Chapter 80: Jade and Golden Threads, Weaving the Robes of the Emperor

The Matchmaker’s Bracelets, also known as the Jade and Gold Threads, are a pair of bracelets crafted sixteen hundred years ago by two master artisans of Yunjin brocade. Since ancient times, Yunjin has been the finest bespoke fabric reserved for royalty and nobility. This brocade, also called Celestial Garment, was once woven into imperial robes using these very Jade and Gold Threads. In antiquity, Yunjin stood as the foremost among the four great brocades of the east, hailed as a treasure of the Orient. Its craftsmanship is so intricate that, even today, it cannot be replicated by modern machinery and can only be woven entirely by hand.

These bracelets, this fabled Matchmaker’s Thread, were painstakingly created over three months by two top craftsmen sixteen centuries ago. Every strand is pure gold, and when unraveled, the threads stretch two thousand meters without a single break. Originally intended as tribute for the imperial court, the bracelets survived the fall and rise of dynasties and have been preserved ever since within the Matchmaker’s Temple.

Through the years, many imitations have appeared, and even foreign luxury brands have attempted to replicate them. Yet even these counterfeits command staggering prices of over a hundred thousand. The true Matchmaker’s Bracelets were once offered two million by a foreign tycoon, but the temple would not sell.

However, two or three years ago, the Matchmaker’s Temple began offering this peerless treasure as a reward for poetry. The temple is not wanting for money, and few in the world are even aware of its existence. They hoped to use this treasure to promote themselves, but as soon as the bracelets were exhibited, foreign manufacturers released their own imitations. The attempt at publicity failed to stir any excitement. Thus, the temple decided to follow the example of other shrines and hold a literary competition to raise their profile. After all, if fame could be won, what are a few millions compared to enduring renown?

Shen Xian, carrying Qingqing in his arms, boarded a boat and made his way toward the Matchmaker’s Temple. The temple stands midway up the slopes of Mount Ten Thousand Buddhas, embraced on three sides by mountains, shrouded in serene quiet. As the scenic area developed, more and more devotees arrived. Even before reaching the temple, the mountain path was lined with photographs of the bracelets—two in all, more aptly called the Jade and Gold Chains. Each chain, as thick as a thumb, is made of pure gold threads and adorned with exquisite patterns.

These Matchmaker’s Bracelets employ the eight supreme ancient goldsmithing arts—gilding, filigree inlay, wire forming, wire braiding, and more. Especially remarkable is the filigree inlay, known as fine goldwork. Even from the photos alone, Shen Xian felt these were not mere ornaments but works of art.

In truth, they are indeed art. These bracelets do not only embody the weaving techniques of Yunjin, but also the finest goldsmithing of the ages. They are not simply objects, but a living heritage of culture and artistry. Countless antique collectors have coveted these two bracelets.

“Truly masterpieces,” Xu Zijian sighed as he gazed at the photographs. Many tourists too were captivated by the images. “Luxury that money can’t buy—this is genuine opulence.” “Those foreign luxury brands charge millions for a single bag. How could they ever compare to the treasures of our ancestors?” “And the best part is they’re not for sale. If you can compose a poem that pleases the temple, you could truly own them.”

Shen Xian, still holding Qingqing, began the climb up the mountain. Zhou Wan sent a message: “I’m back in Nanzhou. Where are you all?” “We’re on our way to the Matchmaker’s Temple. Want to join us?” Shen Xian replied. “I’ll come,” Zhou Wan answered. She had planned to rest, but realizing that Qingqing was already two years old and she’d never taken her out to play, she decided to seize this chance and let her daughter experience a father’s love.

Soon, Shen Xian and Xu Zijian arrived at the temple gates. Compared to the bustling, resplendent Gushan Monastery, the Matchmaker’s Temple exuded a tranquil, ancient charm. The gray brick walls and dignified, timeworn halls radiated a sense of deep history. The temple has stood for over a millennium, passed down through the generations.

As they entered the main hall, everyone’s attention was drawn to six Grandmasters in purple robes busily at work. These Grandmasters, the highest rank among Daoist priests, were rarely seen—yet here were six at once!

At the heart of the hall stood a display, upon which rested the Matchmaker’s Bracelets. Seeing the genuine artifacts, the crowd realized just how exquisite these treasures were—woven entirely from fine gold threads, set with jade beads, clearly no ordinary objects. One was embroidered with a mandarin drake, the other with a duck—a pair of mandarin ducks, symbols of love.

Many young people were instantly spellbound. Even Lin Zhixia, gazing at the golden mandarin duck threads, was visibly entranced. But, of course, they were not for sale.

Do these temples and shrines all spurn money? Refusing piles of silver, yet demanding poetry and couplets—wasn’t this madness? She couldn’t understand. Nor could the onlookers, who murmured among themselves. Only Xu Zijian seemed to comprehend. The allure of the national classics is beyond price. A truly fine poem or couplet is worth more than gold.

The six Grandmasters, seeing the hall fill with people, continued their work, paying no heed to the crowd.

“Masters, if someone writes a poem that satisfies you, will you truly give them the Matchmaker’s Bracelets?” Xu Zijian asked. The six Grandmasters turned as one: “We monks always keep our word.”

Xu Zijian looked to Shen Xian, then laughed heartily. “Little Shen, then I’ll go first and make a humble attempt!” Shen Xian smiled. “Be my guest.”

A junior priest brought paper and brush, setting a table before Xu Zijian. After a moment’s thought, Xu Zijian began to write a poem. Many in the crowd took out their phones, recording and uploading the scene: “Master of the Classics Xu Zijian is composing a poem live, aiming to win the Matchmaker’s Bracelets.”

Soon, comments appeared: “Isn’t that the LV version? I think it costs over a hundred thousand.” “You should get your facts straight—this is the genuine article. The LV one is just a copy. The real source is right here. These bracelets have over sixteen hundred years of history, woven with Yunjin and fine gold threads.” “Exactly, but they’re not for sale—only poetry can win them.”

Xu Zijian wrote swiftly, finishing a quatrain themed on the Qixi Festival in a few minutes. Clearly, he had been composing it for some time. His calligraphy was vigorous, the brushwork bold and masterful.

The six Grandmasters approached, studying the poem intently. “The imagery, the structure, the theme are all excellent,” they said, exchanging glances, “but it still falls somewhat short of our expectations. We’re sorry.”

Xu Zijian sighed, a little disappointed, and handed the brush to Shen Xian. “Why don’t you try?” Shen Xian thought for a moment, then accepted the brush and paper. “Very well.”