Upon suddenly beholding Yindeng’s extraordinary beauty, which was like a sudden burst of morning sunlight amidst the slumber of a frozen world, Fang Weisong’s eyes were momentarily dazzled. With the refined grace of a well-bred gentleman, he offered a deep bow and then averted his gaze. He immediately noticed the presence of the Third Young Master of the Wei family, yet showed no surprise. He smiled politely and said, “I am Fang Weisong of Yuezhou. Just now, I took the liberty of altering Lady Mei’s melody. My meager skills must have invited ridicule; I hope the Lady will not take offense. Master Wei, what elegant taste you have—to meet a kindred spirit on a snowy night is a joy indeed.”
As for me, he gave a somewhat mischievous bow to the room at large, saying, “The weather is freezing, and I, Fang, cannot bear the water. I shall naturally behave myself; please rest easy, Madam.”
I smiled. “It seems Master Fang understands who I am.”
A clever man is a clever man. Fang Weisong merely smiled, neither confirming nor denying.
Wei Qingming lightly shook the whisk in her hand and gestured for Fang Weisong to take a seat. “Wine and tea are both prepared. Please, Brother Fang, make yourself at home.” As she spoke, she set the whisk aside and tucked her hands into her sleeves, quietly observing Fang Weisong’s every move.
“Haha, perfect,” Fang Weisong said. “Then I shall not be formal.” After sitting, he immediately picked up a wine bowl, offered a distant toast, and took a large gulp.
Only then did Yindeng, who should have been the protagonist, speak. “I have long heard that the East Society possesses the ‘Six Arts,’ and that Master Fang’s lute-playing stands at the head, even above the world-renowned ‘Hou’s Opera.’ Having heard it today, it is indeed as they say.” She had already adopted a cold expression, her tone indifferent and tinged with a touch of arrogance. After this lukewarm praise, her tone shifted, becoming difficult. “However, there is a certain commonness and flattery to it, a rustic affectation that does not seem to fit the style of a refined scholar. I take the liberty to guess—was the master who taught you the lute a man of the fields?”
“A man of the fields... that could already be considered his ideal.” Fang Weisong shook his head with a bitter smile. Just a moment ago, there had been a hint of leisurely festivity in his bearing, but after a bowl of wine, sorrow clouded his face again. He swallowed a second bowl of wine and continued, “That master of mine was an old man from a theater troupe. Because he offended the troupe leader, he lost his livelihood. I let him stay in my home for a time to teach me the lute, giving him a string of orchid copper coins every month. In the second year, he bid me farewell, happily saying he had found relatives and intended to head south to Chongzhou to spend his final years in peace.”
He paused his slow narration. Yindeng remained silent for a breath before asking softly, “And then?”
“And then...” Fang Weisong said, “he was trampled to death on the official road by the mount of a noble family who was in a hurry.”
For a moment, the cabin fell silent. Yindeng smoothed her skirts and sat upright, bowing her head slightly. “Master Fang is a man of benevolence. Please forgive my previous rudeness.” Born into the lowliest of poverty, she was the one who could empathize the most.
“Ah.” Fang Weisong raised a hand to stop her. When he smiled, the two weathered lines at the corners of his mouth seemed to deepen. “I have not performed any great acts of kindness. I am but a common man, mediocre and busy, who simply hasn't done anything wicked. The word ‘benevolence’ is more than I deserve.” Having said that, he shifted his gaze to Wei Qingming. “If we speak of benevolence, perhaps only your sect’s Patriarch, Ni Tian, is worthy of the phrase ‘truly benevolent.’”
He was clearly inviting Wei Qingming into the conversation, but the young Daoist Wei did not take the bait, offering only a smile in response. Seeing this, Yindeng smiled and personally poured wine for Fang Weisong. She then picked up a cup of frozen dark jade, filled it smoothly, and said softly, “With jade flowers and icy snow reflecting outside, and the rarity of meeting new and old friends, we truly must have a proper drink, shouldn't we?” She took a sip of the wine; though her movements were as delicate and elegant as a bird’s, half the cup was gone in the blink of an eye. The others looked at each other and laughed, raising their cups to drink together.
With the remaining half-cup held to her lips, Yindeng looked at Fang Weisong and smiled. “I was so focused on asking about Master Fang’s tutelage that I forgot the etiquette of exchanging origins.” This smile was practiced and effortless, possessing a beauty beyond compare.
“Indeed,” Fang Weisong replied, following her lead. “Where is the Lady from?”
“Fengzhou.” Yindeng had finished her wine and held the pot to refill it.
“Fengzhou is a fine place,” Fang Weisong praised. “The three famous mountains—Cuiwei, Cangheng, and Guhong—I have yet to have the chance to see them with my own eyes.”
The two went back and forth with murmurs and small talk, following the usual customs of the world of pleasure. Finally, Yindeng cut to the heart of the matter. “With the year drawing to a close, for your Society to gather on these vast waters, I fear it is not merely for the sake of chanting poetry or engaging in refined pursuits?”
“As for poetry, it must be written,” Fang Weisong said candidly. “But it is mainly for the sake of an essay.”
Before we set out, Lord Wei had already investigated the situation. It turned out that this meeting at Reed Lake was a desperate measure. The scholars of the East Society had originally planned to gather in the capital to discuss the sudden outbreak of war. The faction led by Fang Weisong believed the mobilization was groundless and were deeply worried by the feverish atmosphere across the court and the commoners. They advocated that the East Society, as the leader of literary circles, should submit a direct petition to exert every effort to stop it. However, the news of the auspicious omens from the Tianshan Mountains had spread through the fourteen provinces; it was an extremely inflammatory narrative. Reclaiming the lost lands of the Northern Frontier had become a prestigious cause for officials to compete in their opportunism. One only had to think of how much profit the four provinces north of Tianshan would bring—how many glittering treasures would fill the storehouses, how many demon slaves would be available for use—who wouldn't rub their hands in greed, their blood boiling with excitement!
As for the literati, they always harbored a dream of poems and swords at the ends of the earth. Not to mention that the other societies were all shouting and singing in favor of the war; even within the East Society, which prided itself on being clear-headed and not following the crowd, there were many who looked forward to the start of hostilities. Last night’s first discussion had ended without result. Today was the second day of the gathering. To ease the tense, sword-drawn atmosphere of last night’s dispute, Lin Shaozhong and Zhang Fangying had come up with the idea of boating on Reed Lake.
Fang Weisong spoke of the situation frankly, and Yindeng stopped beating around the bush, asking directly, “The content of the petition—does Master Fang already have it clear in his mind?”
“Shaozhong, Tianyong, and I have already written a draft. If things go smoothly, everyone will just need to sign it,” Fang Weisong said. He had already drunk three or four cups. Shaking the small portion of wine remaining in the pot, he smiled bitterly. “In the end, I, Fang, overestimated myself. When it came down to it, those willing to sign were few and far between.”
“It is not that they do not trust you,” Yindeng shook her head. “I wouldn't agree either. Master Fang, this is a move that completely goes against the Emperor’s will. It is not like criticizing those minor, skin-deep ailments of the Empire, where one can submit as many ten-thousand-word policy essays as one likes.”
“Indeed. Everyone says my *Gatha on Quelling Chaos in the Eastern Capital* was merely riding the wind and catering to the Emperor’s heart. If the Emperor wanted to strike at the remnants of the previous dynasty, if not today, then tomorrow; what effect did my words and essays truly have?” Fang sighed. “I refused to enter officialdom through that, and have failed the exams for many years since. Others say I am merely cultivating a reputation, that at my core, I am just fishing for fame. Haha! Though it is said that whether one is used or discarded depends on the times, while acting or hiding depends on oneself, how can I be content to sit idly by with my hands in my sleeves, wandering through the years in leisure...”
“The snow has stopped.” Wei Qingming, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. Her words drew us all to instinctively lean out and look beyond the cabin.
It was now near the third watch. The lake surface was dark and deep. The distant pleasure boats moved lazily, their flickering orange-red lanterns resembling weary, drowsy eyes. Just a moment ago, the wind had been fierce and the snow heavy, a grand spectacle; now, the entire world was peaceful and quiet. The layer of snow covering the banks wrapped the horizon where heaven and earth met in a fluffy, white feathered coat. The snow resting on the gunwale, illuminated by our gaze, faintly reflected tiny ice crystals. For a time, no one spoke, as we all sank into our own memories and reveries before this world that seemed carved and chiseled from jade.
“White feathers are white, but light in substance. White jade is white, but keeps its purity in vain. Better is this snow, which rises and falls with the seasons...”
Lord Wei spoke again, reciting Xie Huilian’s *Ode to Snow* from the Southern Dynasties. Fang Weisong was naturally familiar with this rhapsody and followed along effortlessly: “The dark yin congeals without obscuring its purity; the bright sun shines without hardening its resolve. Is resolve my name? Is resolve my chastity? Rising and falling with the clouds, drifting and scattering with the wind...”
Listening to them, Yindeng pursed her lips and smiled at me, casually plucking a small tune to accompany the two of them.
Xie Huilian was the clansman of Xie Lingyun. The "Great and Small Xies" usually referred to Xie Lingyun and Xie Tiao, but within the same generation, it referred to Xie Lingyun and Xie Huilian. Regardless of the pairing, the "Great and Small Xies" were representatives of the wild, unbridled, and eccentric. Xie Huilian was particularly famous for his same-sex romances. His father, who held a high position, frequently rebuked him, believing he had no ambition and was stubbornly obtuse, eventually deciding that out of sight was out of mind. This *Ode to Snow* was written under the persona of Sima Xiangru improvising at a banquet in Prince Liang’s garden. It spoke of how snow, though the most supreme and pure thing in the world, was not incapable of adaptation or obsessed with solitary purity. “Purity is established by circumstance; filth follows what it stains.” It is white because the environment is still clean; if it reaches a filthy place, it will sink into the mire just the same. A human life is so short; “Have you not seen the white snow upon the steps? How can it shine in the bright spring?” What is the point of clinging to those impractical ambitions in vain?
From this *Ode to Snow* alone, one could tell that Xie Huilian did not lack talent; it was precisely because he saw through everything that he avoided the world. Unfortunately, the one who wrote “Better is this snow, which rises and falls with the seasons” ultimately refused to become that filthy snow and thus vanished...
“With a heart so bright and pure, what need for worry or schemes...” Fang Weisong stopped at this line and let out a deep sigh.
“Snow is a rootless thing; it becomes a square tablet when it meets a square, and a round disc when it follows a circle. I know Brother Fang does not fail to understand this principle; it is simply that there are things a gentleman will do and things he will not.” As Wei Qingming spoke, she slowly placed an object on Fang Weisong’s table. “Years ago, Brother Fang rejected many opportunities. Now, I am merely adding one more. It remains entirely up to your heart; the choice is yours.”
Fang Weisong did not touch the jade slip. He looked up at her in surprise for a moment, then shook his head. “Though I live in a remote corner of the countryside and do not know the secrets of the court, I still understand a bit of the depth of these waters. A power that can drive someone like you, Master Wei... I fear it is not something I should touch.”
“Brother Fang might as well take a look before deciding,” Lord Wei said, her fingertip lightly tapping the jade slip as she smiled.
