Chapter 55: Faking Prestige Backfires

As Murong Yunhai was about to step out the door, Song Yusheng hurriedly called out: “Lord Murong, please wait!”

Song Yusheng’s face broke into a fawning smile as he bowed apologetically: “My earlier misunderstanding was entirely my fault—I failed to recognize Lord Murong’s intentions. Please forgive me!”

“Could you explain what this ‘big business’ you mentioned entails?”

Song Yusheng knew full well that his reason for stopping Murong Yunhai had nothing to do with the so-called business—he simply wanted to cultivate a relationship.

He feared offending Murong Yunhai; should foreign tribes arrive and the gates of Shangmu open without resistance, he would be doomed.

Murong Yunhai was a worthless life—let him die if he must—but if foreign forces turned their blades toward Longteng County, Song Yusheng, as County Magistrate, would surely meet his end.

Just as Song Yusheng’s thoughts churned, a yamen runner in his thirties walked in slowly.

He bowed deeply to Song Yusheng and offered a sheet of white paper with both hands: “Your Excellency, I’ve retrieved the poetry you requested.”

Song Yusheng accepted the paper with a broad smile, examined it carefully, glanced at it once, and nodded repeatedly in satisfaction.

He grinned at Murong Yunhai: “Let’s set the business aside for now—please, Lord Murong, offer your thoughts on my literary talent.”

The private secretary immediately stepped forward, seizing the opportunity to gush: “Lord Murong, you absolutely must appreciate this!”

“My master was once the fourth-ranked graduate of the Second Class, personally selected by the late Emperor—his scholarship is profound, his prose unmatched in elegance.”

“He once composed poetry in the imperial hall and stole the show—His Majesty still recalls and praises it to this day!”

The private secretary continued solemnly: “Forgive me for saying this, but to witness the literary brilliance of a Son of Heaven’s disciple—Lord Murong, your journey here has been worth every step.”

“I hope Lord Murong will study it well and learn from my master’s ways—less obsession with wealth, more reading of classics, cultivating virtue and character—that is the true path.”

Song Yusheng chuckled with unashamed pride: “Ah, Master Secretary, those are old stories—why dredge them up?”

“Indeed, the Emperor once held me in high regard, and nobles and ministers alike praised my literary skill.”

“But what of it? I merely showed a few of my little pieces to the imperial consorts.”

“The one thing I least like to mention is that even the late Empress Dowager admired my poems—yet that’s nothing.”

“A true hero doesn’t boast of past glories. Master Secretary, constantly repeating this before Lord Murong is just tedious.”

He glanced sidelong at Murong Yunhai—his face revealed no trace of awe or admiration—and Song Yusheng’s alarm bells rang loudly.

He quickly added: “Perhaps Lord Murong himself is even more learned—then wouldn’t this be like showing off axe skills before Lu Ban?”

Song Yusheng’s smile grew stiff as his mind began racing.

Murong Yunhai showed not the slightest hint of the courtesy such words demanded.

At that moment, the private secretary clearly sensed the tension and sneered: “Your Excellency, you’re mistaken. Permit me to speak plainly—if Lord Murong truly possessed such learning, he wouldn’t have been exiled to remote Shangmu County. If he rivaled you, he’d already be an Inspector.”

Murong Yunhai had come to do business and had no intention of competing: “Your Excellency Song, the Secretary is right.”

“I’ve read a few books, but I’m merely a crude man—unworthy of comparison with your profound scholarship.”

“Your Excellency’s compositions were so beloved by the late Emperor and Empress Dowager—they must be of extraordinary mastery.”

“Shall we return to the matter of business?”

Song Yusheng, stung just moments before by Murong Yunhai, seethed with resentment—he would not pass up this chance to show off and reclaim his dignity.

He shook his fat head, feigning nonchalance: “Lord Murong, please take a look—offer your critique, if you will.”

“Even if you can’t guide me, you might learn my techniques of phrasing and wordcraft—surely you’d gain something.”

Song Yusheng wore a fawning smile as he stroked the four jade rings and one large signet on his fingers; his words were sweet, but his mind already plotted how to crush Murong Yunhai with ornate diction and seize back control.

He continued: “Gold and silver are mere worldly trappings—born without them, dead without them. Study my writing with me, and perhaps one day you’ll compose lines as brilliant as mine, echoing through eternity. As your teacher, I’d be honored to share in your glory, wouldn’t I?”

The private secretary immediately chimed in: “Your Excellency speaks truly—gold and silver are useless; only literature endures through generations.”

“Lord Murong, you must study earnestly under my master—he is unmatched in scholarship and grace!”

Song Yusheng smiled smugly, feigning modesty: “Master Secretary, you’re too much again—I told you to be humble.” His tone dripped with uncontainable delight.

The private secretary replied instantly: “I know Your Excellency wishes to be humble—but your talent simply cannot be hidden!”

The two exchanged flattery like a rehearsed play.

Standing nearby, Tukesiluo watched their excessive sycophancy and silently seethed.

He thought: These rich men really know how to play—no one outdoes them in mutual flattery and false posturing.

At that moment, Song Yusheng suddenly grabbed Murong Yunhai’s arm, excitedly exclaiming: “Come, come, Lord Murong, no need for modesty—study my poem closely, it’s a lesson in learning... Hey, what’s this?”

At that moment, Song Yusheng suddenly grabbed Murong Yunhai’s arm, excitedly exclaiming: “Come, come, Lord Murong, no need for modesty—study my poem closely, it’s a lesson in learning... Hey, what’s this?”

As they tugged, a strip of bright yellow silk slipped from Murong Yunhai’s sleeve.

Murong Yunhai hurriedly bent to retrieve it, his voice tense: “Nothing, nothing—let’s return to your poetry.”

But Song Yusheng refused to let go—he recognized the silk’s immense value at once and seized it: “Lord Murong, you’re being disrespectful! You dress so plainly, yet secretly carry such a treasure. Let me admire it briefly, and I’ll let you read every word of my poems—deal?”

Before Murong Yunhai could answer, Song Yusheng snatched the silk and began examining it eagerly.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as he scanned the silk, babbling: “You’ll profit greatly by learning from me... How could this possibly be...”

His voice cut off abruptly. He raised his pitch sharply, eyes wide, mouth agape—like a cat caught by the tail, utterly stunned and humiliated.

The private secretary, bewildered by his reaction, rushed over: “Your Excellency, let me see—what treasure could cause such a reaction?... What? Impossible!”

A single glance at the silk left the private secretary frozen, as if he’d seen a ghost.

It was a high-quality bright yellow silk, roughly a foot square, its edges finely finished with superb craftsmanship.

On its surface, exquisitely embroidered was a nine-clawed golden dragon, lifelike and majestic.

Beneath the dragon, bold regular script embroidered the words: “Grand Champion of the Great Feng Dynasty, Murong Yunhai.”

In the lower left corner, a realistic imperial seal was embroidered—the very seal bestowed by the Emperor of the Great Feng Dynasty.

He frantically rubbed his eyes, stammering: “This... this can’t be... Lord Murong, are you... the Grand Champion of old?”

Yes—that bright yellow silk was the imperial decree granting Murong Yunhai the title of Grand Champion.

To Song Yusheng and the private secretary, it was a thunderclap—completely unexpected.

Yet to Murong Yunhai, the thing had always been meaningless—he’d kept it mixed among his old clothes.

Had he not rushed out and grabbed the wrong bundle, he’d never have brought it here.

Facing their shock, Murong Yunhai smiled calmly: “As Your Excellency Song said—those days are past. Merely empty honors, nothing of consequence.”

Hearing his humble admission, Song Yusheng felt his face burn—he, a man who couldn’t even pass the Third Rank, had dared to boast of literary skill before the true Grand Champion? It was suicide.

Song Yusheng knew full well his boasts about the imperial consorts had been pure fiction—his arrogance instantly deflated.

Instantly, Song Yusheng transformed—he gripped Murong Yunhai’s arm with fervent warmth: “Please, Lord Murong, take your seat—please, sit here, the seat of honor!”

He personally guided Murong Yunhai to the main seat.

Song Yusheng’s face beamed with fawning smiles as he barked at the stunned private secretary: “Secretary! What are you standing there for? Bring the finest Longjing tea—immediately!” His eyes seemed ready to devour the man whole.

The private secretary snapped to attention, trembling as he hurried to brew tea for Murong Yunhai.

As Murong Yunhai sipped tea, Song Yusheng pressed on: “Lord Murong, I was terribly rude just now—let’s forget the past.”

“I, uh—I mean, Brother, may I ask: why has the Grand Champion come to Shangmu? Surely to observe the people’s condition and hear their voices? We local officials must learn from you.”

Murong Yunhai could not reveal the truth.

After a brief pause, he replied with a perfunctory phrase: “To ease the Emperor’s burdens and relieve the people’s suffering.”

Song Yusheng’s eyes lit up—he raised his thumb in admiration: “Brilliant! Lord Murong, not only are you learned, but you carry such pure devotion—truly a model for all officials!”

He thought: How could he miss this golden chance to win over such a noble, virtuous man?

Song Yusheng seized the moment: “Actually, I have a favor to ask of you, Lord.”

“If you can help me with this small matter, I’ll fully support any business you propose.”

His eyes burned with eager anticipation as he waited for Murong Yunhai’s reply.