Chapter Nineteen: How Could It Be Him

The maid took the paper. She glanced at it, then froze for a moment. With a look of slight disappointment, she handed the poem over to Miss Xue’s maid. It turned out to be a poem about snow. Miss Xue’s maid, who had been feeling down that her mistress hadn’t received a timeless masterpiece, suddenly saw the title "Spring Snow" written on the paper. She became instantly excited, as if she had discovered a rare treasure, and began to read it aloud.

"Spring Snow."

The crowd was stunned. It was written for Miss Xue. Even Miss Mei felt a tinge of disappointment. She had hoped for another masterpiece, but it had gone to her sister. Still, it made sense; how could one expect a second timeless classic of such caliber?

Miss Xue’s maid began to recite:
"The New Year has yet to bring forth fragrant blooms,
Only in early February do the grass shoots surprise.
Yet the white snow, impatient for the spring to arrive,
Pierces the garden trees to blossom as flying petals."

The gathered scholars were once again struck with awe. While this poem might not be the eternal masterpiece that the one about the plum blossom was, it was certainly a brilliant work worthy of being passed down through the ages. The final two lines—"Yet the white snow, impatient for the spring to arrive, / Pierces the garden trees to blossom as flying petals"—instantly painted a vivid picture of the sky filled with whirling snow before their eyes. It was superb!

The scholars who had written poems for Miss Xue silently tucked their own papers away. It was over; Miss Xue’s guest of honor would undoubtedly be Ma Yingze. Miss Xue’s eyes glistened with excitement. She stepped forward and bowed slightly toward Ma Yingze, who was behind the screen. "Master Ma, I pray you will cherish Xue’er tonight." Clearly, the poem had moved her. The other scholars couldn't help but envy Ma Yingze, who was set to enjoy the company of both beauties that night.

Young Master Qingqiu stepped back, his eyes full of disbelief. He tilted his head at a forty-five-degree angle, looking up at Ma Yingze as if trying to re-evaluate the man entirely. Ma Yingze, facing the crowd of scholars, felt triumphant. He decided to strike while the iron was hot, adopting the tone of a master as he declared, "Qingqiu, do you have anything else to say?"

The scholars' expressions were complex, but they all waited for Young Master Qingqiu to respond. Breathing heavily, Qingqiu glared at Ma Yingze with bloodshot eyes and challenged him: "I refuse to believe you have this level of skill. You must have plagiarized these! You copied two poems, one for Miss Mei and one for Miss Xue. Why else would you not write two for Miss Mei? Unless I set a topic for you to prove yourself, I will not believe it."

The scholars’ eyes brightened. That was true. Even if Ma Yingze had written two poems, it didn't prove he wasn't a plagiarist. Ma Yingze, placing full faith in Qin Hao, shouted, "Fine, set your topic. I accept!"

A flicker of malice flashed deep in Young Master Qingqiu’s eyes. "Then write a poem comparing Miss Mei and Miss Xue to see who is more beautiful."

The scholars looked at Qingqiu in disbelief. That was ruthless. No matter who Ma Yingze praised, it would inevitably belittle the other. Ma Yingze wanted to enjoy the favor of both? He was dreaming!

Qin Hao swept a cold gaze over Young Master Qingqiu. Such a person—narrow-minded, shortsighted, and stubborn—might be tolerable in a pleasure house, but in officialdom, he would be a cancer. However, Ma Yingze didn't grasp the trap and readily agreed: "Just you wait."

He pulled the curtain shut. Qin Hao pondered for a moment. Since the challenge had been issued, he decided to shatter the fragile pride of these pretentious scholars once and for all. He immediately wrote two poems and handed them to Ma Yingze. "Give them one at a time."

Ma Yingze nodded, excited to show off again. Being able to trample these scholars into the dust was far more satisfying than any of his usual exploits. As the curtain opened, the scholars looked expectantly at the new paper. As the poem reached the maid, Ma Yingze said from his vantage point, "Qingqiu, listen closely. This is the topic you set, so don't you dare claim I'm cheating."

The maid read aloud:
"Plum and snow contend for spring, neither willing to yield,
The poet lays down his brush, struggling to judge.
The plum blossom must concede a fraction of the snow's whiteness,
Yet the snow loses to the plum in the depth of its fragrance."

By the time she finished, the maid’s eyes were wide, and she couldn't help but cover her mouth. What kind of verse was this? It offended neither side, yet from such a tricky angle, it created a work of pure genius. And it was improvised! What kind of talent could achieve this? The scholars sighed, admitting defeat. Such immense talent was beyond their reach. It seemed they had all misjudged Ma Yingze; he was truly the most talented young man in the capital.

Miss Mei and Miss Xue exchanged glances, their eyes full of shock, yet their hearts were overflowing with joy. Miss Xue was the happiest. Her poem had been slightly inferior to the one about the plum blossom, and she had assumed Miss Mei would be the center of attention. But this third poem had captured the essence of their gathering perfectly. And those last two lines—"The plum blossom must concede a fraction of the snow's whiteness, / Yet the snow loses to the plum in the depth of its fragrance"—would surely spread throughout the capital, no, the entire Great Jing Dynasty, and be praised for generations to come.

"Impossible! This is impossible!" Young Master Qingqiu’s eyes bulged, and he stumbled back, collapsing onto the steps. At that moment, something within him seemed to shatter like ice.

Ma Yingze, emboldened, laughed loudly. "What, don't believe me? I have another one. Buy one, get one free—this one is for you." He tossed the second poem down. The maid rushed to pick it up and read it excitedly:

"Plum and Snow"
"Without the plum, the snow lacks spirit; without the snow, the poem is mundane.
As the sun sets, the poem is finished, and the sky begins to snow,
Together with the plum, they create a perfect spring."

Damn! Another poem about plum and snow that offended no one, took a difficult angle, and was still a work of genius! The final lines, "As the sun sets, the poem is finished, and the sky begins to snow, / Together with the plum, they create a perfect spring," provided the perfect conclusion to their gathering. A great talent—no, a genius! Not only could he produce masterpieces at any moment, but he could also weave the setting into his verse! The scholars felt their own lack of culture; they could only mutter in awe.

After the fourth poem, while Miss Mei and Miss Xue were thrilled, Miss Mei noticed Ma Yingze’s smug, nouveau-riche behavior and felt something was off. She said with a hint of resentment, "Master Ma, why do both poems praise Xue’er, but not me? Am I not beautiful?"

The scholars were confused. The last two poems clearly stated that both were peerless in their own way, so why would Miss Mei ask that? Did she not understand the meaning? Ma Yingze, hearing her resentful tone, felt his bones melt. His mind clouded, and he blurted out, "Miss Mei, it’s not that you aren't beautiful; it’s just that I like Xue’er more."

This answer shocked the scholars again. What was Ma Yingze doing? He wrote the poems, yet he didn't even know what they meant?

Qin Hao slapped his forehead. *It's over.* "Ma Yingze, oh Ma Yingze. I gave you the chance, but you're just useless."

Young Master Qingqiu’s eyes reignited with hope. He jumped up and shouted, "Look! I told you Ma Yingze was a fraud! He doesn't even know what he wrote!"

The scholars were dizzy from the constant twists and turns. How could he still be a fraud? Could a fraud really copy four timeless masterpieces? And for Qingqiu to set such a difficult topic, only for there to be a perfectly corresponding poem? That was too much of a coincidence.

Miss Mei shook her head and said gracefully, "Young Master Qingqiu, these poems were not copied. There is no such coincidence that could produce four timeless works. If I am not mistaken, Master Ma, these four poems were written by the person beside you. Am I right?"

Ma Yingze, exposed, stopped pretending. He gave Qin Hao an awkward smile. "Brother Shen, my apologies. I botched the performance. I'll leave the rest to you."

The eyes of all the scholars fell upon Qin Hao, who was currently gnawing on a chicken leg. It was him! Young Master Qingqiu looked at Qin Hao, his spirit dealt a second, crushing blow. How could it be him?