Chapter 052: Emei

Everyone closed the door to talk, even sending away the palace maids. Yao Rongrong never expected that her casual mention would be overheard by Xiao Shu, who had returned. She was immediately flustered and blushing.

Regardless of whether Xiao Shu was from a second marriage, she was not someone Yao Rongrong could afford to offend.

She quickly stood up, bowed her head, and apologized timidly, “We didn’t mean any harm…”

Xiao Shu sneered, “Although my mother is a second wife, she was properly married by my father. There’s nothing that can’t be said. But in this forbidden palace, you all have the audacity to discuss unclear matters. Do you think your heads have been on your necks for too long and you’re tired of living?”

Everyone’s faces changed slightly.

Jiang Xuening watched coldly.

Xiao Shu continued, “You should know that if I report what you said today, none of you will have a good outcome. Tomorrow, we have to study the ‘Book of Songs’ and learn the zither from Master Xie. Instead of wasting time, why not review your books and practice the zither? It would save you from embarrassment when Master Xie asks questions in the Fengchen Hall tomorrow!”

Everyone, still shaken by the events in Kunning Palace earlier, broke out in a cold sweat. Seeing Xiao Shu’s stern expression, they were afraid of offending her and being reported to the Empress Dowager or the palace. They all nodded in agreement.

Jiang Xuening had nothing to say.

As everyone dispersed, she left as well.

The developments regarding the jade ruyi presented by the Imperial Household Department were unknown to those in Yangzhi Zhai. They only vaguely heard some commotion outside.

In the evening, when they sat together for dinner, no one dared to speak much.

The atmosphere was awkward and tense.

Only Xiao Shu remained calm and composed, even making tea and asking if anyone wanted to join her.

But who would dare at this moment?

Only Chen Shuyi and Yao Xi, who were usually close to her, along with the simple-minded Zhou Baoying, stayed to have tea with her.

Jiang Xuening naturally left.

Back in her room, she lit a lamp at her desk, took out a volume of the ‘Book of Songs,’ and began to prepare for the next day’s lessons. After all, her academic performance in her previous life was dismal. This time, she had to stay under Xie Wei’s watchful eye for six months, and it wouldn’t be easy to get by without serious effort.

Thinking about it is one thing, doing it is another.

The book was right in front of her, illuminated by the lamp beside it, but every word on the page seemed like ants crawling all over, making her restless and unable to focus.

She thought about the misfortune of the Marquis Yongyi’s family, the treasonous words on the jade ruyi, and the story of the three hundred righteous children that Fang Miao had mentioned…

All these thoughts intertwined in her mind.

Jiang Xuening felt a splitting headache. She threw the book aside and lay down on the bed, trying to sleep, but she couldn’t. She lay there with her eyes open until midnight, not knowing when she finally fell asleep.

What you think about during the day, you dream about at night.

In her dream, there was blood and snow, swords falling, and the terrified and desperate cries of three hundred children echoed in the swirling snow, blending with the cold, wailing north wind, carrying far and wide…

In a daze, she saw Xie Wei standing on the mountain of corpses, watching her.

The next morning, Jiang Xuening had dark circles under her eyes.

The palace maid who brought in water to help her wash was startled.

But Jiang Xuening said nothing. She faced the mirror, applied powder, and carefully covered the exhaustion around her eyes. By the time she walked out of the room, she looked radiant, with no trace of fatigue.

*

Today was the first day of formal classes, with two sessions in the morning.

The first session was from 6:00 to 8:00 AM, an hour-long class on the “Book of Songs” with Hanlin Academy lecturer Zhao Yanhong. The second session was from 8:30 to 10:30 AM, another hour-long class on the zither with Crown Prince’s tutor Xie Wei.

So, Zhao Yanhong came first in the morning.

This teacher was in his forties or fifties, a scholar at the Hanlin Academy, not deeply involved in court politics, but skilled in currying favor.

Jiang Xuening had long known that he, like the other two teachers, looked down on women. But today, following his class, she realized that even looking down on women had different levels.

The “Book of Songs” is divided into three sections: “Feng,” “Ya,” and “Song.” The first lesson was on the famous piece “Guan Ju” from the “Airs of Zhou and the South.” They were required to memorize it, but Zhao Yanhong only taught them to read it, explaining the general theme without interpreting the meaning of each line—

It was all mindless memorization.

Although everyone had been selected as attendants, not all of them were equally knowledgeable, and there were varying levels of understanding. So, Jiang Xuening boldly asked what the character “d” meant in the line “Cenci Xingcai, Zuoyou d zhi.”

Unexpectedly, Zhao Yanhong’s face changed, and he scolded her: “I mentioned during the opening lecture yesterday that you should review your books. How can you ask such questions in class? If you don’t know this, what have you been studying?”

Jiang Xuening felt a lump in her throat, unable to speak.

In her mind, she cursed: A teacher is supposed to impart knowledge and resolve doubts. If I knew everything, I’d chop off your head and wouldn’t need you at all!

But respecting teachers was a deeply ingrained principle.

In the end, she said nothing and sat down.

If that were all, it might have been tolerable, as perhaps Zhao Yanhong was just like that with everyone.

But when he called on Xiao Shu to recite a poem, he praised her greatly after she finished and even eagerly asked, “The character in the last line ‘Zuoyou d zhi’ is quite rare, but to understand it, you just need to connect it with the previous lines…”

Xiao Shu coldly replied, “Teacher, I know.”

Zhao Yanhong was momentarily stunned and then awkwardly covered it up, saying, “Oh, oh, it’s good that you know. As expected of a noble lady from the Xiao family, your knowledge is exceptional. With you as the princess’s attendant, I can rest assured.”

Everyone found this hard to digest.

Shen Zhiyi, sitting in the front row, frowned.

Jiang Xuening glanced forward and realized that Zhao Yanhong was a pedantic scholar. She didn’t need to report him; he had already made a bad impression on Shen Zhiyi. She just wondered if Shen Zhiyi could tolerate him.

Before the class ended, Zhao Yanhong stopped teaching, sat aside to drink tea, and told them to read on their own. When the water clock indicated the time, he ceremoniously accepted their bows, rolled up his book, and swaggered out.

Xie Wei arrived just as Zhao Yanhong was leaving.

Zhao Yanhong was surprised: “Master Xie, your class starts at 8:30. Why are you here so early?”

Xie Wei, in a bad mood today, wore a sky-blue cloak against the wind and carried a zither in a black case. Standing at the steps of Fengchen Hall, he frowned slightly at Zhao Yanhong’s words.

Such subtle expressions were not easily noticed.

He smiled faintly and said, “It’s my first time teaching the zither, so I dare not be negligent. To be safe, I made extra preparations and came early.”

“I see,” Zhao Yanhong thought he was making a fuss over nothing, even thinking the specially compiled book was unnecessary. But Xie Wei held a higher official rank, far above Zhao Yanhong’s idle position, so he said, “Master Xie, you are indeed meticulous. I am ashamed. I won’t delay you any longer.”

He bowed and took his leave.

Xie Wei, holding the zither, couldn’t return the bow properly, so he just nodded slightly.

At this moment, one was coming down the steps while the other was going up.

Jiang Xuening, sitting near the hall door, heard most of their conversation. Her body, which had relaxed after the previous class, tensed up again.

A shadow fell on her desk.

It was Xie Wei, walking in from outside the hall, passing by her desk.

She didn’t dare to turn her head.

Only when she saw a corner of his dark blue robe pass by did she quietly look up.

Xie Wei stood at the front of the hall, saying nothing. He placed the zither he had been holding on the zither table, removed the case, and casually plucked the strings to test the sound. After adjusting the strings, he gently pressed down on them, muting the lingering vibrations.

The two test notes sounded like mountain springs striking rocks or wind rushing through a ravine, calming the listeners’ minds. Regardless of the player, the zither was undoubtedly excellent.

Jiang Xuening focused on the zither, noticing its dark red, almost black body with heavy lacquer and faint cloud-like patterns. It didn’t look old, and even without seeing the engraved name on the back, she recognized it as Xie Wei’s most commonly used zither, called “Emei.”

Her heart couldn’t help but tighten.

She had no talent for the zither, neither in playing nor in listening. Her usual cleverness vanished when it came to learning the zither, making her as dull as a block of wood.

In her previous life, learning the zither almost made her cry from frustration.

Fortunately, she later developed a habit of skipping classes, and no one pursued the matter.

Jiang Xuening recognized few zithers, but Xie Wei’s was one of them.

One day after a snowfall, the entire palace was covered in silver snow. She and Zhang Zhe were walking along the long path outside Kunning Palace when they heard faint zither music coming from the side hall of Fengchen Hall.

They stopped to listen.

But the music soon ceased.

After a while, Xie Wei emerged from the side hall, carrying his zither. He passed by them, glanced at her and Zhang Zhe, said nothing, and continued towards Qianqing Palace.

Zhang Zhe told her that the zither was named “Emei.”

Jiang Xuening curiously asked about its origin.

Zhang Zhe said he didn’t know.

Jiang Xuening pondered and said, “Emei Mountain’s northern snow stretches far, and the sea in the square is frozen like a pot?”

Zhang Zhe still shook his head.

It wasn’t until later, when Xie Wei burned his zither in rebellion, that Jiang Xuening remembered a rare and little-known poem: “A high reputation fills the imperial capital, returning to play the Emei moon…”