Chapter Forty-Six: Sinister Intentions (Part Two) — Third Update, Please Recommend

Zheng Shian and Du Ruhui had both already taken their seats, simply waiting for Yanqing to join them for the meal.

Mao Wang's wife stood by to attend them... As for Mao Wang himself, due to his leg injury, Zheng Shian had arranged for him to be treated at a clinic in Luoyang. Now, in Luoyang City, who would dare show Zheng Shian anything less than respect? Not only because he was a member of the Zheng family, but even more because Zheng Shian had an extraordinary grandson. Previously, word from Chang’an had spread: Lord Pei Shiju, Vice Minister of the Interior, Senior Officer of the Judicial Censorate, and Marquis of Wenxi, had requested Yanqing to transcribe a memorial text. Unexpectedly, after reading the text, Zheng Yanqing composed a poem in praise of Pei Shiju and his wife’s profound affection, which so moved Pei Shiju that, during his wife’s memorial service, he sobbed uncontrollably...

The line “Having once seen the vast ocean, no other water will suffice; apart from Mount Wu, no clouds are worthy,” moved countless hearts in Chang’an.

The poem consisted of only four lines, yet three of them were metaphors.

The first two lines seemed to appear from thin air—at first glance, their intent elusive, but upon reading the entire poem, their meaning became profound.

“Having once seen the vast ocean, no other water will suffice,” is taken from Mencius, “After beholding the sea, other waters cannot compare.”

Having witnessed the boundless sea, one could no longer be captivated by mere streams. Pei Shiju, having married Lady Cui, could not find another woman in the world to catch his eye. As for “apart from Mount Wu, no clouds are worthy,” it stems from Song Yu’s “Rhapsody on Gaotang,” alluding to the legend of the goddess of Wu Mountain. Using the goddess of morning clouds as a metaphor for Lady Cui, to have won such a divine companion in a lifetime leaves nothing to regret.

Just two lines, yet the emotion burned fiercely, the meaning deep and endless.

It was to such an extent that Pei Shiju, at a poetry gathering, uttered, “He who knows me, half is due to you.”

Thus, Yanqing’s sobriquet, due to Pei Shiju’s words, became “Lord Half-For-You.” If his earlier title of “Goose Young Master,” earned for his goose-themed verse, was merely a fleeting show, then this poem “Parting Thoughts” won him the recognition of the powerful and noble.

Pei Shiju’s “Lord Half-For-You” was a far more notable accolade than Yang Su’s praise of “child prodigy.”

Many were called prodigies by Yang Su, but Pei Shiju did not lightly praise others. Moreover, as head of the Pei clan of Hedong, his commendation carried exceptional weight. Soon after, Yanqing’s “Ode to Lime” was circulated, a poem written in praise of Magistrate Fang Yanqian of Changge County. An obscure county magistrate of the fifth rank would have gone unnoticed.

But because of Yanqing’s poem, Fang Yanqian came to the Prince’s attention.

He was promoted exceptionally to Deputy Prefect of Xuzhou, a fourth-rank position, rising two ranks in one stroke. From an unremarkable county magistrate to the deputy of an entire province—though Fang Yanqian’s own merit played a part, Yanqing’s “Ode to Lime” certainly helped push him forward.

Now, who wouldn’t wish for a poem from Yanqing?

Yet, restrained by Pei Shiju and the Zheng family, no one dared to force the matter.

Thus, Zheng Shian’s days passed comfortably. After explaining the situation at the clinic, he even gained a reputation for repaying evil with virtue.

“Why hasn’t the young master come down yet?”

Seeing Mao Ya hurrying over alone, Zheng Shian couldn’t help but ask.

Mao Ya quickly replied, “I have called for the young master, but he seems to be writing something, so I came ahead to report.”

Du Ruhui said, “Perhaps the little prodigy has thought of another fine line; at such moments, best not to disturb him.”

“If that’s the case...” Zheng Shian stood up. “Aunt Mao, put the dishes away for now. Once the young master is finished, we’ll reheat and serve them.”

Aunt Mao was a robust woman, famed for her cooking.

Hearing this, she quickly agreed, calling Mao Ya to help.

“Little Ya, did the young master say anything?”

Mao Ya replied, “No, the young master seems very gentle—like a little adult. He’s courteous to me as well.”

“Ya, you must serve him well, and listen to the young master.

The old master and the young master are truly good people... Thankfully, we met them. Not only do they hold no grudges, but have taken our family in. If not for this, who knows if we’d be starving on the streets. Ya, do your best. If you’re lucky, you might even be taken into the young master’s household, and then our whole family will rely on you... Do you understand?”

Mao Ya nodded vigorously, half understanding.

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By the banks of the Luo River, the scenery was enchanting.

It was midsummer. Peach and plum trees lined both shores, willows provided shade, and a long bridge spanned the rippling water.

This was an ideal place to escape the summer heat. Boating on the river, one could take in the beauty along the banks—a scene fit for poetry and painting.

During the Three Kingdoms period, Cao Zhi once claimed to have encountered a goddess by the river, thus composing the immortal “Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River.” Later generations speculated that this goddess was none other than his sister-in-law, Zhen Mi. Whether true or not is impossible to verify... Still, it was precisely because of Cao Zhi’s ode that the banks of the Luo often attracted gatherings of beauties, strolling along the water’s edge.

Cui Min was a clansman of the Cui family of Zhengzhou.

Though not of the five main branches, he gained the family’s trust with his good looks and eloquence.

He also had another identity: he was the elder brother of Lady Cui, wife of Zheng Renji.

Previously, because of the affair between Zheng Yanqing and his grandfather, Lady Cui’s standing in her household had declined. If Zheng Renji had not truly cherished her, and if the Zheng patriarch had not wished to preserve relations between the Zhengs and the Cuis, she would have been divorced.

Even so, Lady Cui’s position worsened.

No one was more affected than Cui Min.

In the past, if he was short of money, Lady Cui would help him. Now, the Zheng family had reclaimed control of their finances, and Lady Cui could only draw a monthly allowance of one hundred strings of cash. She had little personal expense: when visiting others, the Zheng family provided the gifts, and everyday spending was minimal. If she bought clothing, Zheng Renji would pay.

Most of this allowance went to aid Cui Min.

Yet, a hundred strings would last only two boat trips on the Luo—how could it be enough?

Just then, Zheng Shian’s scissors business was booming, and Cui Min’s interest was piqued. He wanted to take over the business, but as Zheng Shian belonged to an independent branch, Zheng Renji could not interfere.

Thus, Cui Min found no opportunity, and finally hit upon the idea of undercutting prices.

The business thrived, but profits were thin.

Moreover, the premium and mid-range markets were under Zheng Shian’s control, leaving Cui Min to compete only for the low-end market.

Cheap scissors sold for thirty or forty coins apiece; many were sold, but little money was made.

After several fruitless consultations with Lady Cui, Cui Min grew desperate.

He decided to invite the famed scholar Wang Tong of Hedong to join him for a boat ride on the Luo, with a different plan in mind.

This Wang Tong was the very man Zheng Weishan and Yanqing had discussed earlier.

When Yanqing had not yet returned to Luoyang, Wang Tong had indeed believed the boy’s reputation was empty. But after the poem “Qingming” spread, Wang Tong grew uneasy. Unless one was truly a scholar, how could he write—“The scholar gladly burns rather than seek noble rank”?

Especially after Yanqing won the approval of the literati, Wang Tong became even more wary.

If he won, the literati would accuse him of bullying the young; if Yanqing was truly talented and he lost, he would never again be able to lift his head in public. So after Yanqing returned to Luoyang, Wang Tong simply observed, taking no action.

He wanted to see what this yellow-mouthed child could do.

Sitting in the boat, Wang Tong asked cheerfully, “Brother Cui, why invite me for wine without reason?”

“Ah, no reason. It’s just been long since we’ve met, and I missed you... Come, let’s drink!”

At Cui Min’s invitation, music sounded on the boat, and at the stern, a singing girl played the pipa and sang softly.

Cui Min and Wang Tong drank freely and were soon enjoying themselves.

Yet Cui Min struggled to find a suitable opening...

A painted pleasure boat passed by, the sound of instruments drifting over, drowning out the pipa.

The song went: “The mighty Yangtze flows east, its waves washing away heroes. Right and wrong, success and failure, all turn to emptiness. The green hills remain, how many sunsets red?”

“What song is this?” Wang Tong, hearing the melody, was startled.

Lyrics, to scholars, were but an idle pastime—not worthy of the refined halls. Yet that did not mean no one appreciated them.

In fact, in the pleasure districts, lyrics were quite popular.

Singing girls set words to tunes to entertain guests, but little more.

The songs in vogue were mostly rustic, about romance and the fleeting pleasures of the city. But this one was vigorous and grand, tinged with an indescribable sense of Zen—like an old hero seeing through the vanity of the world.

The girl at the stern answered, “This is ‘Immortal by the River,’ written by Lord Half-For-You.”

“Which Lord Half-For-You?” Wang Tong blurted out, uncomprehending.

Cui Min was delighted—at last, an opening. “Who else? Brother Wang, have you been living under a rock?”

“You mean...”

“Yes, the very one who wrote ‘Goose, goose, goose...’” Cui Min stretched his neck, mimicking a goose.

He then slammed his cup down and said quietly, “These months, all I hear is ‘Goose Young Master, Lord Half-For-You.’ It’s as if no one in this world but that yellow-mouthed brat is worth anyone’s attention.

I don’t understand. There are countless scholars out there, as talented as fish in the river, so why should this boy steal the spotlight? Take yourself, Brother Wang—you have an illustrious education, yet no one knows your name...”

Wang Tong’s face clouded.

He forced a smile. “Brother Cui, let’s not speak of this. But in terms of talent, this Goose Young Master is indeed remarkable.”

“Remarkable? He’s written a couple of calligraphic pieces, a few poems, and that’s considered remarkable?

Brother Wang, you’re learned in the classics—you know the importance of history. If this continues, everyone will only care about writing poems. Who will endure the hardship of study? I say, what child prodigy, what Lord Half-For-You? He’s a monster, a scourge to the world.”

Though he spoke with disdain, in his heart he secretly agreed.

Wang Tong smiled. “Brother Cui, you exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate?” Cui Min snorted. “Have you ever seen a real scholar greedy for wealth?

We scholars are supposed to be models for all under heaven. This Zheng Yanqing, a mere child, writes a few verses and casts aside all shame. Take that ‘Spring Wind Like Scissors’—who else writes poetry just to help their family’s business? But he brazenly composes such poems, and now in the markets, everyone calls him shameless.”

“Well... If that’s so, why not find someone to teach him properly, and keep him from straying?”

“Ha! Who dares teach him?”

Cui Min burst into laughter, then lowered his voice. “I hear he’s never acknowledged a teacher—doesn’t that mean there’s no one in the world who can teach him? My sister once advised my brother-in-law to have Yan Zhou take him as a disciple. But do you know what the boy said?”

“What did he say?” Wang Tong asked, now serious.

Yan Zhou—Yan Shigu—was a man of distinction.

Cui Min sneered. “He wagered with Yan Zhou that he could annotate the Three Kingdoms. Can you imagine? A mere child, daring to claim he can explain the Three Kingdoms?”

“Arrogant, too arrogant.”

Cui Min sighed. “You and I know his arrogance, but the world indulges him.

In the future, if this person matures, won’t he bring calamity to the scholarly world? In the past, Confucius himself denounced Shao Zhengmao’s five crimes and executed him in anger.

Now, Zheng Yanqing writes poems with treacherous minds; craves wealth, persisting in crooked ways. These two are among the five mortal sins. The sage said, possessing even one is a capital crime. Yet Shao Zhengmao is reborn, and Confucius is nowhere to be found.”

“That’s enough!” Wang Tong smashed his cup on the table, his face livid.

“Brother Cui, it’s not that people are unwilling, but that they dare not.

Even if all the world points at me, I, Wang Tong, will unmask this villain!”

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I have something to do tonight and may have to go out. Posting the third chapter ahead of time, and bowing in thanks: please recommend and bookmark!