Time Is Slow - Chapter 51
Abbess Wumei stared deeply at Qiao Zhao for a long time, then suddenly smiled.
“Come, write this poem for me.”
Qiao Zhao looked at the freshly written calligraphy spread across the desk, and thought silently to herself.
Sure enough, it’s “Invitation to Wine” by Qinglian Jushi. The Grand Princess has been enamored with this poem for decades.
She moved the paper aside and laid out a fresh sheet. Dipping her brush into the newly ground ink, she began writing—her strokes flowing freely and smoothly, finishing in one go.
At her side, Abbess Wumei’s eyes were glued to the characters, completely entranced. She murmured to herself, “Do you not see the mirrors bright in chambers high… grieve over your snow-white hair though once it was silk black…?”
Qiao Zhao put down the brush and looked at Abbess Wumei.
The room was quiet, the only sound coming from unknown birds chirping outside the window, carried in on the early summer breeze.
Abbess Wumei returned to her senses, her gaze complex as she stared at Qiao Zhao.
Qiao Zhao remained calm under her scrutiny.
After a long while, Abbess Wumei finally spoke.
“Your calligraphy… who was your teacher?”
Qiao Zhao sighed inwardly.
She had anticipated this moment. As soon as that volume of Buddhist scriptures was presented to this abbess, she would want to meet the person who had written it.
After all, she had mimicked her grandfather’s handwriting. Though her skill still lacked his seasoned touch, and the spirit of the writing fell short, when it came to form alone, hers was likely the closest to his in the entire world.
And Abbess Wumei—formerly Her Highness the Grand rincess—had taken Tonsure and entered the temple all those years ago precisely because of a hopeless love for her grandfather.
The love affair of a royal princess was not known to the world. The only reason Qiao Zhao knew was because, years ago when she had come to the capital, she had mischievously forged her grandfather’s handwriting to trick her elder brother into attending a matchmaking event at Dafu Temple with noble ladies of the capital. Somehow, the forged letter had fallen into Abbess Wumei’s hands.
That year, during the Buddha’s birthday celebration, the entire Dafu Temple had been searching for the writer of that letter.
Abbess Wumei’s obsession with the handwriting struck her as odd. When she returned to Jiafeng, she casually mentioned it to her grandmother, who then revealed the story to her.
The romance among elders wasn’t something to dwell on, but in short, it was the classic tale of two cousins falling for the same man—one ended up with him, the other was left heartbroken.
Years had passed since then, and Qiao Zhao’s calligraphy had matured from childish imitation to refined skill. That’s why she was certain the Grand Princess would request to meet her.
Truth be told, Qiao Zhao felt a little guilty. She had used someone’s emotional wound to her advantage—hardly honorable—but she had no choice now.
“I’ve had no formal teacher,” she said respectfully. “I’ve simply been practicing from Mr. Qiao’s calligraphy copybooks.”
Abbess Wumei’s eyes remained fixed on the paper. Slowly, she shook her head.
“Such free-spirited grace and natural elegance. This kind of writing can’t come from simply copying calligraphy samples.”
She suddenly raised her head and locked eyes with Qiao Zhao.
“What is your relationship with Qiao Zhuo?”
Under the sudden force of Abbess Wumei’s presence, Qiao Zhao remained composed and said sincerely, “I revere him as a man of heavenly talent. To be able to study from his calligraphy is the greatest honor of my life.”
Abbess Wumei gradually calmed down.
She looked once more at Qiao Zhao’s handwriting, then walked to the window.
Outside stood a towering bodhi tree, its lush branches casting a cool and quiet shade over the courtyard.
“You really developed this skill on your own?”
“Abbess Wumei,” Qiao Zhao said with a smile, “is it so hard to believe that some people are simply born with extraordinary talent?”
Ahem, I never said it was me, she thought. Just a tiny bit of misdirection.
“Born with extraordinary talent…” Abbess Wumei murmured, and suddenly, the image of a man flashed through her mind.
That man wore blue robes, drank strong wine, could write the most carefree calligraphy under heaven, and paint the most brilliant pictures. Free-spirited like the wind, it seemed nothing in the world could weigh on his heart.
Yet, he ignored her—a princess of royal blood—and instead fell for his ordinary, talentless cousin.
The world, truly, was unfair.
She had hated him, resented him, questioned him, even begged him. In the end, she cut off her long hair and secluded herself in Shuying Nunnery. Decades passed, leaving only a faint ache in her heart and a long, lingering sense of remembrance.
When she heard the news of his death, she merely sat through the night in silence. The next day, she resumed her morning prayers as usual.
She had thought she would never again see any trace of that man in this lifetime. And yet today, she saw this handwriting.
It could be said that this script had inherited eight-tenths of his essence.
Just now, watching that young girl write, it was as if she were watching him again.
Abbess Wumei turned around, her gaze calm as she looked at Qiao Zhao. She nodded slightly and said, “You were right, benefactress. Some people are indeed born exceptional, their talents far above others. It was narrow-minded of me.”
As she spoke, she walked forward and asked gently, “Would you be willing to come to the nunnery every seven days to accompany me in copying scriptures?”
Qiao Zhao smiled brightly.
“I’d be happy to.”
Abbess Wumei smiled in return and asked again, “What is your name, benefactress?”
“My surname is Li, and my given name is simply ‘Zhao.’”
“Li Zhao? As in ‘Zhao Zhao, that others may see clearly, for the sage is clear himself’?”
Qiao Zhao lowered her gaze.
“Exactly that ‘Zhao’—‘The sage is clear, so others may see clearly.’”
Abbess Wumei’s expression grew even more gentle. She nodded and said, “Go then. Remember to come again in seven days. Jingxi, escort Miss Li out.”
“Yes,” Jingxi entered, giving Qiao Zhao a deep look and politely said, “Third Miss Li, please follow me.”
“I’ll take my leave.”
As Qiao Zhao followed the nun Jingxi outside, Abbess Wumei suddenly said, “Jingxi, personally escort Miss Li back to Dafu.”
Jingxi paused for a moment, then replied, “Yes.”
Only then did Abbess Wumei close her eyes and stop watching them.
Had she mistaken the person at the start? Heh, she had seen plenty of these little tricks from the inner courtyards during her days as a princess. It seemed that the child’s situation wasn’t an easy one.
Since the girl was willing to accompany her in copying scriptures, it was only fitting to lend a helping hand.
Jingxi led Qiao Zhao to the entrance of Shuying Nunnery, where the guest monk came up smiling, visibly relieved. “Senior sister, have you already met with the Abbess?”
“I have. Master has instructed me to escort this young benefactress out.”
The guest monk misunderstood and said to Qiao Zhao, “Benefactress, please follow me.”
But Jingxi interrupted, “Master ordered me to personally escort her back to Dafu Temple. Junior brother, lead the way.”
The guest monk looked surprised and glanced at Qiao Zhao, who remained calm and composed. He felt more curious but said nothing, and led the two toward Dafu Temple.
Down a long corridor, Du Feixue tiptoed to look into the distance. After a while, she tugged on Li Jiao’s sleeve and said, “Why isn’t she back yet? Cousin Jiao, I really want to see how miserable Third Miss Li looks coming back. I bet she looks even worse than your second sister did!”
Li Jiao frowned.
“Cousin Feixue, please don’t say such things.”
If today’s events weren’t handled carefully, the reputation of the Li family could be completely ruined. When the nest is overturned, how can any egg remain intact?
Du Feixue didn’t care about any of that. She pouted and said, “Cousin Jiao, it’s not the time to defend Third Miss Li, is it?”
As they were speaking, a commotion suddenly arose nearby.
“Third Miss Li is back!”