Chapter 31: The Moon as the Theme

Cheng Guang was taken aback when he heard Qiao Songshan’s voice.

Wen Qinghe?

He had run into him again?

A year ago, it was Wen Qinghe, leading several other young men from prominent families, who had clashed with the young lord and Qiao Songshan. The conflict had arisen over a courtesan; the young lord had already paid to secure her company, but Wen Qinghe and his companions arrived later, forcibly offering more money to take her away. Others might have yielded out of deference to Wen Qinghe, being the son of the Minister of Rites, but the young lord did not, nor did Qiao Songshan.

What followed was a one-sided beating.

The young lord was placed under house arrest afterward, and for a while, he could not fathom what had possessed Wen Qinghe to pick a fight with him.

As far as Cheng Guang knew, at that time, Cheng Zhihai’s Office of the Lantern Bearers had arrested several officials from the Ministry of Rites, with many families searched and destroyed, and most suspects incarcerated in the imperial prison, subjected to harsh interrogations.

He did not know the precise reason, but it seemed likely that this incident was why Wen Qinghe had sought out the young lord for trouble.

The young lord and Qiao Songshan had nearly beaten Wen Qinghe and his friends to death; the Minister of Rites, Wen Shouren, along with several other ministers, were left weeping bitterly, forced to file a grievance before the court.

When matters reached this point, Cheng Zhihai had no choice but to release some of the less culpable officials from the Ministry of Rites to appease the anger of the ministers.

Cheng Guang could only marvel at the cunning.

So last time, Wen Qinghe and his friends had deliberately provoked trouble, merely as a ruse to get themselves beaten up by the young lord and his companions, all to force Cheng Zhihai into a concession?

At first glance, it all seemed absurd, but upon closer thought, it was not beyond possibility.

Behind Wen Qinghe stood the Minister of Rites and other high-ranking officials, eager to turn a major crisis into a minor one to save their own people. Yet none of them had any leverage over Cheng Zhihai, renowned for his incorruptibility and unyielding nature.

With no way to pressure Cheng Zhihai directly, they had targeted the young lord, his only weakness.

The young lord’s status was unassailable: sole heir to the Duke Protector of the Realm, nephew to the reigning emperor, and the empress dowager’s most beloved grandson. Even the prime minister treated him with utmost courtesy—how could anyone else dare otherwise?

Naturally, Wen Shouren, the Minister of Rites, dared not act too brazenly, so he devised this scheme: have his fellow officials’ sons provoke the young lord, get themselves beaten, and then file a formal complaint.

This could be a minor affair or a major scandal, but if they pressed the issue, Cheng Zhihai would be forced to compromise.

In the end, Cheng Zhihai relented, releasing some imprisoned officials, and for the young lord’s own safety (and to keep him from making further trouble), placed him under house arrest.

It was this very incident, in fact, that led to the young lord’s boredom in confinement and to him recruiting Cheng Guang as his stand-in.

Thinking of this, Cheng Guang felt an odd sense of frustration.

He rose and walked over to the balustrade, following the direction Qiao Songshan pointed, gazing down from above.

On the third floor of the Jade Pavilion, by a wine table, several young men were drinking together. Among them sat a strikingly handsome man in fine clothes, holding a painted fan—a veritable portrait of a refined gentleman.

Cheng Guang immediately realized that this was Wen Qinghe, whom Qiao Songshan had mentioned.

He felt no anger toward Wen Qinghe, nor any particular emotion; after all, he was not the young lord, and even if he were, he had suffered no real loss. To have nearly beaten several scions of the court’s most powerful families half to death, and suffer only house arrest in return—such a thing would be unthinkable for a commoner.

As for Qiao Songshan’s resentment, the reason was clear: had Wen Qinghe not picked a fight, he and his leader would never have raised their hands, and he himself would not have been sent to the battlefield, exiled to that doomed squad for a whole year. All of this, in his mind, was Wen Qinghe’s fault.

“Boss, we’ve run into that bastard Wen Qinghe again—what rotten luck. If he hadn’t started trouble last time, we wouldn’t have been punished,” Qiao Songshan grumbled, fists clenched, ready to teach Wen another lesson should he dare to cause problems.

Cheng Guang glanced at Wen Qinghe, then looked away.

“Let it be. Wen Qinghe isn’t a fool. If not for some cause, he’d never dare provoke us.”

Qiao Songshan looked baffled, scratching his head. “Boss, didn’t they come after us for the courtesan? There’s another like Bai Shuxuan here today—they’ll surely cause trouble again. What other reason could there be?”

“What else?” Cheng Guang shot him a look, picked up his tea, blew on it, and took a sip.

Qiao Songshan’s rugged face registered almost childlike confusion.

Clearly, Cheng Guang’s words had nearly overloaded his ability to process them. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what other motive Wen Qinghe could have had.

Cheng Guang shook his head and laughed. “Enough. Don’t overthink it. It seems something’s happening with Bai Shuxuan.”

At this, Qiao Songshan snapped out of his reverie, craning his neck and widening his eyes to peer toward the center of the hall.

In the central chamber of the Jade Pavilion, a room hung like a flower basket, a graceful figure emerged, passing through the screen to face the assembled guests.

The woman was dressed in red, her features identical to the attendant who had greeted Cheng Guang earlier—the very same person.

Realization dawned on Cheng Guang: this red-clad attendant’s mistress must be Bai Shuxuan.

From the moment he had entered the Jade Pavilion, had Bai Shuxuan had her eye on him?

Cheng Guang narrowed his eyes, intrigued, but kept his composure, watching the attendant serenely.

The attendant first offered a respectful bow to all present, then addressed the assembly.

“Gentlemen, you have gathered at the Jade Pavilion, no doubt in hopes of meeting Miss Bai.

Since Miss Bai’s debut, it has been more than a month. Many have vied to become her favored guest, and so, to choose among such distinguished gentlemen, Miss Bai has devised a test.

Whoever passes this test will have the honor of conversing with Miss Bai face to face, and if he wins her favor, may become her chosen guest.”

With that, she produced a crimson scroll and let it fall from above. Upon it, bold characters proclaimed:

“Compose a poem on the theme of the moon.”

The hall fell silent.

All eyes fixed on the test, and after a moment, a wave of commotion swept through the room.

“A poetry contest?”

“Poetry is but a minor art—how can it compare to a contest of strength?”

“I’m doomed—I should have prepared, found a few scholars to write poems for me in advance if I’d known this would be the challenge.”

“Isn’t the hall full of scholars from the Great Zhou Academy today? Poetry is their specialty! How can a man of arms like me compete?”

Many warriors present were immediately demoralized.

Meanwhile, the scholars from the Great Zhou Academy or other academies beamed with delight at the challenge, unsurprised in the least.

After all, everyone knew that courtesans favored elegant, literary men. If they could win immortal fame with a celebrated poem, they might achieve lasting renown themselves.

“The moon as the theme? Why, I just composed such a poem a few days ago, and haven’t yet presented it. Now’s my chance to offer it to Miss Bai,” someone said with glee.

“Brother, your luck is truly remarkable. The rest of us will have to compose on the spot, and our work will surely be flawed. You just might become Miss Bai’s chosen guest.”

“Not at all—everyone has a chance. I was simply lucky; the inspiration struck me a few days ago, so I wrote a poem, that’s all,” he replied, laughing.

Within the Jade Pavilion, upon hearing the test, some faces fell while others lit up with hope, but few left the hall outright.