Chapter 120

Gongsun Meng saw Li Zhaowen's lips curled in a smile and leaned over to look too.

Seeing a group of martial aristocrat youths facing off against a cluster of civil minister's sons, she was puzzled; Li Zhaowen, still smiling, said: "Looks like I'll have to stay a while longer today—I've seen this brother before at a Daoist temple east of the city, but after that, I've been busy meeting people and haven't crossed paths again."

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Didn't expect this brother without a jade belt comes from such a distinguished family."

"Miss Gongsun truly has a unique charm."

Gongsun Meng was startled; she blinked her eyes and noticed the most distinctive among the martial aristocrat youths—a man in a crimson round-collar robe, with a white jade belt, radiating both heroism and nobility, as the martial youths and civil minister's sons now clashed in anger.

Yan Daiqing spoke a few words that made Zhou Liuying grit his teeth in fury, yet left him speechless; he turned to Li Guanyi and sneered: "My lord, why aren't you speaking?"

Li Guanyi sipped the fine wine slowly.

In this era, his age permitted drinking, and this wine was a rich, mellow yellow wine—smooth in flavor, low in alcohol; when Li Guanyi suddenly realized that sitting here to drink cost fifty taels of silver, he couldn't help thinking the brothel's owner was truly a shrewd merchant.

Fifty taels!

He was no longer poor, but his mindset still bore the scars of eleven years past.

Still hurt.

Better drink more wine and watch the show.

Yan Daiqing provoked him; he thought for a moment, then looked at Zhou Liuying and said: "This gentleman is…"

Before Zhou Liuying could speak, Yan Daiqing said coolly: "My father's subordinate, Vice Minister." Li Guanyi didn't fully understand official ranks, but he knew this position was called Huangmen Vice Minister five hundred years ago, named after the yellow gates of the palace.

A court purist, free to enter and leave the imperial palace, an intimate advisor to the Emperor, holding the status of a purist.

Li Guanyi asked: "What rank?"

Zhou Liuying replied: "Fourth rank."

Li Guanyi nodded; Yan Daiqing snapped: "Why do you ask that?! Are you implying we're merely relying on our fathers' reputations?!"

Li Guanyi took a sip of wine and said calmly: "No, your father still wears only crimson robes and a rhinoceros-horn belt." Yan Daiqing froze, staring at the young martial aristocrat, who reached out and brushed his robe, clad in crimson, with a white jade belt.

The remark was subtle; when the other side threw civil minister prestige like a weapon, Li Guanyi countered with magic.

I wear crimson too.

Just like your father.

All the aristocrat youths understood this veiled retort; Zhou Liuying burst into laughter: "Hahahaha, yes, your father wears crimson, my brothers wear crimson too—you keep talking about your father, your father—civil purists, your father and my brothers all wear crimson, yet never appear together—why don't you just call him 'Father'?"

The martial aristocrat youths roared with laughter.

Yan Daiqing's face turned ashen: "You!"

"Just lucky."

Li Guanyi said calmly: "My crimson robe and jade belt were bestowed by the Emperor himself—are you saying the Emperor is blind?"

Yan Daiqing froze, then snapped: "You!! Sharp-tongued, and do you really think Miss Meng can be summoned to play the qin just because you have money?"

Li Guanyi said calmly: "I wear crimson."

A surge of rage choked Yan Daiqing's chest; his fan turned pale from his grip.

"I am praised by the Emperor for my talent, trained by great Confucian masters, read books at three, composed poetry at seven—the Confucian school admits talent into the Zhongzhou Academy!"

Li Guanyi said calmly: "I wear crimson."

Zhou Liuying nearly laughed himself into convulsions; Yan Daiqing, enraged, shouted: "This is Changfeng Pavilion—we judge talent, talent, not the color of your robe! Even the future Son of Heaven here must rely on music, chess, calligraphy, and painting!!!"

The atmosphere froze; only after speaking did Yan Daiqing realize his mistake and feel dread.

But the Crown Prince isn't here.

Aside from a few wealthy aristocrat sons, only these brightly dressed, horse-riding martial youths remained.

There was no future Son of Heaven.

Yet after those words, no one could continue the conversation; Li Zhaowen frowned, lost interest in the spectacle, and planned to have Miss Meng escort the civil minister's sons away so she could meet the Herbalist brother.

The courtesan stepped forward with a smile and said to Zhou Liuying and others: "Your lordship's kindness is overwhelming, but though I am an entertainer, I know the principle of first come, first served—these gentlemen arrived first; I must attend to them first before I can join you. When I do, I shall drink three cups to apologize."

"I beg your indulgence."

Zhou Liuying had already gained the upper hand and humiliated Yan Daiqing—he readily agreed, satisfied.

But Yan Daiqing refused to let it go; having spoken foolishly in haste and now enraged, he desperately sought to prove himself right, unable to contain his youthful impatience: "No—let the Miss play here!"

He gripped his folding fan: "Hmph, I am no brute like these warlords."

"You know nothing of Chen's elegance—only wielding swords and spears."

"Let us duel in poetry and wine!"

Zhou Liuying roared: "Why don't you challenge us to swordplay instead?!"

But his spirit was weak; Yan Daiqing glanced sideways at him: "Scared?"

The martial youths erupted into curses and clamor; Ye Buyi sat upright beside Li Guanyi, apologetic: "They're always like this—lose the man, not the face; they can lose, but never retreat—even one step back loses the martial spirit."

Li Guanyi replied: "We're brothers—what's the need to say that?"

Ye Buyi's expression softened; he nodded. Around them, other aristocrats, wealthy merchants, even Westerners and Yinguo people, rarely witnessed such fierce clashes among Chen's elite youths—they watched with keen interest, as if curiosity and gossip were universal human traits.

They didn't leave; they ordered more wine, grinning as they watched the young men bicker, patting their growing bellies, telling friends how they themselves had been in their youth.

Ah, time spares no one.

The wine game proceeded from short to long phrases, each round adding more lines; one drank a cup for each verse recited.

Fail to respond, and you're out.

At first, it was simple; Zhou Liuying could keep up.

"Spring flowers."

"Autumn moon."

But soon, these youths, who spent most of their time training martial arts, couldn't keep up; in this wine-game poetry duel, it wasn't about poetic skill but quick wit—they knew less than their own household's idle, wine-soaked wastrels.

Round after round passed, only the time of raising and lowering cups remained.

Most of it isn't about talent in this moment, but how many short phrases you've seen before.

The candlelight burned bright, voices and laughter surrounded them; across from him was the fellow who had been at odds with his grandfather's generation since time immemorial. The young man's temper, doused in wine, would never retreat—if he did, when he grew old, he might wake in sleep, slapping his thigh in rage.

On the second floor of the painted barge, Wang Tong's several disciples were also present. They glanced at their nominal younger brother, Li Guanyi, and smirked. Du Keming said: "I heard he's recently made a name for himself in the Gold and Jade Guard. I asked Master why he doesn't go see him, but Master said it's not the right time."

"Didn't expect to meet him here."

Fang Ziqiao sipped his wine slowly and said: "Yes, it seems Master Yan Daiqing's son intends to suppress him. Keming, get ready."

Du Keming said: "Yes, after all, he's our own junior brother, even if he hasn't formally entered the sect yet."

"But we can't let outsiders humiliate him."

"We're part of the Gongyang lineage—we repay grudges."

Their gazes fell, and Li Guanyi, who had lacked sufficient cultivation when they last saw him in Yicheng, now noticed them. Li Guanyi lifted his head and saw the three men on the second floor: Du Keming, Fang Ziqiao, and Wei Xuancheng.

Du Keming, clad in black robes, raised his wine cup, lips moving:

"Don't worry—if things go badly, we'll go down too!"

Only Wei Xuancheng said: "He may not lose."

Du Keming said: "You trust him that much?"

Wei Xuancheng said: "Wanna bet?"

Du Keming chuckled. "No—your eyes are too sharp. I won't bet with you. Besides, if an elder brother bets on his own junior brother losing, Master will be furious."

"There's no such thing as not helping kin—even if this junior brother once overturned tables and fought people, I'd still go kick him a couple times."

Li Guanyi hadn't expected to see these men again. He held a good impression of them, and his mood improved. At first, when they exchanged two-character phrases, he matched Jin Ge; after several rounds, only he and Ye Buyi remained standing, while the rival civil official's sons were still fully present.

Then the rules changed: they had to combine the two-character phrases they'd previously spoken.

Master Yan Daiqing said calmly: "Spring flowers, autumn moon."

Li Guanyi replied: "Golden halberds, iron horses!"

Master Yan Daiqing said: "Spring flowers, autumn moon—beauty of peerless grace."

Li Guanyi lifted his wine cup and drained it. The youth, clad in crimson battle robes, sat upright, the red candles blazing around him. He placed the cup on the table and said:

"Golden halberds, iron horses—swallowing ten thousand li like a tiger!"

The line brimmed with bold spirit. The room fell silent. The military nobility cheered; even the high officials and aristocrats recognized the depth in those words and applauded. Master Yan Daiqing gripped his folding fan, his face darkening, and began again.

Several more rounds passed. He pointed again to the bright moon outside. After "spring flowers, autumn moon," the theme shifted to the moon. They recited short verses on moonlight. Li Zhao Wen stepped forward, leaning against a distant pillar, watching the youth drink steadily, spouting brilliant lines one after another, until each noble son was defeated.

Finally, Li Guanyi tossed his cup aside, struck the table with his sword, and chanted in a slow, resonant voice: "Call forth the full moon of a single night, illuminate my heart, cold as snow and ice, vast as a hundred rivers flowing!"

"Whales drink without swallowing the sea, sword qi already spans autumn!"

"Wild light floats, the heavens stretch far, all things glow in quiet splendor. The world's lingering regrets—how many hearts ache tonight?"

He was slightly drunk, the boy's bold spirit, the world's lingering regrets—all woven into these verses.

People were used to reciting the sorrow of spring flowers and autumn moons, never encountering such a dragon-like, heroic poetic spirit. The crowd fell silent—only the soft sound of clapping broke through. Li Guanyi turned his head and saw a wealthy merchant, his temples streaked with gray, wrapped in a large cloak, smiling:

"The world's lingering regrets—how many hearts ache tonight? Excellent lines."

Li Guanyi, slightly drunk, bowed with a graceful gesture, utterly unbound. Seeing Wang Tong's disciples, and sensing the standoff between civil officials and military nobles, he knew he was already caught in it—he could not withdraw. He might as well go all the way: "You've been leading the wine game. Now it's our turn!"

The commotion had drawn most of the guests in the pleasure house.

The pleasure house, towering several stories high, had intricately carved railings. Lanterns emitted bright, warm golden light, illuminating the surrounding pavilions like the glow of gold—the dwelling of celestial immortals.

At the center hung a massive lantern suspended by iron chains. On either side stood beautiful women in lavish robes, holding thin fans. They saw the youth rise and sit squarely in the center, clad in crimson robes, jade belt at his waist. He drew his sword and laid it across his knees.

He curled his fingers and tapped the blade, then chanted in a slow, resonant voice:

"Youthful heroism, forging bonds with the mighty of the five capitals."

"Baring hearts and souls, hair bristling. In a moment's talk, life and death shared. One promise weighs a thousand gold. Praising courage, boasting boldness. Light carriages gather, linked reins gallop, dueling east of the city. Drunken revelry at wine stalls, spring's hue floating in cold jars, drinking like a rainbow drawn from the sea. Leisurely calling hawks and hounds, white feathers plucking carved bows, cunning dens suddenly empty. Joy rushes by."

The youth's voice rang clear. He laughed, a hint of wine on his face, his high ponytail swaying.

Though only the tapping of his sword produced the sound, it was strangely exquisite.

Sitting cross-legged, drinking, tapping his sword, singing—suddenly he became the center. The beauties around him could not help but fix their gazes on the youth, as if drinking wine themselves, their eyes growing three parts drunk.

Around him were young, martial youths. They understood this poem—it was a hymn to their own bonds. Master Yan Daiqing's face turned deathly pale. This time, true fear gripped him—the instinctive political dread of a refined civil official's son—

He saw, in the dim candlelight, these youths raising their swords together, clustering close, chanting aloud verses of youthful heroism. They tapped their weapons with their fingers; the metallic tones rang clear, the youthful spirit blazing, scattering the delicate music of Jiangnan beauties.

They said: "Youthful heroism, forging bonds with the mighty of the five capitals."

They said: "Baring hearts and souls, hair bristling. In a moment's talk, life and death shared. One promise weighs a thousand gold!"

Then they raised their cups and laughed, like a clenched fist.

In this decadent pleasure house, they were a blazing fire.

Master Yan Daiqing's face turned deathly pale. He felt it: a new military noble faction had been born before him, and that Xue family youth was its undisputed center—fierce in battle, loyal, and able to win face.

What seemed laughable to seasoned politicians could become a core in youth.

At this moment, Master Yan Daiqing made his only wise choice.

He picked up a wine jar and hurled it—trying to break the mood.

The jar smashed on the ground like a fuse. Zhou Liu's camp roared with laughter. He reached out and overturned the table, then seized two heavy benches and charged: "You want to fight? Hahaha! Yan Daiqing, you asked for this!!!"

He shouted: "You started it, crude civil scholar!"

Master Yan Daiqing was nearly choking on rage.

Soon, the young civil and military nobles of the empire were fighting in the pleasure house—and the brawl grew larger. The courtesan Lady Gongsun Meng tried to stop them, but found it impossible. Just then, a sharp crackling sound rang out.

Both sides looked up. The lantern, suspended by sixteen iron chains, swayed violently, about to fall. A figure stepped onto the lantern. Then came a crack—the lantern crashed down. Everyone screamed and scattered, ceasing their fight.

Li Guanyi saw the figure standing atop the lantern—eyebrows raised, a vertical mark between his brows.

It was the boy he'd seen that day.

As if descending from heaven.

Sliding down the lantern, his sleeves fluttering.

The lantern crashed down, halting the youths' brawl; the boy with phoenix eyes seized the opportunity to grab Li Guanyi, grinning wildly: "Quick, run!"

"If you keep fighting, you'll both be punished!"

Li Guanyi snapped to attention and roared: "Brothers, scatter!" Zhou Liu's squad flipped two stools and knocked Yan Daiqing over, laughing: "Good! Today was thrilling—run!" The fighting youths scattered in a roar; the civil official youths, trained in the Six Arts of Confucianism, were furious after being beaten.

They chased after them, outnumbering them; the ten boys scattered in all directions. Li Zhaowen had never done anything like this before—she felt exhilarated, punched a noble youth square in the eye, turning it into a black eye, then dragged Li Guanyi into a sprint.

She heard someone calling for Li Guanyi—presumably he was inside that wine pavilion too.

She couldn't help feeling disappointed—not seeing him!

The starry river shone brightly above; the youths' joy and recklessness overflowed through Jiangzhou's broad avenues and narrow alleys. They knocked over several people, wove through backstreets, and were finally cornered at the city's lake—where, under Jiangnan's night sky, flower boats glowed with brilliant lanterns.

The boy grabbed Li Guanyi and leapt upward; they bounded across row after row of flower boats, finally landing on a small canopy boat. Li Zhaowen untied the rope, letting the black-canopied vessel drift slowly away, then let out a long, satisfied breath and burst into laughter:

"Perfect! So thrilling and exhilarating!"

The Second Young Master of the Duke's Mansion had never had an experience like this.

Li Guanyi still held a jug of wine.

From the brothel, Li Zhaowen said: "Brother, are you this fond of this wine?" She was about to say she could give him a whole cartload if he liked it, but the boy replied: "I already paid for it—and it was expensive."

Li Zhaowen stared, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter, doubling over and sitting down, clutching her stomach.

She looked at the boy, her eyes brimming with delight and admiration, laughing until her sides ached, then sat down and reached out for a lotus seed pod: "We already agreed—when we met again, we'd exchange names. I'm Li Zhaowen. What's your name, brother?"

The boy leaned against the bow, plucking a lotus seed pod, then answered:

"Jiangzhou. Li Guanyi."

Li Zhaowen's smile froze.

"Hm?"