Chapter 000 Prologue: That Story of Romance and Beauty

　　In front of Yuntai Mountain and Peach Blossom Cove, it was the season when peach blossoms were in full bloom, the mountains and fields covered in vibrant pink.

　　Today was the third day of the third lunar month, the Daughters' Festival.

　　Truly, “faces and peach blossoms reflect each other’s red.” Now, among the peach blossoms, a group of Song dynasty ladies—seven or eight of them—sat scattered around several peach trees, passing cups to one another, chatting and laughing softly.

　　The “Daughters' Festival” was the day for unmarried Song dynasty women to meet their sweethearts. Of course, these six or seven ladies had all brought their male companions. They sat in small groups, while the men hovered around them, eager to please. Some tasted fruit from the hands of their companions amid laughter, some were tenderly wiping sweat and handing out handkerchiefs, and some sat in pairs, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

　　What a lively scene of ladies enjoying the spring.

　　Among the male companions, the most imposing was a chubby fellow with a Maitreya-like silly grin. He had brought more than twenty family members, as well as six or seven soldiers wearing Fanyang hats and military coats. With these uniformed men present, the group boldly occupied the entire peach grove, keeping idle onlookers at bay.

　　Amid the laughter, the sound of a drum softly echoed. Beneath the peach trees, a slender girl in a pale yellow dress, her eyes covered, tapped a small drum with her thin arms. As the drum rumbled, the ladies passed a silk flower from hand to hand, each one treating it as if it were a hot coal, quickly passing it to the next.

　　But not everyone was in a hurry. When the silk flower reached a plump girl with a round face and big eyes, even her hands had adorable dimples like a baby’s. She was unhurried, coquettishly picking up the flower, pretending to sniff its nonexistent fragrance, and only after her friends urged her did she laugh and pass it on.

　　At that moment, the drumbeat stopped.

　　“Oh dear,” the girl sitting just below her quickly withdrew her hand, a joyful smile on her face. She nudged the man beside her and said, “I didn’t touch the flower, so it’s your turn—poetry is as easy for you as embroidery is for me. It’s a small matter, and I’ve been wanting to hear your latest work.”

　　The girl holding the flower wore a pale yellow spring dress with a light green jacket draped over her shoulders. Her charming smile was as fresh as a seven-minute-boiled egg. As she shifted slightly, the golden hairpin on her head and her full chest quivered together, making hearts race. She even cast a sidelong glance at the other ladies: “I don’t believe you didn’t prepare a few poems before coming out for the Daughters' Festival, maybe even had someone write them for you in advance? Why not recite them now and let us hear your masterpiece?”

　　That sidelong glance—what modern people would call “throwing a flirty look”—was truly captivating, making the men nearby swallow hard.

　　The girl being teased spat playfully: “Oh please, you don’t show off your skills in front of a master, and you don’t write poems at Li Bai’s tomb. With you, the number one talented woman of Haizhou, sitting here, even if I spent a year and hired ten ghostwriters to pour their hearts into a poem, it wouldn’t be as lively as your casual lines. I say, Grace, what are you waiting for? It’s been days since we heard your new verses—hurry and share them with us.”

　　The girl called Grace put away the flower. The men serving nearby, seeing the debate settled, immediately let out a frenzied cheer, their voices hoarse like fans hearing their idol about to speak. Among them, the chubby fellow with many attendants and soldiers gazed at the girl holding the flower with infatuation, his voice syrupy sweet: “Sister Chu, I’ve been waiting for days just to hear your wonderful poetry.”

　　The girl holding the flower’s surname was Chu, her name Grace Harper—in name, she was the chubby fellow’s companion.

　　Miss Harper giggled, her laughter as clear and melodious as an oriole’s song—enough to make her a pop star: “Actually, no matter how many poems we compose on the third day of the third month, none can compare to Li Yi’an’s lines: ‘The wind is gentle, the sun is thin, spring is still early. Wearing a lined jacket for the first time, my mood is good. Waking from sleep, I feel a slight chill, with plum blossoms fading in my hair. Where is my hometown? I forget, unless I’m drunk. Lying down, I burn incense, the scent fades but the wine remains.’”

　　Under the peach trees, red petals drifted down, a true shower of falling blossoms.

　　In this scene full of anime-like charm, a girl chimed in: “Why not get drunk today as well, and imitate: ‘Drunk, I forget the way home. After the fun, I return late by boat, accidentally entering the depths of the lotus flowers. Competing to row, competing to row, startling a flock of gulls and egrets.’”

　　“Let me think—” Miss Harper mused, “In such a beautiful setting, if I can’t compose a good poem, it would be a shame to this picturesque scenery…”

　　While Miss Harper was lost in thought, the other girls seized the chance to whisper sweet nothings to their boyfriends.