Chapter 44

Fu Bo had long received Wang Hui's order; seeing Li Bai want a brush, two alert servants immediately brought over a wide pear-wood writing desk, with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone—everything complete.

That paper was the finest Xuan Prefecture Chengxin Hall paper, white as jade, tough in texture. That ink was the world-famous Huizhou Li Tinggui ink, black as lacquer, with a clean, elegant fragrance.

Li Bai bared his upper body, revealing a bronzed, sturdy chest, his whole body reeking of wine mixed with soaring heroic spirit. He didn't even look, casually grabbed the largest goat-hair brush, soaked it in thick ink, and staggered to the desk.

The stewards, servants, and guards of the manor, hearing that the Immortal Poet Li Bai would compose poetry in the lord's pavilion, all quietly gathered around, each craning their necks, not daring to breathe, fearing to disturb this legendary exiled immortal.

Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) stood beside him, personally holding the inkstone for him, his heart surging with excitement.

He knew that what was about to be born would not merely be a poem, but the most important cultural treasure of the Wang family for centuries to come, a gilt namecard that could bring glory to the family gate!

Li Bai's eyes were blurred with drunkenness, gazing at the blank paper before him, his chest filled with myriad landscapes, countless images churning.

He recalled the shock of first seeing this Yi River Manor, recalled Wang Jin's foresight of "holding office for a time, passing down the estate," recalled the young confidant Wang Hui's modesty and grandeur, and even more recalled his own frustration at having ambition but no way to serve the nation.

All his emotions, under the stimulation of alcohol, turned into wild cursive beneath his brush!

He suddenly swept his hand, the brush darting like dragons and snakes, each character as large as a measure, instantly leaping onto the paper!

His movements were extremely swift, as if he were not writing but dancing a sword, expressing the boundless heroic fervor in his chest. The brush tip sometimes fell like a collapsing mountain, force of a thousand jun; sometimes it wandered like a dragon playing in water, graceful and lively.

Everyone only saw his brush tip flying, ink splashing freely, a long poem completed in one breath!

After writing the final character, Li Bai fiercely flung the brush onto the desk, ink spots spraying everywhere. He stepped back two steps, gazed at his work, then laughed loudly to heaven again, the sound shaking the tiles on the pavilion into a buzz.

When the laughter ceased, he rolled his eyes and collapsed straight backward.

"Master!" Wang Hui, quick-eyed and quick-footed, stepped forward in a stride and steadied him.

Li Bai was already dead drunk, his mouth still muttering indistinctly: "Drink... drink..."

Wang Hui laughed and cried at once, hurriedly ordering the servants: "Quick, take the master to the guest room and settle him well, without any negligence."

After settling Li Bai, Wang Hui turned, walked back to the desk, and gazed at the poem whose ink was still wet.

On the snow‑white xuan paper, line after line of wild, unrestrained cursive script writhed like a ferocious ink‑dragon, coiling upon it.

"Presenting Wang Hui at the Yi River Manor"

Do you not see the Yi River flowing eastward, rushing to the sea never to return?

Do you not see the lords' former Pacification of Annam plan, whose glorious fame shook wind and thunder?

The name Wen Zhen filled the world; having accomplished his deeds, he retreated like dust.

He did not covet the purple gold of the court, but alone opened a manor facing the sun.

Vast fields of good land, ten thousand mu, join the green hills; the glazed kiln's fire lights the terrace.

Richest in the divine capital, hailed as first; halls filled with gold and jade, no ordinary talent.

Now his son is named Wang Hui, whose modest gentlemanly bearing comes naturally.

In his youth he bore a thousand‑jin burden, and with his talk and laughter the wolves and jackals fled.

He invited me to drink fine wine in the pavilion, with beef and fat chicken, opening his bosom.

A single word laid bare my innermost thoughts; to me, fleeting fame is like drifting dust.

In life one must enjoy oneself to the fullest; why furrow one's brow toward dust?

May you forever keep a youthful heart; may the immortal clan open for myriad generations!

I wish to ride the wind and return; another day I'll raise a cup again in the rivers and lakes!

After reading the poem, Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) felt only a surge of hot blood rushing from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head!

This… this is nothing less than a divine stroke!

The first half of the poem exhaustively recounts the achievements and wisdom of Father Wang Jin, from the illustrious fame of the 'Pacification of Annam' strategy, to the transcendent detachment of 'having accomplished his deeds and withdrawing,' to the far‑sighted vision in founding the Yi River Manor as the family's foundation; in just a few lines it carves the image of the Wang Family's first Head of Family into the wood three‑fold deep.

The middle section, with a turn of the brush, writes of himself. From the outward appearance of the 'modest gentleman,' to the inner ability expressed in 'talk and laughter, the wolves and jackals flee,' to the bosom friend feeling in 'a single word lays bare my heart,' this is both praise of himself and affirmation of his handling of the Gao Lishi household slave incident. Li Bai evidently heard of this through some channels and incorporated it into the poem.

The latter half of the poem is Li Bai's own lament and his blessing for the Wang Family. 'In life one must enjoy oneself to the fullest; why furrow one's brow toward dust?' is his re‑positioning of his own life. 'May you forever keep a youthful heart; may the immortal clan open for myriad generations!' — this blessing is more precious than an Imperial Edict!

"Immortal Family!"

These four characters, spoken from the mouth of the Immortal Poet Li Bai, are like a golden‑jewel‑toned prophecy, bestowing upon the Wang Family a sacred halo!

Wang Xiu stared at those four characters, trembling all over with excitement. He knew that the ultimate goal he had set for the Wang Family, at this moment, had received the recognition and endorsement of the greatest soul of this age!

"Fine poem! Fine poem, ah!" exclaimed the old steward Fu Bo, tears streaming down his aged face. Although he could not fully grasp every allusion in the poem, the heroic vigor that swept over him, and the line 'May the immortal clan open for myriad generations!', left him unable to contain his excitement.

"Quick! Quick!" Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) suppressed his excitement and loudly ordered Fu Bo, "Immediately find the finest mounter, use the best materials, and mount Mr. Li Bai's calligraphy! Place it in the ancestral hall as a lesson for future generations; furthermore, convey my words: starting today, all goods produced by the Wang Family's shop shall have their prices reduced by one tenth, in celebration for three days!"

"Head of Family…" Fu Bo hesitated, "A reduction of one tenth over three days would mean a loss of several thousand strings of cash!"

"No problem!" Wang Hui waved his hand boldly, "A thousand gold spent will return! Mr. Li Bai's poem is worth a city! A mere few thousand strings of cash—what is that? I want everyone in Luoyang to know that the Immortal Poet Li Bai is my bosom friend, an honored guest of the Wang Family!"

That's exactly the effect he wanted!

He wanted, through Li Bai's poem, to overlay the Wang Family's labels of 'wealth' and 'power' with a firm layer of 'culture' and 'elegance'—a gilding of refinement!

A family with only money is merely a wealthy landowner; a family that possesses money, power, and culture is truly a noble house.

Over the next few days, Li Bai enjoyed himself immensely at the manor. By day he would boat on the Yi River or stroll along the field ridges; by night he and Wang Hui drank freely, chatting about heaven and earth, completely casting aside the worries of the court.

And that poem, "Presenting Wang Hui at the Yi River Manor," just as Wang Hui wished, spread through Luoyang at an astonishing speed.

The Wang Family's shop's price‑cut to honor guests further pushed the fervor to its peak.

For a time, the Wang Family's reputation reached an unprecedented height. When people spoke of the Wangs, they no longer merely mentioned how much money they had or how exquisite their glazed ware was; instead, they spoke with a hint of admiration and envy, saying that the Immortal Poet Li Bai was a bosom friend of the family's Head of Family, and that he had written for them a poem worthy of being passed down through the ages.

The Wang Family's social standing, imperceptibly, took a great step upward in the hearts of the common folk.

A few days later, Li Bai had mostly sobered up, yet he still had to return to that unpleasant confinement.

At parting, he took Wang Hui's hand, his eyes clear and bright.

"Young Master Wang, great kindness needs no thanks. Were it not for you, I, Li Bai, would probably still be stuck in the horns of an ox for a long time. From now on, let us call each other brothers, with no need for master‑junior formalities."

"Elder Brother Li!" Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) also called out sincerely.

"Good brother!" Li Bai patted his shoulder, "I'm off!"

Having said that, he swung onto his horse and galloped toward Luoyang without looking back, leaving only a trail of dust.

Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) stood at the manor gate, watching his receding figure vanish into the distance, motionless for a long while.

He knew that Li Bai's political career would not last long; he would eventually leave Chang'an. But this friendship had already been formed.

Fame, connections, patronage… everything he needed was his.

Wang Hui (Wang Xiu) slowly turned around, returned to the study, and unfolded a huge map of the Tang Dynasty's territory.

His gaze swept past the prosperous capitals of Luoyang and Chang'an, past the vast Guanzhong and North China plains, and finally settled on the southeast corner of the map, that rich land of fish and rice.

Jiangnan.

"Even the most brilliant fireworks of a prosperous age will eventually burn out." He murmured to himself.

"It's time to make preparations for the impending turmoil."