Chapter Seventy-One: Farewell

(These two days I have to visit the ancestral graves, so updates may be irregular. I hope everyone understands. There should be another update later tonight!)

Beyond the pavilion, by the ancient road, wild grass stretches endlessly…

After the Mid-Autumn Festival, the full moon wanes. Deep autumn arrives, the west wind howls. Perhaps by now, the maple leaves on Maple Mountain are once again ablaze, as if “Book Tower is set on fire.”

Due to a confidential imperial edict, the news of Nie Zhiyuan’s removal from his position as Prefect was not immediately made public; only a few officials knew of it. Yet, though they knew, not a single soul came to bid him farewell.

Though Nie Zhiyuan was not completely stripped of his rank and could still serve as the Magistrate of Jinhua, retaining his official identity, everyone understood that his prospects for a comeback were bleak.

When a man departs, tea cools; human kindness is often said to be thin as paper. How much more fragile are so-called ties of officialdom?

Nie Zhiyuan was always upright and honest in his governance, and had cut off many people’s paths to profit. Expecting them to see him off was nothing but a fool’s dream. Since he was dismissed and demoted, even the most superficial courtesies were deemed unnecessary. Time spent here would be better used currying favor with the new Prefect.

The new Prefect was formerly Deputy Magistrate Zhang, who had attached himself to the Wu family and swiftly ascended to the position. As for the Wu family, they had recently enjoyed great imperial favor. Rumor had it that within three years, Master Wu Yongbiao would enter the Cabinet as a Scholar of the Book Tower.

When one man ascends to glory, even the chickens and dogs rise to heaven with him—let alone his sons?

Wu Wencai’s position in Jiangzhou had reached an unprecedented height. Every day, countless people sought his patronage, and he was the very embodiment of power and popularity.

He too did not come to see off the Nie family. He was busy, after all. Wu Wencai had been appointed as the Special Envoy in charge of receiving the Buddhist mission in Jiangzhou, and was now constantly surrounded by attendants, basking in glory.

As for his feelings for Nie Xiaoqian…

Oh, there were no real feelings between them to begin with.

In Wu Wencai’s eyes, Nie Xiaoqian was beautiful, but her temperament was far too wild, utterly unfit to be a wife. His previous pursuit of her had been his father’s will, with the heavy undertones of a political alliance. But now that Nie Zhiyuan had fallen from power—while others finished their term as Prefect and gained promotion to the capital, he was forced out before his term was up and sent off to be a mere county magistrate, his prospects ruined—there was no longer any need for an alliance.

For amusement, perhaps, that was another matter…

So Wu Wencai occasionally mused.

But for now, the most important thing was to perform his duties as Envoy well. The rest could be considered in time. Times had changed, and it would do the Nie father and daughter good to cool their heels in Jinhua County. When the time came, they would have little choice but to bow their heads.

…

The autumn deepened, frost grew thick, and the roadside grass had already begun to yellow, exuding an air of desolation.

Nie Zhiyuan was known for his integrity and had few possessions. There was only one carriage, a single maid, and four household servants.

Nie Xiaoqian did not sit inside the carriage, but stood poised atop the shaft, gazing expectantly toward the city gate of Jiangzhou.

Nie Zhiyuan stood in the pavilion, also looking back at the city—vaguely recalling how, two years ago, he had arrived in Jiangzhou from the capital, brimming with ambition, entering through this very gate to assume office.

At that time, all the officials of Jiangzhou had come out to welcome him, and the streets were lined with cheering crowds. How high-spirited and full of hope he had been, with grand ideals and far-reaching dreams!

How quickly brilliance fades; in the blink of an eye, the flower of yesterday is gone, and all is past—yet in my heart, I have no regrets…

Nie Zhiyuan sighed deeply, stepped out of the pavilion, and said to his daughter, "Qian’er, it’s getting late. We must be on our way."

At this, Nie Xiaoqian bit her lip and replied, "Father, let’s wait a little longer—just the time it takes to burn a stick of incense."

Nie Zhiyuan raised his eyebrows. "Are you waiting for someone?"

Nie Xiaoqian nodded.

He asked again, "Is it that scholar, Chen Jianchen, you’re waiting for?"

Again she nodded.

Nie Zhiyuan sighed. "I’m afraid he won’t come…"

"No. Last night, Xiaocui delivered my message to him. Since he said he would come, he surely will."

Nie Zhiyuan raised his brow, questioning, "There are plenty in this world who fail to keep their word."

Nie Xiaoqian replied firmly, "Father, please believe me, I don’t think he’s one of them."

Nie Zhiyuan asked, "You’re hardly more than acquaintances—how can you judge his character so surely?"

"Intuition!"

Nie Zhiyuan was at a loss for words, but chose not to dampen his daughter’s spirits. Perhaps, if Chen Jianchen truly appeared, he too would like to meet this scholar who had won his daughter’s favor, to see what kind of person he was.

"He’s here!"

Nie Xiaoqian’s keen eyes spotted him, and she exclaimed with delight. In her gaze, Chen Jianchen’s upright figure appeared at the bend in the road, a bookcase slung over his back. He looked elegant and unrestrained as he strode briskly toward them.

"Student Chen Jianchen pays his respects to Lord Nie."

Chen Jianchen arrived swiftly. He looked up and smiled at Nie Xiaoqian on the carriage, saying nothing, but first bowed formally to Nie Zhiyuan—such etiquette could not be neglected.

Nie Zhiyuan studied him and revealed a look of approval.

Chen Jianchen was in the prime of youth, handsome and well-mannered, giving off an impression of refined courtesy. His rare tall stature, energetic bearing, and vibrant spirit set him apart from those pale, listless bookworms. On looks alone, he possessed a charm that drew others in.

What’s more, this young man already had a reputation—first place in all three children’s exams, with notable poetic talent. Even from Nie Zhiyuan’s perspective, such a person was a rare find, a true talent.

He laughed heartily and asked, "So you are ‘Liuxian’?"

Chen Jianchen replied respectfully, "I am."

Nie Zhiyuan sighed with regret. "Alas, it’s a pity we did not meet on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival."

His meaning was clear: if Chen Jianchen had come up to the pavilion that night and made an impression, at least at that time Nie Zhiyuan could have helped him, given him some support. Fine horses are common, but discerning judges are rare. The court was in decline and in need of talent like Chen Jianchen; if he developed well, he could one day become a pillar of the state. But now, circumstances had changed, and Nie Zhiyuan was leaving for Jinhua, unable to concern himself with Jiangzhou’s affairs any longer.

Chen Jianchen smiled serenely. "I regret that night as well. But as the saying goes, a blessing may come in disguise. Perhaps this is a trial I must experience on my journey."

Nie Zhiyuan laughed. "Your open-mindedness is admirable. Indeed, the sages say, ‘Through study one achieves excellence, and thus can serve.’ The road of officialdom is perilous, far from ordinary. Without hardship, how can one accomplish great things?"

They conversed for a while longer, and then Nie Zhiyuan tactfully stepped aside, allowing his daughter to speak with Chen Jianchen. Yet when the two stood together, neither could find words; a thousand thoughts welled up, but not a single opening for conversation.

After a while, Chen Jianchen was the first to speak, somewhat abruptly. "Miss Nie, as you journey to Jinhua, please take care. I’ve heard there’s an abandoned temple there called ‘Lanruo Temple.’ You must never go near it."

Nie Xiaoqian was puzzled, not understanding, and had no time to ask further. She said, "Young Master Chen, after today’s parting, I do not know when we shall meet again. Could you write me another poem?"

For some reason, hearing her call him "Young Master Chen" felt awkward. It would have been more intimate to simply use "Chen Jianchen." He smiled. "Why not?"

He took out his writing implements from his bookcase, spread them out in the pavilion, paused to think, and then began to write:

"Today I see you off on your journey, wild geese cry in the autumn air;
Though friends may dwell apart, with kindred hearts, we’re never truly far."

Nie Xiaoqian picked it up and read it softly, repeating the last two lines several times, lost in thought.

"Qian’er, it’s late. We must go."

Her father’s reminder startled Nie Xiaoqian from her reverie. She bowed gracefully to Chen Jianchen, took her seat in the carriage, and as the driver cracked his whip, the carriage rattled off into the distance.

Chen Jianchen watched the carriage fade away, feeling a sense of loss. But he soon collected himself and turned north toward his hometown, Jingyang Village.

He was returning to Maple Mountain, to find Yingning.