Regarding the joint composition of a pair of couplets by her teacher and that strange man, Yu Huaijin had some slight speculations in her mind.
This kind of practice was quite common in the stories of talented scholars and beautiful ladies.
Not long ago, Han Wenfu cleverly composed a Falling Flower Grade poem for her based on a fragmentary line she had mentioned offhand.
The precise meaning of such "elegant matters," even to those who do not read poetry, could be roughly understood.
Yu Huaijin saw through it as clearly as fire.
Indeed, her teacher... after all, she was also a woman.
Even if she was a Confucian Great Cultivator who had extensively read the Saintly Books, how could it be different, she still had the seven emotions and six desires.
Yu Huaijin narrowed her eyes, her form shifted quietly as she tiptoed around the desk and came to the opposite side of Zhu Weirui, who was engrossed in writing.
There were seven inkstones on the table, more than half of which were now empty, presumably they were originally filled with ink but were used up by the teacher.
She reached out to take an empty inkstone and began to grind fresh ink with clean water.
Yu Huaijin’s posture was graceful, grinding the ink with her left hand, her movements gentle yet firm, neither too fast nor too slow, and not a drop of ink splashed out.
She looked up at Zhu Weirui.
She saw the woman in the Confucian robe standing in the sunlight, writing swiftly, occasionally glancing at the framed couplet, then as she wrote, the corners of her lips gradually lifted, unaware of her own budding smile.
Yu Huaijin pursed her lips lightly.
She looked at the stranger’s calligraphy and felt it was dignified and majestic, with an open and expansive energy, but she couldn’t discern anything particularly profound about it.
Or perhaps, in the eyes of many people, including Yu Huaijin, good handwriting all seemed similar upon viewing, and one could only comment "beautiful" along with other subjective aesthetic feelings.
As for ugly or bad handwriting, that would be a different story...
But based on her teacher’s demeanor, Yu Huaijin guessed that the man’s writing must contain something deeper that fascinated her.
Yu Huaijin shook her head, deciding not to think too much about it. After all, this was probably something for the Great Scholars like her teacher to study deeply. She was merely an Academy student at the moment, and thinking too much would be pointless.
However, Yu Huaijin still sighed softly to herself, knowing her teacher’s nature, who liked to judge people by their writing. She often told her, "Writing reflects the person," so... being obsessed with writing meant it was very likely the same with the person.
Yu Huaijin thought again of the couplet they had written together outside the Yilan Pavilion and suddenly felt a bit curious about this stranger... Hmm, he could possibly become her future Master. Who exactly was he? Was he a Teacher within the Academy or a Confucian Scholar from outside, or perhaps some gentleman?
As time ticked by, the slanting morning sun gradually rose higher.
The male students in the Guest Pavilion near the courtyard entrance also reluctantly departed.
In the orchid garden, on the writing desk, the black-as-night ink in the inkstone reduced slowly, only to be refilled by a certain snow-white hand.
The table was covered with layers upon layers of rice paper.
At one moment, the woman in the Confucian robe in front of the writing desk suddenly stopped writing, staring at a certain character, blinked her eyes, and then, in an instant, her smile blossomed again, like a quiet orchid blooming silently in the valley.
Zhu Weirui, who had been bent over, suddenly straightened up, her smile beaming as she set down her brush on the table, and lifting her beautiful head, she noticed Yu Huaijin, her eyes brightened, but soon after, she lightly chided, "Huaijin, when did you arrive? Why didn’t you call out to me? Have you been waiting long?"
Yu Huaijin had turned to look at Zhu Weirui when she stopped writing, but now, she did not immediately respond to her teacher’s words, but instead... her eyes were drawn to a breathtaking scene.
Because of the forcefulness with which Zhu Weirui had straightened herself, a certain place was now "shaking the earth and mountains", like the world turning over, with aftershocks continuing.
If Zhao Rong were present at this moment, after a glance, he would certainly be struck with poetic inspiration, holding his hands behind his back, looking up, and reciting solemnly with a face full of integrity, "The peaks cluster like gathering waves, ever so furious..." and on the spot, entering the Nanshan Grade would surely not be an issue.
Zhu Weirui noticed her student’s gaze, a flush of color flew across her cheeks. Last night during her bath in the orchid-infused waters, on a whim she had risen from her bath, evaporated the water with Spiritual Energy, casually tied up her wet hair, slipped on a Confucian robe without bothering to dress properly underneath, and with a lantern and a brush came here to write. Now dawn had broken, and her student was by her side.
Alas, even the most spacious robe from her wardrobe was still... sticking too closely to her body, but thankfully, it was only Huaijin, with whom she was intimately acquainted.
"Ahem," Zhu Weirui bit her lip, internally cursing her shamelessness, and as she covered her mouth to cough gently, she used the sweep of her wide sleeve to cover the place of frequent seismic activity.
After observing for a few moments, Yu Huaijin emotionlessly shifted her gaze away, as if nothing had occurred, then she respectfully bowed and said, "Teacher, Xuanji also just arrived not long ago. Seeing that Teacher was engrossed, I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, there wasn’t anything important."
Zhu Weirui also wanted to return the bow, but given it was daytime and precisely a perilous period following an earthquake, one must beware of aftershocks—it seemed best to remain still.
Feeling increasingly irritated, she looked around at the deserted surroundings and, at the same time, absentmindedly raised her hand through the air, "Huaijin, why must you always be so formal... Oh, never mind."
"Where has Jingzi gone? Strange, where could she have run off to now?"
Yu Huaijin shook her head, "Xuanji doesn’t know. I just saw her watering the garden. She might have gone to open the door again, I remember Jingzi took up a task to tend to the Academy’s side gate. It is nearly noon now."
Upon hearing this, Zhu Weirui fell silent for a moment, looking down at the framed couplet in the center of the writing desk, she spoke softly, her voice calm.