Looking at each other
Li Yi's act of "seeking a concubine" was like a bucket of ice water, not only sobering Xuanji up but also deeply hurting Wen Tingyun. He belatedly realized that Xuanji had already reached marriageable age.
Almost instinctively, he began to act, turning his gaze to the young men he was on good terms with or who were studying under him. These men were mostly the second sons of illegitimate children from upright officials or wealthy local families, but their families were still quite well-off. More importantly, he believed he had a general understanding of their talents and character, and knew them well, which was better than those scions of wealthy families he was completely unfamiliar with.
As a result, the study in the Wen residence seemed even more lively than before. Under the guise of exchanging poems and essays, appreciating calligraphy and paintings, and commenting on current affairs, Wen Tingyun invited people to his residence more and more frequently.
That day, as he perused the newly acquired rubbings of inscriptions, he casually remarked to Xuanji, who was grinding ink beside him, "This afternoon, the fifth son of Imperial Censor Sun and the third son of Scholar Xu will come over to appreciate this rubbing of the 'Huashan Stele' together. The fifth son of Imperial Censor Sun has considerable insight into epigraphy, and the third son of Scholar Xu is also an excellent calligrapher. You should come and listen; it will benefit your knowledge as well."
One day, several students came to hand in their assignments. He specially kept two of them behind to test their knowledge. Finally, he said to Xuanji, who was tidying up the manuscripts, "This is the second son of Han Jijiu. His essay 'On Enriching the People' was insightful, and his poetic talent is also quite quick. You young people can have more exchanges and discussions."
Xuanji was incredibly intelligent; after several attempts, how could she not understand her master's intentions? That deep-seated, unrequited admiration now transformed into an almost embarrassing embarrassment—as if she herself had become a precious object eagerly awaiting valuation and sale, being earnestly displayed to a potential buyer by her closest relatives.
However, she ultimately said nothing, only lowered her eyes and respectfully replied, "Yes, disciple obeys."
She attended those elegant gatherings as instructed. During these gatherings, she remained refined in speech and graceful in demeanor, like a perfectly poised lady in a painting. Whenever Xuanji and the young scholars were engaged in pleasant conversation...
Sitting in the main seat, Wen Tingyun would feel a surge of anxiety. He would unconsciously cough lightly, interrupting the overly "harmonious" atmosphere. Or he would deliberately ask a tricky question to a disciple who stood out too much, watching the other person's unprepared embarrassment.
However, if Xuanji were to appear unusually distant and polite at a particular discussion, Wen Tingyun's heart would sink, sinking into a deeper kind of panic. He would try harder than usual to steer the conversation, attempting to stimulate her interest, and might even make an exception by praising a certain merit of that young man, secretly hoping for a positive response from her.
This constant emotional turmoil tormented Wen Tingyun. He felt like a clumsy craftsman holding a rare and beautiful jade, yet unable to find a suitable base to display it. Every attempt to place it was fraught with fear: he feared damaging it, neglecting it, and, even more so, his own selfish desire to possess it.
As Madam Wen's health gradually improved, she resumed managing the household affairs, and the family seemed to return to its former order. She also keenly sensed the subtle yet tense atmosphere between her husband and Xuanji.
After dinner that evening, Madam Wen brought a cup of ginseng tea into the study. By candlelight, Wen Tingyun was gazing intently at a painting or calligraphy.
“My lord,” she gently placed the teacup on the table, “we need to discuss the mystery.”
Wen Tingyun stiffened slightly and turned around: "Madam, the young men I've recently considered are all of excellent quality in terms of family background and talent, but..."
"Husband," Madam Wen interrupted him softly, her gaze calm as still water, yet seemingly able to see into the deepest corners of his heart, "you've been looking at so many young men lately, have you found one you like?"
The candlelight crackled softly in the study, casting an inscrutable shadow on Wen Tingyun's face.
Seeing his reaction, Madam Wen understood and sighed softly, "The way that child looks at you... I am a woman too, how could I not understand the weight in that gaze? And you, Fei Qing, ask yourself honestly, is your anxious and fluctuating behavior—pushing her away and pulling her back, only to be at a loss when she's back? You feel lost when she's distant, and restless when she's close to others—is it truly just the affection between teacher and student?"
Her voice deepened: "Last year, when I first read your poem 'Looking South of the Yangtze River,' I felt... every word was about her."
“Having finished her toilette, she leans alone against the river-viewing tower.” She recited softly, her gaze seemingly piercing through his carefully maintained composure. “You wrote about her appearance after her morning makeup, her hair still damp with moisture, and her posture as she leaned against the railing, gazing into the distance, her clothes fluttering lightly—if you hadn’t engraved every smile, every gesture, every person in your heart, thinking about them day and night, how could you have written so…so deeply?”
Her voice was clear and melodious, like a spring dripping into a cold pool: "'A thousand sails have passed, but none are the one I seek; the setting sun casts a gentle glow on the flowing water'... Is this describing the desolate river scene, or those eyes that have gazed until their eyes are weary and filled with tears? And who is she waiting for...?" She paused, a complex sense of melancholy creeping into her voice, "Thinking back, last year I asked you all to come together to revise the county annals, and we spent every day together... It turns out I didn't consider things carefully enough."
She spoke the last sentence so softly and slowly that it almost blended into the crackling of the candlelight, yet each word was clearly etched into his ears and heart:
"Feiqing, tell me, is the one whose heart breaks on the white duckweed isle the pitiful person in the poem who waits in vain, or... yourself?"
The teacup trembled violently in his hand, and the clear blue tea spilled out, wetting his blue sleeves.
Madam Wen paused, a deep worry in her eyes: "She is a woman, in the prime of her life, her future tied to marriage. And you are her teacher, a renowned scholar-official in the capital. Public opinion is a fearsome thing, and the law of propriety is as solid as a mountain. This thought, whether for her, for you, or for the Wen family, is an abyss, intolerable to the world."
He looked up abruptly. "I..." His throat was dry. "I just wanted to find her a good home. She's incredibly talented, she shouldn't... she shouldn't be trapped in..."
"What shouldn't you be trapped in?" Madam Wen stared at him. "You shouldn't be trapped in this small Wen mansion. You shouldn't be trapped in a hopeless obsession. Fei Qing, if you truly care about her, you should act decisively and cleanly. Choose a good match for her openly and honestly, and personally escort her off to her wedding. Only in this way can you truly protect her and your own reputation."
Wen Tingyun staggered and slumped into a chair. The taboo he had always vaguely sensed but dared not delve into was ruthlessly exposed by his wife, revealing a bloody reality.
He closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, and he let out a very soft sigh that seemed to carry a thousand pounds of weight.
Ultimately, after weighing the pros and cons several times, Wen Tingyun and his wife reached a tacit consensus: the third son of Scholar Xu would be chosen.
That afternoon, Wen Tingyun summoned Xuanji, his expression more solemn than usual.
“Xuanji,” he began, his voice softening, “you should also know that the recent gathering was actually to help you find a suitable family to marry into.
Xuanji stood with his eyes lowered. "This disciple... has a slight guess." His voice was calm and emotionless.
This calm only made Wen Tingyun's heart tighten. He took a deep breath: "Your teacher and I have carefully considered many factors... The third son of Scholar Xu is the best choice in terms of temperament and character."
He paused, and seeing that she remained silent, he continued, "You know that the Xu family has a clean and upright reputation. Xu Sanlang... although he was born out of wedlock, he has been diligent since childhood, and is kind and patient. He is by no means an arrogant and domineering person."
He paused briefly, his tone becoming increasingly earnest: "Precisely because he is a son of a concubine, his family is not as strict about the bride's family background as they are with sons of the principal wife. The Xu family knows your talent and character, and Madam Xu has clearly stated that she is willing to welcome you as her principal wife and will not treat you with the slightest disrespect because of your birth. This is an extremely rare show of sincerity."
“Youwei,” Wen Tingyun’s voice carried a barely perceptible strain, as if he were trying to persuade her, but also as if he were trying to persuade himself, “In this Chang’an city, the powerful families outwardly value talent, but inwardly they ultimately value lineage and social standing. Xu Sanlang’s status is exactly the same as yours… He will not look down on you; on the contrary, he will cherish you. This… This is truly the safest path that your teacher can think of for you.”
Xuanji suddenly raised his head, his gaze burning, looking directly at Wen Tingyun for the first time without any hesitation.
“Sir,” her voice was soft, yet taut like a bowstring, “if in this life I… do not wish to marry, but only wish to stay in the manor as your poetry maid, is that acceptable?” Her gaze was resolute, as if grasping at the last ray of light, “just to accompany you and your wife, grinding ink and laying out paper every day, reading and practicing calligraphy… discussing poetry and literature. Is that not even acceptable?”
Wen Tingyun shuddered and abruptly turned around to avoid those overly burning eyes.
“Youwei!” His voice was solemn. “Don’t say childish nonsense. A woman’s life must eventually end. Being a good wife and mother is your right path.”
He paused for a moment, trying to make his expression appear gentle yet distant: "Xu Sanlang comes from a respectable family and is a kind and honest man. He is a rare and good match. Marry him, and you can live a peaceful life. Only then... can I rest assured."
The faint light in Xuanji's eyes was completely extinguished.
She slowly lowered her head, all the radiance fading from her face.
“Sir is right.” Her voice was calm and even. “Youwei was confused.”
She slightly bent her knees and bowed.
"Rong Youwei... think about it again."
"When Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva was practicing the profound Prajnaparamita..." This time, the Heart Sutra was written with exceptional fluency, without the slightest hesitation. It turned out that her resolute courage was nothing more than "childish foolishness" in his eyes.
He said that a woman must eventually return to her home in this world, but did he ever ask her where she wanted to return to?
When she wrote "Form is not different from emptiness," her wrist was remarkably steady. Yes, form is emptiness. Those words that once made her heart race, those eyes that kept her tossing and turning at night, those favors she thought made her stand out from the crowd—they were all empty.
From now on, she will sever all desires and feelings that should not be present.
The candlelight flickered, illuminating her pale, paper-white face. There were no tears, no trembling, only an almost cruel calm. Every word she wrote seemed to be a prayer for her own soul, a prayer for the Yu Youwei who had once harbored illusions.
As the last stroke was completed, the sound of a drumbeat came from outside the window. She looked at the finished Heart Sutra, no longer expecting, no longer struggling.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
