Chapter Fifty-Two: Listening to Spring Rain in the Small Pavilion All Night

The constable unlocked the cell door and beckoned inside, “Come out!”

Half-Tooth grinned, revealing his few remaining teeth, and stood up, ready to leave. But the constable suddenly said, “Not you!”

Xu Wenshan stepped out of the cell, turned back to greet Half-Tooth with a radiant smile, and walked out of the prison amid the stunned gazes of the hunters. He strode forth with dignity and confidence.

Standing beside the constable was someone cloaked and hooded, face wrapped in a scarf, making it impossible to discern their identity. Only after they left the county office did the person pull off the hood, revealing a head of glossy black hair—it was Xu Jing.

Or rather, it was indeed Xu Jing.

Lu Ze and Spider waited outside the county office. Seeing Xu Wenshan emerge, both were visibly moved.

Xu Jing removed her hood and scarf, fanning her neck with her palm and murmuring, “It’s unbearably hot.”

Xu Wenshan stared straight at Xu Jing. The weather was sweltering, and Xu Jing’s cheeks were flushed, making her look rather charming. This was the first time Xu Wenshan had seen her show a maidenly demeanor; before, she had always carried herself with heroic vigor, like a man.

Noticing Xu Wenshan’s gaze, Xu Jing quickly straightened her posture and resumed her deep, steady tone, “I was polite with you yesterday, and now trouble’s come knocking.”

Xu Wenshan laughed, “I’m a stranger here, bullied and with nowhere to seek justice. I only know you, so naturally, I came to you.”

Xu Jing pulled Xu Wenshan into a corner, grabbing his sleeve and whispering in his ear, “You must not tell anyone I am a woman. If word gets out… I won’t let you off.”

Xu Wenshan gave a wry smile. Though this lady’s features were somewhat masculine, one could discern subtle differences on closer inspection. He simply couldn’t believe that, after all this time, no one had realized she was a woman.

With her face still flushed, Xu Jing exhaled, “Getting you out was the best I could do. Your ox-cart and pelts—the county magistrate refuses to release them, saying they’ve already been placed in the public treasury.”

Xu Wenshan’s expression grew cold, “Is this magistrate corrupt?”

Xu Jing paused, “I don’t know. He’s served as magistrate for many years without any notorious injustices. Why do you ask?”

Xu Wenshan’s expression returned to normal, “Never mind, losing the pelts isn’t such a loss—they wouldn’t sell anyway.”

Being of an official family, Xu Jing cared little for money and didn’t press the matter, “Will you attend the book sale this afternoon? Best if you don’t. I was racking my brain for a poem to present, and now you’ve distracted me. My thoughts are in shambles—I’m sure to embarrass myself!”

Xu Wenshan smiled calmly, “Let me lend you a poem, you might find it useful.”

Xu Jing’s eyes widened, “You write poetry?”

Xu Wenshan replied, “Why shouldn’t I?”

Xu Jing recalled the strange verse she’d heard before—not his own, but he’d never claimed to lack poetic talent.

Still, she didn’t expect much from his poetry.

Xu Jing said, “Very well, compose one for me—but let’s be clear, I’m not promising to use it. I’ll listen first, and if it’s truly good and worthy of my reputation, perhaps I’ll borrow it.”

Xu Wenshan laughed and asked, “Is there a theme for this time?”

Xu Jing answered, “Yes, the theme is ‘Spring’.”

Xu Wenshan was silent for a moment, then said, “I have it.”

“So quickly?” Xu Jing was surprised.

Xu Wenshan said nothing. He already possessed countless verses about spring.

After all, it was a matter of borrowing.

“Before we start, what’s the name of Chen’s capital?” he asked.

“It’s called Wanqiu. Why? What’s the reason for asking?”

“One more question—have you ever been to the capital?”

“Yes, just last month, in fact.”

Xu Wenshan smiled, “Good, then I’ve tailored a poem just for you.”

He straightened his clothes and recited:

“The taste of the world grows thin as gauze these years,
Who bade the horseman guest in the capital?
A little tower, a night listening to spring rain,
In the deep alley, morning brings apricot blossoms for sale.
Short paper, slanting lines, idly scribbled grass,
Sunny windows, fine milk, playing at dividing tea.
Wear plain robes, do not sigh over dust and wind,
In time for Qingming, you can return home.”

He finished, “This poem is called ‘Spring Rain Clearing in Wanqiu’.”

Xu Jing savored the poem carefully, deeply captivated.

The poem’s theme was spring, and it painted spring with fresh, enduring brushstrokes—spring rain and blossoms rendered with exquisite detail. Yet beneath the surface, it spoke not of spring, but of boredom.

It began with the world’s flavor “growing thin,” a pronounced weariness with life, and the phrase “who bade the horseman” suggested a sense of helplessness in the capital.

Then came the night spent listening to rain, the day idly writing, half a day playing with tea foam… In short, utter boredom.

Yet this boredom was rendered with remarkable elegance.

Especially the second line, “A little tower, a night listening to spring rain; in the deep alley, morning brings apricot blossoms for sale.” A beauty that stunned the world.

The sense of spring was intense, as rich as the buds of apricot flowers.

The pleasure was faint, as delicate as the threads of spring rain.

Reading the poem, what lingered most was not the spring or its scenery, but the idle guest in the capital—graceful, elegant, yet lazy and melancholy. Spring was lovely, but he wished to keep his distance, as if separated from the capital, and from spring itself.

How could a mere seller of pelts conceive such verses?

“Well?” Xu Wenshan smiled, breaking Xu Jing’s reverie. “Does it meet your standards?”

“Well… It’s quite well written, but the mood is somewhat somber. Our academy’s teachers might not appreciate it; for such occasions, cheerful poems are better… In any case, I’ll keep it. If I can’t come up with anything myself, I’ll use this one. That’s all.”

Xu Jing’s face seemed slightly flushed, though whether it was a trick of the light or not, she couldn’t tell.

Xu Wenshan said, “Consider this poem as thanks for your help.”

Xu Jing stared at Xu Wenshan. Hearing this, her mouth opened, and after a moment she protested, “Such a great favor shouldn’t be repaid so lightly! But… you’re poor, nothing to take from you. I’ll remember this—when you have money, I’ll come claim your debt.”

With that, Xu Jing mounted her horse and turned back, “When did you ever visit the capital?”

Xu Wenshan paused, “Take a guess.”

“I won’t guess,” Xu Jing said, and rode off.

Xu Wenshan shook his head. He wondered if, just now, this girl had… become his fan?

To be precise, she’d become a fan of Lu You.

“Truly, only a man more manly than men can win over a woman who’s a bit like a man,” Xu Wenshan muttered to himself. “Indeed, the eternal hero, Master Lu.”