Chapter 33

First Volume, Chapter 33: Offering Herself in Return

The Princess of Qiyang's gaze grew even more contemptuous: "You Qin, I know the Sage summoned you, but don't get too big for your boots! If I get angry, taking half your life is nothing!"

No one present doubted the truth of the Princess of Qiyang's words—the Liang Emperor would never punish a member of the Imperial Clan over a wastrel.

Qin Feng naturally understood this logic, bowing and scraping with a forced smile: "Your Highness is right; smashing this Qingya Pavilion is minor, but delaying your important matters is grave. Give us one more chance—we'll make sure you leave satisfied."

This remark struck right at the Princess of Qiyang's heart.

The Princess of Qiyang had no interest in the Court Intrigue between the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue; today's visit to Qingya Pavilion was primarily to seek poetry, so granting them another chance was no harm.

"Final chance! If you still can't satisfy this Princess, even Qin Tianhu himself can't save Qingya Pavilion!"

"Thank you, Your Highness, for your generosity." Qin Feng bowed deeply, loudly thanking her, then turned and gave Shen Qingci a signal, gesturing for her to follow him.

Shen Qingci was always elegant and despised Qin Feng's shameless antics; now that he had publicly promised the Princess of Qiyang, leaving her no room to retreat, she was even more furious and coldly ignored him.

Qin Feng knew that among his four sisters, only Shen Qingci held him in contempt; to make her cooperate, he deliberately put on a look of embarrassment, grinning awkwardly: "My elder sister's throwing another tantrum—forgive us all for the trouble."

As he spoke, Qin Feng gently patted Shen Qingci's shoulder, speaking softly like soothing a child: "Don't throw a fit in front of so many outsiders—be good."

"Be good, you idiot!" Shen Qingci slapped his hand away, wanting to scold him away but fearing he'd say something even more disgraceful, she reluctantly followed him into the adjacent room.

Shen Qingci crossed her arms, refusing to look at Qin Feng, snapping: "I know you stole the spotlight at the Poetry Contest, but you can fool others—you can't fool me. I know exactly what kind of person you are. Don't think stealing a few poems makes you a Poetry Saint."

"Hmph! If Qingya Pavilion gets shut down, I won't let you off!"

Seeing Shen Qingci's icy, distant demeanor, Qin Feng internally grumbled: Why blame me for everything? Even if I hadn't come, Qingya Pavilion wouldn't have survived—now you're blaming me? Is it easy for me to protect the Qin Family's assets?

Though he grumbled, Qin Feng dared not say it aloud; he forced a flattering smile: "I just glanced at the poem you wrote—honestly, though it can't compare to mine, in both imagery and literary merit, it's already a fine piece."

Hearing this, Shen Qingci's eyes flickered with contempt: "Pfft! You're really good at slapping gold leaf on your own face! If you're so capable, write a poem yourself! I don't believe you can satisfy the Princess of Qiyang!"

"What if I do?" Qin Feng grinned mischievously, deliberately using the Provocation Method.

As Qin Feng expected, the ever-proud Shen Qingci took the bait, sniffing: "If you do, I'll do anything you ask. If you fail, you pay me back a Qingya Pavilion!"

"Anything I ask?" Qin Feng's eyes lit up, bouncing with excitement: "How about offering yourself in return?"

A flush crossed Shen Qingci's frosty cheeks; she kicked out, sending the leaping Qin Feng crashing to the ground, scolding: "I treat you like a younger brother, and you dare think of being my husband? Disgusting—you're a shameless lecher!"

Qin Feng sat on the floor, looking innocent: "Didn't you say anything I ask? I just love you—I want to care for you for life."

"Pfft! Shameless! Write the poem first!" Shen Qingci sneered.

This brat was a toad dreaming of swan meat—marry him? Shen Qingci would rather smash her head against a tofu block. Still, she didn't immediately refuse; in her view, Qin Feng could never satisfy the Princess of Qiyang. She had already seen through it—the Princess of Qiyang was clearly looking for an excuse.

Even if he wrote a masterpiece, the Princess of Qiyang would dismiss it as worthless.

Qin Feng got up, rubbing his buttocks, looking wounded: "If the Princess of Qiyang only wants to avenge Li Ninghui and is just looking for trouble, why give us a final chance? She could've just ordered the Servants to smash Qingya Pavilion outright. So I think—she truly seeks poetry, and your poem, though good, clearly fails to convey the right sentiment."

"Chongyang Festival is nearly here—she's likely seeking poetry to give to her mother, the Chang Princess."

"The Chang Princess must be moved by the scene, missing her husband, her mood surely low—only by understanding her heart can one offer comfort."

Shen Qingci rested her chin in her hand, lost in thought.

Though she hated to admit it, Qin Feng had hit the nail on the head.

But even if she understood the Princess of Qiyang's intent, what then? A poem must match the mood and be a masterpiece—impossible to write in such a short time.

Shen Qingci had no patience for Qin Feng's nonsense; she picked up the Brush, spread out the paper, racked her brains, and pondered: "I can only gamble—but hastily assembled Poetry won't impress the Princess of Qiyang. If Qingya Pavilion is destroyed, that's minor—but my reputation in Jingdu will be ruined."

Thinking of this, Shen Qingci grew even angrier—if Qin Feng hadn't recklessly promised, she could've negotiated further, found a way to drive the Princess of Qiyang away.

"Damn Qin Feng, it's all your fault!" Shen Qingci turned to glare at him, ready to shout—but froze in place.

While Shen Qingci was distracted, Qin Feng had already seized the Brush and scrawled a poem onto the paper.

The brushwork was chaotic, the calligraphy sloppy—revolting to behold!

Even a five-year-old child wrote neater characters than Qin Feng.

But the poem's content left Shen Qingci stunned; she couldn't help whispering it aloud: "Thin mist, thick clouds, endless sorrowful days, incense burns in the golden beast. Again the Chongyang Festival, jade pillow, gauze window—midnight chill seeps through. By the eastern fence, wine in hand at dusk, faint fragrance fills my sleeves. Don't say this doesn't steal the soul—rolling back the curtain, the west wind blows, the person is thinner than the yellow chrysanthemum."

With Shen Qingci's literary talent, she instantly grasped the poem's essence; overcome with shock, she instinctively covered her mouth, afraid she'd cry out in awe.

Shen Qingci refused to believe this poem came from Qin Feng's hand—yet even if he copied it, where in Heaven and Earth could he find so many masterpieces to steal?

Is this brat truly awakened? Has the Poetry Saint possessed him?

"Qin Feng, what's the title of this poem?"

"'Drunk in the Flower Shade: Thin Mist, Thick Clouds, Endless Sorrow.'"