NIP Chapter 312 Consort Shu Writes a Book
Chapter 312 Consort Shu Writes a Book
It was the 26th day of the twelfth lunar month in the fifth year of the Qiming era. There were only four days left until New Year's Eve.
The festive atmosphere in Chang'an was already incredibly strong. The East and West Markets were still packed with people, and every street and alley was filled with people buying the last batch of New Year's goods. The New Year's preparations in the palace were also nearing their end, and the palace servants were beginning to take stock of the remaining tasks and prepare to take turns going home for the New Year.
However, inside the Wenyuan Pavilion in the northeast corner of the imperial city, there was a tranquility unrelated to the New Year festival.
The three-story pavilion, with its blue bricks and gray tiles, and flying eaves and brackets, appeared particularly serene under the winter sun. On the stone tablet in front of the pavilion, the four characters "文脉永续" (meaning "the cultural heritage will continue forever"), personally inscribed by Chen Xing, were covered by a thin layer of snow, faintly visible yet still clearly discernible.
In the open hall on the second floor, the charcoal fire was burning brightly.
Lin Wan'er sat by the window, a thick stack of manuscripts spread out in front of her. They were the last batch of proofs for the "Enlightenment Encyclopedia," the last three volumes out of 623. She had been sitting in the Wenyuan Pavilion for three whole days, from morning till night, reviewing them word by word.
"Your Highness," the maid said softly, "it's time for lunch."
Lin Wan'er didn't look up, but simply hummed softly without moving.
The maid sighed and quietly retreated to the side.
She knew that the Empress wouldn't move at this moment. Even dinner, let alone lunch, might not be enough to make her lift her head.
The compilation of the *Qiming Leishu* began in the autumn of the second year of the Qiming era and has now lasted for three full years. During these three years, the Empress has hardly spent a single day away from the Wenyuan Pavilion. She spends her days reviewing manuscripts and her evenings handling palace affairs at the Qiyun Pavilion. Sometimes, when she is too exhausted, she will rest her head on her desk for a short nap, then continue when she wakes up.
The maid felt sorry for her, but knew she couldn't persuade her otherwise.
That's just the kind of person the Empress is. She'll never stop until she's finished with something.
Outside the window, the faint sounds of bustling marketplace drifted in. The people of Chang'an were making their final preparations for the New Year. Lin Wan'er listened to the sounds, a slight smile playing on her lips.
She recalled her childhood in Jiangnan, where her home was always just as lively during the Spring Festival. Her father would write Spring Festival couplets himself, her mother would teach her to cut paper snowflakes, and her brother would secretly buy her sugar figurines. Back then, she felt that the Spring Festival was the best thing in the world.
Then war broke out. My father died, my mother died, and my brother died. Our home was gone, and so was the New Year.
She thought she would never celebrate the New Year again in her life.
Until I met that person.
The person who saved her from the chaos of war, the person who made her present the "Pacifying the South Strategy," the person who made her participate in formulating regulations and compiling encyclopedias, the person who... made her a Consort Shu.
She lowered her head and continued reading the manuscript.
The last page.
She examined it with exceptional care. She checked every word, every punctuation mark, and every footnote repeatedly.
After confirming that everything was correct, she picked up her pen and gently drew a circle at the bottom of the page.
Then, she put down her pen and let out a long breath.
"Your Highness?" the maid asked tentatively.
Lin Wan'er raised her head and looked out the window at the gray sky.
"It's over," she said softly.
The maid was stunned: "What's over?"
Lin Wan'er did not answer. She simply stood up, walked to the window, and opened it.
A cold wind blew in, stirring her clothes and the manuscripts on the table.
She took a deep breath.
623 volumes.
23.41 million words.
It includes more than 3,100 kinds of classics from the pre-Qin period to the previous dynasties.
It is divided into six major categories: classics, history, philosophy, literature, arts, and sciences, with eighty-four subcategories and three hundred and sixty sub-items.
Three years.
More than a thousand days and nights.
It's finally over.
She stood there, motionless for a long time.
Footsteps could be heard downstairs.
An elderly scholar with white hair walked upstairs; it was Wei Pu, the very man who had argued most fiercely with her about the system of regulations. Three years had passed, and his hair was even whiter, his back even more hunched, but his eyes were still as bright as ever.
"Your Highness, Consort Shu," he walked shakily to the window and stood beside her, "this old minister...this old minister has come to bid farewell to Your Highness."
Lin Wan'er turned her head and looked at him.
"Is Master Wei leaving?"
Wei Pu nodded: "Now that the encyclopedia is finished, this old minister should go home. I've been in Chang'an for three years, and my wife is waiting for me at home."
Lin Wan'er was silent for a moment, then said softly:
"Thank you for your hard work these past three years, Master Wei."
Wei Pu shook his head, gazing at the sky outside the window, his eyes slightly red.
"It wasn't hard work. I've spent my whole life compiling books, and this is the only time I've had this experience. I feel it was all worth it."
He paused, then suddenly bowed deeply:
"Your Majesty, this old minister has something to say that has been on his mind for three years. If I don't say it today, I'm afraid I'll never have the chance again."
Lin Wan'er quickly helped him up, saying, "Please speak, Master Wei."
Wei Pu raised his head and looked at her, his eyes full of respect:
"Your Majesty, this old minister was ignorant back then, arguing with you about the format and outline, until we were both red in the face. At that time, this old minister thought, what does a woman like you know? Now this old minister understands—"
He took a deep breath:
"You know more than this old minister. You don't just understand books, you understand people. You know this book is for people, not for gods. So you must preserve the truth, seek completeness, and make it easy to consult. This old minister has compiled books all his life and never thought of these things."
As he spoke, tears streamed down his face:
"Your Majesty, this old minister is convinced."
Lin Wan'er's eyes also reddened. She held Wei Pu's hand and whispered:
"Master Wei, please don't say that. Without you and those old gentlemen, this book couldn't have been compiled. I just... just pointed everyone in the right direction."
Wei Pu shook his head, wiped away his tears, and smiled.
"Your Majesty, this old minister is leaving. I will return next spring. Please do not forget this old minister then."
Lin Wan'er nodded.
"Okay. I'll be waiting for you here next spring."
Wei Pu turned around and went downstairs shakily.
Lin Wan'er stared at his retreating figure, remaining motionless for a long time.
As evening fell, Lin Wan'er left Wenyuan Pavilion and returned to Qiyun Pavilion.
She changed her clothes, combed her hair again, and then sat by the window, staring blankly at the darkening sky outside.
The maid brought her dinner, but she only ate a few bites before putting it down.
"Your Highness, what's wrong?" the maid asked cautiously. "The encyclopedia is finished; you should be happy."
Lin Wan'er was silent for a moment, then said softly:
"Yes. We should be happy."
But she felt empty inside.
It's been three years. Every day there was something to do, drafts to read, and problems to solve. Now that there's suddenly nothing to do, she doesn't know what to do.
She stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took out a book.
It was a collection of poems she wrote herself, a thin volume with only a few dozen pages. It was printed three years ago, with only five hundred copies made. Some were given to friends, and the rest have been sitting on the bookshelf ever since.
She opened the title page, where four words she had handwritten were written:
A Collection of Essays on the Beauty of Clouds.
She looked at those four words and suddenly smiled.
In the past three years, she has edited more than 600 books, but she has almost forgotten that she can also write poetry.
She turned to the first page; the poem there was about Jiangnan:
"Jiangnan is beautiful, its scenery is familiar from long ago. At sunrise, the river flowers are redder than fire, and in spring, the river water is greener than blue. How can I not miss Jiangnan?"
That was written the year she first arrived in Chang'an. She missed home, missed Jiangnan, and missed the past that she could never return to.
She flipped to the middle, where there was a poem about Chang'an:
"Snow falls on Chang'an every year in the palace. I wonder if the plum blossoms have bloomed in my old garden yet, but I see new peachwood charms replacing the old ones. Year after year."
It was written on New Year's Eve of the second year of the Qiming era. At that time, she had just been conferred the title of Consort Shu and was spending the New Year in the palace for the first time. She felt both apprehensive and expectant.
She flipped to the last page, where there was a poem without a title, consisting of only four lines:
"Three years of painstaking work, six hundred volumes completed. Not knowing where to send them, I entrust them to the east wind."
That was written today.
She stared at those four sentences and remained silent for a long time.
Then, she gently closed the book and put it back on the shelf.
Footsteps came from outside the door.
"The Virtuous Mother Consort".
Lin Wan'er turned around and saw Chen Qi standing at the door, holding a box in his hands.
"Qi'er? What brings you here?"
Chen Qi walked in and placed the box in front of her.
"Your Majesty, this is a New Year's gift from your son."
Lin Wan'er was stunned for a moment, then opened the box.
Inside was an inkstone. It was a Duan inkstone, with a warm, smooth texture and exquisite carving. The inkstone was inscribed with four characters: "文思泉涌" (Wen Si Quan Yong, meaning "A fountain of literary inspiration").
Lin Wan'er raised her head and looked at Chen Qi.
The child is ten years old this year, and he's grown very quickly, already reaching her shoulder. His features are increasingly resembling his father's.
"Qi'er, this is too precious. Your mother cannot accept it."
Chen Qi shook his head:
"Your Majesty, you must accept this. I saved up my monthly allowance for a year to buy it. I heard that your encyclopedia has been completed, which is a great joy. I... I thank you on behalf of my father."
Lin Wan'er's eyes reddened slightly.
She gently patted Chen Qi's head.
"Qi'er, thank you."
Chen Qi grinned, his smile containing both a childlike innocence and an indescribable maturity.
He stood there for a while, then suddenly asked:
"Your Highness, may I take a look at the poems you wrote?"
Lin Wan'er was stunned for a moment, then smiled.
She walked to the bookshelf, pulled out the thin booklet, and handed it to Chen Qi.
"Take a look. But don't tell your father."
Chen Qi took it, turned to the first page, and looked at it carefully.
After watching for a while, he looked up, his eyes shining:
"Your Majesty, you write so well."
Lin Wan'er shook her head and smiled:
"What's so great about it? It's just some idle worry."
Chen Qi said earnestly:
"It's not idle sorrow. Your son understands. When you write about Jiangnan, it's because you miss home. When you write about Chang'an, it's because you're not used to it. When you write those four lines, it's... it's because you can't bear to leave."
Lin Wan'er was stunned.
She looked at the ten-year-old child, at his eyes that were exactly like his father's, and suddenly didn't know what to say.
Chen Qi returned the book to her and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, I'm going back now. Please get some rest."
He turned and strode away.
Lin Wan'er stared at his retreating figure, remaining motionless for a long time.
Late at night.
Lin Wan'er sat alone by the window, holding the thin booklet in her hands.
Outside the window, the moonlight, like water, spilled into the courtyard of Qiyun Pavilion, casting a cool and serene glow.
She turned to the last page and looked at those four sentences:
"Three years of painstaking work, six hundred volumes completed. Not knowing where to send them, I entrust them to the east wind."
She stared at it for a long time.
Then, she picked up her pen and added four more sentences below:
"If the east wind brings news, it will blow my dreams to Jiangnan. In Jiangnan lies my hometown, but there are no fields left there."
She put down her pen and gazed at the bright moon outside the window.
The bright moon shines on Chang'an, and also on the south of the Yangtze River.
The light shines on her, and also on those places she can never return to.
She smiled softly.
That smile held a sense of relief, a touch of nostalgia, and an indescribable peace.