Chapter 620: Water Dragon Chant, Yan King

Group Flower Banquet, Zone A.

"Excellent, Xie Guan!"

Li Yutong's starlike eyes nearly sparked with fire.

"Xie Renfeng! Explain this to me! How could that final poem performed by Lady Gongsun be written by Xie Guan?"

A gold-plated dangling hairpin trembled wildly at her temple, while cheers from the distant stage rolled in waves.

Today's Group Flower Banquet has made Xie Guan the center of attention.

Xie Renfeng's pallid, flushed face vanished into shadow, his muscles taut beneath his brocade robe.

He had spent a fortune on assassins from the Xuan Yue Hall—and still could not buy Xie Guan's corpse.

As his Adam's apple rolled, he suddenly slammed his palm hard onto the table.

Xie Renfeng suddenly smiled, yet his knuckles had crushed the railing into cracks.

"Yutong, calm down."

"How long can a grasshopper in autumn still jump?"

Li Yutong's doubts deepened.

With Xie Guan's fame soaring, the Xie Fu will surely take notice.

Yet why is Xie Renfeng so certain his glory won't last?

Xie Renfeng's voice turned grim: "If Xie Guan were merely obedient, it would be fine—but he insists on flaunting himself."

"The Xie Fu has already arranged for him to become a son-in-law."

Li Yutong frowned: "With Xie Guan's rising fame, wouldn't that make him perfect for a marriage alliance?"

"If someone powerful in the Xie Fu opposes it, the son-in-law arrangement may be canceled."

Xie Renfeng sneered, saying nothing more—but the chill in his smile sent a shiver down the spine.

"Do you truly believe…"

"Are the ancestral incense offerings in the Xie Fu's ancestral hall about blood ties?"

"In Chang'an, reputation is a blade—and a shackle."

He smiled as he spoke: "A mediocre bastard son is acceptable for a marriage alliance—but a bastard who is a thorn in the flesh, with such talent, won't be let go by the old matriarch. Nor will she push him toward glory. She'll let him rot inside the Xie Fu…"

"If the Li family rejects a son-in-law, he's reduced to the lowest class."

"What can a man of the lowest class do, no matter how brilliant?"

"He cannot take the imperial exams, enter a school, or hold office… As a son-in-law and a man of the lowest class, his fate is sealed—he will never rise."

Remember: the Great Qi governs by Confucian filial piety.

The will of parents and the word of matchmakers outweigh Mount Tai—unbreakable.

After hearing this, Li Yutong's expression softened. She sniffed: "Let him enjoy his moment—what of it?"

Behind the stage at the Group Flower Banquet.

Hu Yunniang watched the fading backs of Yun Wan and Li Xiangjun, her gaze heavy with thought, a strange sense of loss rising in her chest.

Chen Xiang hurried her: "Yunniang, it's your turn."

"Lady Gongsun has already bowed out three times."

Hu Yunniang held her ancient guqin, ready.

Her personal maid tiptoed to carefully adjust her red coral ear pendants.

Hu Yunniang looked toward the stage and saw Lady Gongsun bow gracefully to the audience, then announce the final poem.

The stage erupted in thunderous applause.

Chen Xiang and Hu Yunniang listened quietly—the poem was indeed excellent—but neither felt stirred.

Lady Gongsun and Ni Huang had long dominated the top two courtesan spots; they were not rivals.

Lady Gongsun's hair slightly askew, she held up a gold-dusted paper and smiled:

"This piece was composed by Master Xie Guan of the Grass Hall Poetry Society."

At these words!

"Keng!"

A tremulous pluck rang out—Hu Yunniang's Jiao Wei guqin nearly slipped from her arms.

Hu Yunniang looked up in shock, face filled with disbelief.

Chen Xiang rushed to steady the cold strings, only to see Hu Yunniang's jade-like fingertips deeply embedded in the phoenix-shaped hollow of the aged wood.

In a daze!

Hu Yunniang recalled the earlier conversation between Yun Wan and Li Xiangjun—her spirit shattered.

Chen Xiang's expression twisted as she stared at the flickering candle shadows on the floor.

Yun Wan stared at the poem on the paper, her hands trembling, barely concealing her excitement.

"Butterfly Lovers."

"My belt grows loose, yet I never repent; for you, I waste away."

Each line flowed like a clear spring, striking straight to the heart.

Yu Ke signed beneath: "Grass Hall Poetry Society, Xie Guan."

Zhou Yuner gently blew on the ink to dry it, then handed the paper to Yun Wan.

Yun Wan took the poem, her beautiful eyes shimmering, her fingers brushing the paper as if afraid to shatter this precious verse.

She bowed gracefully, voice soft: "Master Guan, this great kindness—I have no way to repay you."

"No matter the outcome, if you have any request, Yun Wan will not refuse."

Yun Wan carefully tucked the poem away, then turned to Li Xiangjun and Feng Yaya:

"Thank you both, sisters."

With that!

She took her leave.

Li Shijun watched her retreating back, a faint smile appearing on her face.

This time, Yun Wan had finally achieved her wish.

Unexpectedly!

Sister Yun Wan generously hosted a farewell banquet for Yaya.

The Xie Fu's bastard son recommended by Zhang Yuan was truly extraordinary.

The workings of fate truly are a matter of every sip and bite.

He Xiao's expression brimmed with envy.

Jia Yu and others frowned slightly—Xie Guan now had two poems chosen as courtesans' final pieces; today, he would truly shake Bianjing.

Yu Ke looked at the crowd, but his mind was elsewhere.

Had Sima Ting and the others met with misfortune? Was Wu Tong among them?

What were Xie Hong and Lu Hua, along with that dragon, truly aiming for at the Group Flower Banquet?

He looked up at the night sky—the moon hung cold and bright above.

Only when the Group Flower Banquet ends!

As Lady Gongsun stepped down, the next woman, carrying a guqin, stepped gracefully onto the stage.

Li Xiangjun's gaze shifted slightly, her delicate brows knitting.

This was Hu Yunniang of Yuehua Pavilion—the one who had stolen her courtesan title.

Hu Yunniang bowed gracefully, her wide sleeves brushing the air as she sat before the guqin.

Her slender fingers lifted—the two masters of ceremony announced the piece: "The Yan King's Breakthrough March."

Legend says this melody was composed spontaneously by Yan King Lu Chen in his army, hailed as the greatest war song of Great Yan, later revered as the "Crown of Music and Dance."

In later years, during the triumphant return, soldiers sang: "We receive the imperial mandate, march to crush the traitors. All sing 'The Breakthrough March,' all rejoice in peace. The imperial wind blankets the four seas; for a thousand years, virtue's waters remain clear."

As time passed, the people remembered Yan King's virtue; the Pear Garden adapted the melody to better resonate with common folk, and it spread widely. On every day of Yan King's memorial, the song echoed through the heavens.

Hu Yunniang ingeniously fused the grandeur of military music into the delicate tones of the guqin.

She had immersed herself in music since childhood, and for this Group Flower Banquet, she had labored tirelessly for months.

As she finished, the audience erupted in waves of applause that refused to fade.

Along the banks of the Zhi River, cries thundered, shaking the heavens.

The guqin's melody rose—like ten thousand cavalry charging, like steel spears and iron horses shattering the sky.

Every guest held their breath, lost in the resounding, jade-like harmony.

The music pierced through a thousand years of mist, still echoing in every ear, stirring the blood in every chest.

Li Xiangjun listened intently, then nodded slightly:

"Hu Yunniang truly put thought into this. 'The Yan King's Breakthrough March' has endured a thousand years—"

"Its popularity among the people makes it the undisputed king of melodies. Truly deserving of its fame."

Zhang Yuan clapped his hands: "In days past, Yan King played this march after every victory—'Ten thousand cups of wine, wild with joy. Look now, after the weapons are laid down—peaceful autumn reigns.'"

"Back then, whenever Yan King broke an enemy, he played this piece to boost morale."

Three thousand years have passed, yet the aura remains as majestic as ever!

The zither's melody grew urgent, as if war drums pounded and swordlight and dagger glints flowed across the strings.

All the guests in the hall felt as if they stood on a battlefield after victory, singing songs of triumph, with sweet grape wine in luminous cups.

The music gradually ceased.

The crowd erupted instantly, cheers surging toward the heavens.

Feng Yayu clapped and praised: "Madam Yun's composition is the most brilliant piece on this Gathering of Beauties—let's see how she concludes it with a closing verse."

Zhou Yuner frowned and whispered: "Her opening rhythm seemed off-balance."

"With her level of zither mastery, such a lapse shouldn't happen—but it doesn't diminish its brilliance."

"What's going on today?"

On the four-sided stage, Hu Yunniang bowed gracefully, her crimson lips parting:

"The closing verse's theme—'Water Dragon Chant.'"

It was the ci-palette "Water Dragon Chant!"

This tune, also known as "Water Dragon Chant Order" or "Bountiful Omen," was said to originate from a set of ancient zither melodies of the Great Qing era during the Warring States period.

It consists of two stanzas, one hundred and two characters total: the first stanza has eleven lines with four oblique rhymes, the second eleven lines with five.

The ancients likened the sound of the flute to a dragon's cry, believing dragons and water were one.

During the Tang dynasty, imperial processions always played "Dragon's Cry."

This tune expresses aspiration and emotion: courtesans often used it to convey longing, while frontier generals used it to stir heroic resolve.

As Hu Yunniang descended the stage, her gaze swept the crowd, as if searching for someone.

The lingering echoes of "Prince Yan's Battle Array Melody" still hung in the air.

Zhang Yuanlai's heart surged with emotion; he leaned over his desk, brush in hand, ready to write "Water Dragon Chant."

For scholars and literati, this ci-palette came naturally, their drafts already formed in mind.

Yu Ke silently marveled: the influence of Lu Chen, the "Heavenly Reincarnate" of his past life, ran so deep in this world.

He smiled faintly.

After all, he had played his part—but the reward was miserly indeed.

"Ah Ding, you're truly stingy."

As he pondered—

A great cauldron roared within his mind, radiating ten thousand rays of radiant light.

Characters gradually appeared upon its surface:

1. Compose a superior "Water Dragon Chant." (Hint: May benefit the future.)

2. Write half a "Water Dragon Chant." (Hint: May influence the future.)

3. Ignore it. (Hint: May harm the future.)

4. End personal participation. (1/3)

Yu Ke stared at the four options.

Judging by the hints, aiding this Huayuanxuan courtesan seemed the best choice.

He had already composed two ci today; why not add one more?

He chose decisively:

Compose a superior "Water Dragon Chant." (Hint: May benefit the future.)

Zhang Yuanlai had just begun writing when a shadow approached.

Jia Yu and the others froze.

Could Xie Guan be composing poetry again?

Li Xiangjun's heart fluttered with anxiety: if Xie Guan wrote another poem for Hu Yunniang, how could Lady Yunwan outshine her?

Yet she reconsidered: the "Magpie Bridge Immortal" he had just written was so dazzling—even he himself could hardly surpass it.

Before Zhou Yuner had even ground the ink, Xie Guan had already put brush to paper.

Jia Yu and the others hurried to the table, holding their breath.

Yu Ke picked up his brush and wrote the first two lines:

"A thousand li of Chu sky, clear autumn; water flows with the heavens, autumn boundless."

"Far peaks in the distance, offering sorrow, lending grief—jade hairpins, spiral buns."

Feng Yayu imagined a vast Chu sky, a desolate autumn scene: the Yangtze's waters stretched endlessly, merging with the horizon, autumn itself stretching into infinity.

Gazing afar, the northern mountains stood silent, whispering endless sorrow and resentment; their outlines, bathed in the fading autumn sun, resembled jade hairpins and spiral buns—beautiful, yet tinged with melancholy.

At this moment!

The entire hall fell utterly still, as if even the air had frozen—only the soft rustle of brush on paper remained audible.

Xie Guan's brush danced like a dragon, writing the next two lines:

"At the pavilion's edge, the setting sun; in the cry of a lone goose, a wanderer of Jiangnan."

"I gaze upon my wu hook, beat the railing till my hands ache—no one understands my longing to ascend."

Zhang Yuanlai softly recited these lines, his voice tinged with sorrow.

The sun sank low, slanting over the pavilion; amid the mournful cry of a solitary goose, the wanderer's suppressed rage and grief were laid bare.

"I gaze upon my wu hook, beat the railing till my hands ache—no one understands my longing to ascend…"

Before Jia Yu and the others could even react, Xie Guan swept his brush across the paper, completing the entire poem in one breath:

"Don't speak of how delicious pike-perch is—does the west wind have you, Jiying, returning? To seek land, to ask for houses—would you not blush before your youthful spirit?"

"Alas, the years slip away, sorrow and storms rage—trees still grow old! Who shall summon the red handkerchiefs, green sleeves, to wipe the hero's tears?"

Xie Guan gently blew on the ink to dry it, then signed beneath: "From the Thatched Hall Poetry Gathering: Xie Guan."

Jia Yu and the others stood frozen, unable to recover.

At this moment!

The master of ceremonies had already taken Xie Guan's paper; only then did Jia Yu snap back to reality, asking involuntarily:

"Xie… Master Guan, did you compose all three of these ci?"

His tone held newfound respect.

Yu Ke shook his head slightly.

Jia Yu and the others found this natural: such dazzling ci, after today's Gathering of Beauties, would surely spread far and wide.

One man composing three in one sitting was simply unbelievable.

He Xiao hurriedly asked: "May I ask, Master Guan, where did you encounter these?"

Yu Ke smiled faintly.

"I once dreamt of wandering through the Immortal Realm of Poetry; the immortals there recited to me for five thousand years straight."

He Xiao's face stiffened.

Zhou Yuner smiled and took up the thread: "Master is teasing again."

"When Master Su Xiang once won a game of go, he always said he'd merely played against immortals in a dream."

"Now Master Guan claims the same—how amusing."

Her beautiful eyes studied him; she felt Xie Guan now carried a new ease, unlike before.

Zhang Yuanlai chuckled: "Master Yuan often joked that Master Guan had his mind touched by an immortal."

"I never believed it before—but now I do."

Jia Yu laughed and shook his head: if not Xie Guan, who else could have written them?

He had once dismissed the "fragmented ci" famed at Xixiang Pavilion as overrated.

A painting called "Cloud and Mist Probing the Dragon."

Now he had just written three ci before their eyes.

Jia Yu was fully convinced.

Li Xiangjun felt a pang of disappointment: she hadn't expected Xie Guan's poem to be so outstanding—Hu Yunniang was truly blessed.

On the four-sided stage.

After Hu Yunniang descended, the previous courtesan from Zixiao Pavilion ascended to announce her closing verse.

Three poems on plum blossoms.

The foremost among them was:

"Vivid hues scorn to imitate; true spirit shines only at life's end. Deep in stream and mountain, on dark cliffs, a few blooms open—needing no spring."

It was decent enough—but could not match Gongsun Niangzi's closing verse.

The master of ceremonies had already tallied the hairpin counts from the previous round.

But he would not announce them now; the totals would be revealed only after all courtesans had performed.

Another courtesan ascended the stage.

Zhou Yuner and Li Xiangjun exchanged glances—it was someone familiar.

Chen Xiang, the courtesan of Huayuanxuan, had taken the stage.

(End of Chapter)