Han Guang greeted the doorman, and Zhao Lijia led the two of them—Han Guang and Tieyi—toward Chongren Ward.
Of Chang'an's one hundred and eight wards, none rivaled Chongren Ward in splendor.
Chongren Ward faced the Jingfeng Gate of the Imperial City to the north, bordered the broad avenue between Chunming Gate and Jinguang Gate to the south, and connected with the Eastern Market to the southeast. Within the ward, vermilion towers and ornate pavilions stood in close array, their flying eaves nearly touching one another.
Because the ward housed the Southern Court of the Ministry of Rites of the Department of State Affairs, various regional liaison offices, and dozens of military governor outposts, the streets teemed with examination candidates, local officials, and foreign merchants from the Western Regions, all jostling shoulder to shoulder. The clamor of carts and horses, street vendors' cries, and polite greetings mingled into a single din, punctuated by the rich aroma of grape wine and the savory scent of roasted flatbread and mutton.
Zhao Lijia and the Cold-Light Iron Armor pair could hardly take it all in. They stopped at every sight, and whenever they spotted a crowd, they had to push in and see what the commotion was about.
The three wandered on, stopping and starting, until they reached a bookshop. Curious to see what Chang'an's bookshops sold and how they differed from those in Liangzhou, Zhao Lijia stepped inside.
The shop was spacious, nestled between a scroll-mounting studio and a tea house. Above the door hung a red lacquered plaque bearing the words "Cloud Brocade Bookshop." A few scholars stood before the shelves, browsing.
The shelves held scrolls with various colored ribbons, all brand new, while a long wooden table in the center displayed freshly arrived books still carrying the scent of ink.
Zhao Lijia wandered through the shop. Besides the Confucian classics—the Book of Songs, Book of Documents, Book of Changes, Book of Rites, and Spring and Autumn Annals—there were numerous examination reference books for students, Buddhist scriptures, almanacs, divination texts, and one entire shelf devoted entirely to tales of the marvelous.
Judging by the arrangement, it was clear that reference books and leisure reading sold the most.
"Miss!" Tieyi exclaimed in a hushed, excited voice, holding up a book. "Look!"
Zhao Lijia was delighted at first—she never expected to see one of her own books in Chang'an. But her joy was short-lived, for this was a pirated edition!
She immediately checked the cover and saw the pen name. She let out a breath of relief—at least it was only a pirated copy, not someone stealing her name.
It seemed that free printing had both advantages and disadvantages. The advantage was that anyone could privately print books; the disadvantage was that piracy was becoming rampant. If one depended on books for a living, one would truly starve. Fortunately, Zhao Lijia didn't care much about that—but if someone had dared to pass off their work under her name, that would have been an insult she could not swallow.
This book had cost her countless hours of painstaking research, compilation, and editing.
She bought the pirated copy anyway. At the counter, she asked the shopkeeper why the book she'd seen elsewhere differed from the version sold in his store. The shopkeeper replied with righteous indignation that she must have bought a pirated copy before.
Having personally overseen the printing of the original edition, Zhao Lijia was left utterly speechless.
The three left the bookshop, and right next door stood their destination for the day—the Ear Mirror Tea House.
The tea house was understated yet proper. Just inside the entrance, a large wooden placard on the right displayed the house rules: "What is said on stage stays on stage; what is said below stays below. Do not pry, and take nothing to heart."
The tea house had two floors. The second floor had partitioned alcoves, while the ground floor centered on a small platform about a foot high, furnished with only a blue felt mat and a low table. They had arrived at a fortunate moment—the storyteller was taking a tea break, and the next session had not yet begun.
Zhao Lijia followed a servant up to one of the alcoves on the second floor. The "alcove" was really just a small space screened off by bamboo blinds, furnished with a cushion and a low table for refreshments and tea.
She ordered transparent flower cakes and apricot dew tea, while Han Guang and Tieyi ordered jusheng slaves—a type of sesame-covered ring-shaped Hu pastry they had never eaten before.
Just then, the storyteller below began his tale.
"That old man who was telling the story earlier has left my mouth dry. Next, I'll tell a joke that came to mind when I passed by the bookshop next door while out for a meal at noon."
Zhao Lijia's eyes lit up. She thought this suited her taste perfectly—it seemed that today's outing, aside from encountering pirated books, still had something good in store.
The old man below stroked his beard and said, "Back in the day, when a certain Governor Li was serving as an official in Qizhou, a scholar surnamed Li came to visit him with a scroll of poems. Governor Li, harboring the intention of playing the role of a talent scout, wanted to comment on this Scholar Li's poetry. But when he opened the scroll and took a look—well, that look was something else."
The people in the private room made no sound, but a few people below the stage on the first floor, being quite supportive, asked:
"What was so remarkable about it?"
The old storyteller squinted and smiled: "That Scholar Li came in and respectfully handed over the scroll of poems. Governor Li opened it and took a look—oh my, that look nearly made him spit out his tea!"
The audience below was excited: "What exactly happened?! Come on, tell us!"
The old man: "The poems on that scroll—every single word and line—were all examination submission poems that Governor Li himself had written back when he hadn't yet passed the imperial exams!"
Some in the audience sighed, some cursed the scholar for his low morals, daring to parade this right in front of the original author. Zhao Lijia, however, felt uneasy.
The old man smiled and began telling the story in the voices of Governor Li and the scholar:
Governor Li: "These poems—did you write them?"
Scholar: "In reply to Your Excellency, no, this humble student did not write them."
Governor Li: "Then who composed them?"
Scholar: "This humble student does not know. I bought this at a bookshop in Chang'an for a hundred coins."
The sighs from below grew louder. Even the people on the stage could no longer sit still; some leaned against the railing, and one could faintly make out each other's clothing.
The old man waved his hand. Once things quieted down, he continued:
Governor Li: "These are examination submission poems from before I passed the exams!"
Scholar: "These poems have traveled with me through the Jianghuai region for over twenty years. In that case, why don't you give them to me?"
The old man: "Governor Li had also encountered such a thing for the first time and found it novel. Moreover, the governor was a magnanimous man—one might even say too magnanimous. This is what he said:
Governor Li: "Enough, enough. Since these poems have been with you for some years, I'll give them to you."
Scholar: "Thank you, Your Excellency! Your Excellency is truly a generous gentleman!"
Governor Li: "Where are you headed next?"
Scholar: "In reply to Your Excellency, this humble student is going to Jiangling to seek refuge with my cousin-uncle, Minister Lu."
Governor Li: "You're wrong again. Minister Lu is my own cousin-uncle."
Scholar: "Since that's the case, then please lend me this cousin-uncle as well."
Once the old man finished telling this joke, few people laughed, and many were angry—especially Zhao Lijia, who felt that Governor Li's experience was very similar to what she had just been through.
Governor Li was so magnanimous, but if it were Zhao Lijia, she could never do the same.
Seeing that his joke had fallen flat, the old man hurriedly told another one to make up for it. This time, both the stage and the audience laughed.
Zhao Lijia's eyes curved like crescents, her dimples deep. She was somewhat unsure whether this joke was worth writing down, but in the end she recorded it anyway—after all, she could always filter through them later once she had collected them all.
Just then, she heard the sound of a cup falling to the ground in the compartment to her left. This had nothing to do with her at first, but the cup rolled out from under the bamboo curtain and came to rest against the hem of Zhao Lijia's skirt.
It was not tea inside but a green fruit syrup, which spilled onto the lotus-pink hem of her skirt, strikingly conspicuous.
Han Guang and Tieyi hurried to wipe it clean. Movement came from the other side of the bamboo curtain as well, and before long, a bright female voice spoke up: "My apologies, I accidentally knocked over the cup just now."
Seeing her apologize, Zhao Lijia did not take the matter to heart. "It's fine, no harm done."
Hearing Zhao Lijia respond, the person on the other side brashly lifted the bamboo curtain. "I found that joke just now so funny that I knocked over the cup on the table without paying attention. Are you all right?"
Zhao Lijia was a little startled when the curtain was suddenly lifted, but seeing that the one who lifted it was a bright-eyed young girl with a smile, her wariness gradually eased.
Zhao Lijia smiled and pointed at the hem of her skirt. "There was still some fruit syrup left in the cup, and it spilled on my skirt."
Zhou Miao wore a look of deep regret. "I'm so sorry. How about I compensate you for this skirt? I still have quite a bit of soft mist gauze, perfect for making a skirt."
Zhao Lijia waved her hand. "It's fine, you didn't do it on purpose. There's no need to compensate."
Seeing Zhao Lijia refuse, Zhou Miao looked somewhat displeased. "Oh, you're making me feel so guilty. I insist on compensating you. Isn't that right, brother?"
As she finished speaking, a young gentleman of equally noble bearing lifted the curtain and stepped in from behind her. He had broad eyelids and two large dimples on his face, and seemed somewhat shy. When he spoke, he did not dare meet Zhao Lijia's eyes, and even when he did, he quickly looked away. "A-Miao, I see this young lady is unwilling to accept the fabric. Perhaps you could give her something else."
Zhou Miao looked Zhao Lijia up and down, as if checking to see what she might lack, then said with a troubled and irritable air: "Then what do you want?"
Zhao Lijia groaned inwardly. She had not wanted compensation—how had it turned into her seeming to demand it from them?
She pointed at the bowls and dishes on the table. "Then I'll take a box of transparent flower cakes to go. That will do."
Zhou Miao looked somewhat as if she found her unappreciative. "Just that? You could have asked me for anything you wanted. What a pity."
After a while, a servant brought Zhao Lijia the packed transparent flower cakes. Zhao Lijia handed them to Han Guang and said to the man and woman before her, "Then I'll be going now."
Below, the storyteller stopped telling jokes and began telling a story. Zhou Miao was bored, and seeing that she was about to leave, said to Zhou Xu beside her, "Brother, let's go too. It's getting late. It won't be good if we don't head back soon."
Zhou Xu nodded. "Let's go."
Zhou Miao caught up with Zhao Lijia. "Do you like listening to storytelling too?"
Zhao Lijia tilted her head. "Storytelling is all right, I suppose. I prefer listening to jokes."
Zhou Miao was delighted. "Me too! It's a pity there are so few joke tellers—or rather, so few jokes. They're hard to come by."
Seeing that this young woman actually shared the same hobby as herself, Zhao Lijia no longer minded her earlier capriciousness. "I know some establishments in Chang'an that specialize in telling jokes, but there's only one session a day. Some places have even longer intervals, and most of the time they tell stories."
Zhou Miao clung to Zhao Lijia's arm. "Then next time let's go out together. My brother and I have been worrying about not being able to find a good place to have fun."
Just then, Zhou Xu suddenly pulled Zhou Miao back and gave her a look. The two of them, having apparently spotted someone, fled one after the other toward the back of the alley.
Zhao Lijia looked behind her, then ahead, and caught sight of several Jinwu Imperial Guard officers riding past on horseback. She was somewhat baffled.
"Let's go back. I'm exhausted—physically drained, and even more mentally drained." She drooped her head and climbed into the carriage at the mouth of the alley.
Wuhen saw that the young mistress had already left. He stood frozen at the alley entrance, unsure whether to follow her or return to the teahouse to gather information.
In the end, he decided to go back to the teahouse. There was nothing worth following about the young mistress returning to the residence. But that joke she had just written down—he hadn't memorized it yet, and he needed to go ask about it clearly.
The young master had said that whatever the young mistress did, especially anything suspicious, had to be recorded word for word. The fact that she had written down the joke told by the old storyteller struck him as quite suspicious.
Behind the teahouse counter, the old storyteller was furious but dared not speak out.
Wuhen tilted his head, holding a portable short brush, muttering aloud as he wrote furiously,
"Once—upon—a—time—there—was—a—"
The old storyteller said, "It's not 'there was a,' it's 'there lived a.'" He looked at the fierce man before him and felt somewhat intimidated.
"No, I mean, you—you said word for word, right…"
Wuhen had painstakingly written it out and now had to erase it. "Then why didn't you say so earlier!"
He sighed. "Once—upon—a—time—there—lived—a—"
"Why am I rewriting this again!"