Chapter Forty-Eight: Cultivating Fate—Seventh Rank (Part One), Third Update

In the eastern part of Luoyang, there stood a bookhouse that had been in business for many years.

It was named Riverbank Pavilion. The founder, it was said, had once studied by the banks of the Luo River, and so he named his establishment after that place. The people of Luoyang came to call him Master Riverbank.

Master Riverbank was a man of unremarkable learning and modest reputation. His background was humble, and in his youth, he managed to secure a lowly official post. For ten arduous years, he toiled in obscurity, and just as a promotion seemed within reach, the Northern Zhou usurped Wei, rendering a decade’s labor fruitless. Though fallen on hard times, he was fortunate that his family was still relatively well-off. Thus, he opened a bookhouse in Luoyang, dedicated to collecting the records and writings of refined gentlemen from the Han and Wei dynasties onward. Unexpectedly, his business thrived more with each passing year.

He would gather rare books, make rubbings and copies, and then sell them. After several decades, the elder Master Riverbank had passed away, but his son inherited the trade. Perhaps having taken his father’s setbacks to heart, the younger Master Riverbank abandoned all thoughts of pursuing an official career from the start, devoting himself wholly to running the bookhouse. Since taking over in the second year of the Kaihuang era, more than twenty years had swiftly passed, and the younger Master Riverbank’s reputation grew ever greater.

Scions of wealthy clans frequented the shop to flaunt their cultured tastes, purchasing costly volumes to adorn their homes. Impoverished scholars, too, would come to peruse books for free, and the younger Master Riverbank would never drive them away. Occasionally, when one of them caught his fancy, he might even present them with a few volumes. Over time, his refined reputation spread far and wide. Though he was neither particularly talented nor known for his poetry or prose, among the scholars of Luoyang, more than half would address him as “Master” upon meeting.

The younger Master Riverbank took no small pride in this.

“I hear Ban Yuanjun has written something new.”

Two scholars sat idly in the bookhouse, and their conversation soon drifted, almost unconsciously, to a recent incident.

Dou Wei, the clan elder of the Hedouling family of Luoyang and the newly appointed Assistant Inspector of the Imperial Secretariat, had unexpectedly paid a visit to Wang Tong. He delivered a letter, saying that Ban Yuanjun and Young Lord Goose sought Wang Tong’s guidance.

Within the letter were one incense rhapsody and ten poems, moving all present. Everyone knew that while poetry might seem a minor art, it was the true test of genius. Since the rise of the southern literary style, people had come to favor ornate and elegant writing, and their standards for poetry had grown ever more exacting. The matching of tones and rhymes was expected. Of all poetic challenges, those written to assigned topics were the hardest, for they required not just talent but also quick wit.

To write one such poem was not difficult; to compose several in succession within a set time, however, was an arduous feat.

Dou Wei, as clan elder and now Assistant Inspector of Luoyang, was widely regarded as impartial. Moreover, Yan Qing was not merely composing poems—he also wrote a short essay challenging Wang Tong.

“Are you truly so sure of yourself?”

“If so, then meet my challenge before you seek to instruct me. Otherwise, you’re like an artist who paints bamboo without the necessary skill, only to invite ridicule. As for the faults you lay at my door, I cannot bear such accusations. Even the Buddha seeks alms—what harm is there in seeking profit? You say my heart is cunning and dangerous; I am even more unworthy of such a charge. I am but a child and possess none of Shao Zhengmao’s talent. But you, sir—do you truly have the learning of Confucius?”

Not a single line was written in self-defense, yet every sentence was a rebuttal.

Even at the end, there was mockery and sarcasm—Wang Tong was called nothing more than a seeker of empty fame, unfit to criticize others.

The poetry and essay were clearly the work of another.

Though Du Ruhui was not famed as a scholar, he was still of official descent, so many knew him and of his close friendship with Yan Qing. Yet, no one believed that a young man of official birth would perjure himself for another, for such matters were a test of character and virtue.

The influence of the Wei and Jin dynasties still lingered—character and virtue remained the foundation of a scholar’s standing.

There have always been base men in this world, but such men are always exposed in time. If Du Ruhui had no intention of advancing in the world, perjury might not matter; but his future surely lay in the court, and Yan Qing would grow up as well—what use, then, was false testimony?

At the banquet, Wang Tong was left red-faced and speechless.

Dou Wei said, “Master Wang, you may choose your own topics—there is no need to write on bamboo. One incense rhapsody and ten poems—as long as you can accomplish this, you pass.

“You have ten days. If you do not respond within ten days, it will be taken as your defeat.

“All present are witnesses. What say you, Master Wang—do you dare accept my proposal?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, considering Dou Wei’s suggestion exceedingly fair and free of bias.

Indeed, it even favored Wang Tong somewhat—ten days was ample time to prepare. If he could not succeed even so, it would be truly disgraceful.

Yet there were shrewd observers who saw through Dou Wei’s cunning.

Given ten days, even if Wang Tong succeeded, outsiders might still view him as having lost the upper hand.

It was rumored that Ban Yuanjun and the Dou family were on good terms, and this incident seemed to confirm it.

As the two scholars discussed the matter, their sympathies unconsciously shifted toward Zheng Yanqing.

“To think Wang Tong is of such noble birth and lauded by Lady Xue, yet he bullies a mere child. In my opinion, it’s nothing but envy of talent.”

“Indeed, indeed!” said the other. “Ban Yuanjun may be a prodigy, but he’s still just a boy. For a grown man like Wang Tong to bully a child—what honor is there in victory?”

Another scholar leaned in and whispered, “If you ask me, he probably won’t win at all.”

“Yes, yes!”

Three or four scholars gathered together, each voicing their opinions on Wang Tong.

It was no surprise—Wang Tong’s reputation was illustrious. Not only was he from a prominent family, but his father was also a renowned scholar. He had studied under many famed teachers, causing much envy. By contrast, though Zheng Yanqing also hailed from a noble house, he was but a child, a junior branch, orphaned and raised by a crippled grandfather—evoking much sympathy.

Moreover, Ban Yuanjun’s talent was genuine.

And what did Wang Tong have to boast of? Family connections and a few prestigious tutors. Even with Lady Xue’s endorsement, he left behind no lasting works.

Thus, public opinion now favored Yanqing.

At that moment, several people emerged from the bookhouse’s rear courtyard. Leading them was none other than the younger Master Riverbank, holding two scrolls and beaming with satisfaction as he approached the counter.

Behind him were four attendants—two holding books, one carrying a box.

Master Riverbank greeted a few scholars and instructed his attendants to set down the books, handing a scroll to one of the clerks.

“Go and hang these two calligraphic works.”

“Master Riverbank, what books have you just finished making rubbings of?”

“Oh, not long ago I acquired a scroll of the ‘Dongshan Collection,’ so I made fifty copies. These have just been finished and not yet organized.”

The “Dongshan Collection” was the work of Xie An, the famed Jin dynasty statesman.

Xie An, courtesy name Anshi, was known as Dongshan. His most famous feat was commanding the Battle of Feishui, which led to the disintegration of Former Qin. His writings were scarce and thus exceedingly precious.

Upon hearing that these new copies were of the “Dongshan Collection,” the scholars’ interest was piqued and they hurried forward.

One savvy scholar, however, noticed the attendants’ actions. He saw them take down the painting that faced the main entrance, first hanging a portrait of the elder Master Riverbank, then suspending the two scrolls on either side of the portrait.

—End of the third update; please remember to recommend...