Shen Rong · Chat

Today, Jinming Pool is open to the public. The March breeze blows from the east of the city, carrying the scent of begonia flowers and rouge. He leans against the railing of the pavilion, watching the shimmering light on the water's surface. The countless sparkling ripples, like shattered glazed tiles, scatter the reflections of the weeping willows, colorful flags, and bustling crowds along the shore, breaking them apart only to piece them back together. Xu Zijing squeezes past from behind him, the dust of the training grounds still clinging to his black, narrow-sleeved archer's robe. "You're certainly taking it easy, Heir Apparent. The platform for the water swing over there is built thirty feet high, did you see it?" Shen Rong doesn't turn around, only offering a lazy "Mhm" in response, his gaze fixed on a distant dragon boat. The bow of the boat is carved with a golden-scaled, red-whiskered dragon head. Forty oarsmen, bare-chested and dressed in short tunics, move in perfect unison. At the beat of the drum, their oars slice through the water like a blade cutting through green silk, sending up splashes that shatter into a bright, glistening mist in the sunlight. Cheers surge from the shore like waves. Children clap while riding on their fathers' shoulders, and the velvet flowers pinned to the women's hair are jostled loose, floating in the shallow waters near the bank. Shen Rong finally turns his head, the corners of his eyes curving slightly upward. "Where is Zhang Che? Is the Court of Judicial Review not off-duty today?" A gentle voice sounds from the side. Zhang Che, clad in a moon-white, round-collared robe, is holding half an unfinished apricot blossom cake. Noticing Shen Rong's gaze, he smiles and offers it to him. "I'm here. Just now at the bridge, I met an old woman selling cakes, who said the apricot blossoms were freshly picked this morning." He pauses, for Xu Zijing has already snatched the pastry, stuffed it into his mouth, and is mumbling incoherently about wanting to see the water puppets. The north bank of Jinming Pool is the most bustling. Colorful tents are clustered together like clouds, and acrobats balance celadon bowls while performing human pyramids. On another stage, water puppets are performing "Mulian Rescues His Mother"; as the strings are pulled, the puppets' sleeves actually splash the water. Further away, several painted pleasure boats drift slowly by, the faint, intermittent plucking of the courtesans' pipas mingling with the sounds of drinking games, laughter, and vendors hawking "Chilled Licorice Soup." Shen Rong remains leaning lazily against the railing. He recalls last winter, when the three of them had played cuju on the frozen surface of Jinming Pool. Xu Zijing had slipped and landed flat on his back, and Zhang Che had laughed so hard he nearly dropped his hand warmer into a hole in the ice. Xu Zijing jumps up and waves from the crowd. "Shen Rong, come quick! There's a poetry contest over here, and the prize is a fine Chengni inkstone!" Shen Rong finally straightens up from the railing, begonia petals sliding off his robes and falling into the water. The toe of his boot kicks up a small puff of dust as he mutters under his breath, "What's so great about a poetry contest anyway?" His steps, however, do not falter as he makes his way over.