Chapter 009: Words and Wit Are Swords as Well; The Fragrance of Clear Tea Rivals That of the Immortals

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(Unfolding clouds) “One who does not recognize a beauty grows old; how dare he mock a brave woman? I am from Huizhou, having studied away from home since childhood. I failed the military examination but passed the literary test. Each of us who passed the imperial exam went to our respective posts… Ah!” (sighs) “Do not see me off,” (bows) “nor bid me farewell!”

“So, isn’t this the story of a generation?” Unable to invent a tale, Guan Yin could only blush with shame as she copied the works of the ancients.

The earlier pages described an orphaned girl determined to serve her country, while these few pages portrayed a spirited young man returning home as an official. Guan Yin felt confused—the original character clearly was not meant to have a husband arranged for the orphan girl.

“Madam?” Guan Yin suddenly tested Liu Jiao’an’s thoughts. From subtle clues, she always felt Liu Jiao’an knew that the original character was a woman!

Even… Guan Yin dared not think too deeply, only sensing that there was always a distance between the two.

Liu Jiao’an was very clever.

“What is it?” Sanheng, standing in the courtyard, handed Liu Jiao’an over. Upon entering, Liu Jiao’an’s gaze immediately fell on Guan Yin. “Are you still feeling unwell?”

“Madam, writing these words is hardly a lasting solution. If I were to…”

Hearing Guan Yin’s hesitation, Liu Jiao’an turned and signaled Sanheng to close the door. Without makeup, she appeared ethereal, her crimson lips parting gently like pearls dropping onto jade: “You must remember your own identity.”

“Who would willingly send their child here to listen to your lectures?”

Just as Guan Yin was about to confirm that Liu Jiao’an knew the original character was female, the latter shifted her tone and continued, “Even if the courtesans say they sell art, not their bodies, truly earning money by skill alone… Have you considered what others think?”

In that instant, Guan Yin thought of someone, and one phrase—Cheng Heng.

When Cheng Heng erupted on the bridge, nearly every tourist nearby heard that amplified dialogue:

“You’re nothing but actors.”

“Do you really think you’re artists?”

Recalling that moment, did Cheng Heng truly not care? Just as some lose themselves in the sweet fields of rapeseed flowers, others find the yellow blossoms disheartening…

A faint sweet fragrance wafted in. Guan Yin wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but when she looked up, Liu Jiao’an was holding a cup of tea.

“Today is the Awakening of Insects; I picked some tea. Try it first.”

“If it’s good, perhaps this year we can raise the price a bit…”

Under Liu Jiao’an’s eager gaze, Guan Yin accepted the cup and took a shallow sip, the fragrance lingering on her lips.

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“How is it?”

Guan Yin nodded, placing the cup on the table near Liu Jiao’an. The pampered young lady, for some unknown reason, chose to live with a former courtesan who composed lyrics and scripts. Guan Yin had not realized her heart was already touched by every leaf and blade of grass here.

“But this will never be a lasting plan.”

Liu Jiao’an did not reply but picked up the tea cup on the table, took a delicate sip, and nodded: “Yes, the year-end rains are just right lately; the tea’s fragrance is perfect.”

In truth, Guan Yin could not discern such subtle qualities. To her, it was mostly smooth going down, as if the vexing troubles tangled in her chest were swallowed into her belly along with the tea.

“It’s entirely up to you, Madam.”

Liu Jiao’an truly was very wise.

Outside, rain began to fall. Guan Yin struggled to make her writing appear less clumsy, but after mimicking the earlier tone for a page, she found her characters askew and uneven.

At first, it was barely neat flower-pin script; towards the end, it was almost cursive—it was true that modern people had little time, and speed seemed paramount.

Thus, few had the chance to patiently devote themselves to one task.

Like a group of students who, at that moment, saw the collision of high-speed trains, bicycles, skyscrapers, and white walls with black tiles—though not inherently contradictory, it was difficult for their hearts to blend them harmoniously.

“Mm, you should rest well.”

Liu Jiao’an said this and stepped toward the door. Just as she reached it, her pace faltered. Guan Yin finally could not help but speak: “Madam, I seem to have forgotten many things. Would you be willing to tell me about them?”

“Alright.”

With Liu Jiao’an’s promise, Guan Yin did not feel the relief she expected. Her gaze returned to the paper, still troubled.

“Ah, stop writing those tales of ghosts and gods. Time travel itself is already too abnormal…”

Guan Yin still feared her identity would be discovered, even though that might solve many problems.

In her heart, she knew that the "Injustice to Dou E" spoke of heavenly signs and snow in June—too vague and ethereal.

In this era, to force two girls into such an ambiguous existence at the mountain’s foot, the grievances and disappointments behind it were likely no less than Dou E’s.

Guan Yin still hoped for earthly justice, for kindness to triumph over evil…

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Rubbing her sore wrist, Guan Yin’s gaze returned to that cup. Huizhou was close to Jiangxi; seeing some porcelain from Jingdezhen here was not surprising. Moreover, Liu Jiao’an was the daughter of a wealthy family.

Yet there was still time to gather these small treasures, or perhaps there were relatives secretly supporting her. It was clear Liu Jiao’an had not completely severed ties with the Liu family—yet the Liu family was like a sword hanging above her head.

The clear tea was particularly enticing. Guan Yin took another sip; the rising aroma filled her nostrils. Mist clung to her lashes as she looked beyond the roof tiles toward the distant mountains.

The mountains seemed to breathe their own steam; one peak had long disappeared into the clouds, unseen.

“So beautiful.”

Guan Yin grew up in the city and left her hometown early. Such poetic scenery could only be glimpsed in the lessons she taught or in the neighboring political and geography teachers’ slides.

Thus, bringing students from the capital to study in Huizhou, Guan Yin herself often marveled.

“Would you like some more water?” Liu Jiao’an suddenly returned. “Tea that’s cooled loses its smoothness.”

It seemed the earlier “Alright” was not Liu Jiao’an’s own answer. Returning from outside, she said nothing more about the past, simply accompanying Guan Yin as usual.

“Thank you, Madam, for your kindness. No trouble needed.”

Tea cools, and drinking it clears the mind. Guan Yin dared not sink into such poetic scenes—her modern world and lingering attachments belonged somewhere else. If she indulged, she might never return.

The pen descended, writing Dou E’s laments—not the original character’s youthful vigor, nor her own understanding of past and present. Guan Yin felt awkward.

Dipping the brush, she dared not write her own thoughts, unsure of the original character’s feelings… again she hesitated.

“You once said that using brush and ink is not just for scholars but also for generals. Every word under their pens is never the obscene verses people imagine.”

Liu Jiao’an seemed to sense Guan Yin’s hesitation, recalling her earlier eager promises.

At last, there came a sentence about the past.