The breeze from the waterside pavilion of the Imperial Prefectural Mansion carried the last sweet scent of late spring's wisteria, but it couldn't mask the oppressive atmosphere of tension and shock that permeated the air. The ink from the overturned inkstone flowed freely across the bluestone slabs, like a ridiculous ink painting, jarringly out of tune with the elegant surrounding scenery.
Shen Weiwan's crisp tapping sound, hitting the rim of the celadon chamber pot again and again, seemed like the drumbeat of fate, especially piercing in the almost suffocating silence. When she recited the poem "someone here is the treasure of my heart", her voice was crisp and pleasant, but like a sharp dagger, piercing Wang Lang's temple with unparalleled precision.
Wang Lang panicked instantly. The Hetian jade Pisces pendant around his waist, a symbol of his status, fell to the ground with a resounding "clack" on the bluestone slabs, like the sound of his dignity being shattered. His jade belt was twisted and deformed by his grip, and his once handsome face turned from crimson purple to the color of liver. He looked like an eggplant stuffed into a stove and roasting, both embarrassed and ridiculous.
At this breathtaking moment, the Seventh Prince, Xiao Yu, suddenly raised his hand. The clinking of his jade rings made a resounding sound, startling the swallows nesting beneath the eaves. He clung to the chamber pot with graceful steps, his moon-white brocade robe gently brushing the ink-stained moss. The cloud patterns embroidered on the corners of his robe shone in the sunlight, like a flowing galaxy. "A wonderful poem! It uses objects to satirize people, and its beauty lies in its naturalness!" His voice, clear and powerful, echoed through the pavilion.
This cheering, like boiling oil poured into simmering water, instantly broke the deadlock. The Taifu's wife's hand, twisting her Buddhist beads, trembled violently, and the beads rustled apart. The jade Buddha head danced on the table, as if marveling at the dramatic scene. Zhang Mingyue was so stunned that she forgot to cover her lips. The handkerchief in her hand slipped silently to the ground, revealing her red lips slightly parted in surprise. Even the usually well-behaved servants forgot their manners, craning their necks, eyes wide open, and staring curiously.
Wang Lang stumbled half a step, his goatee trembling like fallen leaves in the autumn wind. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Your Highness! Such vulgarity... is simply an insult to civility!"
"Vulgar?" Xiao Yu's lips curled up in a mocking arc. His fingertips lightly touched the crooked lotus pattern on the chamber pot, his tone full of playfulness. "Young Master Wang spent fifty taels to buy this chamber pot at Baozhenzhai three days ago, saying that it was a dowry for his favorite concubine Jieyuhua. Do you think I don't know?"
The moment these words were spoken, the entire audience erupted in laughter! Over thirty pairs of eyes were fixed on Wang Lang's waist, where his usual coral purse was indeed missing. Someone with a curious eye suddenly remembered Wang Lang's smug look at the silk shop the day before, boasting of having "found an exquisite artifact from the imperial kiln of the previous dynasty." Then, looking at the warped pot before them, it was clearly a defective product left by the kiln workers, a sight to behold.
"You..." Wang Lang cried out, his voice filled with shock and panic. He'd squeezed the brocade cuffs, causing wrinkles to form on them, revealing the over-starched, rough cloth beneath. He looked utterly disheveled. It turned out he'd bought this chamber pot to please his concubine, a former brothel owner. Later, finding it ridiculous, he'd temporarily stored it in the waterside pavilion. He'd never imagined it would become the culprit that humiliated him at today's poetry gathering.
"Miss Shen's poem," Xiao Yu sneered, his gaze sharp. "'The chamber pot has a big belly and a small mouth'. Doesn't that describe some people who have only a beautiful appearance but are full of thieves and whores?" His eyes flickered across Liu's pale face. "The last line, 'treasure in the heart', is perhaps more fitting than Prince Wang's 'flower of eloquence'?"
Seeing this, Shen Weiwan took the opportunity to clap her hands. The glass bead hairpin on her temples shone with tiny streams of light. She smiled sweetly, "Your Highness is right! Unlike some people who wear a scholar's scarf to pretend to be elegant, but their stomachs are full of..."
"Enough!" Liu screamed and leaped forward, the scarlet-gold phoenix hairpin tilted and threatening to fall, her face filled with ferocity and resentment. However, she was stopped dead in her tracks by a cold glare from the Grand Tutor's wife. The old lady stroked her chest and spoke in a stern tone, "The Seventh Prince is critiquing poetry, and it's your turn to interrupt?" Her gaze towards Shen Weiwan was filled with scrutiny and amusement.
Even more remarkable, the next morning, Zhuque Street was suddenly filled with the sound of a children's rhyme. Naughty children, wearing red hairbands, jumped and clapped their hands, happily singing: "The chamber pot has a big belly like Wang Lang, a small mouth and a dirty mind. During the day, it's full of filth, and at night, it's a dream of yellow rice." These clear children's voices blended with the cries of candied haws vendors, drawing laughter from the teahouses and taverns. It's said that Miss Chuntao from the General's Mansion gave each child who sang candied plums, and watching the children sing happily, her face also filled with a proud smile.
Wang Lang hid in the mansion, furious and humiliated, smashing three antiques in a row. When he heard the nursery rhyme, he was even more furious and smashed the spittoon against the plaque on the door that read "Poetry and Etiquette Passed Down from Generation to Generation". With a "crack", the wooden plaque cracked in half, as if mocking his hypocrisy and embarrassment. Liu dragged Shen Ruoruo, whose face was covered in tears, and rushed into Minister Liu's study in a hurry. Liu slammed the rosewood paperweight so hard that it jumped three inches high, shouting at the top of her lungs: "Brother! If you don't find a solution, the Liu family will be trampled into the mud!"
Minister Liu hurled his wolf-hair brush down on the rice paper, splattering ink across half of the "Chu Shi Biao" (The Memorial to the Emperor on Leaving the Capital). He said gravely, "What's the panic?! Tomorrow at the Dragon Boat Festival banquet, the Emperor has specifically requested to see 'the mudslide of poetry.' I've already asked Dean Zhou to prepare three questions about 'shit, piss, and fart!' She must expose her true colors before the Emperor!"
The news quickly reached the General's Mansion, where Shen Weiwan was poking at the lychee pastry the Seventh Prince had just given her with a silver hairpin, a look of contentment on her face. Chuntao was so anxious she kept pacing around the room, her fingers turning white from twisting her handkerchief. She said worriedly, "Miss! The Emperor wants to see you... What if you can't compose a poem?"
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