Chapter 35

Fortunately, Liu Zhao said: “Why not? Studying alone without friends leads to narrowness and little knowledge. Young Master has taught me the Book of Documents today—I must entertain you properly!” Then he turned to Xie Xinghan: “Niece, you should stay for dinner too.”

Xie Xinghan smiled: “Since Uncle is entertaining a distinguished guest, I won’t intrude.” Then she looked at Wang Yang, half-smiling: “Young Master, your talent is extraordinary—I’ll surely seek your advice on poetry another time.”

Wang Yang felt a chill in his heart but forced a smile and bowed: “I know nothing of poetry, but if we discuss classical scholarship, I’ll gladly oblige.”

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in Jiankang, the imperial capital of Southern Qi, a villa on the city’s outskirts was lined with guards.

A strikingly handsome nobleman in splendid robes was learning to ride a horse.

Four expert equestrian instructors stood nearby, watching every subtle movement of the young master with tense focus, fearing any misstep.

A light sheen of sweat glistened on the young master’s brow; his movements were clumsy, yet his expression was intensely focused. He tugged the reins as the steed beneath him defiantly twisted its neck, his enthusiasm growing.

An old servant stepped forward and bowed: “Young Master, half an hour has passed.”

The nobleman, thoroughly enjoying himself, immediately dismounted at the mention of time’s end, showing no reluctance.

His motion was too swift—he misstepped with his left foot, tilted sideways, and nearly fell.

The four equestrian instructors and over a dozen guards rushed forward to support him.

The nobleman steadied himself and waved cheerfully: “No harm done.”

The instructors and guards then relaxed and returned to their posts.

A young servant presented a towel; the young master wiped his sweat as he walked out, sighing: “Half an hour isn’t enough.”

Four attendants hurried after him—one carrying a basin of water, two changing his robes, and one holding a tray with a small cup of wine.

This young master who had just dismounted was Wang Rong, the noble scion of the Langya Wang clan and chief strategist of the Jingling Prince’s mansion, renowned as “the foremost literary talent of Great Qi.”

He was the direct sixth-generation descendant of Wang Dao, the famed chancellor of Eastern Jin, from the most illustrious branch of the Wang family. At just twenty-three, he had already risen to the high post of Secretary of the Central Secretariat, and court officials all agreed: “His rapid promotion has no parallel in recent memory.”

Thus, the court regarded him as a future chancellor or minister of state, believing he would ascend to the highest offices before thirty.

Among all the young talents of the Southern Qi Empire, none could match his prominence.

After washing his face, changing his robes, and drinking the wine, Wang Rong dismissed his four attendants. The old servant reported: “Five men await an audience: Zhang Su, Chief Clerk of the Ministry of Personnel; Li Zhu, Legal Censor of the Grand Marshal’s Office; Liu Man, Doctor of the National Academy; Chu Zhen, Governor of Yixing; and Niu Mu, Colonel of the Cavalry.”

Wang Rong wiped his hands as he spoke: “Give Zhang Su the list I prepared; select two plump, beautiful maids to accompany Chu Zhen; lead Liu Man to the study and wait; host Li Zhu with a banquet—no fish, anything else is fine; summon Niu Mu to the hill pavilion—I’ll see him first.”

He spoke rapidly; though addressing five separate matters, it flowed as one continuous stream, without pause.

The old servant, equally capable, remembered every word and departed immediately. Then a steward hurried over, bowing low: “Someone has come from Jingzhou.”

Wang Rong halted the old servant: “Tell Niu Mu to wait a moment—I’ll see the Jingzhou man first.”

Inside a secret chamber, a black-clad man with an eye patch knelt and reported:

“The Prince of Badong refuses contact with outsiders. Only his sixty personal guards can approach him; even the Chief Secretary and Deputy Commander struggle to meet him. Other civil and military officials have no chance at all. Our people cannot get close. Master Wang seeks your guidance: can we find an opening among the sixty guards?”

“Absolutely not,” Wang Rong decisively rejected. “The Prince of Badong is crude yet shrewd—appearing erratic and mad, yet he follows his own strict rules. Tell my cousin: never touch the sixty guards. Find another way.”

The man hesitated, then added: “Master Wang asks—if we still find no opportunity, can we skip this step and launch the plan directly?”

Wang Rong stared at the man without speaking. The man quickly added: “I’ve advised against it, but Master Wang seems confident...” Remembering his lord’s temper, he fell silent and kowtowed: “I will urge Master Wang to follow your instructions exactly.”

Wang Rong spoke slowly: “If you do something, either don’t do it at all—or do it right. Wait patiently for the right moment—even if it takes another year or half a year. First, ensure stability; second, seek success. If anything goes wrong, neither of you will return.”

“Yes.” The man, chilled to the bone, bowed again and kowtowed.

Wang Rong’s tone softened: “I know you all long to return to the capital. You’ve worked hard. Tell my cousin I’ve arranged it—he’ll become either a Palace Attendant or a Minister of the Nine Courts. As for you—you’ll serve as Captain of the White Guards in the Jingling Prince’s mansion. How?”

The man replied gratefully: “Thank you, Young Master, for your favor! But I wish only to serve you—I don’t want to be a captain.”

“Isn’t serving in a princely mansion better than following me?” Wang Rong’s tone was teasing.

“Everything I am today is thanks to you! My posting in the princely mansion was your doing. Who knows—if I ever serve in the imperial palace, it will still be because of you. So I wish only to follow you, nothing else.”

Wang Rong smiled: “You’re clever. Then do your duty well—perhaps one day you truly will serve in the imperial palace.”

“Thank you, Young Master! I’ll ride back at once to report.”

“Rest today. Leave tomorrow.”

“Young Master...”

“Go see your mother. She misses you.”

The man’s eyes welled up. He kowtowed deeply to Wang Rong.

Inside the Jingzhou Prefectural Academy, Wang Yang was enjoying his meal immensely.

It was his first time eating white rice since his reincarnation—paired with golden chicken broth, braised pork, fermented soybean paste with scallions and wood ear mushrooms (then called “mu’er zu”), and two fresh seasonal vegetables.

There was also a distinctive delicacy: rice and fish slices wrapped in lotus leaves, called “guo zha.” For a moment, Wang Yang felt he was eating sushi.

No wonder Wang Xizhi loved this dish—he even wrote the “Guo Zha Tie,” saying “Guo Zha tastes exquisite.” Now it was clear he hadn’t exaggerated.

Liu Zhao eagerly pressed on with the Book of Documents, pouring wine. Wang Yang, half-drunk, no longer confined himself to philological or textual analysis. He had chosen such topics earlier to gain credibility and avoid rebuttal. Now that the conversation had opened, he relaxed, expounding on the Book of Documents’ rhetorical style and philosophical principles, then expanding into ancient military systems and penal codes. Liu Zhao was delighted, feeling they had met too late.

Under the influence of wine, the two grew closer. Liu Zhao began calling Wang Yang by his courtesy name—“Zhiyan”—replacing the distant “Young Master Wang.”

Yu Yuling was utterly awestruck by Wang Yang. Seeing his wine cup empty, he rose and personally refilled it. Wang Yang, emboldened by drink and conversation, unconsciously used the modern tea-wine etiquette of “knuckle-knocking”: he curled his fingers and tapped the table thrice, saying, “Thank you, thank you.”

Yu Yuling and Liu Zhao both froze in surprise.