Chapter 25: Learn a Ghost of Xie Lingyun!

Le Pang explained to Wang Yang: “The woman living in that alley is Master Hui Xu, an expert in tea ceremony. When Prince of Yuzhang was stationed in Jingzhou, he treated her with great respect, and even the prince’s consort studied Chan under her...”

Prince of Yuzhang?

Wang Yang recalled the reverent expression the Registrar had worn when mentioning the Prince of Yuzhang.

So he had once guarded Jingzhou.

“Xie Si Niangzi comes every five days to study tea with her, stays exactly two hours each time, always punctual—why is she late today?”

Le Pang shook his head, muttering to himself: “Master Hui Xu hasn’t received outsiders in years. I once sent a formal letter of introduction, but she wouldn’t let me in. Only a woman as refined and gifted as Xie Si Niangzi has won her favor. Xie Niangzi is truly extraordinary!”

Le Pang smiled, murmured a few admiring remarks, then slumped, patting his chest and saying:

“Xie Niangzi might return to the capital any day now. I’ve carried this letter in my chest for two months—it’ll never reach her hands.”

Wang Yang gave him advice: “Just send it to her home.”

“It’s not that simple! Countless men have tried—none can even get past her maidservants! Some try to intercept her carriage, others rush into private rooms at taverns, even fly letters on paper kites! Every trick’s been tried—but she refuses to accept them. Even if she accidentally catches one, she just tosses it away without even glancing at it. Sigh.”

Le Pang let out a long sigh and drained his cup.

Wang Yang blinked slowly and said: “Actually... getting her to read your letter... isn’t that hard.”

“Bluffing,” Le Pang scoffed, not taking him seriously.

Wang Yang smiled without replying.

Le Pang sat up straight, fixing Wang Yang with a sharp gaze: “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“But... to get her to read it, you first have to get the letter into her hands.”

“Of course—how else can she read it?” Wang Yang looked utterly confident.

Le Pang grew even more confused: “But even if you get it to her, she won’t read it!”

Wang Yang smiled faintly: “That’s why you must make her unable to avoid reading it.”

Le Pang leapt to his feet, trembling with excitement: “Brother Wang, help me! If you can make her read my letter, I’ll vow... I’ll go a month without meat!”

Wang Yang couldn’t help laughing—he’d thought the guy was about to swear some grand oath, and instead it was just a month without meat!

He found this chubby fellow interesting: warmhearted, uncalculating, slightly starstruck perhaps, but worth befriending. Of course, this was only his first impression—he’d need more time to judge his true character.

“I’ll help you with this, but I have a favor to ask—I’m short on cash. Can I borrow two thousand coins? I’ll repay you.”

Le Pang paused, surprised Wang Yang would ask him for money, then quickly said: “If you truly pull this off, consider the two thousand a reward—no need to repay!”

The black-haired man beamed. He’d earlier been puzzled why Wang Young Master wasted time chatting here, but now that he’d secured two thousand coins in an instant, he couldn’t help but admire him.

Getting two thousand coins for free was tempting, but Wang Yang didn’t want to take advantage:

“I’ll repay the money. You stopped me earlier and told me all this—you’ve done me a favor. Helping you deliver the letter is nothing. Why should I take payment? We’re talking about human connection, not price. If I weren’t truly desperate for cash, I wouldn’t have asked you for it.”

Le Pang was delighted: “‘Talk human connection, not price’—well said! Then, Brother Wang, please guide me!”

“Let me see your letter first.”

“That’s not very convenient,” Le Pang hesitated.

“If I don’t know the content, I can’t plan properly. Don’t worry—I won’t laugh at you.”

Le Pang hesitated, reluctant to show such a private letter—but for the sake of his “letter-delivery mission,” he handed it over.

Wang Yang read it and nearly spat out his tea, slapping the letter down:

“You went to all this trouble to send... this?!”

“Yes, what’s wrong? Is the poem bad?” Le Pang picked it up and glanced again.

“This... this isn’t about good or bad—you’re afraid she won’t just slap you dead for sending this?”

“I am afraid! That’s why I never dared send it!” Little Fat looked utterly innocent.

Who the hell would dare send this? Thank goodness I checked first!

Wang Yang already regretted agreeing to help him!

Still playing the romantic fool—nearly got himself killed!

“You... you...” Wang Yang felt both furious and amused, at a loss for words.

Le Pang frowned: “Brother Wang, you promised not to laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you—I’m impressed. First time sending a poem to a woman, and you send a silver poem? You’re amazing!”

“Silver poem? What’s a silver poem?!” Le Pang turned pale.

“Still pretending?”

Le Pang hastily reread the letter:

“Wind stirs, wine half-drunk, willows droop and sway. Fine flowers bear clear dew, long boats ride the evening tide. [49] Orioles call from afar, quick steps cross the narrow bridge. Not drawn to green grass, first to taste purple grapes.”

Oriole calls from afar, urging haste; he steps quickly across the narrow bridge. Not drawn to the green grass, he first tastes the purple grapes.

“This... this isn’t silver at all! It’s landscape poetry! Using scenery to express emotion, conveying my leisurely, expansive spirit—my cousin said so!” Le Pang cried out in protest.

“Your cousin?!”

Le Pang blushed, embarrassed: “I... I can’t write poetry. This was written by my cousin. He said Xie Si Niangzi likes the poetry of her ancestor Xie Lingyun, so I should write fresh, natural landscape poems to please her.”

Xie Lingyun? Landscape poetry? Fresh and natural?

Am I just too crude?!

Wang Yang reread the poem carefully, then slammed it onto the table: “Learn a ghost of Xie Lingyun! Except for the first five characters of the first line, not a single line is clean!”

Little Fat gasped: “Impossible!”

“What’s a willow? What’s a flower? Why ‘long boat’? Why ‘narrow bridge’? What’s the oriole’s cry? What’s the green grass? Dew, tide, quick steps, tasting grapes—you think about it!”

That cousin was truly talented—writing a silver poem was bad enough, but he disguised it so well, you’d swear it was pure landscape if you didn’t look closely!

Le Xiao Fan stared blankly, then suddenly leapt up with a yell: “Sun Duo, you bastard!! I’ll kill you!!” He stormed off to confront his cousin.

Wang Yang immediately blocked him: “Aren’t you delivering the letter to Xie Niangzi?”

“Right, right! Almost ruined everything!” Le Xiao Fan calmed down, still fuming, snatched the letter, and tore it to shreds.

Right—almost ruined everything. The two thousand coins hadn’t been collected yet.

“But the letter’s gone—what do I deliver?” Le Pang asked, crestfallen.

Wang Yang smiled faintly: “Bring paper and brush—I’ll write you a new one.”

Le Pang asked the innkeeper for paper and ink. Wang Yang paused briefly, then picked up the brush and wrote.

“Another poem?” Le Pang, still traumatized by his cousin’s verse, was skeptical—he didn’t understand poetry well, and now Wang Yang was writing another. “Still seven-character lines? Isn’t five-character the norm? Will Xie Niangzi even like it?”

“Whether she likes it is secondary—what matters is that you can deliver it, and she can read it.”

“What do you mean?”

Wang Yang wrote as he spoke: “Lean closer.”

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Note: In my limited knowledge, Six Dynasties texts never use “Shi Tai” to refer to nuns—they are called “Xin Ni.” But if the novel followed ancient convention and wrote “Hui Xu Ni,” readers unfamiliar with Six Dynasties cultural context would miss the sense of reverence. Using “Hui Xu Shi Tai” works better, so “Shi Tai” was retained.