7. Martial Arts Tournament for a Suitor

Jing Chen spoke to them along the road, "When we are away from home, for convenience, you may call me Young Master Huang, and I will call myself Huang Qilang. At the prince’s residence, simply address me as Your Highness."

Zhang Meng and Zhao Hu eagerly agreed; it was clear the prince regarded them as trusted confidants. Although he could not fight on the battlefield, he was still a prince—and one who was approachable and unpretentious. Such a master was rare in this world.

Zhao Hu continued telling bawdy jokes, and Jing Chen did not reprimand him. The group laughed and chatted as they walked, heading toward the southern city.

Watching Jing Chen’s departing figure, two skinny men hurried into an alley where a young man awaited. This young man was Xiong Xin, son of Marquis Xiong Qifu of Changping.

“Master Xiong, that fool is chopping trees and reshaping the forest. Two black mambas have already been quietly released into the backyard,” one whispered.

“The backyard is filled with laughter and merriment. The soldiers have no drills; they are lazy and scattered. Whenever they go out in groups of two or three, at least one returns with wine,” the other added.

“Heh, truly the carefree prince... His mother died not long ago, and the crown prince is dead as well. Yet he dallies with courtesans, living a drunkard’s dream. The fool is better off—heartless and carefree, able to eat and sleep!” Xiong Xin sneered.

Soon after, Xiong Xin arrived at the Prince’s residence.

At the gate stood two towering vermilion doors, adorned with cold and imposing bronze beast-head rings that resembled frozen stars of frost. The gate was so tall one had to crane their neck to see its top.

Above the lintel hung a golden plaque inscribed with the characters “Prince’s Residence” penned personally by the emperor, their solemn and majestic script silently proclaiming the owner’s sacred connection to the throne.

Guarding the entrance were stone lions, fierce and unyielding, radiating an aura none dared challenge.

Ascending the steps, Xiong Xin entered the residence.

In the backyard, Consort Yang Simin and the prince’s son Jing Xuan played with the maid Xiao Cui.

Xiong Xin fixed his gaze on Consort Yang’s perfectly curved figure, swallowing hard as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

At that moment, a servant led Xiong Xin into the study. Kneeling, he reported what he had heard.

Prince Jing Wei, puzzled, asked, “The soldiers bought wine? Did every soldier do so?”

“No, Your Highness, at most one person buys it, perhaps to celebrate the opening of the residence, or maybe for the woodcutters to drink,” Xiong Xin explained.

“Perhaps... If he does not die, I shall never rest easy! He cannot stir trouble in the capital.

That shameless Li Lingli, that harlot, is in the fool’s residence. The fool riding a white tiger—truly a perfect match.

I will compose a satirical poem. You must spread it throughout Chang’an at once.

Meanwhile, arrange lodgings for me. My master, Dongfang Ying, is accompanying the Dayu delegation soon to arrive. Their accommodations must be handled with care,” Jing Wei said, handing Xiong Xin a poem.

Xiong Xin bowed and exited the study.

Glancing toward the backyard but not seeing whom he wished, he departed in a sullen mood. Jing Wei also went with his men to the Grand Tutor’s mansion.

Jing Chen observed the bustling southern city streets—inns, pawnshops, cosmetic shops, teahouses, gambling dens, brothels, and red-light districts—all lively and noisy.

Suddenly, he noticed a three-story building that was quite grand. Above the door hung the sign “Tianxiang Tower.”

Yet the entrance was deserted, cold and silent.

Across the street, the Spring Breeze Tower bustled with crowds; waiters greeted and sent off patrons with bright smiles.

Jing Chen found this puzzling. Why such a stark contrast in the same neighborhood?

He said, “People need food to live. Missing a meal leaves one famished. Come, let’s fill our stomachs first.”

“Your Highness, are you treating us? Can we eat as much as we want?” Zhao Hu chuckled.

“Ahem... call me Young Master Huang,” Jing Chen tapped Zhao Hu on the head.

“Oh, oh... yes, yes, Your Highness... I mean, Young Master Huang!” Zhao Hu smiled sheepishly, rubbing his head.

The waiter was dozing, and the shopkeeper was buried in writing at the counter.

“Shopkeeper...” Zhang Meng frowned in slight displeasure.

The shopkeeper looked up, scrutinizing the group with unfamiliar, stern eyes.

Only one wore embroidered finery; the others were decently dressed but not in official attire.

In the capital, most well-known young gentlemen were either personally known or at least familiar by sight.

This must be some wealthy visitors from afar.

“Junior, we have guests,” the shopkeeper called, then resumed writing.

The junior, upon hearing the call, knew these were ordinary customers.

Wiping drool from his mouth, he lazily said, “The cook is off today. No chef to prepare dishes. Only a few cold dishes remain. Eat if you want, or go across the street.”

He then leaned back in his chair and fell asleep.

Zhang Meng and Zhao Hu were about to protest.

Jing Chen shot them a sharp glance, and they quickly lowered their heads in silence.

Jing Chen chuckled inwardly, thinking: With service like this, how could the place not go bankrupt?

He then led the group across the street.

He whispered a few words into the ear of a young man named Xiao Liuzi, who then turned and headed back.

At court, Grand Tutor Pang Wude reported, “Your Majesty, the crown prince is the foundation of the nation. Without an heir in the Eastern Palace, the court remains unstable. I implore Your Majesty to decide swiftly.”

The Hong Emperor’s face was expressionless. “What do all you ministers suggest?”

With a single glance from Pang, Marquis Yongping Xu Zhenbiao immediately stepped forward: “I propose establishing Prince Jing Wei as crown prince. He is filial and loyal, dedicated to the public good, wise in strategy and counsel.”

“I concur.”

“I concur.”

“I concur.”

Marquis Xiong Qifu of Changping, Minister of Revenue Lou Dejing, and Minister of Rites Yu Deshui all voiced their support.

The Hong Emperor clenched his fist inside his sleeve, then relaxed and exhaled, smiling as he asked, “Marquis Wu’an, you are the prospective father-in-law of Prince Jing Wei. Why do you not recommend him?”

Marquis Wu’an Yang Lin, father of Consort Yang Simin, replied, “I recommend the Fourth Prince, Yan Wang Jing Ting, to succeed in the Eastern Palace.”

The emperor laughed with mockery. “Heh, interesting. Are you losing your mind?”

Yang Lin said, “I speak only the truth. Prince Jing Ting is upright and selfless, strict in military discipline—a model prince.”

The court erupted into chaos, with some advocating for the Third Prince Qi Wang Jing Ming, others for the Fifth Prince Jin Wang Jing Yu...

The dispute grew heated, voices red with passion.

The Hong Emperor quietly observed his ministers, the court reduced to a marketplace of clamorous debate.

With two soft coughs, he commanded attention; all fell silent and attentive.

The emperor said, “The matter of the Eastern Palace shall be deferred for today.

I have received reliable news: the Dayu delegation’s visit to the capital is at the behest of their Second Prince Nangong Feilong, who seeks to marry our Princess Chang.

Princess Chang is the foremost among the Four Talented Women of Dayin. I have resolved that she will choose her husband through a martial contest.

There will be both literary and martial trials. The literary contest covers poetry, lyrics, calligraphy, and music. The martial contest involves strategy and combat.

Ministers may also recommend sons of noble families and promising young talents to participate. I will issue an edict to the realm.

The princess must not be married off to a foreign land.”