Chapter 24: The Sage of Poetry Is Disdained

The moment Wei Yingwu laid eyes on that Turkestan steed, a sense of foreboding washed over him. Hearing Li Zaixing's mocking laughter, his expression grew even darker, and the old wound in his shoulder began to ache dully. Last time, outside the city of Chang'an, he had attempted to rob Li Zaixing precisely for this horse. Such a magnificent beast was a rarity—even in the entire city of Chang'an, not many could be found, let alone in Pingkang Ward. He had thought that with a mount like this, he would surely impress his companions. But who could have predicted that, despite Li Zaixing's shabby appearance, his martial skills would be formidable? Alone, he had bested all thirteen of them, leaving each with injuries—three died on the spot, and in the end, Li Zaixing seized all their coin purses.

Not only did the robbery fail, but he was robbed instead. The loss of money was trivial; it was the loss of face that mattered. Wei Yingwu was so furious he could have spat blood, but he was too ashamed to speak of it to anyone. Thirteen against one, and still such a disastrous defeat—how could he ever show his face in Chang'an again if word got out?

So, Wei Yingwu had sworn his companions to secrecy, threatening to sever all ties if anyone spoke of the incident.

Yet, he could not silence Li Zaixing. Whenever he saw the man, a headache was inevitable. Today, he had come to drink with friends; if Li Zaixing exposed him in public, the humiliation would be unbearable.

"Well... Brother Li, you’ve come to drink as well," he said awkwardly.

Li Zaixing ignored the contorted look on Wei Yingwu’s face. "Indeed. I did not expect to meet you here, Third Young Master Wei. Tell me, are you interested in treating me to a cup?"

Wei Yingwu forced a smile. "Today, I am hosting a banquet for the newly minted scholars. The gathering is for poetry and prose—there will be no competitions of martial skill. I wonder if Brother Li might find it dull?"

"Poetry and prose? I confess, I’m not adept at such things. But I can always listen," Li Zaixing replied, turning to introduce his companion. "This is Brother Du—you must have heard of him. As for his poetry, I wager even these newly appointed scholars would sing its praises."

Wei Yingwu cast a fleeting glance at Du Fu without lingering. In his eyes, Du Fu looked like a gaunt middle-aged man; his clothes, though fine, were obviously newly bought, and his gaze was evasive—not at all like a true scion of the Du clan of Jingzhao. Members of the Jingzhao Du family were never so timid; they strode the streets as if they owned them. Clearly, Li Zaixing, knowing his own limitations with poetry, had brought along a penniless scholar to assist him.

With a malicious smirk, Wei Yingwu gestured in invitation. He resolved to make use of this opportunity to shame Li Zaixing in literary matters, avenging his earlier defeat. He showed Li Zaixing and his party inside, his gaze lingering on the Turkestan horse for a moment before calling over a servant and whispering some instructions. The servant nodded and hurried away.

Li Zaixing noticed Wei Yingwu’s little maneuver but was unconcerned. He had complete confidence in Du Fu’s talents—apart from figures like Li Bai or Wang Wei, who could outshine Du Fu in poetry? Similarly, he was sure of his own martial prowess: in these times, the Muscle-Changing Classic was not something one could simply buy on the street, and few could boast eight years of single-minded, arduous training as he had, not to mention his natural aptitude. True mastery required not just a good teacher but also personal tenacity and innate talent. In these, he surpassed most men; who could possibly exceed him in martial arts?

Unless, of course, he encountered some monstrous being from the world of cultivators.

Thus, he paid no mind to Wei Yingwu’s schemes. He was not afraid of trouble—on the contrary, he welcomed it.

Upon entering, Li Zaixing, visiting a brothel for the first time, was instantly captivated by the elegance of this Tang Dynasty pleasure house. Compared to red-light districts of later ages, this establishment was the height of refinement. If he had come alone and found the courtyard empty, he might have mistaken it for the garden of a wealthy family—never would he have associated it with a brothel.

Passing through the front hall and a small courtyard, he emerged into a spacious area centered around a pond, fifty meters square, edged with ornamental rocks and beautiful trees. A stone corridor wound toward a pavilion set in the water, open on all sides with bamboo blinds hanging from the eaves. Encircling the pond were several rooms—three each to the east and west, five to the north—all large enough for a table of revelers, each with a broad window overlooking the water. Between the buildings and the pond lay open ground, sparsely planted with bamboo and patterned with pebbles arranged into peonies, lotuses, and other flowers Li Zaixing could not identify. Walking among these famous blooms, one felt transported to another realm.

Li Zaixing could not help but praise, "What a marvelous place."

"Of course," Wei Yingwu replied, catching up just in time to hear the compliment, feeling a surge of pride. Raising his brows, he swept his hand grandly. "I have reserved the entire venue tonight. All the most prominent figures of the capital are here. With Brother Li’s presence, the gathering is all the more illustrious."

Li Zaixing merely smiled, neither agreeing nor disputing.

Wei Yingwu then turned to Du Fu. "May I ask, Brother Du, which branch of the Du family of Jingzhao you hail from?"

Du Fu reddened slightly. "My ancestor was Du Dan, the second son of the Armory Lord. My family descends from Du Shiyan of Xiangyang."

"So, you are of the Xiangyang branch," Wei Yingwu replied, curling his lip, clearly losing interest and turning his attention elsewhere. He led Li Zaixing to the main hall to the north, saluted, and went off to greet other guests.

Li Zaixing was puzzled—when had Du Fu become a member of the Xiangyang Du clan? Moreover, Wei Yingwu’s cold, dismissive manner was hardly how one treated a scion of a great house. Glancing at Du Fu, he noted the man’s flushed face and evident discomfort.

"Brother Du?" Li Zaixing asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, it’s nothing," Du Fu replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with a wry smile. "It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen such an occasion. I’m not quite used to it."

Li Zaixing regarded him with some disdain—‘Not used to it? More like you’ve never been here before.’ Earlier, Du Fu had claimed the most famous house here was owned by the Zheng family, yet this was clearly the Yang family’s establishment. The sophistication of the place made it obvious this was no ordinary brothel; Du Fu had not even mentioned it, showing his unfamiliarity.

"Never mind being unused to it," Li Zaixing said, patting Du Fu on the hand in reassurance—both to comfort Du Fu and to bolster his own confidence. He was growing uneasy. Poetry here was not about reciting old verses, but composing on the spot—a test of quick wit. Could Du Fu manage it? If not, Li Zaixing would be completely at a loss, for he didn’t even know the basic rules of rhyme.

Time passed. Clearly, Wei Yingwu was not one to worry about the cost—double charges for lighting and wine meant nothing to him; tonight, he was here to flaunt his wealth. More and more guests arrived, filling all the rooms around the pond. In the central pavilion, the bamboo blinds were raised, and a group of musicians and singing girls began to perform, plucking ancient zithers and beating wooden clappers, their songs echoing across the water.

Li Zaixing listened intently, but was utterly baffled—he understood not a word.

"What on earth are they singing?"

"Elegant music," Du Fu whispered in his ear. "Be patient, my friend. Tonight’s banquet is for new scholars, so it is fitting to begin with refined music. In truth, few enjoy or understand true ‘elegant music’—soon enough, they’ll switch to more popular tunes."

Li Zaixing sighed with relief. So he wasn’t alone in his confusion—hardly anyone here truly understood the performance. It was just like the petite bourgeoisie attending a symphony for show. He glanced at Shen Zhongchang, the new scholar seated in the place of honor, who nodded solemnly with studied composure. "Does that man understand it?" he asked.

"It’s hard to say," Du Fu explained. "The imperial examinations test poetry and essays, not music. Whether he comprehends it or not, no one can be sure."

Li Zaixing thought to himself that if the gifted musician Wang Wei were here, he would not be left at a loss, nor would the banished immortal Li Bai. As for Du Fu, though passionate, he was clearly not at ease in such circles; relying on him to take the lead seemed unfair.

A lack of reconnaissance—he had chosen the wrong companion. Li Zaixing silently berated himself for his rashness. Had he known Du Fu would perform so poorly, he would never have tried to provoke Wei Yingwu; it would have been better to follow Du Fu’s suggestion and visit the Zheng family’s house instead.

But the bow was drawn and there was no turning back. At this point, retreat was impossible. Li Zaixing could only steel himself and pretend to listen attentively. Sensing Li Zaixing’s disappointment, Du Fu grew even more flustered, his face turning crimson.

As Du Fu had predicted, the elegant music soon gave way to lively, popular tunes, and the atmosphere brightened. Wei Yingwu, in high spirits, raised a cup, loudly congratulating the scholar Shen Zhongchang. Amid the chorus of praise, Shen Zhongchang rose and recited a poem in a booming voice.

Watching Shen Zhongchang’s self-satisfied recital, his head bobbing in smug delight, Li Zaixing curled his lip in disdain. Although the man was a scholar, Li Zaixing had never heard of him—certainly he was not as renowned as Du Fu. Most likely, he was a transient figure.

"What poem did he compose?"

"A poem of gratitude," Du Fu answered. "As a new scholar, one must first thank the Emperor’s grace. But this poem also serves to set the rhyme."

"What rhyme?" Li Zaixing was bewildered.

"The poem’s rhyme scheme," Du Fu said, wiping his brow. "From now on, every poem must follow the same rhyme."

Li Zaixing eyed the sweat on Du Fu’s forehead. "Brother Du, you... you’re not going to have a problem, are you?"

"No... no problem," Du Fu stammered. "There’s still time to prepare—I think I’ll be all right."

Hearing this, Li Zaixing felt a chill in his heart—this did not sound confident at all. The golden reputation of the Poet Sage was nowhere to be seen. At this rate, not only would they fail to stun the crowd, even passing muster was uncertain.

What now? Was he doomed to be humiliated by Wei Yingwu on his own initiative tonight?