Chapter 41: Taiping Residence

Old Man Wang was exceptionally happy today. Coming from a long line of hunters, he did not live in the town, but rather in a thatched cottage nestled in the mountains southeast of Yongle Town, which made it convenient for his daily hunting trips.

Early this morning, a wealthy young master arrived. As soon as he entered the door, he tossed a cloth bag onto the table, stating he wanted to buy the cottage. Old Man Wang opened the bag and was utterly stunned; several gleaming silver ingots lay inside, their brightness so dazzling he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Although this cottage had been passed down through his ancestors, it had become quite dilapidated by his generation. Had it not been for the convenience of hunting in the mountains, he wouldn't have wanted to live here alone.

Now that he had this gleaming silver, he would have no worries about food or clothing for the rest of his life; why bother hunting anymore? Without a second thought, Old Man Wang agreed. He was extremely enthusiastic, leaving most of the furniture in the house behind. He packed only a few small valuables, took the silver, and scurried off happily.

The State of Zhao respected literature, and imperial examinations were held in all regions, Yongle Town being no exception. Surrounded by mountains on three sides, the area boasted exquisite scenery. Despite its remote location, it did not prevent scholars from gathering here; over time, it had become a place where destitute literati gathered to compose poetry and recite verses.

Taiping Pavilion was an elegant establishment in town specifically opened to scholars.

Legend had it that the owner of Taiping Pavilion was originally a destitute scholar who had failed the exams repeatedly. Unexpectedly, his luck turned in middle age, and he actually passed as the *Jieyuan* (the top scorer in the provincial exam). He was later chosen by the daughter of a fifth-rank official, and from then on, he rose like a carp leaping over the dragon gate, entering the imperial court as an official.

Upon his triumphant return to his hometown, he was moved to fund the construction of Taiping Pavilion, specifically for scholars and poets to enjoy tea and discuss verse.

At this moment, inside Taiping Pavilion, several scholars were either sitting or standing in a long pavilion facing the street, sipping tea and discussing poetry. One scholar, dressed in cyan Confucian robes, was chanting rhythmically

"In the morning, I sleep in the mountains watching the green mist; in the evening, I return to the bamboo groves to glimpse the setting sun. The blue birds come and go, wasting my ambitions; when shall I finally soar straight into the nine heavens!"

"Haha, Brother Kong, what a fine poem!"

The scholars clapped and laughed. Another one added, "The imperial examinations are dim and the examiners are blind. Though we wander freely amidst these mountains and waters, our hearts truly hold lofty ambitions. I wonder which day we might, as Brother Kong’s poem says, strike like a thunderclap and soar straight into the heavens!"

The scholar surnamed Kong looked over and smiled, "Brother Sun possesses great talent. By staying in these wild lands, you will surely enter the imperial court sooner or later. When that time comes, please do not forget us."

"Haha, certainly, certainly!"

Just then, another person spoke up, "Brother Kong’s poem is excellent, but I feel there is one slight impropriety."

"Oh? I am eager to hear it."

The man continued, "‘In the evening, I return to the bamboo groves to *glimpse* the setting sun.’ In my humble opinion, the word 'glimpse' (*kui*) lacks elegance and does not suit our status. Would it not be better to change it to 'savor' (*pin*)? 'In the evening, I return to the bamboo groves to *savor* the setting sun.' What do you think, Brother Kong?"

"Haha, Brother Zhou is quick-witted; you are truly a rare talent of Zhao. I admire you, Kong."

Hearing this, the scholar surnamed Zhou felt secretly gratified, though he remained polite on the surface. "Not at all, not at all. I, Zhou, am of shallow learning. I was merely adding a tail to a dog's tail and drawing a snake and adding feet. Brother Kong is the true literary star of Zhao!"

The group in the pavilion engaged in various forms of mutual flattery, their moods high, feeling as though they were peerless immortal poets drifting through the world. Unexpectedly, an ill-timed voice drifted in from outside the pavilion

"An ancient path and a long pavilion, where pigs and dogs cry together. The pig calls him a great talent, and the dog calls him an immortal poet."

Everyone turned to look toward the street. On the stone path, a tall, magnificent horse was approaching, its hooves thundering rhythmically.

Seated upon the horse was a young master in white, handsome of face and extraordinary in temperament. He was lightly waving a folding fan, looking every bit the elegant gentleman of the mundane world.

In front of the horse was a young servant in gray, carrying a flowered precious sword in his left hand and holding the horse's reins in his right, leading the way.

The scholars suppressed their rising anger. One of them sneered, "Since you speak so boldly, you must surely have profound insights. Why not enter the pavilion to converse and exchange what you have learned?"

The young master in white smiled. "Since you have invited me so sincerely, it would be impolite to refuse. Although I cannot claim to have profound insights, I can certainly offer some pointers to you all."

As he spoke, he dismounted and walked into the pavilion. The servant tied the horse by the roadside and followed closely behind.

As the two entered the pavilion, the scholars' eyes scrutinized them. The servant was passable, but although the young master in white was handsome, his complexion was unnaturally pale, and his voice was crisp and pleasant, lacking even a hint of masculinity.

One middle-aged scholar let out a hollow laugh and said

"You are truly a strange man. Why bother with literature? Why not focus on finding the daughter of a Prefect to become a welcomed son-in-law? Wouldn't that be wonderful?" He was subtly mocking the young master's effeminate appearance, implying he was a mere "pretty boy." The others, not catching the insult, burst into laughter.

The young master in white said nothing. The servant before him glanced at the middle-aged scholar. Seeing his protruding forehead and deep-set eyes, the servant couldn't help but smile. "This gentleman possesses a peculiar countenance. I am filled with admiration. I actually have a poem to gift you."

"Oh?" the man asked curiously. "Even a servant like you understands poetry? Let's hear it then."

The servant began to chant rhythmically

"Not even three or five steps from the hall, the forehead arrives before the painted screen; many times I've wiped away tears, yet they cannot reach the eyes, leaving only two trickling springs!"

These lines were a biting mockery of his protruding forehead and sunken eyes, fitting him perfectly.

"You!"

The middle-aged scholar was choked with rage, pointing at him but unable to speak.

At this time, the young master in white sat down on a stone chair and cupped his hands toward the crowd.

"I originally thought that although you all might be of shallow learning, you were at least men of letters. I did not expect you to engage in such petty behavior, judging people by their appearance and being so short-sighted. It is truly disappointing, truly disappointing!" He shook his head, looking as though he were disappointed in their lack of character.

The faces of the scholars darkened. One of them said, "You are quite sharp-tongued. I wonder how much learning you actually possess? Since we are gathered here for an elegant meeting, why not have a poetry duel to test your true talent?"

The young master in white lightly waved his fan and smiled. "I am not boasting, but with your meager knowledge, you are not worthy of a duel with me. However, since I am here, I shall not spoil your fun. How about this: I will let my book boy compete with you all on my behalf."

"Book boy?" the previous man shouted angrily. "Are you looking down on us?"

The young master in white shot him a glance. "What? Are you all afraid of my little book boy?"

Provoked by his words, the people present began to shout

"Let's duel! Who's afraid of him!"

"Exactly! Show him what's what!"

"He doesn't know the height of the heavens. Today, we shall duel this servant first, and then the master himself, until he is utterly defeated!"

The scholar surnamed Kong raised his hand to calm the crowd. He coughed and said, "Let Brother Sun take the first turn."

"Then I, Sun, shall perform poorly first," the scholar surnamed Sun said. He turned to the boy and said, "Listen well, kid. The theme for this round is 'Mountain'."

The book boy nodded. "Very well!" He extended his right hand in a "please" gesture and said

"Then please, Brother Sun, perform poorly!"

The phrase "perform poorly" (*xian chou*) is typically used as a form of self-deprecation. This book boy was actually asking someone else to "perform poorly." Brother Sun's eyes bulged with rage. He thought to himself, *I'll give you what's coming to you.*

With this thought, he began to pace the pavilion with his hands behind his back. After a long pause, he recited

"The green peaks of the Southern Mountain are unparalleled in the mortal realm; one could sweep away the white clouds to refine the golden elixir!"

"Brilliant!"

The surrounding scholars couldn't help but clap in praise. One of them even swayed rhythmically, saying, "The Southern Mountain of Yongle towers into the clouds and is rarely visited by humans; it is indeed not a scene of the mortal world. Those living atop that mountain must be immortals, for only immortals could sweep clouds and refine elixirs! Haha!"

Thinking they had the upper hand, someone mocked, "A little book boy has never seen such a spectacle. Perhaps he can only write a few large characters. To have him match those two lines, he'll probably have to think for ten years! Haha!"

"Ten years is unnecessary; ten breaths will suffice!" The book boy kept his hands behind his back and rolled his eyes.

"Shadows of butterflies on Mount Chongqiu, flowers in the heavens; they illuminate the bright moon as the sword-immortal dances!"

As soon as the poem was uttered, the pavilion fell into absolute silence. This was because the book boy's two lines merged perfectly with the first two lines provided by Brother Sun, both in imagery and literary grace, and even seemed to be a notch higher in quality.

One must realize that for Brother Sun, the one who set the theme, composing the first two lines was incredibly difficult. Yet this boy had matched them with the final two lines within a few breaths. Had they not been on opposing sides, one would have been compelled to strike the table in admiration.

However, as the young master in white heard the poem composed by his book boy, a faint blush inexplicably rose to his face, and his large eyes unconsciously drifted toward the outside of the pavilion.

While the scholars in the pavilion were staring at each other in bewilderment, the scholar surnamed Zhou snorted coldly and spoke

"A fox becomes arrogant once it gains success; a book boy's madness is laughable and grotesque!"

The crowd felt revitalized upon hearing this and laughed, "Brother Zhou does not lie! Hahaha! A mere little book boy, how laughable!"

The book boy was not offended; he merely smiled faintly.

"Scholars write with hollow intent; scholars deceive themselves with mutual praise!"

Hearing this, everyone knew he was mocking the scholars in the pavilion for having grand ambitions but possessing no true talent, merely flattering one another to comfort themselves.

The scholar surnamed Zhou's face darkened. He roared, "What are you barking about, you servant?" He rolled up his sleeves, making a move as if to strike.

But the book boy showed no fear. He brandished the flowered precious sword in his hand in the air. The scholar's courage instantly evaporated, and he sheepishly pulled his neck back. He was, after all, a scholar with no strength to lift a chicken; he had only acted on impulse, and seeing the "lethal weapon" in the boy's hand, he immediately retreated like a turtle.

Afterward, the scholars took turns, but none could match his poetry, none could win an argument, and none dared to fight. They were left seething with hatred toward the book boy.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from outside the pavilion: "Grand Secretary Feng has arrived!"

The eyes of the crowd lit up as if a savior had arrived, and they quickly made way. A man in wide-sleeved robes strode forward. He had a square face, thick eyebrows, and large eyes, possessing a dignified and imposing presence.

As soon as he entered the pavilion, a scholar rushed to him, saying, "Grand Secretary Feng, you have finally arrived! This person is sharp-tongued and speaks nonsense; his presence here is an insult to scholars. Please, Grand Secretary, provide us with justice!"

"Oh?" The scholar surnamed Feng ignored him. He merely squinted at the young master in white and said after a moment, "You two possess great talent. Why did you not inform me of your arrival at Taiping Pavilion? It is a breach of etiquette; please forgive me."

The young master in white waved his hand. "We were merely wandering at leisure. Following a whim, we engaged in a little exchange with these gentlemen. Since we have disturbed your enjoyment, we shall take our leave!"

Scholar Feng tried to persuade them to stay. "Why don't you two come to the inner courtyard for a short rest? Taste my finest Cloud Mist tea, and let me fulfill my duties as your host."

At this moment, the book boy interjected, "Our thanks to Grand Secretary Feng. My master has urgent matters to attend to and cannot stay long. Please forgive us."

"I see."

Scholar Feng nodded and stopped trying to persuade them. Instead, he placed his hands behind his back and squinted slightly at the departing figure of the young master in white, lost in thought.

This young master in white and his book boy were, of course, Tang Diexian and Liang Yan in disguise. However, for some reason, Tang Diexian was not wearing the Pi Xiu pendant around his neck, and his cultivation aura was completely exposed.

If a cultivator had been present, they would have immediately recognized his cultivation level as being at the fifth level of Qi Refinement!