In the household of the great literati Wang Anshi, there resided a daughter-in-law of striking beauty. One afternoon, as Wang Anshi passed by his daughter-in-law’s chambers, he glimpsed her in the throes of a midday nap. The thin gauze curtain revealed the graceful lines of her form, and his heart surged with a tempestuous excitement, spinning tales of intimate fancy. He harbored a powerful desire to draw close to her, yet hesitated, fearing rejection. After a brief, intense pause, he cleared his throat and etched a poem upon the wall:

Within the crimson gauze, a pipa rests unseen, I yearn to play its strings, yet dare not take the hold.

Hearing the sound, the daughter-in-law emerged from the room to investigate. Upon seeing the inscription left by her father-in-law on the wall, her face flushed crimson. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she picked up a brush and penned a continuation:

If only I could borrow the strings, Father, for a single tune, This precious water shall not flow to an outsider’s home.

Seeing this, Wang Anshi was overcome with elation, poised to carry their shared passion to the peaks of Mount Wu. Suddenly, he heard approaching footsteps. His son rounded the corner and inquired, "Father, what are you doing here?"

Wang Anshi started in alarm, thinking, "These verses on the wall must not meet my son's eye. Should he see them, my reputation is ruined." With a flash of inspiration, he laughed heartily. "I am merely scooping ash," he declared. As he spoke, he reached out a hand and, as if performing a mundane chore, meticulously scraped away the inscribed poem from the wall, leaving not a single character remaining.