In the Cai family, there is a daughter named Zhao Ji.

When Magistrate Ding mentioned that Cai Yong had come to the Rising Phoenix Pavilion, Luan Yi was both startled and delighted. At the same time, he was puzzled—why would such a renowned figure come to Yingchuan? As far as he knew, just this past summer, Cai Yong and others had been correcting the six classical Confucian texts. Cai Yong believed that many of these texts had been full of errors due to the misinterpretations of mediocre scholars, and, not wishing to mislead future generations, he memorialized the emperor to have these classics officially revised. After Emperor Ling approved, Cai Yong personally wrote the texts in elegant calligraphy, ordered craftsmen to engrave them, and set up forty-six stelae outside the Imperial Academy. These were known as the “Hongdu Stone Classics” or “Xiping Stone Classics.” It was said that since the stelae were erected, over a thousand carriages arrived each day to view and copy the inscriptions. By rights, the old man should be quite busy with this affair—how could he possibly have time to leave the capital?

It then occurred to Luan Yi that Cai Yong was from Chenliu, and with the New Year approaching, he would naturally return home to visit his family. And since Yingchuan lay on the main route from the capital to Chenliu, it made perfect sense for him to pass through. Suddenly recalling the elderly man with a young girl he’d seen in the courtyard, Luan Yi easily connected the unfamiliar guest at the county office with Cai Yong. Realizing this, he smacked his forehead and hurried after them.

By the time he reached the courtyard of the Rising Phoenix Pavilion, it was already packed tight with scholars who had rushed over, eager for a glimpse of the famous man. The crowd buzzed with polite exchanges; Luan Yi and Guo Jia, mere boys, couldn’t squeeze in and had to content themselves with hopping anxiously at the fringes, desperate for even a glimpse of the legendary figure.

As Luan Yi fidgeted, he suddenly felt someone tapping his arm. Thinking it was Guo Jia pestering him, he brushed the hand away impatiently, only to notice that the touch was oddly soft and smooth—quite unlike Guo Jia’s rough, calloused fingers, hardened by long hours of writing and carving. Turning, Luan Yi was surprised to see that it was the girl who had arrived with Cai Yong. He did not expose her for dressing as a boy but bowed politely and said, “Greetings, brother. A pleasure to meet you. I am Luan Yi of Yingchuan. May I ask your name?”

The girl, believing her disguise had fooled him, looked quite pleased; a faint blush rose on her lovely cheeks. She replied sweetly, “I am Cai Zhao of Chenliu. I have long admired your famed talent.”

“I dare not accept such praise,” Luan Yi replied, embarrassed, thinking that all his so-called talents were essentially plagiarized. “Those are but the people’s idle words.”

“Don’t be so modest, my worthy friend,” Cai Zhao said, waving a tightly held bamboo slip. “If you weren’t so gifted, how could you write such marvelous tales?” Luan Yi glanced at the slip and saw, to his astonishment, neat lines of elegant script. It was the very chapter “Little Cui” from his series of Strange Tales. The text matched his own manuscript word for word—it was clearly an exact copy, not a version recounted by ear.

Startled, Luan Yi asked where Cai Zhao had gotten the story. Cai Zhao, equally surprised, replied, “You don’t know? Ever since your ‘Chatting at Leisure in Liaozhai’ reached Luoyang, it has been highly praised. People scramble to copy and circulate it! Tea houses and taverns all hire storytellers to recite these tales, following the model of the Rising Phoenix Pavilion. It’s become so popular that it even surpassed my father’s Stone Classics for a time, and the price of bamboo slips in Luoyang tripled. There’s even a folk rhyme: ‘Luan Yi’s words from Yingchuan, spread to Luoyang, the fragrance of paper floats. Once comics filled the study, now not a single copy remains.’ From this, a new saying arose—‘Luoyang’s paper grows dear’—to describe a book so popular that everyone wants to copy it, causing the price of slips and silk to soar.”

“What?” Luan Yi was dumbfounded. The phrase “Luoyang’s paper dear” had thus appeared decades before its time?

Cai Zhao nodded gently and continued in a soft voice, “They say even the palace concubines are obsessed with ‘Chatting at Leisure in Liaozhai’!”

“What?” Luan Yi was shocked yet again. He could never have imagined that the stories he’d casually written down would make their way into the palace. How could that have happened? There was only one manuscript, and he’d never lent it out—except, he recalled, he had let Xun Yu borrow it several times.

He glanced over at Xun Yu in the crowd, cursing him silently for copying and spreading it. He’d planned to save up more stories and publish them as a collection for profit, but now, with pirated versions already circulating in the capital, it was hopeless. The only consolation was that his name remained attached to the work, so at least he would gain some fame.

While chatting with Cai Zhao, Luan Yi learned that Cai Yong was indeed returning home for the New Year. Passing through Yingchuan, he’d been trapped by heavy snow and forced to seek shelter in the nearest county, Wuyang. This, by happy coincidence, gave him the chance to visit the famous Rising Phoenix Pavilion and meet Luan Yi himself, whose reputation was rapidly rising.

Luan Yi blushed and insisted he was hardly famous, at most using a little wit to spin some tales. At this, Guo Jia protested, running inside to fetch a scroll of “On Wealth,” and brandished it like a precious treasure. “Brother Luan is too modest! Didn’t you always say that going to extremes brings the opposite result, and that being too modest is itself a form of pride? Yet here you are, being modest yourself.” He waved the bamboo slip at Cai Zhao. “Look at this, Cai brother. Who but a true prodigy could write a book like this? If you call this mere cleverness, what does that make the rest of us—fools?”

Cai Zhao was visibly surprised at the cover of “On Wealth.” Evidently, this book’s copyright had been well protected and had not yet reached the capital. He respectfully took the scroll from Guo Jia, and after reading a few lines, was even more astonished. At first, he’d thought “On Wealth” might be another storybook, but instead, it was filled with concepts and examples. “This… did you write this, Brother Luan?” Cai Zhao’s eyes shone with admiration, her lips trembling slightly, her high nose and delicate features making her beauty all the more striking. Her slender neck, half-exposed, rose and fell with her breath.

Luan Yi couldn’t help but stare, momentarily deaf to her question, marveling at how early girls matured—Cai Zhao, even at her young age, was already so beautiful. “Cai Zhao… Cai Zhao Ji, Cai Yan—Cai Wenji. She’s Cai Wenji?” Realization dawned, and he found himself looking her up and down. No wonder she was so striking for her age—it was her!

Ji Zhicai, seeing Luan Yi not reply, assumed he was offended by the hint of doubt in Cai Zhao’s tone, and retorted, “Of course Brother Luan wrote it! We can all vouch for him—every scholar in Yingchuan Academy can!”

Cai Zhao immediately realized her mistake and apologized. “I was too forward. Please forgive my rudeness. It’s just… it’s hard to believe that someone so young could achieve so much.” Saying this, she returned her attention to the scroll, reading closely, as if afraid to miss a single word, and frequently asked Luan Yi questions about anything she didn’t understand.

Luan Yi answered them all, with Guo Jia and the others chiming in. The more Cai Zhao listened, the more amazed she became, repeatedly praising Luan Yi’s talent. Luan Yi, in turn, was astonished to discover that after reading any section, Cai Zhao could recite it word for word—she truly had a photographic memory. He could not help but admire her extraordinary gifts.

While their discussion of “On Wealth” was at its peak, Magistrate Ding approached with a beaming smile, beckoning Luan Yi over to Cai Yong’s side. The dense crowd immediately parted to let him pass.

Making his way to the heart of the gathering, Luan Yi saw the table, previously occupied only by Cai Yong and Cai Zhao, now filled with people, most of whom he recognized: Xun Shuang, Dean Zheng of Yingchuan Academy, and several other respected elders from the area. Luan Yi straightened and bowed deeply.

Cai Yong smiled and exchanged a few quiet words with Xun Shuang, who responded in kind. Although Luan Yi couldn’t make out their conversation, Cai Yong’s narrowed eyes suggested Xun Shuang was speaking highly of him, for which he was quietly grateful.

Cai Yong then explained the reason for calling him over. Having been trapped by snow in Yingchuan while returning home for the New Year, and knowing that the roads would be muddy for days, he had no choice but to remain in Yingchuan a while longer. However, he had yet to find suitable lodgings and was unwilling to stay at the county office. He wondered if Luan Yi might host him for a few days.

“Of course, of course!” Luan Yi replied eagerly, nodding like a woodpecker. He had just opened an inn called “Home Inn” a short distance outside town, boasting excellent rooms and, more importantly, a courtyard with a natural hot spring—perfect for a guest like Cai Yong.

When Luan Yi described the place, Cai Yong was delighted, exclaiming that an inn run by such a talented man must surely be excellent, and decided at once to go and see it. He then took his leave of those who had come to pay their respects, citing travel fatigue and a need to rest, and invited anyone with further questions to return another day.

Though disappointed, the visitors soon consoled themselves—after all, it was a rare blessing to have seen Cai Yong in person.

As the crowd dispersed, Cai Yong and Cai Zhao, accompanied by Luan Yi and Guo Jia, headed west out of town. Before long, they came upon a farmstead by the roadside, its grounds shrouded in mist like a fairyland. Inside the courtyard, winter plum blossoms burst forth amid the snow, their pink hues adding vibrant life to the white landscape.

“Exquisite beyond words,” Cai Yong said, stroking his beard with a gentle smile.