Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

Zhang Sanlang turned to Huangfu Ce and said, "I can't understand one thing. When Confucius edited the Book of Poetry, the first poem was 'Guanju,' which says, 'A fair maiden, a gentleman's good match.'"

"That refers to whether two people get along or not; it's a matter of personal opinion. According to social standing, why ask the gentleman? You should ask the parents. Why not just say 'parents seek love'?"

Zhang Sanlang scanned the crowd present. "The rules of etiquette and law stipulate that marriages are arranged by parents and matchmakers, but they do not say that women cannot have their own ideas. From the Book of Rites to the Book of Ceremonies, they only set rules, but they never silenced anyone."

There is a saying in the Gongyang Commentary: "The words that come from the mouth are not the words of one person." The same applies to marriage; it cannot be decided solely by the parents, but also by listening to the thoughts of one's own family.

Zhao Siheng stopped stroking his beard.

He looked at Zhang Sanlang, his eyes lighting up as if he had found something new and interesting: "Zhang Yashi's words are something that even the old scribes in the prefecture might not be able to say."

Zhang Sanlang waved his hand: "Sir, you flatter me. I just feel that life is something one has to live. If others choose for her, she will be the one who suffers in the end."

Zhao Siheng pondered for a moment and then nodded.

Huangfu Ce looked unwell, but he did not argue further.

The courtyard fell silent for a moment.

Zhao Yuqin suddenly walked to the stone table, her gaze falling on Zhang Sanlang's face. "Zhang Yashi, I wrote a poem yesterday, but I feel something is off. I just heard you talk about 'Guanju' and 'Gongyang,' so I wanted to ask you to take a look."

Without waiting for Zhang Sanlang's reaction, she quickly pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from her sleeve, unfolded it, and placed it on the stone table.

The paper was slightly wrinkled, and the ink had dried, as if it had been written on for several days, reviewed repeatedly, and then folded back up.

Zhang Sanlang glanced down at the few lines of text on the paper, his gaze sweeping from the first line to the last, without speaking immediately. Zhao Yuqin stood by the stone table, her hands hanging at her sides, her gaze fixed on the paper, as if waiting for something.

Zhao Siheng looked somewhat surprised. "Qinniang, when did you write this?"

Zhao Yuqin didn't look at him, a hint of sadness on her face. "A few days ago was the anniversary of my mother's death. My father sat in his study all night without closing his eyes. I wrote this poem for him, but I'm not sure if it's good or not."

Zhang Sanlang picked it up and looked at it again. The handwriting on the paper was neat and clear.

Remembering Qin'e - Moon over the South City

The summer window is thin, and the sound of cicadas is completely blocked by the leaves in front of the curtain.

The leaves before the curtain, the shadow of the old toad, reflect on people like snow.

Ten years of candlelight have turned to iron, and now I fear to lean against the moon in the south of the city.

The moon shines over the southern city; half a lifetime has been wasted, and this night is bitterly cold.

Zhang Sanlang gently placed the paper back on the stone table: "Zhao Xiaoniangzi's poem doesn't sound like it was written by an eighteen-year-old."

Zhao Yuqin was slightly taken aback.

"The writing style is that of a young lady from a wealthy family, but the underlying tone is mature. The line 'Ten years of candlelight have melted it into iron' is particularly good. Iron is a hard substance that cannot be melted by burning or broken by hammering, and it weighs heavily on the heart."

"The word 'timid' in 'Now I fear to lean against the moon south of the city' is well-chosen. Zhao Xiaoniangzi's poem first presents the scene and then expresses the emotion, moving from the scene to the heart, with a clever contrast between cold and warm feelings. The structure is neat, but it is slightly overly ornate."

Zhao Yuqin pursed her lips, her eyes full of anticipation. "Zhang Yashi, your comments are all very reasonable. I have something on my mind, but I don't know if I should speak to you?"

Zhao Siheng glared at her from the side, but did not say anything to stop her.

Zhao Yuqin became even bolder. "A few days ago, I found a handwritten collection of poems in my father's old book box. There were more than a dozen poems called 'Remembering Qin'e' in it. I read them several times and found the tune more and more enjoyable to savor."

"No matter how much I write, it always seems to lack that final touch. Could you, Zhang Yashi, also compose a poem in the style of 'Remembering Qin'e' and show me what it means to be unadorned?"

As she spoke, she pulled a fine brush from her sleeve and placed it on the stone table. She then spread out a piece of paper and used an empty teacup on the table to weigh down the corner of the paper.

Zhang Sanlang glanced at Zhao Siheng and finally realized what was happening.

The father and daughter came here today purely because they were bored and had nothing better to do.

So he got a passable song and lyrics and came here to show off.

If the upper beam is crooked, the lower beam will be crooked too!

He suddenly realized that perhaps the gossip spread by Zhang Silang and Zhao Yuqin wasn't entirely fabricated by Kong Youan.

Although Neo-Confucianism was not yet widely accepted at this time, such exchanges of poetry between men and women were ultimately not a pleasant topic. It was one thing for Zhao Yuqin to be young and ignorant, but that old fellow Zhao Siheng actually condoned it?

Disrespectful to elders!

Zhang Sanlang's eyes darkened slightly as he glanced at the father and daughter. He then spoke rather bluntly, "Miss Zhao, I've never considered the poetic form 'Remembering Qin'e' before."

"It is extremely difficult among hundreds of ci (lyric poetry) forms. It is limited by the use of rhyme and has a narrow range of expression. It cannot express great joy or great sorrow, but can only express this deep sense of melancholy, making it more suitable for reminiscing about the past."

"However, since you have come to ask for my help, it would be impolite of me, Zhang Sanlang, to refuse. Since we have just discussed A-Yun's marriage today, I will simply use the poem 'Remembering Qin'e' to compose a song."

The people around the stone table fell silent.

Zhou An's gaze swept between Zhao Yuqin and Zhang Sanlang, then he secretly glanced at A-Yun.

Seemingly sensing that someone was watching her, A-Yun raised her head slightly and met Zhou An's gaze. Her face flushed, and she squeezed behind Zhao Yuqin, craning her neck to watch Zhang Sanlang compose lyrics.

Although she didn't know many words, she still wanted to see it.

Zhang Sanlang reached for the brush on the table, glanced at the nib—the ink was dry. He ran the nib over his tongue, dipped it again, and wrote the title:

"Remembering Qin'e - Don't Be Trapped"

Zhao Yuqin stood by the table, watching the pen tip move across the paper. Her gaze shifted from the first line to the second, then to the third, and the curve of her lips slowly deepened.

"Her spring dress is thin, and she is still in her secluded chamber, unaware of the east wind's promise."

"The east wind blows, but the mirror reflects in vain, and the cosmetics have all fallen."

Zhao Siheng frowned slightly, somewhat surprised that Zhang Sanlang had written this.

Zhao Yuqin looked up and met her father's gaze, her smile widening. His expression clearly said, "So, Zhang Sanlang, who's supposedly so skilled in poetry and prose, is nothing special after all!"

However, before she could even laugh out loud, she suddenly noticed that Zhao Siheng's expression had changed!

Zhao Yuqin quickly looked down at the paper, and the smile on her lips hadn't yet faded when her gaze fell on it.

She finished reading the following sentences, seemingly not quite understanding, and read them again. This time, her gaze lingered on the last sentence:

"The heavy doors and embroidered windows must eventually be broken down, and swallows and sparrows will leap under the eaves in the wind."

"Leaping into the wind, the long river of history begins anew."

Zhao Siheng's hand, which had been stroking his beard, stopped at some point, and he pulled out two gray hairs, causing his lips to twitch slightly in pain.

He stared at the few lines of text on the paper, and after several breaths, he finally spoke, "The long river of history, recounting it from the beginning! Zhang Yashi, you... you can write like this?"

Zhao Yuqin's smile vanished completely. "Swallows hop under the eaves in the wind... Ah, I was just thinking that if Zhang Yashi really wrote a poem about a woman's lament, then he wouldn't be Zhang Yashi. Sure enough..."

Zhang Sanlang threw his pen on the stone table without saying a word. He knew his lyrics were rough, but his intention was quite clear.

However, just as Zhang Sanlang raised his face, he was shocked to find that Zhao Yuqin had snatched the page of paper, folded it neatly, and tucked it into her sleeve. "Thank you for the poem, Zhang Yashi. It's getting late, I'll take my leave now..."

Before she could finish speaking, she turned and left.

Zhao Siheng reacted quickly, glancing in the direction his daughter had disappeared, and bowed to Zhang Sanlang, saying, "Zhang Yashi, I'm going back now. I'll visit you again another day to seek your guidance."

After he finished speaking, he turned and walked towards the courtyard gate. His appearance reminded Zhang Sanlang of Fang Zhong'an.

Oh, and there's also Zhang Yiniang!

Who are these people?!