Volume One: The Young Monk Returns to the Secular World Chapter Eighty: The Mid-Autumn Festival (Part Two)

However, she seemed not to have noticed the strange expression on her mistress’s face and continued chattering away, “Do you know what Xiao Yan did when I went to find him? The whole sky was filled with filth, and to clear the challenge, he actually threw dung at the Eighteen Arhats... Tell me, who else would dare do such a thing?”

“Bold and daring, that’s not bad at all. After all, it’s not as if he’s hurting anyone,” Qin Xuanxuan nodded in approval.

“My lady, what’s wrong with you today? Are you ill? Why are you saying such odd things?” Jiang Xiaoyue anxiously reached out to feel Qin Xuanxuan’s forehead.

“No, nothing’s wrong... All right, I’m done now...” Qin Xuanxuan rose from the bath, her skin fairer than snow, exquisitely beautiful, with a delicate figure revealed at once to the air.

Jiang Xiaoyue was momentarily stunned, exclaiming, “Miss... you’re so... impressive...”

“Xiaoyue, you must be itching for trouble, aren’t you?” Qin Xuanxuan replied, her cheeks tinged with red, a trace of embarrassment in her tone.

“Hehe, I heard that men like them big...” Jiang Xiaoyue stuck out her tongue playfully. “If only mine could grow as big as yours.”

“Xiaoyue, are you longing for a man?” Qin Xuanxuan teased.

“No, of course not...”

Jiang Xiaoyue fetched the clothes for her to change into. Soon, Qin Xuanxuan was dressed in a long, emerald-green gown, her tall figure adorned gracefully, the bodice revealing a hint of snow-white skin, the skirt barely covering her knees, and a matching sash cinching her slender waist, accentuating her full bosom all the more.

“My lady, you’re so beautiful!”

Jiang Xiaoyue couldn’t help but praise her. “I hear Young Master Sun will be attending tonight as well. Miss, perhaps...”

The Young Master Sun she spoke of was the most famous scholar in Golden Mountain City—renowned for his talent and charm, well-learned, and greatly admired by the daughters of prominent families.

Naturally, someone as well-read as Qin Xuanxuan held such a scholar in high esteem.

“Xiaoyue, are you hoping I’ll say it? Could it be that you’ve taken a fancy to Young Master Sun yourself?” Qin Xuanxuan teased.

“Young Master Sun is handsome and talented—of course I like him... but...” Jiang Xiaoyue said quietly.

After all, as Qin Xuanxuan’s personal maid, she would one day become her mistress’s bedchamber maid. Such things were not for her to choose.

“My, my, little one, you’ve come of age and found your heart fluttering... Hahaha... I’ll allow you to marry, then,” Qin Xuanxuan joked.

“Even if you allow it, Young Master Sun would never look twice at me...” Jiang Xiaoyue pouted.

* * *

The streets of Golden Mountain City were lively for the Mid-Autumn Festival, with great red lanterns hanging high, and many scholars and beauties gathering to join the festivities. Of course, most were there for the evening’s grand poetry gathering.

By now, Qin Xuanxuan and Jiang Xiaoyue were strolling down the bustling avenue.

Yet this year, the Mid-Autumn Festival failed to rouse the same excitement in Qin Xuanxuan as it had the year before, when she’d so looked forward to hearing scholars recite their verses.

In fact, she herself was called a talented woman, but after reading Xiao Yan’s “Song of Imminent Revelry”, her confidence had been utterly shattered.

Besides, there were few at the poetry gathering who could truly write great verses. Of course, there were standouts—like Young Master Sun, Sun Limin, whose literary talents were indeed notable, along with the other three of Golden Mountain’s Four Talented Scholars: Young Master Li, Young Master Jin, and Young Master Zhao—all of whom were quite competent.

The rest were mostly mediocre.

This made Qin Xuanxuan even less interested in attending the gathering.

As time passed, the whole city grew merrier. Tea houses and painted boats brimmed with discussions of poetry.

Qin Xuanxuan wandered along, noting that the lantern riddles this year were even more entertaining than last’s.

Just as she solved a riddle and looked up, her eyes caught sight of a bald head in the distant crowd.

A sudden excitement surged in her, and she hurriedly pushed through the throng toward that bald figure.

“My lady, my lady, what’s the matter?” Jiang Xiaoyue called after her, worried and forced to chase her through the crowd.

She was puzzled, for she had never before seen her mistress behave so unseemly in public.

At last, Qin Xuanxuan reached the bald man just as he turned around.

Their eyes met.

“Benefactress, this humble monk greets you...” The monk looked confused, his palms pressed together in greeting.

Only then did Qin Xuanxuan realize her mistake, feeling a wave of disappointment.

How vexing—she actually found herself missing that wicked monk...

“My lady... what’s wrong with you...” Jiang Xiaoyue finally managed to squeeze through, out of breath.

“It’s nothing... I mistook someone for someone else...” Qin Xuanxuan replied, slightly flushed.

“My lady, ever since you returned from the famine relief, it’s like your soul’s no longer with you...” Jiang Xiaoyue muttered under her breath, pouting.

“Nonsense, don’t say such things...” Qin Xuanxuan patted her on the head in mock annoyance.

At that moment, a girl’s voice sounded nearby, “Sister Qin, what a coincidence... Are you here for the poetry gathering too?”

Qin Xuanxuan turned to see a young lady in a blue dress—Miss Zhu Wenting, daughter of the Minister of Personnel.

They didn’t interact much as Zhu Wenting, despite lacking genuine talent, loved to discuss poetry and always affected an air of knowledge.

“Yes, Sister Zhu, what a coincidence indeed...” Qin Xuanxuan replied politely with a gentle nod and smile.

“Sister Qin, you look stunning tonight. You’ll surely outshine all the other beauties...” Zhu Wenting, though not unattractive herself, appeared plain beside Qin Xuanxuan.

“Oh, not at all, Sister Zhu. You are the real beauty tonight...” Qin Xuanxuan replied with polite modesty.

The two boarded a painted boat together, where many poems were already being circulated.

Just then, a mournful autumn poem was making the rounds—written, it was said, by a scholar moved by memories of the recent famine.

Ten rings of moonlight entwine the willows’ boughs, Tonight I sigh alone as I board the boat, Prosperity may reign, yet hunger still exists, Dead rats fill the streets to stave off famine.

Poet: Yao Youcai

While such poetry was not quite suited to the festival, the famine was still fresh in everyone’s minds, so it struck a chord with the crowd.

Sure enough, the poem was met with great acclaim. Whether this scholar had truly witnessed famine or not, he instantly won a reputation as a poet concerned for his country and people.

“Wonderful! What a poem! Sister Qin, look at this, it’s so moving it brings tears to my eyes,” Zhu Wenting exclaimed, dabbing theatrically at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Indeed,” Qin Xuanxuan replied, her expression complicated, but she nodded politely.

“From your expression, Sister Qin, do you find this poem lacking?”