Chapter 28: Flitting White Linen Robe

Yue Zhan immediately stopped upon hearing this.

“Who? Who’s there?” Yue Xiao Pang froze.

“I’m asking you! Who wrote this poem?!” Yue Zhan threw a crumpled sheet of paper onto Yue Pang’s lap.

Yue Pang stared, dumbfounded—wasn’t this the letter he’d given Xie Niangzi? How could it be here?!

“Speak quickly!” Yue Zhan raised the rattan cane again.

Yue Pang quickly shielded himself with his arm: “No no no! This... this was written by me.”

“Bullshit!” Yue Zhan swung the cane again, striking his son, “You don’t even know your own handwriting? I know how little ink you’ve got in your belly—could you possibly have written this poem?!”

Seeing the situation had blown wide open, Yue Pang didn’t want to drag Wang Yang into it—he gritted his teeth and said, “I’ve been studying poetry lately, and I’ve made... some progress... Ah—Father, don’t hit me there! It hurts! Ah—”

“Progress? ‘Wandering the rivers and lakes, wine in hand’? Could you possibly have written that?! Do you think you’re Chen Si or Ruan Ji?!”

Cao Zhi’s posthumous title was “Chen Si Wang,” so the ancients commonly referred to him as “Chen Si.” Both Cao Zhi and Ruan Ji were regarded in their time as master poets—equivalent to saying Li Bai and Du Fu today.

“Slender waists, light as held in the palm! Hehe, fine lines, fine lines!” Yue Zhan chanted as he struck, growing increasingly intoxicated, the rhythm of his blows now matching his recitation.

Xie Xinghan, seated in the back hall, heard Yue Zhan reciting these lines with growing excitement; her slender eyebrows knitted, her delicate fingers tightening slightly.

“I’ll teach you ‘held in the palm’! I’ll teach you ‘held in the palm’!”

“Father! Stop... stop! It wasn’t me who said... it wasn’t... it wasn’t me who wrote it!” Yue Pang could no longer bear it.

“Then who wrote it?!” Yue Zhan demanded sharply.

“I met him at a tavern.”

“What’s his name?” Yue Zhan fixed his gaze on Yue Pang, eyes blazing.

Xie Xinghan listened intently.

Yue Pang took a deep breath and wept: “I don’t know! He never told me his name!”

“Then why didn’t you ask?! ‘Wandering the rivers and lakes, wine in hand’—‘slender waists, light as held in the palm’! You saw those lines and didn’t ask his name?! How could I have given birth to such a fool?!” Yue Zhan, furious, began beating his son again.

“Master Yue, please wait.” Xie Xinghan stepped out from the back hall, her black hair half-tied, her white skirt swaying gently, her jade-like face and snow-white skin standing tall as the moon.

Yue Pang had never seen such a beautiful girl—he forgot his pain entirely.

Yue Zhan wore an expression of righteous indignation: “Lady Si, don’t plead for him. This disobedient son deserves to be beaten to death.”

Lady Si?

Lady Si...

Lady Si!

Yue Pang was overjoyed—he had pursued her for so long without ever seeing her face, and now, after being beaten, he had finally seen Xie Si Niangzi!

This letter was worth it!

This beating was worth it!

Truly, the Three Beauties of the Imperial Capital! I wonder what the other two are like.

“Dare to look?!” Yue Zhan swung the cane and struck Yue Pang on the buttocks.

Yue Pang cried out and quickly lowered his head.

“Master Yue, could you tell me the name of the person who wrote this letter?” Xie Xinghan asked politely.

AAAAAAHHHHHHH!

She’s speaking to me?!?!?!

Yue Pang felt so blissful he thought he might faint.

"Master Yue, your son is young; his behavior is inevitably inappropriate. This incident was largely instigated by others. If he reveals the author of the letter, let him off this time."

Yue Zhan sneered at his son: “Lady Si is pleading for you—answer honestly, no hiding anything.”

Hearing Xie Si Niangzi plead for him, Yue Pang felt dizzy with emotion—he spoke without thinking: “His name is...”

“What is it?” Xie Niangzi, noticing his pause, asked again, her voice dreamlike.

“His name is...” Yue Pang hesitated, clenched his fist, lowered his head, and said: “I don’t know his name.”

Xie Xinghan’s expression turned cold; Yue Zhan raised the cane once more.

In the main hall of the Yue residence, Yue Pang lay on the floor, feigning unconsciousness. Soon after, Yue Zhan entered, dismissed all servants, and said: “She’s gone. Stop pretending.”

Yue Pang cracked open one eye, glanced around, then sat up, face twisted in pain: “Father, you really went too far this time.”

“Don’t act like you’ve been wronged! You’ve stirred up a massive mess—how hard did you think I hit you? Do you know who Xie Xinghan’s father is? The Xie Clan of Chen Commandery! A renowned scholar! Minister of the Secretariat! Chancellor! His grandfather was also Minister of the Secretariat—also Chancellor! Two generations of chancellors in one family—they dare defy even the Emperor’s face! And you dared to provoke his daughter?!”

“I didn’t provoke her! I just wanted to send a letter! Father, can I sit down? I’m in pain and exhausted.”

Seeing his father’s stern expression, Yue Pang dared not sit.

“Technically, I should punish you severely today—but...”

Yue Xiao Pang, hearing his father’s tone soften, asked curiously: “But what?”

“But you refused to betray your friend under pressure, and held your integrity before beauty—you’ve shown true ancient virtue!” Yue Zhan laughed.

“Then... can I sit now?” Yue Pang asked cautiously.

Yue Zhan added a soft cushion for his son, then said: “Sit.”

Yue Pang finally sat down.

Yue Zhan sat across from his son: “Now, tell your father properly—who wrote ‘slender waists, light as held in the palm’?”

The Black Man waited outside the residence, growing suspicious as Yue Pang failed to return with the money. Then he saw the vermilion-rope, yellow-ox cart of the Xie residence approaching from behind and quickly hid to one side—could this cart have come from that large house?

He waited longer still, nearly giving up, when finally a retainer emerged carrying a money bag, instructing the Black Man to count it on the spot. The Black Man thanked the retainer and hurried back to find Wang Yang.

They had originally had 933 coins; they had scattered 33 coins into the air to create chaos, spent 400 coins on flour, leaving 500 coins. Add the 2,000 coins borrowed from Yue Pang, and they now had exactly 2,500 coins—just enough for clothes and shoes.

White linen robe, hidden pouch tied at the waist, young lad plays flute for Prince Ning.

Wang Yang donned the new clothes—his eyes bright as stars, his temples sharply cut like blades—and transformed into a graceful, handsome youth, leaving the Black Man and the shopkeeper stunned.

“Sir, you’re as beautiful as jade—and with this robe and these shoes, you look exactly like a nobleman from a great family,” the shopkeeper exclaimed in admiration.

The Black Man added: “My master is indeed a nobleman.”

Hmph—never seen such a poor nobleman.

The shopkeeper inwardly scoffed, yet smiled warmly and began pitching: “Sir, your head is too bare—no crown, no hat, no hairpin...”

This sales tactic hasn’t changed since ancient times!

Wang Yang was about to refuse when the shopkeeper said: “But you’re so young—you haven’t reached the age for the capping ceremony, and your bearing is so refined. A headcloth would suit you perfectly!”

He pulled out a pre-prepared indigo headcloth: “This folded-corner headcloth—I’ll give it to you for just 100 coins.”

Wang Yang’s interest stirred; he took the cloth and asked: “Is this the Lin Zong headcloth?”

The Lin Zong headcloth originated from Guo Lin Zong, a renowned Eastern Han scholar who, once caught in a rainstorm, had his headcloth soaked and one corner drooping. People admired his elegance and began folding their own headcloths the same way; henceforth, this style became known as the “cornered headcloth” or “folded-corner headcloth,” favored by scholars and literati.

Wang Yang’s next plan was to enter the commandery school—this headcloth would be fitting. Besides, if he posed as a penniless wandering student from a great clan, wearing a “fake brand” wouldn’t seem so out of place. Otherwise, he’d have to explain why a member of the illustrious Langya Wang Clan dressed so shabbily.

But now the problem was—he had not a single coin left.