The wind from the Taifu Mansion's waterside pavilion carried the last wisps of wisteria fragrance across the lake, jingling the glazed wind chimes hanging in the corridor. Wang Lang stood in the center of the pavilion, the ribs of the mud-gold folding fan in his hand snapping with a crack, revealing the moldy bamboo strips within. He pointed at the celadon chamber pot half-hidden behind the greenery in the corner, a sinister smile playing on his lips. Shen Weiwan's calm face was reflected in his dark pupils: "Doesn't Miss Shen pride herself on her wit? Do you dare to compose a rhymed seven-character regulated verse on the theme of 'chamber pot'?"
These words were like a stone dropped into boiling oil, and the entire room gasped. Chamber pots were considered filthy objects within the inner chamber; even mentioning them was considered beneath the dignity of the court, let alone publicly reciting them at a gathering of elegant poets. Liu, tucked away behind the rockery, her lips curled upwards beneath her embroidered handkerchief, her nails digging into her palms obliviously. Shen Ruoruo's knuckles whitened as she clutched the handkerchief, the corners of her eyes twitching in anticipation, her breath held, waiting for Shen Weiwan to blush and embarrass herself on the spot.
Chen Weiwan, however, seemed to have heard something interesting. Her eyes lit up like falling stars. Her skirt brushed the moss on the bluestone slabs, and she hopped over to the chamber pot in three or two steps. The celadon chamber pot was indeed exquisitely fired, with a lotus pattern painted on the body. Now she was holding the rim of the pot and examining it from left to right, even carefully examining the kiln mark on the bottom. Suddenly, she clapped her hands, and the crisp sound startled the swallows nesting under the eaves. "Chamber pot? What a great title! Much more interesting than the previous 'cow dung'!"
Wang Lang's expression instantly changed from elation to astonishment. He watched helplessly as Shen Weiwan paced with her hands behind her back, the silver bells on her skirt jingling as she moved. She suddenly stopped and cleared her throat. Her voice suddenly rose, carrying the clearness unique to young people:
"The chamber pot has a big belly and a small mouth,
Squatting in the corner is worry-free.
During the day, I put on all the three urgent things,
Sleep well at night and wake up at dawn.
Not competing with the jade cup for elegance,
But it relieves the worries of mortals.
If you ask who this thing looks like?
Someone here is my favorite!"
The final syllable of the word "bao" rose, like a feather scratching at everyone's heart. The pavilion was first dead silent, even the fish in the pond seemed to stop swimming, then erupted in deafening laughter. Zhang Mingyue laughed so hard she couldn't straighten herself, leaning against a pillar. The Buddhist beads in Madam Taifu's hand clattered to the table, and even the servants standing by couldn't help but turn their backs, their shoulders shaking like sieves.
Wang Lang's face flushed purple, and his hand, which was pointing at Shen Weiwan, trembled continuously, and the brocade cuffs were deeply wrinkled by his grip: "You... you dare to insinuate this young master!"
"Innuendo?" Chen Weiwan tilted her head, her fingertips tapping on the smooth glaze of the chamber pot, making a "tap-tap" sound, like beating a small drum. "I was clearly praising the chamber pot for its practicality! It silently dedicates itself day and night, never competing for favor with the jade cup - such virtues, how can ordinary objects compare? But, Prince Wang, why do you think I'm talking about you? Do you..." She deliberately dragged out her tone, her eyes full of mischief, "think that you are somewhat similar to this chamber pot?"
"Enough!" Liu couldn't hold it in any longer and rushed out from behind the rockery screaming, the red gold headband on her head tilted a little, "Chen Weiwan, you are too presumptuous! How can you write poetry so vulgarly! It's simply a disgrace to society!"
"Vulgar?" a languid voice called from behind him. Seventh Prince Xiao Yu approached slowly, carrying a food box. The hem of his moon-white brocade robe brushed the moss beneath the corridor, the sweet-scented osmanthus duck still steaming in his hands. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Liu, a hint of a half-smile playing on his lips. "I find this poem wonderful. 'Not competing with the jade cup for elegance, but relieving the sorrows of mortals'—isn't this a reflection of those sour Confucian scholars who are all show, but in reality, no better than a chamber pot?"
Wang Lang's breath caught in his throat, his face turning from purple to blue, like a drake being strangled. Liu's face was ashen, and she stumbled back half a step, bumping against the stone table behind her with a dull thud. The Grand Tutor's wife, however, clapped her hands and smiled, her eyes full of admiration. "Your Highness is right! Miss Shen's poem, using mundane objects to illustrate worldly affairs, has quite a bit of Zen in it!"
Seeing this, Chen Weiwan took the opportunity to pick up the celadon chamber pot and pretended to offer it to Wang Lang: "Since you think the chamber pot is vulgar, why not use it to taste a cup of new tea? The Taifu Mansion's Rain-Predawn Longjing tea is a perfect match for this 'elegant item'!"
Wang Lang cried out, his stomach churning. He stumbled back, covering his mouth, and nearly fell into the lotus pond behind him. Shen Ruorou hurried forward to support him, but he threw her away in disgust, not even bothering to pick up the handkerchief that fell to the ground: "Don't touch me! It's dirty!"
Xiao Yu shook his head helplessly, stuffed the osmanthus duck in his hand to Shen Weiwan, and whispered when no one was paying attention: "If you keep making trouble, the chamber pot of the Taifu Mansion will be ruined by you." The warm aroma of duck oil rushed into the tip of her nose. Shen Weiwan couldn't help swallowing her saliva, gnawing on the duck leg and mumbling incoherently: "Who asked them to be scolded first..."
Before she could finish her words, she caught a glimpse of Liu winking at the servants. Two burly servants approached, carrying a desk upon which lay a Duan inkstone and wolf-hair brush, the ink already ground. Liu wiped the sweat from her forehead, a fierce glint in her eyes. "Chen Weiwan, if you're truly capable, write another poem titled 'Dung Bucket'!"
"Faecal bucket?" The whole audience was in an uproar again. Chun Tao was so frightened that her face turned pale. She hurriedly grabbed Shen Weiwan's sleeve, her voice trembling: "Miss, this question..."
Shen Weiwan stuffed the duck leg into Chuntao's hand, wiped her mouth, and walked straight to the desk. She picked up the wolf hair brush, swirled the tip of the brush twice in the ink, and suddenly wrote:
“Even though the dung buckets are smelly, they can fertilize the fields.
Better than empty talk from sour Confucianists.
Aunt Liu's beloved
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