The next day, inside the Dharma Hall, incense swirled and bells chimed in harmony. Fresh flowers before the Buddha statue emitted a delicate fragrance, blending with sandalwood to create an otherworldly sacred atmosphere. Sunlight slanted through the hall's stained glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the ground, adding a dreamlike quality to this solemn and dignified place.
Zhang Sheng had arrived early, but didn't rush inside. Instead, he stood with hands behind his back beneath a bodhi tree outside the hall, his gaze seemingly fixed on distant mountains while his attention was actually focused entirely on the path leading to the Dharma Hall. His heart beat faster than usual, and his forehead even broke out in a fine layer of sweat. This scholar, who normally handled various examinations at the academy with flowing ease, was now nervous at the prospect of a chance encounter with a young lady. He quietly adjusted his clothes and gently groomed his sideburns with his fingers, ensuring he looked sufficiently proper.
He had calculated the timing perfectly. Sure enough, after the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Lady Cui's entourage appeared. A group of maids and elderly servants surrounded them—some holding parasols for shade, some carrying incense pouches, others cradling sutras—as if guarding some rare treasure. And at the center of this procession was the person he had been thinking of day and night—Cui Yingying.
Today Yingying wore plain white attire, which accentuated that touch of sorrow between her brows like a faint ink stroke in a landscape painting, creating a lingering charm. She walked with lowered head and delicate steps, her long eyelashes casting shadows below her eyes. Her slender waist swayed slightly with each step, like a willow branch in the spring breeze, pitifully lovely yet elegant. Her jade-like fingers gently held a string of prayer beads while her lips softly murmured something, perhaps a prayer for her father's blessing. She carried a special aura, possessing both the dignified restraint of a noble lady and the fragile melancholy of someone who had lost a loved one—this contradictory combination made her even more captivating.
Zhang Sheng's heart pounded wildly, but he forced himself to remain calm. He adjusted his robe and, at the precise moment they were about to enter the hall, neither too early nor too late, he "happened to pass by" them. What seemed coincidental was actually carefully calculated by him. He couldn't be too obvious, lest he appear frivolous; nor could he be too hesitant, lest he miss this rare opportunity. It was like placing a piece on a chessboard—every move had to be precisely right.
He bowed slightly, performing a standard scholar's greeting, and said, "Student Zhang Junrui pays respects to the Lady and the Young Miss." His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just right, demonstrating both his humility and courtesy as an intellectual while revealing a hint of youthful vigor and confidence characteristic of young men. His gaze was calm and straightforward, as if merely a courteous greeting, yet inadvertently revealed his attention toward Yingying.
Lady Cui merely nodded faintly without giving him a second glance. This worldly-wise noble lady immediately recognized the young scholar's intentions but chose to respond coldly. In her eyes, he was just another nameless nobody attracted by her daughter's beauty, not worth wasting time on. She slightly raised her chin, her gaze passing over Zhang Sheng directly to what lay ahead, her posture exuding nobility and arrogance, silently declaring the class divide between them.
Yingying, however, almost imperceptibly stiffened upon hearing his voice. She raised her eyes, glancing at him quickly before lowering her head again. That single glance allowed Zhang Sheng to catch a glimpse of ripples in her eyes. Those clear, water-like eyes revealed not only surprise but also a subtle trace of shyness and curiosity. The appearance of this strange scholar broke the dull, oppressive life she had led since her father's death, like a pebble thrown into a still lake, stirring ripples in the depths of her heart.
That was enough!
Zhang Sheng felt confident and turned to enter the Dharma Hall, sitting in a position that was neither conspicuous nor invisible to Yingying. His lips held a barely visible smile, as if that momentary exchange had given him infinite courage and confidence. With this first contact, he had successfully left an impression in Yingying's heart; every step that followed, he would take with assurance.
The ceremony was solemn and dignified, with the abbot's voice resonant and magnetic, echoing throughout the hall. But Zhang Sheng didn't hear a word; all his attention was focused on the delicate figure sitting diagonally behind him. He could sense that occasionally, a glance or two would drift from that direction, filled with inquiry and curiosity. Whenever this happened, he would pretend to listen attentively or close his eyes in contemplation, feigning enlightenment. In reality, his heart was already in turmoil. He was thinking about his next move—how to let this beautiful lady know that he wasn't frivolous, but truly and sincerely attracted to her.
One hour later, the ceremony ended.
People rose to leave. The hall began to fill with some commotion—people saying goodbye to each other, discussing the Buddhist teachings, or inquiring about the time of the next ceremony. This bustling atmosphere gave Zhang Sheng an excellent opportunity.
The opportunity had arrived!
Just as voices rose and the atmosphere was no longer so serious, Zhang Sheng stood up and began to recite aloud, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, yet clear enough for everyone in the hall to hear:
"Moonlight melting through the night, flower shadows still in spring.
How is it facing the bright moon, I cannot see the person within?"
This poem was the product of his deep contemplation last night. While seemingly about the moon, every line actually expressed the pain of yearning. The moonlight is so beautiful, the flower shadows so still—why can I see the bright moon but not the "person in the moon" whom I constantly think of? Though simple, the poem contained profound emotions, each word a pearl, each line moving. He expressed his admiration for Yingying in this subtle and implicit way, maintaining both scholarly elegance and the courage to express love.
As soon as the poem was spoken, the entire hall fell silent for a moment.
Many visitors with some literary knowledge nodded in appreciation, praising it as a fine poem. Some whispered, "This young gentleman's poem is truly deep and sincere"; others speculated, "Wonder which beauty has captured this talented scholar's heart." Lady Cui frowned slightly, feeling the scholar was showing off. She certainly understood the hidden meaning in the poem and became vigilant, her stern gaze sweeping around as if searching for the intended recipient.
Yingying, however, was as if struck by lightning, instantly clutching her silk handkerchief tightly. Her slender fingers twisted together, the knuckles turning white from the pressure. Her heartbeat suddenly accelerated, and even her breathing became rapid. The poem, like a key, gently unlocked a certain door deep in her heart.
How could she not understand? The poem was clearly written for her! "The person in the moon"—wasn't that alluding to her? He... how bold of him! In such a setting, in such a manner, to openly express his affection for her. This gesture was both daring and romantic, both risky and full of talent.
Her cheeks burned instantly, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed, yet with a hint of secret joy she herself was unwilling to acknowledge. This scholar, appearing so gentle, had such passionate inner fire. His gaze, his verses, carried a kind of determined strength, a kind of all-or-nothing passion. This was a feeling she had never experienced before, like a ray of sunlight shining into her dark world since losing her father.
"Hmph, just a crooked poem, disturbing the temple's tranquility."
A crisp voice with a hint of mockery sounded by Zhang Sheng's ear. Though critical, it had a playful quality, like a kitten showing its claws but not yet using them with full force.
He turned to look and saw it was the pretty maid Hong Niang. She was supporting her mistress, her bright, lively eyes staring at him unapologetically, her mouth twisted, her entire face saying "I see right through you." That gaze contained both warning and a subtle hint of mischief, as if saying: "I've seen through your trick, don't think about pursuing my young mistress." Her body leaned slightly forward, like a small beast ready to pounce, protecting Yingying behind her.
Zhang Sheng was not annoyed; instead, he smiled slightly.
The first checkpoint had come to him of its own accord.