Chapter 534: The Invitation to the Caotang Poetry Gathering, the Ancestral Sacred Monkey Stance!

You may not know what legacy the characters "Hong" and "Jing" carry from Second Master.

The character "Yuan" contains the Sword of Ghost-Slaying; the other two characters must be extraordinary—after you fished them from the lake, you felt a resonance with them, as if your heart and mind had become one.

The lake's waves churned violently, sword qi surging from unknown sources, racing freely with the current.

Deep beneath the lake, where the water plunged like an abyss, a colossal dragon's eye suddenly opened, gleaming with cold, dark light.

Beneath the rippling lake surface, the ink-dragon writhed, swelling from the size of a large blue carp to dozens of zhang, its scales undulating with every ripple.

A sudden gale rose, hurling waves like a thousand piles of snow; the small boat rocked violently, finally being thrust aside, far from its original position.

The old boatman gripped the oar tightly, rowing with all his strength, his face grim, drawing a sharp breath, silently awed by this sudden upheaval, his expression filled with shock.

"Damn it, did the earth dragon move again?!"

Six years ago, on the White Horse Road not far from Bianjing, an earth dragon once passed—sky collapsed, ground cracked, houses tumbled like stacked blocks, sinking five to six zhang underground; countless died, leaving only wails across the land.

Bianjing itself felt the tremors, jolting many onto the streets.

Fortunately, the disturbance passed after a brief spell.

Now, raindrops from the lake fell like severed beads, pattering onto the withered, yellowing lotus blossoms.

You had already pulled Wu Tong into the boat's canopy, sheltering from the rain.

The old boatman hurriedly rowed, unwilling to linger in the lake any longer.

You cast one final glance at the pavilion you had pointed to—a single drop of lake rain fell there; as for what followed, you no longer cared to watch.

The boat reached shore; you and Wu Tang stepped out.

Once on solid ground, Wu Tang pressed her chest and whispered, "Young Master, I just saw something swim past in the lake."

You smiled faintly and said, "You must have imagined it. What else could be in this lake besides fish and shrimp?"

Wu Tang tilted her head, did not press further, and assumed she had merely seen things.

As you two prepared to leave, a voice called out behind you.

"Is that Master Guan?"

"Please wait a moment."

Four or five servants and several maids rowed after you in a boat, drenched, hair plastered to their foreheads, looking utterly disheveled.

One stood at the bow, cupping his hands to his mouth like a trumpet.

"My master is Master Su Yun; please wait."

The group hurried over; Wu Tang stared, puzzled—who was Master Su Yun?

At that moment, a young servant in blue robes dashed ashore—a slender, clean-faced lad who swiftly pulled a summons from his sleeve; though soaked to the skin, the scroll remained dry, clearly carefully protected.

You turned your head and saw four large characters in gilded script: "Caotang Poetry Society."

The lad hurriedly explained, "We were ordered by our master to wait at the entrance of Hongjing Yuan. As soon as we saw Master Guan leave, we chased after you immediately."

"But just now, a sudden storm overturned our boat—we nearly missed our duty."

As he spoke, his voice carried a hint of grievance; Wu Tang couldn't help but smile.

But what was the Caotang Poetry Society? And who was Master Su Yun?

How did Master enter Daguanyuan and suddenly make so many connections—a Military Governor's deputy, now this Master Su Yun?

Hearing "Caotang Poetry Society," your heart stirred slightly.

Wasn't the Caotang Poetry Society founded by Su Yun himself? It gathered talents like Hu Yunniang of the Eighteen Families of Bianjing, as well as Xie Xuan, Li Shuwan, and several other renowned figures in the capital.

Seeing you hesitate to take the scroll, the lad's face grew more anxious—he knew that if they failed their master's order today, they'd all be beaten until their skin split.

"If our master weren't rushing to a banquet, he'd have come himself to invite you," the lad pleaded, fearing you'd refuse.

"Master Guan, even if you don't join, please take the scroll—we servants need something to report."

Seeing your continued silence, the lead lad hardened his resolve.

"Master Guan, if you refuse, we'll kneel here until we die."

In Wu Tang's eyes, four or five people dropped straight to their knees.

Seeing you still unresponsive, the lad added, "If you find it troublesome, you can simply be listed as a member. Many great scholars and masters in the society are only nominal members—and each month they receive over a hundred taels."

"How much?"

"Over a hundred taels?" Wu Tang's eyes widened in disbelief; she had never imagined merely being listed could yield such wealth.

Master Guan received only six or seven taels monthly from the Xie Fu.

"If you think it's too little, the society awards a thousand taels of silver to the top poet at each gathering—even if you don't win, there's still a reward—you won't come away empty-handed."

Faced with this… you paused to consider your decision.

1. Agree to this. (Hint: Cultivation and spirit refinement require wealth; it may benefit your future.)

2. Refuse this. (Hint: It may cause significant future consequences.)

3. Accept the invitation but decline to join. (Hint: It will harm your future development.)

4. Participate personally. (0/3)

The treasure glow atop the great tripod shifted again; the characters settled into place.

Yu Ke stared at the four options.

From the hints, merely accepting the invitation without committing or refusing would surely bring unnecessary trouble.

Refusing would bring considerable trouble.

Joining brings money—and cultivation methods for martial and spiritual cultivation all require wealth.

It seems that, no matter where you go, "wealth sustains life."

Yu Ke did not hesitate—he chose immediately.

1. Agree to this. (Hint: Cultivation and spirit refinement require wealth; it may benefit your future.)

You gave a slight nod; Wu Tang understood and took the invitation scroll.

The lad bowed deeply and offered it with both hands.

"Please convey to Master Su Yun that I am honored to be invited to join the poetry society."

You asked, "When is the Caotang Poetry Society usually held? What are its rules?"

The lad replied quickly, "The society gathers every fifteenth day of the month. The location varies, but notice is always given in advance. The rules are simple: recite poetry and compose couplets; victory is decided by literary skill. The top poet gains rich rewards and rises to fame in literary circles."

You nodded, your mind already made up.

The lad departed, delighted.

Wu Tang stared at the scroll in her hand and asked, "Young Master, is this scroll really worth over a hundred taels?"

You smiled faintly. "If you think it's worth it, it is worth it; if you think it's not, it isn't."

"A hundred taels seem vast to us, but to such lavish young masters, it's merely a drop leaking through their fingers."

"The imperial capital of Da Qi is the richest land under heaven—golden goblets of clear wine cost ten thousand taels; jade plates of delicacies are worth ten thousand coins. This isn't just poetry—it's reality, especially among the Nine Great Clans, who are wealthier than nations."

One feast of the rich feeds a poor man for half a year.

Wu Tang was simply delighted—if Master joined the society, with money, they could finally replace the old, worn things in their courtyard.

You and Wu Tang walked toward the western garden of the Xie Fu, heading home.

You reached your own small courtyard!

Wu Tang noticed two figures sitting on the steps, sighing heavily, and felt a flicker of surprise.

"Master Hua An, Master Zhang, why are you sitting here?" Wu Tang asked as she approached.

Master Hua An was smoking his pipe, clouds of smoke curling from his lips, his face heavy with gloom.

Seeing Wu Tang return, he leapt up abruptly. "Wu Tang, are you alright?"

Wu Tang laughed. "Master Hua, what could happen to me?"

Master Hua An turned to you, smiling faintly behind her. "Thank heaven—the heavens haven't turned entirely wicked."

You understood—they had not left since you entered Daguanyuan. You stepped forward and bowed. "Thank you, Master Hua An and Master Zhang. This matter has troubled you greatly."

Master Zhang Yuanlai waved his hand. "We couldn't help much—I'm ashamed."

Yet in Zhang Yuanlai's heart, for the first time, he felt this calm, composed Master Guan had truly accepted him—his smile now carried deeper sincerity.

"Wu Tang, prepare a good meal today."

After lunch, Hua An and Zhang Yuanlai took their leave.

Zhang Yuanlai mentioned a piece of news: Su Yun's Caotang Poetry Society was, in fact, obscure in Bianjing—only its lavish spending drew people in; true scholars and literati with integrity largely scorned it.

Among Bianjing's literati, it was known as the "Poetry Society Bought with Money" or the "Moneybag Poetry Society."

Though no one dared mock Su Yun to his face—being of the Su family—behind his back, gossip ran rampant.

Several rival poetry societies competed with it. To boost its reputation, Su Yun had convened gatherings frequently over the past year—but with little effect; no widely circulated masterpieces emerged. Instead, a few poems from poetry societies founded by humble scholars had been selected for study by academies.

You paid it no mind; the sun set behind the mountain.

The night passed without incident.

The next morning, you rose early and heard a knock at the courtyard gate.

Wu Tang, curious who could be so early, opened the door—and her eyes lit up.

The blue-robed lad from yesterday had delivered a red cloth bundle containing over a hundred taels of silver.

"I won't disturb Master Guan further. I'll come ahead of time to notify you when the next poetry gathering is held."

The lad's eyes held a strange glint as he glanced at your seemingly "unremarkable" courtyard. He had struggled to find this place—never imagining that a scion of the mighty Xie family lived in such humble quarters.

Though startled, his face revealed nothing; he bowed and departed.

Wu Tang held the heavy silver, seeing so much wealth for the first time, barely believing it—the silver weighed three catties, stirring her excitement.

She quickly shut the courtyard gate, which had been left open.

"Young Master, we're rich!"

Wu Tong hurried into the room, red cloth in hand, her face beaming. "They really sent silver!"

You were already reading, glancing up briefly. "Wu Tong, keep it."

"Young Master, don't you want to look?"

"What's there to see?" you replied without lifting your head.

"Then I'll put it away—save it for your future bride, and you'll have money to buy books later," Wu Tong giggled.

You sat by the window, book in hand, shaking your head lightly. With Wu Tong's greed for silver, she'd probably count it again and again tonight before sleeping.

Soon after, someone knocked at the gate.

Wu Tong walked to the courtyard gate.

You had already heard the commotion outside, so you put down your book and stepped out.

A burly middle-aged man stood at the gate, his gaze sharp.

"Master Guan, I am Sima Pan. My lord sent me to deliver this martial manual and its annotations."

Wu Tong stood before him and felt a searing heat pierce toward her.

You looked closely—he seemed like a ferocious beast crouched at the gate.

His blood surged powerfully, muscles coiled like ropes, temples bulging—he was undoubtedly a martial powerhouse, though you didn't know his exact realm.

"My lord asks Master Guan to write down your understanding of benevolent and righteous men from yesterday."

You told Wu Tong to take the bundle and prepared to fetch brush and ink from the courtyard.

"Master Guan, no need for trouble—my lord sent silk paper."

The man pulled out a two-foot-long silk scroll, unfurled it with a flick, and the silk stretched taut. In his palm, it seemed to float on air—he held only one end, yet the other hung suspended, steady as if resting on a desk.

You praised, "Excellent skill!"

A servant granted the surname "Sima" must possess formidable abilities and rare arts.

You had Wu Tong bring the brush and wrote word by word.

The giant glanced at it and said, "Master Guan, your calligraphy is superb."

The man didn't linger. He bowed and left.

It was already noon; sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the stone table.

You returned to the stone table beneath the wutong tree and opened the martial manual Sima Ting had sent.

On the cover, bold characters read: "The Great Ancestor's Sacred Ape Stance." Beside it lay a detailed annotation—clearly Sima Ting's labor, filled with meticulous notes and explanations.

A new light shone in your eyes. Martial cultivation was the foundation of your existence—vital to you.

You turned to the first page, where several lines were recorded.

"The human body is frail. Our ancestors observed the forms of strange beasts, learned their essence, and forged their sinews, bones, and blood."

"The Great Ancestor of Da Qi, observing the fighting spirit of a giant ape, awakened the Sacred Ape Stance and laid the foundation of martial cultivation."

(End of Chapter)