Chapter 544: The Flower Queen of Yuehua Pavilion, the Poetry Gathering in Full Swing!

Lu Hua gazed at Xie Guan's smile, like the first rays of dawn—golden beams piercing through clouds and mist, falling upon the boy's cheeks.

It was quite beautiful.

Since she wore a wide-brimmed hat, you could not tell how her expression had changed over the night.

"May I ask, Miss Lu, do I have talent in the path of Primordial Spirit cultivation? Is my progress too slow?"

Lu Hua smirked. "Fine, I suppose. Adequate."

"And remember—you must not let your Primordial Spirit leave your body without permission!"

Her figure moved lightly, like a shadow beneath the blue sky, or wisps of smoke drifting effortlessly away from the courtyard gate.

Though your soul has advanced to the third realm, you still cannot track her movements.

The Three Truths Sect? The surname Lu? I've heard the Grand Celestial Master of the Three Truths Sect is surnamed Lu—could she be a disciple of the Celestial Master lineage?

Otherwise, how could she so easily produce the Yin Fu Jing, which reaches the seventh realm of Primordial Spirit cultivation?

Though you have memorized the Seven Techniques of the Yin Fu Jing, the subtleties of the last four techniques are unlikely to be fully grasped in a short time.

The first three techniques—"Spirit Turtle," "Five Dragons," and "Soaring Snake"—were originally meant for visualization practice. To wield their power, there's no need for such elaborate diagrams; merely drawing the talismanic characters suffices.

With two fingers pinched together, a flame leapt forth—yet it gave off no heat at all. This is the fire of the human heart and lungs, a marvel of the second realm of Primordial Spirit cultivation.

You lightly touched the paper with your finger; three sheets instantly turned to ash.

You do not wish anyone to know of tonight's events.

After a night of busyness, drowsiness crept upon you.

In the inner chamber of the small courtyard, Wu Tong pushed open the door, rubbing her sleepy eyes, and saw the Young Master already standing in the courtyard.

She found nothing strange—her Young Master always rose early.

Yet she felt a faint puzzlement: yesterday, she had been so exhausted.

Know this!

Before sleeping, she always meticulously counted the household silver, carefully planning what to buy the next day, down to the last tael.

You looked at Wu Tong and smiled. "No need to prepare breakfast for me—I'll sleep a little longer."

You turned and stepped into the room.

Though Wu Tong was puzzled—her Young Master was always punctual and never lazy—today, he seemed paler and more refined than yesterday.

Recalling how, a few days ago in the Grand View Garden, he had shown such grace protecting her in the Jinghong Courtyard, and remembering her own status as his "bedding maid," her heart stirred.

Thinking of it, she unconsciously pressed her thighs together, her face flushed with crimson.

"Wu Tong, Wu Tong—you mustn't think such thoughts. The Young Master hasn't even reached adulthood yet."

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Bianjing City, West Wing Pavilion, midday.

The West Wing Pavilion, though called a pavilion, is in fact the collective name for this entire district of willows and brothels in western Bianjing.

Legend says that in ancient Qi, a Licentiate fell in love at first sight with the Minister's daughter. After countless trials—first meetings, maternal opposition, imperial exams, slanderous rumors—he finally pledged his life to her with the help of her maid, Hongniang, becoming a celebrated tale.

The opera troupes learned of it and adapted it into a play called "The Tale of the Mandarins" or "The West Wing Record."

The play spread in song and story, its fame enduring.

Thus, in Bianjing, places of "smoke and willows, brothels and music" came to be poetically called the "West Wing Pavilion."

This place thrived day and night, with crowds constantly flowing in and out.

If you came to ancient Qi's Bianjing but never set foot in the "West Wing Pavilion," you had not truly experienced Bianjing's splendor.

You had not truly come to Bianjing.

Within the West Wing Pavilion, brothels and music halls lined the streets; the sheer number of women led to constant rivalries, each vying for beauty and status.

In recent years, as several Flower Queens rose to prominence, their fame echoing throughout the capital, a clear hierarchy finally emerged.

Qiyi Spring Courtyard.

Yuehua Pavilion.

Zixiao Pavilion.

These three brothels gradually claimed the top ranks.

At this moment, Yuehua Pavilion!

Was a scene of bustling activity.

This five-story building, sprawling in size, with upturned eaves and gauzy window curtains fluttering in the wind, was surrounded by several elegant courtyards.

At noon.

Numerous Bianjing nobles arrived in droves, each greeted by maids of exceptional beauty—who, in any other brothel, would have been top-tier attractions.

Yuehua Pavilion, as the premier establishment of the West Wing Pavilion, was no mere reputation.

Today!

Hu Yunniang had risen early.

Remember, the girls of the West Wing Pavilion usually rose in the afternoon—only then, until nightfall, did they display their charms.

They slept past noon, dressed and powdered themselves, then received guests.

But Hu Yunniang was different—she was one of the leading Flower Queens of Yuehua Pavilion, one of Bianjing's Eighteen.

She did not need to personally greet guests; merely conversing with true patrons or renowned scholars about "wind, flowers, snow, and moon" brought her wealth beyond ordinary imagination.

Yet the title of Flower Queen was not easily won.

It was an honor earned annually by patrons spending real silver and gold—the top seven ranked women received it.

All were beauties whose names stirred Bianjing.

Hu Yunniang had willingly followed Su Yun to the Xie Fu not only because of his status as the head of the Nine Surnames, the Su family, but also because Su Yun himself was one of her most generous patrons.

Beyond silver and gold, reputation mattered too—there were no shortage of wealthy heirs from the Nine Surnames willing to spend fortunes for a single smile from a beauty.

Ancient Qi revered Confucian scholarship; this reputation came through poetry and verse.

Hu Yunniang had risen above the sea of courtesans not only because of her exquisite beauty.

But chiefly because last year, the famed critic Jin Zitan had said: "Yunniang could play the zither at eight; spring wind blew down celestial notes. One note brought tears to the eyes of Yongmen; two notes revealed the scales and fins of crimson carp; three notes lifted the cheeks like white apes."

That single critique elevated her to Flower Queen of Yuehua Pavilion.

Under her maid's care, Hu Yunniang washed, combed her hair, and painted her brows—yet her face betrayed deep sorrow.

The new waves push the old ones forward; the fresh replace the faded.

The old can never match the new!

Early next year, Yuehua Pavilion will hold its new Flower Queen selection—not only its most important event, but the grandest of the entire West Wing Pavilion.

For simultaneously, the other two houses, Qiyi Spring Courtyard and Zixiao Pavilion, will announce their own Flower Queens.

The whole of Bianjing will be stirred.

Gambling dens everywhere placed bets, guessing which girls would rise to the top this year.

Last year, Hu Yunniang, like a dark horse, seized the title—sending countless gamblers into drunken despair.

Among the many girls of Yuehua Pavilion, beyond the indispensable silver and jewels, what they truly sought was to marry well.

These "singing courtesans" sold art, not bodies.

Only when a girl chose a favored guest would she surrender her virginity.

But once her purity was lost, her value as a Flower Queen plummeted.

The balance of gain and loss demanded utmost caution.

Many Flower Queens lacked the wisdom to choose wisely, ending in ruin.

Hu Yunniang had endured hardship to finally reach the throne of Flower Queen—if next year she lost it, not only would her heart ache, but her pavilion would grow cold, abandoned by all.

Especially for a girl's youth—she had no family to rely on, like the rushing waters of the Yuetangjiang flowing through Bianjing.

Youth fades quickly; beauty grows old.

Rootless and drifting, the waves come fast—and go faster!

The income of a Flower Queen this year far surpassed anything before—even when she was once the top courtesan of Yuehua Pavilion.

Now, her guests were Bianjing's nobles and renowned scholars—the very people she once dared only to glimpse through door cracks.

She saw clearly: it was all because of the title of Flower Queen.

Beautiful women were countless across the land; it was merely this title that drew the attention of the powerful.

Hu Yunniang gazed at her reflection in the mirror—though her face was lovely and captivating, the other girls in the pavilion were like spring blossoms, one after another, each more beautiful and alluring than the last.

"Sister Yunniang, why are you sighing so heavily at this hour?"

The serving maid asked softly, carefully brushing Hu Yunniang's long hair.

Among the girls of the pavilion, all called each other sisters, bound by deep affection.

Hu Yunniang held a floral hairpin and lightly pressed it to her forehead, shaping a delicate blossom.

"Yingchun, you little brat—you spend all day flirting with those down-on-their-luck scholars. They're just pretty-faced liars with not even ten taels of silver to their names."

"You'll understand one day—the men who can pay silver are your true match," Hu Yunniang said, her tone worldly.

Yingchun, hearing this, seemed displeased; her delicate brows furrowed slightly, as if ready to argue, and her hands tightened on the comb.

"You little devil, you're pulling too hard—be gentle!"

Hu Yunniang feigned anger, scolding, "I ought to sell you to a dirt pit, so you'll be too sore to even leave your bed!"

Yingchun dared not reply, standing silently by, not daring to speak another word.

Hu Yunniang gently stroked her hair and sighed helplessly:

"You—you think I can't scold you? There are so many sisters here, so many lessons taught—why won't you learn?"

Yingchun took Hu Yunniang's hand and said in a coquettive tone, "Sister, not every woman has your fortune—to gaze upon the view from the heights of the West Wing Pavilion. We others still seek a home, to marry and become a wife."

Yingchun's cheeks flushed slightly as she continued:

"Besides, I think he… is not that kind of man."

Hu Yunniang shook her head gently and said no more; she understood that a girl who had fallen in love was hard to dissuade—only when she truly hit the wall and felt the pain would she awaken.

"I know what you're worried about—it's the Flower Queen selection next year?"

Hu Yunniang's voice carried a heavy tone: "The annual Flower Queen contest at Yuehua Pavilion has always been this way. Once you lose, it's nearly impossible to recover."

"So I have only this one chance."

Yingchun tilted her head, thinking, then counted on her fingers: "Isn't Sister Huang the one who's held the Flower Queen title at Yuehua Pavilion for years in a row?"

"Sister Nihuang is different—she is the beloved companion who adds incense to the brush for Master San. With his name attached to hers, she is the undisputed top among flowers."

Hu Yunniang too felt envy; for over a decade, the top Flower Queen at Yuehua Pavilion had always been this Sister Nihuang.

Even when Master San—the man famed as "thirty years of grand ambition told to mountain ghosts," "holding seals of multiple states"—came to Yuehua Pavilion, got drunk, slept a night, and Sister Nihuang kept vigil for him, leaving behind a single verse.

For over a decade, no one has ever dethroned her.

This is a fortune others cannot seek.

"Then why worry? You have Master Su Yun's help."

Hu Yunniang shook her head, her voice filled with worry: "Master Su certainly doesn't lack silver, but every sister here has powerful patrons from Bianjing backing them. My roots are too shallow; the senior sisters have each held the Flower Queen title for one or two years—I simply can't match their connections."

"Besides, I've heard that several of the younger sisters this year have earned praise from Master Jinzi Tan."

Yingchun stared at Hu Yunniang's furrowed brows, unsure how to comfort her.

There are only seven Flower Queen positions in the pavilion, and Sister Nihuang has firmly claimed one.

The top three have held the title for two consecutive terms, and the younger sisters below are all watching the position with hungry eyes.

Women don't just crave vanity—they seek profit too.

Yingchun thought for a moment and suggested:

"What if we ask a few scholars from the academy to write us more poems?"

Hu Yunniang shook her head helplessly: "It's difficult. Those respected scholars in the academy despise places like ours. And they're hard to even meet."

Hu Yunniang suddenly thought of the young man from the Xie Mansion, but then shook her head again.

He's just a bastard son—how much talent could he possibly have?

Yet the fragments he wrote on paper last time were truly brilliant—she just didn't know how the full poem read.

The poems for the Flower Queen aren't something you can just scribble—they must perfectly match the title's prestige.

At that moment, the old nurse's voice called from outside: "Yunniang, Master Su Yun is here."

At that moment, a maid's voice called from outside: "Yunniang, Master Su Yun has arrived."

Hu Yunniang had risen early today specifically for Master Su Yun's "Poetry Gathering and Appreciation" at Yuehua Pavilion.

Yuehua Pavilion was no ordinary brothel—it leaned toward elegance, a gathering place for the literati of Da Qi, where courtesans were treated as refined companions.

Poetry societies seeking fame often chose venues like the West Wing Pavilion, places where women were celebrated and merchants gathered.

Hu Yunniang dressed meticulously, erasing all traces of worry from her face, restoring the radiant brilliance of a "Eighteen Families of Bianjing" Flower Queen.

She arrived at Yuehua Pavilion to find Su Yun already waiting in the first-floor hall.

Around Su Yun clustered Xie Xuan and a group of prominent youths from the Caotang Poetry Society, their bearing imposing—they had clearly come for this "Poetry Gathering and Appreciation."

Su Yun had spared no expense, and Yuehua Pavilion, ever astute, had long ago cleared the storytelling and opera stage on the first floor for their use.

Su Yun stepped onto the stage, and the servants immediately beat drums and rang gongs, drawing a crowd.

On the second floor, third floor… every corridor was packed with spectators leaning over the railings, peering curiously. Beside them sat gentle women, soft and warm in their arms, savoring the ease and elegance.

The audience was no stranger to such events, especially when a red curtain was drawn across the stage.

There, in bold characters, it read: "Caotang Poetry Society."

Poetry societies had become a trend in Bianjing, especially among the Nine Surnames' sons, who adored them most.

The "Caotang Poetry Society" had some fame, though not of the best kind—it was nicknamed the "Moneybag Poetry Society" and the "Silver-Throwing Poetry Society."

The pavilion buzzed with noise, upstairs and down.

Under countless eyes, Hu Yunniang glided gracefully onto the stage.

Around her, the crowd began cheering her name.

(End of Chapter)

(End of Chapter)