Chapter 36: Let Me Read It Aloud for All of You!

Inside the Jade Pavilion.

All eyes had fallen upon Cheng Guang.

Wen Qinghe stood frozen, his expression stiff and uncertain. He dared not provoke Cheng Guang further, fearing another beating, and though everyone awaited Cheng Guang’s response, Wen Qinghe shrank back, unwilling to involve himself.

He knew this trouble began with him; had he not questioned the maidservant, Hong Zhu, about the author of the poem, the heir would not be caught in the crossfire. If the heir decided to hold him accountable, Wen Qinghe doubted he would escape unscathed.

He truly feared the heir’s wrath might be directed at him, so he wisely retreated into a corner, seeking to hide. Nevertheless, his gaze, like everyone else’s, was fixed with curiosity upon Cheng Guang.

They all wondered what response Cheng Guang would give.

To Wen Qinghe, it was obvious—the heir could never have written such a poem; he must have purchased it from somewhere. Before so many witnesses, trying to buy another poem of equal quality to fool everyone would be nearly impossible.

The heir had only two choices: either abandon Bai Shuxuan, the courtesan, and exit in disgrace, or shamelessly admit the poem was his and, under the resentful gazes of the crowd, enter her chamber to enjoy her company.

But in doing so, come morning, the tale would spread through the entire capital, and the heir’s reputation would be ruined.

Wen Qinghe could already imagine how troubled the heir must be, and as the instigator, his own fate would likely be grim.

If things were allowed to spiral further, the situation might become uncontrollable.

At once, Wen Qinghe resolved to help the heir, hoping to redeem himself in his eyes.

With this in mind, Wen Qinghe raised his voice amid the crowd, “I believe this poem was written by the heir. Miss Bai, since you too believe he is its author, why insist he compose another to prove himself?”

His words drew many eyes; no one expected Wen Qinghe to switch sides so quickly.

Bai Shuxuan was momentarily stunned by Wen Qinghe’s remark, then feigned demureness as she spoke, “What are you saying, young master? With the heir’s status, he need not explain himself to anyone, nor prove anything to anyone.”

“Just now, young master Wen doubted the poem’s authenticity, claiming none here could have composed it. What I said was merely to help everyone trust the heir.”

“Of course, all depends on the heir’s wishes. If he does not wish to compose another, I have nothing more to say.”

With that, Bai Shuxuan fell silent.

Wen Qinghe, meanwhile, broke into a cold sweat.

He cursed inwardly; he’d intended to help the heir, yet now the focus had shifted back onto him.

Not knowing what else to say, he quietly withdrew into the crowd.

The others glanced at Cheng Guang, who sat in the elegant seat atop the pavilion.

Cheng Guang smiled faintly, a spark of interest in his eyes. Rising, he clapped his hands and said, “So, you want me to compose another poem to prove whether this one is truly mine?”

As soon as he spoke, many below looked uneasy.

“Heir, how can you say that? We would never dare doubt you.”

“Yes, heir, since you presented the poem, it is yours.”

“No need for proof, no need at all. We wouldn’t presume.”

They dared only mutter in whispers; if the heir pressed the matter, none would escape blame.

Gazing at the noble figure above, whose expression betrayed no emotion, a chill spread through every heart present.

This was a man at the apex of power; if he wished, he could simply take Bai Shuxuan by force.

Yet here he was, competing for her with a poem—already a grace to those present.

Understanding this, many shrank back and feigned interest in their books, lest the heir’s frustration turn upon them.

Cheng Guang’s long hair hung loose, his gaze unchanged.

Standing at the balcony, he spoke slowly.

“But you are right about one thing—the poem is not mine.”

At this, all eyes returned to him.

Including the maidservant in red, and Bai Shuxuan, who remained elegant behind the screen.

The maidservant’s reaction was mild, her smile only slightly strained, but Bai Shuxuan behind the screen froze in disbelief, rising abruptly.

It seemed she might burst forth at any moment.

Bai Shuxuan was dumbfounded; she could not understand why Cheng Guang would openly confess the poem was not his.

Did he care nothing for his reputation?

Or had he simply… abandoned her?

Did the heir no longer wish to win her?

She was at a loss, regret flooding her heart.

Had her strategy been too aggressive, forcing Cheng Guang to give up on her?

She meant to keep the fish, not kill it.

Inwardly frantic, her normally composed eyes were now filled with panic.

Not only Bai Shuxuan, but Wen Qinghe among the crowd felt anxious as well—heir admitting this was unlike him.

When had the heir ever bowed to anyone?

Wen Qinghe sensed trouble, but could not withdraw, so he kept his gaze fixed on Cheng Guang.

Under the watchful eyes of all, Cheng Guang stood at the balcony, hands clasped behind his back, his brocade robe fluttering, smiling as he spoke.

“After all, the poem is rubbish. If I had written it, I’d have thrown myself against a stone in shame.”

The already silent Jade Pavilion grew even quieter.

The air seemed to freeze.

Many stared, wide-eyed and speechless.

Rubbish?

This was a poem that even scholars and great literati might not achieve.

Such a fine work, and he called it rubbish?

Even as the heir, such words left the crowd astonished, their gazes tinged with new, inexplicable feelings.

Some believed Cheng Guang was boasting.

Others thought he was deliberately disparaging the poem to elevate his own talent, a vain attempt at self-aggrandizement.

Though none dared speak, their expressions showed disbelief.

If that poem was rubbish, then few poems in the world could be considered good.

Especially the academy students, whose eyes widened and faces flushed with anger.

For the poem Cheng Guang called rubbish was one they might never produce in their lifetime.

A work they could not hope to write, dismissed by Cheng Guang as trash—how insulting!

In the central chamber of the Jade Pavilion.

Bai Shuxuan was surprised by Cheng Guang’s words.

She had not expected him to so disdain her poem, and felt a measure of contempt, though her expression remained serene.

“Heir, your talent is exceptional, so it is only natural you discard poems you find unsatisfactory. Regardless, tonight I choose you alone. Will you join me to read by lamplight and discuss the way of poetry?”

Behind the screen, Bai Shuxuan spoke softly, her tasselled gown clinging to her delicate figure, swaying gently in the breeze, her posture alluring and graceful.

Clearly, she was trying to please Cheng Guang.

She truly feared he might walk away, having lost interest in the courtesan.

If he did, her earlier schemes would be for naught.

She wanted to bring things to a close, as did the others, who quickly voiced agreement.

Cheng Guang, however, showed little reaction to their support.

Bai Shuxuan had played her hand well, seeking to humiliate him before all, to raise her own value while exposing his lack of talent and forcing him to maintain appearances.

Now, fearing he might leave, she offered reconciliation.

Otherwise, she would not have spoken so soon.

Cheng Guang’s thoughts churned, but he said nothing more, unwilling to argue further.

At that moment, Qiao Songshan beside him could no longer sit still—these people dared speak so of his master!

He had just seen, aside from that poem “View From Within the Village,” his master had written many others!

Though he could not judge their quality, he felt they were all excellent.

Immediately, Qiao Songshan stood up and shouted, “My master has written many poems!”

“You fools are blind! That poem was nothing!”

“I’ll recite my master’s poems for you all to hear!”

…