The moonlight was soft and flowing, and the shadows of the flowers held a quiet fragrance.
Worn out from her time with Noble Consort Zheng during the day, Ding Wei had retired early to his couch to sleep.
Meanwhile, in the Weiyang Palace garden, where moonlight rippled and flower shadows lay still, the Empress had finished reading, painting, and playing the zither.
Alone, she leaned against the balustrade, facing the moon in a silent, dazed reverie.
Two wine cups sat on the table, and the wine in the pot remained warm.
She dreaded the ache of longing, yet already she was longing.
When longing truly took hold, there was nowhere to turn, and a trace of it still lingered between her brows.
Gathering her composure and finally making up her mind, she called out to Qiu Yao, who stood at a distance, "Call Little Ding over to share a couple of cups with me."
Previously, the Empress's heart had been calm like drifting mist and clouds, or like autumn water without grand ripples—tranquil and faint as smoke.
Yet his appearance had stirred ripples and waves within her heart.
How much of the mortal world was there?
No matter how noble a person might be, they were still human; saying a final farewell to worldly affairs and the mortal realm was always difficult.
Having thought it through, the Empress wore a shallow smile, full of myriad charms.
She was gentle, serene, and as simple and aloof as a chrysanthemum.
Her beauty was quiet and restrained, like clouds framing and exalting the moon.
Having been awakened from his sleep by Qiu Yao, Ding Wei was led to see the Empress.
When he arrived and laid eyes on her, he stared infatuatedly—she was a beauty out of a painting, as lovely as art itself.
Even the most breathtaking moon could not compare to her smile; those who had never laid eyes on her could never truly understand.
The first time he saw her, he had fallen.
He believed any normal man would fall, unless he were not a normal man at all.
She signaled for him to sit. The two of them sat smiling at one another, raising their cups to drink their fill.
He told her many novel things she had never heard before. She listened quietly, completely entranced, finding it all so incredible.
She opened up a corner of her heart to him, treating him as a devoted audience for her thoughts...
Seeing the Empress treat him as a confidant, he cast aside his reservations in his delight...
This single pot of wine was enough to comfort them against the dust and din of the world.
In truth, ordinary life was steeped in the smoke and fire of human existence, filled with both the splendor and the hardships of the mortal realm.
Amidst this dusty world, finding a true confidant in life was a rare thing.
From the faint sorrow lingering between her brows and her conversation about the Emperor, he caught a glimpse of her struggles and her bitterness.
Though one possessed a cup of intoxicating wine, it was hard to dissolve even a fraction of the worldly sorrow residing in her heart.
From time to time, she raised her cup to urge him to drink.
"Have some wine."
And each time, he would laugh heartily.
"Bottoms up."
As he set down his wine cup, his gaze caught the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone on the adjacent table, along with the poems and paintings she had created.
"Does Your Majesty enjoy painting and composing poetry?"
The Empress smiled with a touch of bashfulness.
"Just an occasional elegant whim."
He smiled calmly; the moment to finally show his talent had arrived.
"Little Ding knows a little bit as well."
A look of astonishment crossed the Empress's face. Fixing him with a skeptical gaze, she asked in return, "Is that so? You can write poetry?"
He gave a faint smile.
"I shall compose a poem for Your Majesty in a moment, just to bring a smile to your face."
Slightly flushed with wine, the Empress had not taken his words seriously at all, and merely replied with polite courtesy, "Very well."
The two of them drank heartily once more. Seeing that the Empress was growing increasingly intoxicated, and mindful of her imperial health, he decided to take his leave.
Before departing, he picked up the brush from the table and left behind a single poem.
After he left, she sat alone once more, lost in a daze.
Just as she stood up, her vision hazy with wine, and prepared to retire to her inner chamber for the night, her eyes fell upon the poem he had left: *Xing Xiang Zi: Expressing My Feelings*.
The shock of it sobered her up by more than half. Unable to suppress her eagerness, she picked up the paper and read aloud:
*Xing Xiang Zi: Expressing My Feelings*
*The clear night is stainless, the moonlight like silver.*
*When the wine is poured, it must be filled to the brim.*
*Floating fame and floating profit—*
*in vain they bitterly toil the spirit.*
*Alas! A horse glimpsed through a crevice,*
*a spark struck from stone,*
*a body in a dream.*
*Though possessing literary talent,*
*who is close when one opens the mouth?*
*Better to drift along in joy,*
*enjoying one's innate innocence.*
*When shall I return,*
*to become a leisure-bound man?*
*Facing a single zither, a pot of wine, a stream of clouds.*
When she finished reading the poem, her face was a picture of disbelief and astonishment.
*The clear night is stainless, the moonlight like silver:*
Did this not mean that tonight the night air was pure and free of dust, with moonlight as bright and pristine as silver?
*When the wine is poured, it must be filled to the brim:*
This meant that in the presence of such fine times and beautiful scenery, drinking wine beneath the moon required one to enjoy it to the fullest.
*Floating fame and floating profit—in vain they bitterly toil the spirit:*
Fame and fortune were as shifting and fickle as floating clouds; pursuing them only tired the mind and labored the body to no purpose.
*Alas! A horse glimpsed through a crevice, a spark struck from stone, a body in a dream:*
A human life was merely as brief as a fast horse flashing past a crack in the wall, as transient as the fleeting spark struck from flint, or as ephemeral as a brief experience within a dream.
*Though possessing literary talent, who is close when one opens the mouth:*
Though one harbored a belly full of learning, after all, she was merely a woman, inconveniently thrust into the public eye or granted heavy responsibilities, leaving her talents with nowhere to be displayed.
*Better to drift along in joy, enjoying one's innate innocence:*
Better to borrow the joys of the present to forget life's various vexations.
*When shall I return, to become a leisure-bound man:*
When could she retreat to the fields and gardens, free from the burden of state affairs?
*Facing a single zither, a pot of wine, a stream of clouds:*
As long as there was a zither to play, wine to drink, and the mountains and waters to admire, that was more than enough.
He had poured out his sentiments and state of mind while drinking under the moon—his reflections on the brevity of life, the difficulty of finding a kindred spirit, his desire to cast off worldly troubles, his yearning for retirement, and his transcendent aspirations—expressing them all completely, leaping off the page.
The entire ci-poem featured smooth language and harmonious rhythm, achieving a perfect fusion of form and content.
Through philosophical reasoning, it conveyed profound insights into life.
She knew this was not merely clever phrasing; it was a life, an emotion.
This truly was a work of transcendent breadth!
Did not the results of Qiu Yao's investigation state that he was merely a stray waif who had wandered in from a neighboring country?
How could he possess such a heaven-shaking, ghost-frightening divine talent?
Unable to contain her bounding heart, she hastily called Qiu Yao over.
"Let me ask you—is everything you investigated about Little Ding completely true?"
Qiu Yao replied with a puzzled look, "The information all came from our own people; it's definitely true."
She then added as a supplementary detail, "A few years ago, he begged his way into our country from the neighboring Xin Dynasty. However, what I didn't tell you was that his head suffered a severe trauma once; he was beaten into a state of dementia by some street ruffians, and later sold for six taels of silver before he entered the palace."
"Dementia? Does he look like a demented person to you?"
Qiu Yao argued in her own defense, "I investigated it personally! Several people can vouch for it, it's absolute truth. They said he was like a walking corpse without a soul—otherwise, how could he have been sold into the palace as a eunuch?"
Half-doubtful and half-believing, the Empress handed the poem written by Ding Wei to Qiu Yao.
"You say he's like a soul-less walking corpse—how do you explain this poem, brimming with soul?"
Qiu Yao took it and began to read intently, until by the end, she was staring with wide, beautiful eyes.
"This... this... are we certain he wrote this?"
"Nonsense, just moments ago! The ink hasn't even dried yet!"
"This is utterly ineffable! Could that one knife-stroke actually have turned him into a great man of letters?"
Then a look of joy and inspiration appeared on her face.
"Could we have struck gold? In a few days, isn't the Xin Dynasty coming to compete with us in both the literary and martial arts? For the literary competition, let's send this fool. With his level, no one in the entire world could surpass him—let alone the so-called great scholars of the Xin Dynasty. As for the martial arts, if Xiao Bayu doesn't step up this time, I'll go myself."
The Empress shot her a dissatisfied, sidelong glance.
"You're still calling him a fool. Is he still a fool?"
"Yes, yes, yes, he's not a fool; on the contrary, he's brimming with talent. This fellow really knows how to hide his brilliance until the moment is right," Qiu Yao sighed involuntarily.
The Empress's cheeks flushed slightly as she threw Qiu Yao another reproachful glance.
"What do you know? This is:
A mountain doesn't boast of its height, yet it remains towering just the same.
The earth doesn't boast of its thickness, yet it bears all things just the same.
The sea doesn't boast of its breadth, yet it stretches boundless just the same.
He adopts a low profile in human affairs; this is the true supreme wisdom of living."
Interrupting her with a look of dissatisfaction, Qiu Yao said, "Hey! You wouldn't happen to have feelings for him, would you?"
"What nonsense are you talking about? He's a eunuch."
Qiu Yao rolled her eyes at her.
"A eunuch? So what if he's a eunuch? There are small inspections every three years and grand inspections every five—as long as they don't make another cut, couldn't things slowly grow back?"
In truth, this was precisely the idea the Empress had entertained. With her secret thoughts laid bare by Qiu Yao, her wine-flushed cheeks grew even redder as she scolded, "Stop talking such wild nonsense."
Qiu Yao pouted and let out a cold snort.
"Hmph! You know it yourself."
With a toss of her body, she turned away, leaving the Empress standing there in a daze.
Her thoughts fluttered wildly. The finest things in the world were often inconspicuous at first glance, yet grew more pleasing the longer one looked at them.
He was not deliberately concealing his clumsiness; rather, his actions were not meant to catch people's eyes, but simply to make those around him feel at ease.
The more she thought about it, the more satisfied she felt as she returned to her bedchamber.
Preparing to sleep, the Empress's skin was fairer than snow, smooth and lustrous as congealed lard.
Clad in a sleeping robe as thin as light gauze, she exuded a faint fragrance.
She climbed onto the bed and drifted sweetly into dreamland.