Chapter 35: Very Well, So This Is How You Want to Play

As Wen Qinghe’s words faded, a wave of commotion erupted within the Emerald Pavilion.

“Hiss, if not that Wen Qinghe, then who could it be?”

“This poem is masterful—surely not the work of some obscure nobody. Which illustrious talent composed such exquisite lines?”

“Didn’t Wen Qinghe just say he couldn’t write it himself? Could there be a Confucian scholar or a great literatus amongst us tonight?”

“Impossible. Not only would such masters never appear here, but if one did, there would certainly be rumors. No one could come and go so quietly.”

“What is going on? Who, in the end, is the author of this poem?”

The guests whispered and debated, all eyes turning to the maid in red.

Red Candle, the maid in crimson, remained composed beneath their scrutiny, her face adorned with a gentle, graceful smile as she spoke softly:

“The author of this poem is the Young Lord.”

Her words, delivered in a delicate tone, brought an immediate silence upon the crowd below.

Wen Qinghe’s anger froze on his face; his eyes widened in disbelief. His mouth opened, ready with accusations, but the words lodged in his throat, and only an inarticulate sound escaped him.

“The Young Lord... How could it be him...?”

Wen Qinghe was bewildered. He had never heard that the Young Lord could write poetry.

Meanwhile, countless guests exchanged stunned glances, rendered speechless.

“The Young Lord?”

“He can write poetry?”

“That can’t be. I’ve never heard of the Young Lord composing poems.”

“Maybe he bought it. The quality of this poem is exceptional—he must have paid handsomely. Who knows which master crafted it for him? And yet, Miss Bai singled him out and let only him pass the test.”

“Was there some kind of coercion or bribery involved...?”

“Well, he is the Young Lord. Even if Miss Bai suspects the poem wasn’t his, she wouldn’t dare expose him. Perhaps she’s currying favor by allowing him through alone.”

“Hiss...”

After the brief hush, whispers swelled again. Many cast furtive glances toward the elegant figure seated in the honored box above, radiating an aura of nobility. No one dared speak openly; faced with the presence of the Young Lord, it felt as if a mountain pressed upon their hearts, stifling all reckless talk.

The entire Emerald Pavilion fell into a tense quiet.

And yet, within that profound silence, a single thought flickered in every gaze—they did not believe the poem was truly the Young Lord’s work.

As the audience was lost in speculation, a gentle voice rang out from the chamber where Bai Shuxuan sat.

“Gentlemen, I believe this poem is indeed the Young Lord’s creation. With his character, why would he stoop to deceit?”

Her voice was sweet as honey, soothing and pure as a mountain spring. Yet within that clarity, there was an unexpected hint of coquettish charm—enough to stir the imagination without seeming affected.

Hearing her, the crowd at once recognized Bai Shuxuan’s voice.

Bai Shuxuan chose to trust in the Young Lord’s integrity, elevating his moral standing in the process.

The Young Lord is a paragon of virtue—he would never behave dishonorably.

At these words, everyone could only lament in frustration.

“Miss Bai truly doesn’t know the darkness in this world. Does she really believe the Young Lord wrote the poem himself?”

“So naïve, so naïve. Seeing such an innocent courtesan pains my heart.”

“The Young Lord’s character? That’s almost nonexistent.”

“Would you dare say that to his face?”

“Hiss, there are so many of us here, and the Young Lord’s actions are obvious. What’s the harm in whispering? He can’t arrest everyone present.”

“Sigh, even so, better keep your voice down. If the Young Lord targets you, you’re finished.”

“Still, it’s not surprising the Young Lord would do this. Plenty of us bought poems—whatever the means, his goal was achieved.”

As Bai Shuxuan spoke, the debate below grew even more heated.

In the upper box, Qiao Songshan had been delighted that Cheng Guang’s poem was chosen by Bai Shuxuan, but he hadn’t expected the matter of buying the poem to be exposed so soon. In truth, whether it was revealed or not made little difference to them, yet their master’s reputation would be utterly ruined.

To admit purchasing a poem was to admit a lack of integrity. Such things might be common in secret, but to be exposed before all was shameful even for ordinary men—let alone their master, the illustrious Young Lord of the Duke’s household. No one would dare gossip to his face, but whispers behind his back would be impossible to silence.

“Damn that Wen Qinghe! It’s all his fault!”

Qiao Songshan burned with rage, wanting to go downstairs and thrash Wen Qinghe again. When in doubt, beating Wen Qinghe always seemed to solve things.

Yet Cheng Guang’s expression remained unchanged as he gazed toward Bai Shuxuan’s chamber, a faint, amused smile on his lips.

“This Bai Shuxuan is interesting—praise in the open, disparagement in the dark.”

“Praise in the open, disparagement in the dark? What do you mean?” Qiao Songshan’s rough features twisted in confusion.

Cheng Guang did not explain, merely tapped the table and watched the unfolding scene in silence.

With his status, saying anything more would demean him. She was but a famed courtesan—he could take her by force if he wished. The chatter of impoverished scholars below could not affect him in the slightest.

Reputation was of little consequence to him, far less than Qiao Songshan imagined.

Yet whether it mattered to him or not, being ensnared was another matter.

At that moment, Bai Shuxuan spoke again, her voice as clear and lovely as a bell.

“I trust the Young Lord’s talent. The poem he presented is surely his own. If you doubt it, let the Young Lord compose another of similar quality.”

“Of course, even if he does not, today I will still choose the Young Lord.”

Her words left everyone momentarily stunned.

Many pitied Bai Shuxuan’s innocence, thinking she had been duped by the Young Lord.

How could this poem possibly be his?

Yet Cheng Guang, upon hearing her, broke into a smile.

Well, well, so that’s how you want to play.

Bai Shuxuan’s words seemed from start to finish to extol him, but everywhere she left hidden traps.

If he failed to produce another poem—or if what he did write fell short of the previous one—it would be a tacit admission that he had bought the first poem.

And that, paired with her earlier words, would be a subtle indictment of his integrity.

At the same time, she declared that even if he failed, she would unwaveringly choose him.

This made her seem the aggrieved party, inspiring the crowd’s sympathy—she had been deceived, yet still counted the money for her betrayer.

Many present found themselves admiring her all the more.

And as for himself?

He, too, felt a fondness for her because of her steadfast trust.

What man could resist a beautiful woman’s unwavering faith, especially one as famed and sought after as this courtesan of the capital?

Such a skillful display left Cheng Guang in awe.

Had he not already seen through Bai Shuxuan’s intentions, he might truly have believed her to be a naïve devotee.

Cheng Guang mused quietly.

Not knowing her true nature, he found himself moved by her actions—how much more so the real Young Lord?

No wonder, then, that the true Young Lord would one day become so utterly infatuated, losing all dignity in his devotion.

It was not that he was too eager to please, but that Bai Shuxuan’s tactics were simply too formidable.

……