Chapter 68: Forcing Me to Slap Your Face?

Wang Zhe received Jiang Mingyu in the main hall of the Inspector’s residence.

Sunlight streamed through the window lattices, illuminating the floor with exceptional clarity.

Sandalwood incense burned in the hall, a luxurious carpet covered the ground, and weapons hung on the walls glinted coldly in the candlelight.

Jiang Mingyu ordered his men to carry dozens of bloody severed heads onto a long table and arrange them in a row.

Wang Zhe stared at the row of grotesque decapitated heads and couldn’t help but smile, his face beaming as he praised: “These barbarians have plagued us for years, yet you, Lord Jiang, have crushed them utterly—I am utterly awed! I had even planned to send troops to support you, but before I could move, you had already secured a decisive victory. As Inspector, I too share in your glory!”

He thought of how Xiangmu had long been the most turbulent frontier region under Da Feng; with this great victory, his promotion was surely within reach.

Jiang Mingyu looked at Wang Zhe’s face, plastered with false smiles and speckled with age spots, and silently sneered. When he had begged for aid, this man had stonewalled him at every turn; now that he had won, he was eager to claim all the credit—a sycophantic fool.

Jiang Mingyu feigned humility: “This great victory could not have been achieved without your unwavering support, Lord Wang.”

As the two exchanged polite pleasantries, a yamen runner suddenly burst in: “My lord, Master Zhuge has arrived.”

Wang Zhe grew even more delighted and hurriedly ordered: “Quickly remove those heads! Show Master Zhuge in at once!”

Seeing Wang Zhe rise as if to greet him personally, Jiang Mingyu quickly asked: “Who is this Master Zhuge?”

Wang Zhe hurried to explain: “Master Zhuge is a scion of the Yasimo Regional Military Commissioner’s family. He was a prodigy in his youth, but refused to serve in office, choosing instead a carefree, unrestrained life—a true cloud and crane.”

Before he finished speaking, a loud laugh rang out from outside: “Nonsense, nonsense—Inspector, you flatter me too much!”

In walked a robust man in his early thirties, dressed in a crisp yellow robe, radiating vitality.

After the greetings, Master Zhuge finally noticed Jiang Mingyu and sized him up, then asked with a hint of arrogance: “Who is this?”

Master Zhuge did not yet know Jiang Mingyu’s identity and assumed he was merely a minor county official, so he spoke with casual condescension: “I’ve long heard of your name.”

Jiang Mingyu, having lived two lives, understood the arrogance of scholars and merely bowed in reply.

But Wang Zhe seized the moment: “Master, you are unaware—this gentleman is the Imperial Envoy, personally appointed by His Majesty, and a top-scoring imperial scholar.”

Upon hearing Jiang Mingyu was a top scholar, Master Zhuge’s face twitched. He immediately rose, donning a fawning smile and bowing apologetically: “Oh? Then I have been most impolite—please forgive me, my lord!”

Jiang Mingyu replied calmly and coolly: “Merely empty titles—nothing worth mentioning.”

His tone was flat, his eyes averted from Master Zhuge—utterly humble.

Seeing this humility, Master Zhuge felt an inexplicable irritation and snapped coldly: “Lord Jiang truly regards fame and glory as dung.” His brow furrowed, his voice laced with clear mockery.

Though residing in the frontier wilderness, Master Zhuge prided himself on his talent and immediately proposed a literary contest, feigning modesty: “Though I dwell in the mountains, I have read my share of texts. Might I be honored to witness Lord Jiang’s literary prowess today?” His tone dripped with confident superiority.

Jiang Mingyu had no interest in such a contest—he was eager to find buyers for the coal he had brought, and had no time to waste reciting poetry with Master Zhuge.

On the surface, he showed nothing, but inwardly he chuckled: this Master Zhuge was a pretentious fool desperate to prove his worth; Jiang Mingyu’s humility had only pricked his vanity.

Yet Jiang Mingyu knew outright refusal at their first meeting might arouse suspicion and offense, so he politely declined: “I am unworthy—my abilities dare not be displayed before your eyes.”

But Master Zhuge pressed on: “Does Lord Jiang look down on me, a man of the frontier wilderness? Do you deem me unworthy to exchange verses with you?” He raised his brow, his tone tinged with suspicion and displeasure.

Jiang Mingyu saw the disdain in Master Zhuge’s heart and quickly shook his head: “You misunderstand—I have urgent duties, not the intention to evade you.”

Wang Zhe interjected: “Lord Jiang, since Master Zhuge has extended such goodwill, don’t refuse. Today, as a top scholar, you must match wits with him—it’s a literary gathering among friends.”

Master Zhuge quickly added: “Precisely. I’d like to see just what kind of astonishing talent a top scholar truly possesses.” His tone carried a faint sneer.

Seeing Jiang Mingyu persistently evade, Master Zhuge grew more certain: this “top scholar” title was surely bought, not earned.

He reached into his sash and pulled out a translucent ancient jade, holding it aloft: “This jade has been passed down through my family for generations—it shall serve as the prize for today’s contest.”

Wang Zhe hurried to add: “Lord Jiang, you must perform well—don’t disgrace the dignity of Da Feng’s officials before Master Zhuge.”

Jiang Mingyu, with no escape, smiled faintly: “Very well—please go easy on me, Master Zhuge.”

Master Zhuge smoothed his sleeves and grinned: “Excellent. Lord Jiang has finally agreed to the contest.”

He thought to himself: Jiang Mingyu delayed so long—he must be incompetent. That top scholar title was surely bought through connections.

Master Zhuge said calmly: “Rest assured, Lord Jiang—I’ll show you some mercy before the Inspector.”

“But if you lose, you’d best stop calling yourself a top scholar—otherwise, scholars across the land will laugh at you.”

“I refuse office precisely because I despise men with empty heads who flaunt titles bought with money.”

“Such conduct is not merely a disgrace to Da Feng—it’s a disgrace to all scholars.”

“How can such a man dare call himself a scholar? The moral decay of this age is appalling.”

“Don’t you agree, Lord Jiang?”

Jiang Mingyu smiled lightly: “Your words ring true—those chasing fame and hollow glory grow ever more numerous. What has become of this world?”

Master Zhuge snorted: “That’s what those who buy titles and pretend to be great should answer for.”

Master Zhuge waved his hand: “Enough of that—I’m not like them, nor do I know their sordid dealings. Lord Jiang, let us return to the matter at hand.”

“Since we are on the frontier, let us compose a poem on the frontier—let the Inspector judge.”

Jiang Mingyu smiled faintly: “Very well—please, Master, go first.”

Master Zhuge rose with disdain and paced slowly. After half a stick of incense had burned, he finally began to recite:

At dawn, clouds part over the vast desert, / Sheep and horses cry beneath the frontier sky; / Yellow sands stain the hills at dusk, / Crimson clouds paint the rivers as the sun sets.

When he finished, he flicked his wide sleeves: “Lord Jiang, your turn.”

Jiang Mingyu understood: Master Zhuge considered these officials beneath his notice.

What amused him was that this nonsense was called poetry?

Wang Zhe had claimed this man was a literary genius—apparently, his reputation was bought with gold.

His refusal to serve? Likely because he failed the exams.

I am a man reborn—frontier poetry? I could recite a hundred without effort. If you insist on forcing me to slap your face, then let me show you true talent.

Jiang Mingyu chuckled softly: “You both know that in Xiangmu, where I come from, the land is barren and harsh.”

“To be blunt, the only thing worth mentioning is the barbarians who frequently appear.”

“Since I was fortunate enough to win a minor victory, I’ll recite a few lines on the spot.”

Seeing his casual tone, Master Zhuge snorted: “Lord Jiang, your delay is excessive—hurry and display your talent. Let us see what kind of literary brilliance truly deserves the title of top scholar.”

Jiang Mingyu had no patience for further words. He straightened his sleeves, cleared his throat, and recited loudly: “The Qin moon shines on Han passes, / Ten thousand li of march, men never return. / If only the Flying General of Longcheng were here, / No barbarian horses would cross the Yin Mountains.”

Wang Zhe immediately slammed his hand on the table: “Brilliant! Brilliant poem—damn, it’s powerful!”

Overcome with excitement, he cursed. Master Zhuge’s face darkened instantly.