“What do we do? We’ve lost thirty taels of silver on the tea game. Even if we asked the maids of this courtyard to sleep with us, it’d still cost a few taels each,” Second Uncle Xu said anxiously, feeling like he’d suddenly returned to poverty. He furrowed his brow and looked at his son. “Ci Jiu, think of something quickly.”
Is this really about the money? It’s about not getting any information… the brothers thought to themselves, internally criticizing.
Xu Xin Nian looked at his father. “What can I do? We were trying our luck. My elder brother and I came along, but Father, don’t you have any self-awareness?”
His tone was a bit harsh, indicating he was also anxious.
This round was truly a bloodbath… the silver was secondary; the key was that they hadn’t gleaned any information… Glancing at Young Master Zhao being led away by a maid, Li Qi An suddenly remembered the title of the top courtesan Fuxiang: Unrivaled in both Zither and Poetry.
He immediately asked the maid serving wine for a brush, ink, and paper.
Clearing a space on the table, he pulled Xu Xin Nian over. “Ci Jiu, write this down for me.”
Xu Xin Nian didn’t hesitate, sitting properly in tacit understanding, holding the brush.
Li Qi An spoke rapidly: “Among all flowers fading, you bloom brilliantly, capturing all charm towards the small garden.”
Xu Xin Nian’s brush flew across the paper, writing in a graceful and unique cursive script.
Li Qi An continued: “Sparse shadows slant across shallow clear waters, subtle fragrance drifts in the yellow dusk moon.”
Xu Xin Nian didn’t write, frozen as if turned to stone, muttering the last two lines to himself.
“Write quickly!” Li Qi An pushed him.
Second Young Master Xu snapped out of his daze and quickly finished writing, his face tense.
Li Qi An snatched away the paper, called over a maid, and said: “Take this poem to Miss Fuxiang. That will do. Tell her Yang is waiting here.”
The maid was reluctant, but after Li Qi An slipped her some silver, she immediately trotted off.
…
In the main bedroom, a four-panel screen obscured the bathtub, wisps of steam curling around the ceiling beams.
Fuxiang soaked in the hot water strewn with rose petals, her black hair piled high, her neck long and white as jade. Dewdrops clung to her shoulders and chest, reflecting bewitching light in the candlelight.
With skin smooth as congealed cream, she looked exactly like a jade statue.
A personal maid served by the bathtub, praising Fuxiang’s skin while saying, “Young Master Zhao is already waiting in the tea room next door. The guests outside say he’s a scholar from the Imperial Academy.”
“What’s so special about a scholar?” Fuxiang smiled, gently splashing the water. “But with Young Master Zhao’s talent, passing the provincial examination shouldn’t be difficult.”
The maid laughed softly, “I knew you liked talented young men like this. Unlike that annoying Zhou Li, who just flaunts his father’s official position.”
“Young Master Zhao is truly talented. I hope you entertain him well, Miss. Who knows, it might become a beautiful story. Even a woman could leave her name in history.”
“Now you’re teasing me too…” Fuxiang poked the maid’s forehead with her finger, sighing. “It’s so difficult for a woman to make her mark in history. It’s something many scholars can only hope for but never achieve.”
The bedroom door was pushed open, and a maid entered, standing in the hall and saying crisply, “Miss, the guest surnamed Yang outside asked me to deliver a poem.”
Fuxiang frowned slightly. The head maid scolded, “You ill-mannered thing! Miss has already chosen Young Master Zhao. How can you change it now? Did you take a bribe from someone?”
The little maid lowered her head, not daring to talk back.
Fuxiang said flatly, “Put it on the table. Go tell the guest that Fuxiang appreciates the gesture.”
The little maid looked relieved, responded with an “Aye,” put the paper on the table, and left.
After bathing, Fuxiang put on a sheer gauze dress, her enchanting figure faintly visible. With bare snow-white feet, she came to sit at the table.
“Go invite Young Master Zhao in,” she said, her gaze falling on the paper on the table, which she casually picked up.
Her gaze suddenly froze, staring at the paper in a daze.
“Ode to Fuxiang from the Plum Shadow Pavilion”
Among all flowers fading, you alone bloom brilliantly,
Capturing all the charm of the small garden.
Sparse shadows slant across shallow clear waters,
Subtle fragrance drifts in the yellow dusk moon.
The maid walked to the door, about to open it to invite Young Master Zhao, when she suddenly heard Miss call out sharply from behind: “Wait!”
Turning back, she saw Miss clutching the paper tightly, trembling slightly, her expression unprecedented in its strangeness.
It was an emotion the maid had never seen on her face before.
The courtesan’s voice was urgent and shrill: “Who, who sent this poem? Which young master? Tell me quickly!!”
The maid was startled, stammering, “I think his surname was Yang…”
The courtesan rushed towards the door, heedless of all else.
“Miss, Miss… you can’t go out like this, it’s not proper…” The maid held her tightly.
“Let go of me, quickly let go.” Fuxiang was so anxious her face was flushed red. “Don’t let that gentleman leave, quickly bring him back.”
The maid couldn’t understand at all. It was just a poem, yet it had caused Miss to lose her composure unprecedentedly. All her usual grace and refinement were gone.
“Please calm down, Miss. I’ll go immediately… to invite the gentleman who wrote the poem.”
After the maid left, the courtesan sat disheveled at the table, staring dazedly at the paper in her hand.
“Sparse shadows slant across shallow clear waters, subtle fragrance drifts in the yellow dusk moon… Ode to Fuxiang, Ode to Fuxiang…”
Large teardrops rolled down her pretty face as she lay on the table, sobbing softly.
…
In the front hall, some guests had left, while others remained.
After the tea game ended, the losing guests had two choices: One, go to another courtyard for the next round. Two, if tired from drinking, they could choose a maid from here to spend the night with.
“It seems Miss Fuxiang doesn’t care for your offering,” Xu Ping Zhi looked at his nephew, anxious between his brows.
The poem had been sent, but all it earned was a light dismissal.
Li Qi An’s poem did not move the courtesan.
Xu Xin Nian sneered, “How could a mere woman understand the essence of poetry?”
Xu Ping Zhi stared at his son and asked, “Was Ning Yan’s poem just now truly excellent?”
The proud Second Young Master Xu, already in awe of his elder brother’s poetic skill, sighed, “Excellent indeed, excellent indeed.”
Elder Young Master Xu was equally puzzled. He had absolute confidence in this poem.
This seven-character regulated verse was very famous, extremely famous. Especially the last two lines, which were hailed as the pinnacle of plum blossom poetry.
“Two lines of verse achieve eternal fame” – this referred to these two lines.
The phrases “Subtle Fragrance” and “Sparse Shadows” even became names for ci poetry forms, showing the status of this poem among ancient literati.
Eminent figures like Ouyang Xiu and Sima Guang highly praised these two lines.
And the author of this regulated verse had achieved immortal fame because of this poem… well, Li Qi An had forgotten who the author was.
This doesn’t make sense. She has no reason to reject me… If I had gifted this poem to the two great scholars of the Cloud Deer Academy, they would have treated me like their own son… Li Qi An thought of a possibility – this so-called “Unrivaled in both Zither and Poetry” courtesan might just be a pretty facade.
Just hyping up her reputation, selling an image, but essentially a person without much culture.
But there was a paradox here. If Courtesan Fuxiang was just selling an image like a vase, she wouldn’t have been acknowledged by the literati.
Compared to the hype and image-selling of celebrities in his previous life, the courtesans of this era had similar operations, but the latter had real skills.
The reason was simple: the scholars of ancient times were not as easily fooled as the young people of later generations.
While fretting, the head maid who had been serving Fuxiang came hurrying over with small steps, her gaze slightly anxious as she searched the crowd. Spotting Li Qi An, her expression relaxed. She approached with graceful steps, curtsied, and said coquettishly:
“Young Master Yang, was it you who wrote the poem?”
The three Xu men looked at each other, relieved.
“It was me,” Li Qi An nodded.
The maid smiled brightly, becoming even more respectful. With lowered eyes and a soft voice, she said, “My mistress requests your presence.”
Li Qi An nodded calmly and followed the maid towards the main bedroom on the other side of the pavilion.
This scene also caught the attention of the guests who had planned to stay overnight at the “Plum Shadow Pavilion,” and they began to whisper among themselves.
“Oh? How come he’s going in too?”
“This, this… it’s not proper, how can two people go in?”
“The maid just now seemed to mention a poem, and I happened to see him writing something with that handsome young man.”
A middle-aged man dressed like a wealthy merchant walked up to Xu Xin Nian and Xu Ping Zhi, cupped his hands, and said, “Gentlemen, what does Miss Fuxiang mean by this? How did that fellow just now go in? What poem did you write?”