn't know how he was going to discuss poetry. Her mind was full of "a pair of bright moons" and "purple jade grapes." She couldn't control herself and the more she thought about it, the more her face turned red and her heart raced.
After a while, Song Yue finally spoke, "I know you didn't write the poem."
She paused for a moment, then looked at him. While discussing scholarship with Chen An, she hadn't been able to concentrate, constantly worried that Song Yue might misunderstand her as... a frivolous person.
“I’ve seen your handwriting; it’s only slightly better than what I wrote when I was ten. The handwriting on that piece is much better than yours.”
He paused, then asked, "Are you feeling wronged?"
Inside the cramped carriage, those three seemingly casual words landed squarely in Qingchen's heart.
She had previously thought he suspected her, and was just feeling annoyed and worried. But now that he said he knew all along it wasn't her, she felt genuinely wronged.
Since he already knew, why did he force her to admit it?
"Feeling wronged, aren't you?" Song Yue looked at the student in front of him, his gaze sweeping over her thin shoulders. "If you become an official in the future, and it's not something you did, but they insist it was you, what will you do then?"
Outside the curtain, the heavy rain continued to fall, pounding against the carriage roof with muffled thuds. A strong evening wind slipped through the curtain into the carriage, ruffling his robes.
Looking into his teacher's waiting eyes, Shen Qingchen suddenly understood his intention.
As he just said, it wasn't you who did it, but he insists that you did it. So what?
Historical records state that Song Yue served as the Provincial Governor of Zhejiang at the age of twenty-four. That year, a major incident occurred in Zhejiang that shocked the imperial court, and he was implicated. Before the case was investigated, he was imprisoned in the Imperial Guard's prison, where he endured twenty-one major and minor tortures over six months. Later, the truth came to light: it was all fabricated, and he had been wrongly accused.
Even the noble and respected Grand Secretary has suffered injustice.
When Shen Qingchen read about that period of history, she was a carefree college student. Although she felt distressed by the injustices she witnessed, she could not truly empathize with them. Now, she was living in such an environment, facing the person who had personally experienced it all... History was no longer distant; it was right before her eyes.
It turns out that this was yet another way he taught.
The carriage stopped in front of Song Yue's residence.
Before them stood a grand mansion, its gates wide open, with servants holding umbrellas waiting on either side. Song Yue tucked his sleeves and stepped out of the carriage. "Come in with me."
Shen Qingchen didn't know what he was going to do, but she still obediently followed him.
His mansion was planted with many flowers and trees, each one in full bloom. At this moment, they were all bathed in the wind and rain, accompanied by a few stone lampposts, appearing quiet and peaceful.
The two arrived at Song Yue's study, where he finally stopped and went inside. Qingchen followed him in.
The room was neat and elegant. On the ebony long table were his writing implements and a bamboo incense burner with lotus leaf patterns. There were no flowers on the high table, but an upside-down pot of lush green calamus. The plaque hanging high above read "Knowledge to the extreme, sincerity and enlightenment".
Shen Qingchen had seen a similar statement somewhere before, which seemed to originate from the philosophy of mind.
Song Yue said, "I still have some official documents to process. Change into some clean clothes, and I'll have a carriage take you home." After saying that, he instructed a servant to fetch a change of clothes, and then he sat down behind the ebony desk, rolled up his sleeves slightly, and began to look through the documents.
Shen Qingchen stood there, holding up her two wet sleeves, not daring to sit down, unsure of what to do, her eyes involuntarily drawn to him. The candlelight burned in his eyes, his sculpted profile focused and earnest, appearing rather serene and beautiful.
A short while later, the steward brought over a set of robes and handed them to her.
Shen Qingchen hesitated, clutching his clothes, and asked, "Teacher...where can I change?"
Song Yue didn't even look up. "Let's change here."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Here?..."
“We’re all men. You’re just a little smaller, what’s the big deal?” he said as he wrote, without looking at her. “You should change quickly. Wearing wet clothes for too long can cause health problems.”
"Teacher, I'm afraid this is... inappropriate."
He stopped writing, glanced at her slightly, and nodded his chin towards the room. "I forgot to mention, there's a screen over there. Go behind it and change."
Qingchen looked in the direction he pointed and indeed saw a sandalwood screen in the room. She breathed a sigh of relief and went to pick up the clothes.
As the rain outside subsided, Song Yue was diligently reviewing documents when he soon heard the rustling sound of Shen Qingchen changing clothes.
He was usually a very focused person, unaffected by thunder and lightning, but for some reason, he was somewhat distracted. He couldn't help but glance towards the screen; Shen Qingchen was short, not even her head was visible. There was a shadow on the wall, though.
That shadow...
With his eyes slightly narrowed, Song Yue quickly lowered his head.
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