Luo Yuan now seemed to have a more legitimate reason to keep Yang Ruoning by his side at all times, never apart. The two were like conjoined twins, constantly clinging to each other these days. Luo Yuan wished he could hold her hand twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, unwilling to let go. If it were his own time, Yang Ruoning would have surely been scared away by Luo Yuan. This approach was too suffocating. She was someone who needed a lot of personal space.
But Yang Ruoning did not run away; she chose to accept Luo Yuan's close protection. They would walk hand in hand through the streets, returning to the manor. This action, in an era where men and women were not supposed to touch, naturally drew the attention of the entire city, becoming the hottest topic in Bianliang City at the end of summer.
Some people condemned their "outrageous" behavior, labeling Yang Ruoning a "morally corrupt" country woman. More people, however, were curious how a "elderly" dishwasher from Fanlou managed to capture the heart of the "most handsome man."
That day, Yang Ruoning accompanied Luo Yuan to a banquet at Fanlou as usual. During the feast, someone proposed a drinking game.
"What is a drinking game?" Yang Ruoning quietly asked Luo Yuan.
"It's about composing poems."
Composing poems? Yang Ruoning frowned. How could she compose poems? She wanted to find an excuse to leave, but the group seemed unwilling. A lady present even said, "The woman favored by the most talented scholar Luo Yuan must be talented... and beautiful. Miss Yang, you must let us witness it today."
Yang Ruoning knew that four-character idiom, "talented and beautiful," and she had deliberately omitted the word "beautiful."
Yang Ruoning found it a bit amusing. She replied, "Indeed, madam, you speak correctly. However, you need not deliberately omit the word 'beautiful.' Beauty like yours naturally has many advantages. But you may not know that being ordinary in appearance also has its benefits."
"Oh? What do you mean, Miss?" someone asked.
"It means if someone says they like me, then they must truly, deeply like me," Yang Ruoning said, turning her head and raising her eyebrows at Luo Yuan beside her.
Luo Yuan smiled. He reached out, picked a grain of rice from the corner of her mouth, and then naturally ate it.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Yang Ruoning turned her head, shrugged her shoulders, and said to the shocked lady, "Liking someone has nothing to do with appearance. Although we may seem like... two people from different worlds, we are... how do you say it in your words?" She turned to look at Luo Yuan.
"Love each other? Mutual affection?" Luo Yuan said with a smile.
"Yes, we love each other, we have mutual affection. Our souls are drawn to each other."
"As the lady says, why don't we use the most perplexing human emotion, love between men and women, as the theme? What do you all think?" someone said, trying to ease the situation.
Yang Ruoning, who barely recognized many characters, how could she compose poetry? But Yang Ruoning didn't feel bothered. Everyone had their own areas of expertise. Some could compose poems, some could dance, some excelled in sports. Why should everyone be measured by a single talent?
Thinking this, Yang Ruoning did not leave. Instead, as Luo Yuan looked at her with some concern, she held his hand under the table, as if telling him there was nothing to be ashamed of and not to worry.
Then, everyone began to compose poems and drink. Given that everyone present belonged to the intellectual elite of the Great Song Dynasty, Yang Ruoning naturally understood not a single word.
It was Yang Ruoning's turn.
She was about to honestly confess that she couldn't compose poetry, when Luo Yuan beside her spoke first, "How about Ruoning and I recite a poem together?"
"Is it Lord Luo's recent work?" everyone was curious.
"It is not my recent work. I merely saw it from Ruoning, and I am very fond of it," Luo Yuan said.
Mine? Yang Ruoning looked at him in confusion.
He smiled slightly at her and then began to recite.
"Ten years of life and death, vast and dim, without thought, yet unforgettable. A lonely grave a thousand miles away, nowhere to speak of desolation. Even if we meet again, you likely won't recognize me, face full of dust, hair like frost."
His voice was deep and powerful. Reciting this mournful poem, it was unexpectedly fitting.
How long had it been since she heard this poem? This was her mother's favorite poem. Yang Ruoning recalled when she was little, after returning from Chinese language classes, she complained to her mother in the kitchen about how difficult Chinese was to learn. Her mother would recite this poem to her, telling her about the beauty of Chinese and explaining the poet's deep yearning for his deceased wife in every word.
Just like, I miss you all madly now. Thinking this, Yang Ruoning's eyes instantly welled up with tears.
"Last night in a dream, I suddenly returned home. The small window, you were dressing your hair. We looked at each other in silence, only tears flowed in endless streams. I guess the place that breaks my heart year after year is the moonlit night, the low mound of earth."
She looked at Luo Yuan and, unable to control herself, continued the latter half.
Luo Yuan tightened his grip on her hand under the table. He seemed to sense her sudden emotional shift.
As the words fell, everyone was struck by the poignant and graceful sorrow of the poem. For a moment, there was silence. They saw a deeply in-love couple by the table gazing at each other, their eyes overflowing with affection.
Who would not envy this pair of true lovers?
"A good poem!" someone exclaimed, bringing everyone back to their senses. They all raised their cups in praise.
Someone asked Yang Ruoning, "I didn't expect Miss to write such a moving poem, 'Jiang Cheng Zi.' It can be called a rare masterpiece in the world."
Yang Ruoning replied calmly, "This poem was not written by me."
"Then who is the author?"
"It is a poem my mother liked, and I do not know the author," Yang Ruoning answered.
On the way home that day, Yang Ruoning asked Luo Yuan, "How did you know this poem?"
Luo Yuan said, "I saw it on your computer. Because I was astonished by how exquisitely beautiful this poem was written, I remembered it."
So, the wild cursive calligraphy on Jason's computer desktop, which she couldn't understand, was actually this poem.
"This is a poem my mother loved before she passed away," Yang Ruoning said. "She said it was written by a poet for his deceased wife. I don't know if my mother could recognize me at first glance in my current state... So many years have passed, I really, truly miss her."
Luo Yuan gently embraced her.
Yang Ruoning reached out and wrapped her arms around him. "If my mother were still alive, she would definitely like you very much. She would definitely say, Yang Ruoning, you've really surprised me, finding such a handsome and excellent man."
Luo Yuan kissed the top of her head. "I want to thank them for bringing such a wonderful you to me."