Chapter 69: A Poem of Insult

The snow had not yet melted, and dangerous icicles still hung from the eaves. Among the literati of Chang’an, a matter was circulating: at small gatherings held by the Qi family, people pointed and gossiped, expressing their displeasure at the Princess Protector’s alleged pursuit of fame, with faint curses echoing through the halls.

The Qi family was one of the nine great merchant houses of Chang’an, with vast business interests and connections to the court, including salt trading. There was no denying their power and wealth. This winter’s gathering of poets and scholars was hosted by the Qi family. Anyone who came to their Book Tower and left a worthy poem or essay would be granted a seat at the banquet. Whoever won first place on the poetry ranking would gain the favor of Spring Fragrance’s Half-Spring, the famed courtesan, and spend an afternoon drinking with her—talented men and beautiful women exchanging heartfelt confidences. Should their hearts align, Half-Spring still remained untouched.

With such allure, the scholars and poets of Chang’an, regardless of snow or bitter cold, flocked to the Qi family’s estate. Even the once disdainful Master Song of the Imperial College, after being gifted several bronze ritual vessels and invited to expound upon the virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faith at the gathering, left his home and made his way to the Qi family’s appointment.

A hundred seats filled with guests—scholars from all walks of life and even lesser poets gathered here, debating and discoursing. Master Song sat alongside Qi Gong at the host’s table. To the left was the Qi family’s third son, fond of composing verse, who greatly admired Li Hanlin. With his disheveled hair and white robe, he attempted to emulate Li Hanlin’s unrestrained style, but his affectation only seemed ridiculous—a mere imitation, less convincing even than Qin Huairen.

Braziers glowed gently between the tables, warming the guests. Three tables together began the drinking games. During the banquet, some approached the host’s table to offer toasts to Qi Gong and Master Song. If someone composed a good poem, Master Song would encourage them, advising the young to avoid arrogance and impatience, to diligently cultivate their literary pursuits.

Those who received his guidance called him “teacher” and thanked him for his instruction, while Master Song nodded and praised the younger generation, remarking that the waves of the Yangtze push the old forward.

Midway through the banquet, the poetry rankings were announced. Some whispered that the poem of Old Scholar Qian would win—after all, he had long immersed himself in this craft. Such talk spread, and Old Scholar Qian blushed, seemingly flattered but actually mocked: “You’ve read all your life and can’t compose a poem or two—wasting your years in poverty.”

As the moment to announce the top poem approached, the murmured conversations faded until silence fell. Master Song rose and moved to the center of the hall, reciting in his stern, aged voice a poem full of youthful energy. The poem’s brilliance captivated everyone; even in winter, spring’s breath was felt. Curiosity stirred—who was the author?

When Master Song, following protocol, announced the name, it turned out to be a fifteen-year-old youth—a prodigy. His surname was Wang, given name Li Zhi, hailing from one of the five noble clans. Upon hearing this, the crowd’s envy faded. How could ordinary people compare? If the Wang family were a towering tree, they were but wild grass of the plains—one in the sky, the other on earth.

Moreover, young Wang Li Zhi explained he was merely visiting Chang’an, caught by the snow and the banquet’s mood, and had casually composed the poem. His modest words carried a hint of pride, revealing his exceptional talent, yet his dismissive tone toward the assembled guests was somewhat disrespectful. Still, who dared rebuke the scion of a noble house? His poem stood for itself—who would invite humiliation?

The second place went to Old Scholar Qian, the third to the Qi family’s third son. The rest failed to rank, though none were dejected; many had come simply for food and drink, content to glimpse Half-Spring from afar behind the screens.

Wang Li Zhi sat in the elegant seat behind the screen, conversing with Half-Spring. During the drinking games, it became clear that her wit was no match for his—most of the wine was drunk by her, while Wang remained sober. This episode became a tale retold in Chang’an, catching even the attention of Li Linfu.

But before that, after Half-Spring was drunk, Qi Gong spoke of the Princess Protector’s pursuit of fame with great resentment: “That Princess was just a woman—if not for the Emperor’s favor, she’d be a mere village girl, less than a courtesan. Now, she dares claim to be a talented woman—an insult to the noble tradition of Chang’an’s scholars!”

“Indeed, Father is right,” the third son chimed in loudly. “A woman’s destiny is only to become someone’s wife or concubine—how can she claim talent? For a woman, lack of talent is virtue!”

Many scholars nodded in agreement, their voices joining in support.

“I heard the Princess Protector was once scolded by Yan Zhenqing, the Imperial Censor, as a parasite of the nation. I believe it—she’s a foul drain in Chang’an, no wonder the upright Yan scolded the Princess’s house!”

“Exactly, it’s because of her that Yan Zhenqing was demoted! Outrageous!”

“But I heard the Princess Protector saw Yan off for a thousand li—could that be true?”

At these words, Qi Gong stood with his cup, his tone angry. “Such a fame-seeker would never travel so far to see someone off—it’s nothing but a false rumor to cover her shameful deeds. Don’t believe it, don’t believe it!”

“I agree with Qi Gong,” Master Song declared, his voice rising with righteous indignation. “I hear the Princess plans to open a tavern—imagine! As a royal, she debases her status to pursue the lowly business of commerce. At her housewarming, the Emperor himself attended, and she cooked before everyone—an insult to the Emperor, utterly unworthy of her title!”

“Hahaha, such a rustic princess certainly doesn’t deserve it!”

This voice issued from behind the screen—it was Wang Li Zhi, finishing his drink and stepping forward. “As the saying goes, a gentleman keeps away from the kitchen. For a woman to feign elegance, she’s no better than a courtesan of the Spring Fragrance House!”

“Yes, yes!”

“Well said, indeed! Such women only flaunt their looks to win favor!”

“Haha, makes sense—yet she dares call herself talented!”

“Today, I shall compose an ugly poem for this fame-seeker! Let us see!” Wang Li Zhi, despite his youth, displayed the demeanor of a master, pride mixed with the courage of slight intoxication, swiftly writing.

“From wild village, black water flows,
Two dogs come to lap,
Pregnant three or five moons,
Births a rustic girl,
Fame-seeker in Chang’an’s ditch,
Praise-chaser at the marketplace mouth!”

After signing his name, Wang laughed aloud and recited the crude verse.

“Master Wang, this poem doesn’t rhyme,” Master Song voiced the common concern.

“Ah, Master Song, mine is an ugly poem—why should it rhyme? Besides, how could that base woman deserve rhymed poetry? Send it to the Princess’s mansion if you wish. I, Wang Li Zhi, fear nothing! The upright need not fear crooked shadows!”

“Well said! For that, I’ll drink to you, Master Wang—talented youths indeed!”

Qi Gong’s words drew applause from hundreds, praising Wang Li Zhi as a handsome prodigy, unafraid of the Princess’s power, venting the scholars’ resentment.

The wind and snow struck again. Days later, beside the inner walls of Luoyang, in a thatched hut—

“Brother Gao, come closer, it’s too cold!”

“Yes, Brother Du, I never thought the snow would keep falling!”

“How much rice do we have left?”

Two men, wrapped together in a heavy quilt for warmth, rolled and pulled at their straw mat.

“Half a jar still. But it’s truly cold! A few days ago, I heard several frozen corpses were found on the streets of Luoyang. Who knows how the authorities will deal with these vagrants? The number of destitute people has only grown these years!”

“Indeed, the people cannot live—how can the nation be strong! Ah, if only there were ten thousand spacious houses, how happy all the poor scholars would be!”

“Brother Du, I’ve heard that Chang’an recently established a new princess. Should we try submitting poetry and see if we can secure a minor post?”

“We’ll wait and see. I wonder what this princess is really like—if she’s worth our trust.”

Just then, the thatched roof collapsed, letting in wind and snow. Both could only smile wryly, exchanging glances and rising to repair the roof.

I wish to save up drafts...

(End of chapter)