novelAbuy Chapter 92 Last Night, the Rain Was Sparse and the Wind Was Strong
Chapter 92 Last Night, the Rain Was Sparse and the Wind Was Strong
Chapter 92 Last Night, the Rain Was Sparse and the Wind Was Strong
It rained in Bianjing yesterday, and it drizzled until midnight.
When I woke up this morning, the sky was still overcast, and the grass and trees in the courtyard were all damp.
Li Qingzhao sat by the window of Yi'anxuan, holding a book in her hand, but did not turn a single page for a long time.
Her slender eyebrows were slightly furrowed, her gaze fixed on the crabapple tree outside the window whose leaves were beginning to turn yellow, but her thoughts had wandered off somewhere else.
Yunzhui brought in freshly brewed hot tea. Seeing Li Qingzhao's appearance, she gently placed the teacup on the small table beside her and said softly.
"My wife, have some hot tea to warm yourself up. You've been sitting here in a daze since you got up this morning. Be careful not to catch a cold."
Li Qingzhao came to her senses, picked up her teacup, but had no interest in drinking it.
She put down her teacup and sighed softly.
"Is my wife still troubled by what happened yesterday?" Yunzhui asked cautiously.
Yesterday, several distant relatives came to the Li family. The women gathered together and chatted, and somehow the topic of women's education came up.
One of Li Qingzhao's aunts, perhaps having heard some outdated and pedantic sayings, actually said in public that "a woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent. Knowing a few words, being able to read account books, and reading 'Admonitions for Women' is enough. Writing poems and composing essays will only change one's temperament and is not a blessing for women in their boudoirs."
In his speech, he also subtly expressed his dissatisfaction with some of Li Qingzhao's works that had been circulated in the past.
Li Qingzhao couldn't hold back any longer.
She was not one to swallow her anger, and she had always despised such remarks. So she put down the book in her hand, looked up at the aunt, smiled, but spoke in a cold tone.
"Aunt, I cannot agree with what you say. I have studied the Book of Poetry and the Book of Documents, which have taught me about the rise and fall of dynasties and the principles of things; I have practiced poetry and prose to express my feelings and cultivate my character. May I ask you, Aunt, is this virtue derived from ignorance or from understanding and self-cultivation?"
If a woman's talent is considered immoral, then what about Ban Zhao's continuation of the *Book of Han*, Cai Yan's *Lament for the Fallen*, and Xie Daoyun's talent for composing poems like willow catkins? Are all the virtuous women of ancient times devoid of morality?
His words, full of quotations and eloquent yet neither humble nor arrogant, left the aunt speechless, her face flushed with embarrassment.
The other women present either covered their mouths and chuckled, looked surprised, or felt that Li Qingzhao's words were too sharp and impolite.
Li Gefei was also present at the time, and although he knew his daughter was right.
However, out of consideration for their kinship, he still called her to his study afterward and gave her a brief reprimand.
It's nothing more than the same old sayings like "a woman should be gentle and compliant," "one should not speak too harshly," and "one should always leave some room for maneuver in front of relatives."
Li Qingzhao was not unaware of her father's predicament, nor did she truly feel that she had done anything wrong.
She simply felt a deep sense of powerlessness and frustration.
Even though she came from a scholarly family and her father and brothers were open-minded, she still had to face these outdated opinions. Even expressing her own views was labeled as "rude" or "sharp-tongued."
After Yunzhui inquired, Li Qingzhao smiled self-deprecatingly.
"Troublesome? Talking about ice with summer insects, what's there to be troublesome about? It's just that I find it a bit boring."
She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open halfway. A damp, cold breeze immediately rushed in.
"My lady, it's windy by the window—" Yunzhui hurriedly tried to dissuade her.
"It's alright, a bit of fresh air will help me clear my head." Li Qingzhao took a deep breath of the cool air and her gaze fell on a small, unopened jar of wine in the corner.
She had gotten it from her father a few days ago. Li Qingzhao drank a little wine on weekdays, but she was not a heavy drinker.
But the inexplicable feeling of unease in her heart made her want to taste the wine.
"Yunzhui, open that jar of wine and warm a small pot of it."
Yunzhui hesitated for a moment.
"My lady, it's broad daylight—and you didn't get enough rest yesterday either."
"Go on, I'll only drink a little," Li Qingzhao said calmly.
Yunzhui had no choice but to agree. She took a small silver wine pot, poured some wine from the jar, warmed it with hot water, and carried it, along with two small cups, to the small table by the window.
Li Qingzhao sat down by the window, poured herself a small cup, and found the wine to be sweet and mellow with floral and fruity aromas, without being spicy.
She sipped slowly, one cup after another, until the small pot of wine was empty before she knew it.
Li Qingzhao felt her eyelids getting heavy, and the effects of the wine mixed with weariness welled up inside her.
She waved her hand to let Yunzhui remove the cups and saucers, then casually leaned back on the couch, pulled a thin fleece blanket over herself, and closed her eyes.
The murmurs of yesterday still seemed to linger in my ears, along with my father's gentle yet helpless admonitions, gradually fading into the hazy darkness tinged with the scent of alcohol.
I didn't sleep well; I had a lot of chaotic dreams.
One moment it's the sound of me reading aloud with my father as a child; the next, it's the image of boating on a small lake, startling a flock of gulls and egrets; then it transforms into the blurry, critical faces of the women at yesterday's banquet, and that jarring phrase, "A woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent"—
Li Qingzhao frowned in her dream.
She didn't know how much time had passed before she slowly woke up.
The sky outside the window was still overcast, but the rain seemed to have stopped long ago. Li Qingzhao rubbed her slightly swollen temples and called out.
"Cloudfall".
"My lady is awake?" Yunzhui, who had been waiting outside the door, rushed in upon hearing the sound, carrying a bowl of hangover soup. "You've been asleep for almost an hour. Drink some of this first to warm your stomach."
Li Qingzhao took it and drank it slowly. The warm, slightly sour soup made her feel better.
She looked up at the window and suddenly asked a question.
"The crabapple trees outside—how are they after last night's wind and rain? Are the flowers still blooming?"
Li Qingzhao remembered that the late-blooming crabapple tree from two days ago still had a few withered buds hanging on its branches.
Yunzhui followed her gaze and answered.
"My lady, yesterday's wind and rain were quite strong, knocking down many leaves. There weren't many flowers left to begin with, and when I looked this morning, the branches were sparse. However, the leaves, washed by the rain, are lush and green, and look even more vibrant than the flowers."
"Yeah?"
Li Qingzhao spoke softly, her gaze somewhat unfocused as she looked at the crabapple tree.
After the rain, the fallen petals were scattered and the green leaves were lush and the red flowers faded—this scene inexplicably touched a soft chord in her heart.
The effects of the alcohol hadn't worn off, and I was just beginning to feel sleepy. That hazy, slightly melancholic yet keen sense of awareness was exceptionally clear.
She got up and walked to the desk. Yunzhui knew that his wife must have had an inspiration, so he quickly laid out paper and ground ink.
Li Qingzhao picked up her brush, dipped it in ink, but did not immediately put it down.
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to capture a fleeting inspiration, or perhaps savoring the tipsiness after drinking and the melancholy upon waking.
A moment later, the brush tip touched the paper, and a line of elegant small regular script, imbued with a touch of spaciousness and charm, flowed out:
Like a Dream
The rain and wind were violent last night.
If you ask the person rolling up the curtain, they will say that the crabapple blossoms are still there.
Do you know, do you know?
It should be a scene of lush greenery and faded red blossoms.
After writing, she put down her pen and silently looked at the words on the paper.
In just a few words, the author encapsulates the storm of the previous night, the languor of waking from a hangover, the daily conversations with the maid, and the melancholy over the fleeting nature of spring.
Especially the last four characters, "green leaves grow fat and red flowers wither," which, through the varying shades of color and the abundance or scarcity of form, fully express the desolation after prosperity and the ruthlessness of the passage of time.
Li Qingzhao herself felt that this subtle emotion had been captured perfectly when she read it.
Just as he was engrossed in reading the poem, he suddenly heard a report from the maid outside.
"My lady, Ping An from the eldest son's room has arrived. She says the eldest son brought something back from the Imperial Academy for you."
Is the servant in Li Jiong's room safe and sound?
Li Qingzhao was somewhat surprised.
My elder brother should be attending classes at the Imperial Academy right now, so why would he suddenly send someone back with something?
"Let him in."
"7
Ping An was a servant boy of thirteen or fourteen. After entering, he bowed respectfully, took out a scroll wrapped in blue cloth from his bosom, and presented it with both hands.
"Miss, this was sent back by my eldest son. He said the private examination at the Imperial Academy just ended today, and the young master of the Zhao family rewrote his essay after taking the exam, entrusting my eldest son to give it to you for your correction." My eldest son himself is still at the Imperial Academy, so he sent me to deliver it to you as soon as possible.
Zhao Mingcheng's policy essay?
Li Qingzhao was slightly taken aback, then remembered that she had indeed, a few days ago, through her brother, half-jokingly and half-seriously "urged" Zhao Mingcheng not to focus only on border achievements and business, and forget the fundamentals of literature.
Unexpectedly, Zhao Mingcheng actually remembered it and even sent over the essay from the private examination at the Imperial Academy.
This action was rather—serious.
Li Qingzhao took the scroll; it felt slightly heavy in her hand.
When unfolded, it was a policy essay written in neat regular script, with the title "On the Method of Defending Against the Xia Dynasty: Subduing the Enemy Without Fighting".
Although Li Qingzhao lived a secluded life in the inner chambers, she came from a family with a strong scholarly tradition, and her father, Li Gefei, held a position in the Ministry of Rites, so she was not entirely ignorant of court politics and current affairs.
She had also heard the news of the great victory at Hehuang and knew that it was that young Master Zhao who had made great contributions.
Looking at his policy essay now, it is clear that it combines personal experience with broader thinking.
Li Qingzhao temporarily put aside her earlier melancholy and began to read attentively.
The essay begins by analyzing the internal and external troubles of the Western Xia, and how the victory over the Hehuang region could cripple its strength. It demonstrates a broad perspective and accurate insight.
Then, the writing shifted to the topic of "economic pivots," proposing ideas such as "Song coin standard" and "using paper money to control the Xia dynasty," which gave her a fresh perspective.
"The land of Xia is barren, and its trade is meager—eight or nine out of ten transactions at the border markets are conducted using our Song coins—this is an invisible but deadly weapon—"
Li Qingzhao recited softly, her eyes sparkling with wonder.
She had read many history books and knew that Guan Zhong "controlled mountains and seas" to check the feudal lords and that Sang Hongyang implemented the equalization of transport and price levels, but she elevated the circulation of currency and economic dependence to the strategic level of "subduing the enemy without fighting".
Furthermore, considering the current realities of border trade, her proposal of such a balancing measure was truly unique among the policy discussions of her contemporaries that Li Qingzhao had encountered.
This goes beyond mere military or diplomatic strategy, touching upon a deeper level of competition between nations.
"By making myself invincible, we await the enemy's vulnerability—"
Upon reaching the end, Li Qingzhao fell into silent contemplation.
Zhao Mingcheng's article, seemingly discussing defense against the Xia dynasty, actually proposes a completely new approach to strengthening a nation and defeating its enemies based on economic advantages.
Zhao Mingcheng was not only capable of winning battles from afar and handling affairs with ease in the imperial court, but he also possessed such economic strategies.
Her opinion of Zhao Mingcheng rose even higher, and her curiosity and desire to explore grew stronger.
She picked up a vermilion pen and wrote a few annotations in the blank space of the article.
"Having seen the ills of the times, we must find a new path. Using money and silk as weapons, we can weaken enemy nations without bloodshed—this is truly a strategy to strike at the root of the problem. However, its implementation involves a wide range of issues and requires meticulous planning and extreme caution."
After finishing writing, I felt that I hadn't said enough, so I picked up my pen again and added a final summary.
"His views are lofty yet pragmatic, his ambitions are far-reaching yet his actions are steady, and he possesses the qualities of a renowned minister of ancient times."
After finishing her annotations, Li Qingzhao looked at her delicate handwriting alongside Zhao Mingcheng's vigorous regular script, and a thought suddenly struck her.
The poem "Like a Dream" that I just casually composed was about the idle sorrow of a woman confined to her boudoir, lamenting the passing of spring and the loss of flowers; while Zhao Mingcheng's essay discusses matters of national importance and strategies for defending against enemies.
One is gentle, the other is strong; one is introverted, the other is outward; one is graceful, the other is bold—their styles are quite different.
I wonder what Zhao Mingcheng, who could write such a grand economic strategy, would think if he saw this little poem of his that describes his delicate feelings.
Will they dismiss it as a woman whining without reason? Or will they have a different opinion?
Once the thought arose, I couldn't suppress it.
Li Qingzhao was a woman of free and unconventional temperament. At this moment, fueled by the lingering effects of the wine and the excitement of having just finished reading the policy essay, a bold and somewhat playful idea popped into her head.
She rerolled the scroll of her annotated essay, then took a light apricot-colored piece of stationery and rewrote the poem "Like a Dream" in regular script, adding a line of small characters at the end.
"Feeling a sudden gust of wind and rain, I playfully composed this short poem, hoping to elicit a smile from Mr. Zhao. Written by Li Qingzhao."
Then, she carefully tucked the note into the scroll of strategy, tied it with a ribbon, and handed it to Ping An, who was still waiting nearby.
"Take this back to the Imperial Academy and give it to my brother. Tell him that I have read Young Master Zhao's policy essay and have some humble opinions, which I have annotated above. Please ask him to pass it on to Young Master Zhao. Also," she pointed to the scroll.
"There was also a small note attached, containing a few casual verses I wrote down. Please ask him to pass them on to Young Master Zhao as well."
"Tell me, I'd also like to hear what Young Master Zhao thinks of my little poem."
Although Ping An didn't understand why the girl wanted to include his poems in the scroll, he didn't dare to ask too many questions. He carefully took the scroll and replied.
"Yes, young lady, rest assured, I will personally deliver it."
He has sent a reply in peace.
Outside the window, the branches and leaves of the crabapple tree swayed gently in the breeze, and the sparse, faded red petals stood out against the backdrop of the lush green leaves.
The anxieties in Li Qingzhao's heart seemed to have dissipated considerably.
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