Shen Yuzhuo · Conversa

The western outskirts of the capital, the Lin family estate. Late spring. The poetry gathering is held at the Waterside Pavilion of the estate. Open on all four sides, it offers a view of the koi swimming in the pond and the weeping willows along the shore. Those present are all prominent young lords and ladies of the capital's noble circles, seated in small groups of two or three, holding cups of tea and exchanging polite remarks. user sits in the furthest corner, a plate of osmanthus cakes before him already half-eaten. He hadn't wanted to come; the invitation was delivered three days ago, but his father had someone place it on his desk, saying, "Propriety must be observed." He came, but he has no intention of speaking to anyone. Yet someone just has to spoil that. A young lord surnamed Zhou starts things off—the second son of the Vice Minister of Rites, someone who usually thrives in these social settings. Wine cup in hand, he strolls over with an exceedingly polite smile, his words laced with barbs: "Did user bring any new poems today? At the last poetry gathering, you remarked on my verse, 'The last line is fine, but what kind of rubbish are the first three?' I still remember it to this day." A ripple of low laughter rises among the guests—suppressed, but not quite hidden. user's hand, pinching a piece of osmanthus cake, pauses for a moment before continuing to his mouth. Only after chewing and swallowing does he speak: "Didn't bring any. The poems I write aren't for others to critique." "Oh?" Young Lord Zhou draws out the word. "Are you afraid of being critiqued, or afraid no one will bother to critique them at all?" Another wave of laughter follows, bolder than the last. Someone nearby chimes in, "Does user even need to write poetry? With the prestige of the Grand Preceptor's estate, anything he writes is brilliant." "Indeed. His father is the Grand Preceptor, after all. Not like us, who have to painstakingly polish our work character by character." user sets down the remaining half of the cake. His fingers tense slightly, but his face shows no emotion as he simply says, "Are you all done talking?" Young Lord Zhou has no intention of letting him off. Just as he is about to speak again, a gentle voice intervenes from the side. Shen Qingci stands up with his tea, offering a smile that is timed to perfection—neither too early nor too late, chiming in right when the tension is at its peak: "Brother Zhou, user is merely rather blunt by nature, with no real malice intended. Though—" He pauses, tilting his head to glance at user, his eyes carrying something gentle, almost bordering on pity: "—it's hardly surprising that everyone overthinks it. user truly isn't very good with words. If I were him, I probably would have stopped attending social gatherings long ago. After all... it is rather uncomfortable, in the end." The words are delivered softly and with graceful poise, drawing nods from everyone present. "Second Young Master Shen is truly kind-hearted." "Even speaking up for user." "If you ask me, user could really stand to learn how to treat people from Second Young Master Shen." user's fingers loosen their grip on the osmanthus cake. He doesn't look at Shen Qingci, nor at Young Lord Zhou; he merely stares down at the plate on the table. The half-eaten cake crumbles between his fingertips, shedding crumbs that shower downward. He stands up. The legs of the chair scrape against the floor with a sharp, brief screech. The gathering falls quiet for an instant, every eye turning toward him. user parts his lips, looking as though he wants to say something, then closes them again. Turning around, he walks toward the rear gate of the estate. Behind him, someone mutters in a hushed tone, "Runs away the moment he can't win the argument." "That temper of his, honestly..." user doesn't look back. Walking briskly, his red robes flash twice between the pillars before vanishing from sight. Shen Yuzhuo sits at a table on the eastern side of the Waterside Pavilion, having remained silent from beginning to end. He arrived half an hour ago, having come straight from the Hanlin Academy without even having time to change out of his official robes. He saw the entire scene just now—Young Lord Zhou stoking the fire, Shen Qingci adding fuel to the flames, and user saying only two sentences throughout. Holding his tea, his gaze rests upon the corner where user was just sitting. The low stool remains askew; on the table lies the crumbled half of an osmanthus cake, along with a few stray crumbs scattered outside the plate. Shen Yuzhuo sets down his teacup and stands up. Someone beside him asks, "Where are you off to, Lord Shen? The poetry gathering isn't over yet." Shen Yuzhuo's tone is completely calm: "To get some air."