Held in the Lonely Castle Chapter 21

 

 Held in the Lonely Castle  

 Chapter 21

Translated by : DANMEI HEAVEN

   Composing Lyrics

Previously, when the emperor announced an edict without consulting his ministers, there was always opposition. The ministers usually divided into two factions, one supporting and one opposing. There was also another scenario—both factions opposing together. But regarding the selection of the imperial son-in-law, the ministers' attitudes were surprisingly unanimous. Almost everyone resolutely declared that His Majesty was wise and had made the most correct decision. The censors, who habitually submitted memorials criticizing the emperor's mistakes, also sent congratulatory memorials, saying that by choosing Li Wei to marry the princess and honor the maternal family, the emperor was repaying Empress Zhangyi's nurturing kindness. "The world hears of it and cannot help but sigh in emotion, urging each other to filial piety." Thus, the emperor's stance on this marriage grew firmer, not tolerating any discussion in the inner court. However, perhaps to console Lady Miao, he promoted her to the third rank of the second grade, Lady Shuyi. Soon after, he also promoted her close friend Lady Yu to Lady Chongyi.

The princess naturally knew her father had chosen a husband for her, but people wouldn't speak ill of Li Wei in front of her, and I didn't tell her Li Wei was the "silly rabbit" she had seen that day. Moreover, at this time, she didn't yet understand the concept of marriage. It seemed she thought the imperial son-in-law was merely the manager of her future residence outside the palace. So, "Sister, can you come live with me outside the palace when I marry?" she asked her mother. This was her greatest concern.

Lady Miao sadly replied, "No. Sister is your father's consort and cannot leave the palace to live outside." Seeing the princess's disappointment, she smiled and hugged her, comforting her: "But your wet nurse, Qingzi, Xiaoyan, and the others can all go with you. Your life won't change much."

"Can Huai Ji come with me too?" the princess asked.

Lady Miao paused, then smiled again: "Oh, of course. Huai Ji can certainly go with you."

The princess smiled contentedly, nestled against her mother, and after a while, asked, "How much longer can I stay with you, sister?"

Lady Miao couldn't answer this question with certainty: "That depends on your father's wishes... until you grow up."

The princess asked further, "How old is considered grown up?"

Lady Miao said, "Fifteen or sixteen."

"Then must I marry at fifteen or sixteen?"

"Not necessarily. If your father is willing to keep you, you can wait a little longer." Lady Miao stroked her daughter's cheek and sighed, "But you can't be older than twenty... After twenty, you'd be an old maid who missed the marriageable age."

"Twenty..." The princess calculated how much time she could stay with her mother, and the conclusion made her smile with satisfaction: "That's ten more years, a long time. With so much time, I could live my life all over again."

As time passed, some gossip about the imperial son-in-law reached her ears, and occasionally, she felt a little worried.

"I heard Li Wei is ugly and especially stupid," she told me. She always referred to the imperial son-in-law chosen by her father by his full name without hesitation. "At thirteen, he's still reading 'The Thousand Character Classic.' How stupid!"

I tried to console her: "Now the imperial son-in-law must have read many books."

She remained pessimistic: "Even if he manages to memorize 'The Thousand Character Classic,' there's still a pile of Confucian and Mencian classics waiting for him. With his brain, it'll probably take him twenty or thirty years."

Flipping through the poetry collections I found for her, browsing the exquisite verses of renowned scholars like Yan Shu, Fan Zhongyan, Ouyang Xiu, Su Shunqin, and Mei Yaochen, she sighed in frustration: "Just the classics will keep him busy. He definitely won't have time to learn poetry... It's certain he can't compose poems or lyrics with me."

I couldn't help but laugh. The last sentence she earnestly uttered sounded utterly comical to me.

She knew why I was laughing and glared at me: "Are you laughing because I can't compose poems or lyrics?"

"Not at all," I lied through my teeth, "The princess excels in both poetry and lyrics."

Presumably, my expression wasn't convincing enough, so she resolved to challenge me: "Give me a topic, and I'll compose one for you right now."

Seeing her enthusiasm, I complied, choosing a simple lyric meter for her: "Please compose a stanza to the tune of 'Remembering Jiangnan.' No need for the entire piece. I'll start the first line, and you can match the next two or three lines."

She nodded in agreement. Noticing she was wearing a light pink gauze blouse, I casually began: "The thin blouse..." Then I let her choose the rhyming word for the next line.

"The thin blouse..." she murmured, then counted on her fingers, occasionally looking up, muttering to herself.

I found this strange and asked, "What are you counting, Princess?"

"Quiet!" she snapped, displeased at my interruption. "I'm checking the tonal pattern of the next line."

The wait was long. With nothing else to do, I sat down and began boiling water to make tea.

"Got it!" When the first bubbles resembling fish eyes appeared in the silver kettle, she finally came up with a line: "Cold sleeves hug the quilt... The thin blouse, cold sleeves hug the quilt... How's that?"

The silver kettle hissed, sounding like wind and rain passing. As I warmed the teacup with hot water, I answered truthfully: "The tonal pattern is correct, that's all."

"Just correct?" Her eyes dimmed. After thinking, she persisted, wanting my praise, "You often tell me that poetry should come from genuine feeling. I truly wrote from feeling. These two lines describe that cold night when we talked under the eaves. I was only wearing undergarments and had to hug a quilt to keep warm..."

I placed the ground tea leaves into the cup, and at her mention of that night, my heart stirred. Pausing slightly, I softened my tone: "Alright, this line is quite good."

She smiled happily: "I've thought of the next line too... The pearl pavilion gathers the fragrant breeze, soft and gentle. Now you match this line."

I poured a little hot water into the cup, set the kettle back on the stove, and stirred the tea leaves. Remembering the crescent moon that night, I composed a line: "The moon flows through misty shadows, fluttering lightly."

Then I suggested to the princess: "The last line is only five characters. You should complete it."

She agreed, lowering her lashes in concentration. Soon, steam rose from the kettle, bubbles forming like fish eyes and crab eyes. She then opened her eyes wide, looking at me with a smile, about to speak.

I doubted she could compose so quickly and stopped her: "Princess, are you sure? Though short, this last line is the highlight of 'Remembering Jiangnan.' It must be concise and meaningful."

She nodded repeatedly: "Meaningful, very meaningful. This line of mine perfectly captures the essence of that night. Compared to this, the previous lines are all nonsense."

I lifted the kettle and whisk, ready to pour and whisk the tea. Hearing her words, I顺势 responded: "In that case, I'm all ears."

"The pearl pavilion gathers the fragrant breeze, soft and gentle. The moon flows through misty shadows, fluttering lightly..." She first repeated the previous lines to set the mood, then triumphantly announced her final masterpiece: "Under the eaves, the taro is round!"

My hand trembled, spilling tea all over the table. I couldn't hold back my laughter and simply pushed the tea set aside, laughing heartily.

Seeing my reaction, she pouted, frowned in mock anger, and slapped the table: "How dare you! You dare laugh at the princess? That night, all I remembered was the taro. What's wrong with putting it in the lyric?"

I struggled to suppress my laughter, then stood and bowed to her, pretending to be serious: "This servant wouldn't dare laugh at the princess. I just think the taro wasn't round."

"It's for the sake of rhyming..." she explained, still pondering seriously. "Or should I change a word... What other words go with taro?" She looked at me, tentatively suggesting, "Sweet?... Salty?... Sour?"

Suppressing the laughter threatening to burst forth, I solemnly replied: "Reporting to the princess, if round taro and sour taro cannot coexist, this servant would rather give up sour taro and choose round taro."

She was delighted: "See? It's best to go with the flow."

Though nearly collapsing with laughter, I managed to maintain my composure, bowing to her: "This servant has one more matter to report, hoping for the princess's permission."

She waved generously: "Speak."

"This servant... wants to laugh..." As soon as the words left my mouth, I collapsed into my seat, laughing over the table.

Seeming somewhat annoyed, she lunged to hit me, but after a couple of light taps, she couldn't help laughing too, pulling my sleeve to cover her face, giggling uncontrollably.

Day after day, watching her laugh and chat, I felt time flowing peacefully, as if this carefree life could continue endlessly. Occasionally, I would think of her betrothal and how her marriage might mark the end of these beautiful days. But at that time, like her, I felt ten years was an eternity, so long it seemed that day would never come.

(To be continued)