The Jade Pavilion hummed with life as lanterns bathed the grand hall in warm hues. Nobles, scholars, and esteemed guests gathered for an evening of cultured entertainment—a poetry and calligraphy duel where wit and eloquence reigned supreme. Each participant had their crafted verses displayed upon the elevated stage, their calligraphy swaying under the gentle flicker of candlelight. A respected elder, Scholar Wu, sat at the center as the evening’s judge, his wise gaze observing each stroke and verse with measured appreciation.
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Among the entries, one particular poem, submitted under Room No. 8, captured the crowd’s attention. Its words, profound yet effortlessly graceful, wove a tapestry of longing, ambition, and the fleeting nature of power. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the audience, and many turned to admire the exquisite calligraphy that matched its elegance.
A young noble from the Sun family, Sun Yichen, furrowed his brows as he read it. “Which esteemed scholar resides in Room 8?” he asked, curiosity piqued.
One of his companions nudged him. “It’s Supervisor Liu Wen, a minor official overseeing clerks. He has a decent reputation but is not known for his eloquence.”
Sun Yichen smirked. “Then, I must inquire further. That level of poetry—” his voice lowered, laced with skepticism, “—did not come from him.”
His friend shrugged. “Just let it go. There’s no need to stir trouble with a mere supervisor.”
Ignoring the warning, Sun Yichen gestured to a servant. “Look into Room 8.”
Meanwhile, Liu Wen basked in the wave of praise that came his way. He chuckled modestly, raising his cup in gratitude. “Ah, poetry is a fickle muse. Sometimes, inspiration strikes in unexpected ways.” He was careful not to overplay his role, but the recognition from influential scholars and nobles elevated his standing considerably. A few murmured that he might be due for a promotion, which pleased him immensely.
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Across the hall, the ongoing tension between the Yang and Sun families reached a boiling point. A fiery-tempered noble from the Yang family, Yang Tianlei, scoffed. “Sun Yichen, I see even poetry cannot save your family''s declining talent.”
Sun Yichen''s jaw tightened. “You’d do well to mind your words, Yang Tianlei. Your family’s reputation isn’t much better.”
The air thickened with hostility. A few older nobles exchanged glances, knowing that any slight between these two houses could escalate into a bigger feud. Some younger nobles, entertained by the spectacle, whispered bets on whether fists would be thrown before the night ended.
Scholar Wu cleared his throat, silencing the heated exchange. “Gentlemen, let us not taint art with petty disputes.”
As the tension simmered, several scholars approached Supervisor Liu Wen, expressing their admiration and wishing to exchange verses with him. Liu Wen, though pleased, feigned humility, laughing awkwardly as he accepted their compliments. A few nobles took note, reassessing Liu Wen’s potential influence.
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Lian Rou, the pavilion’s renowned courtesan and host for the night, stepped forward with a graceful smile. Clad in a flowing silk robe embroidered with golden plum blossoms, she moved like a wisp of incense smoke, drawing all eyes to her. “Tonight, every poet is a victor in their own right,” she declared, raising her cup. “To art, wisdom, and fleeting beauty.”
The room echoed with cheers as she took a sip before retreating to the backstage chambers. There, her trusted servant, Xiao Lan, leaned in. “My lady, I’ve discovered the poet behind Room 8’s entry. It’s a newly appointed scribe, Zhao Ming.”
Lian Rou’s eyes flickered with interest as she slowly removed her ornate hairpin, twirling it between her fingers. “A mere scribe, you say?”
Xiao Lan hesitated. “Is he worth the attention? He holds no real power.”
Lian Rou exhaled softly, a wistful look crossing her face. “Power is fleeting, but talent has a way of rising. Unlike us, even a mere scribe has the opportunity to carve a future beyond the walls of pleasure houses. Meanwhile, I—” she paused, a bitter smile touching her lips. “I am a fallen noble, and my fate will likely end as someone’s concubine.”
Xiao Lan lowered her gaze, sympathy etched across her face. “My lady…”
Lian Rou sighed. “At the very least, let us see where his path leads. Watch him.”
She then changed into her sleeping attire and decided to rest for the night.
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Supervisor Liu Wen, basking in the unintended glory, enjoyed his drinks alongside fellow officials. With every toast, his name gained weight in noble circles. A few influential figures whispered about his ‘hidden talent,’ and a few more saw him as a man to watch. Liu Wen accepted these praises with practiced ease, already considering how to use this newfound status to his advantage.
As the feast continued, he casually waved off his subordinates. “Zhao Ming, you and the other clerks should retire for the night. I shall handle the rest.”
As Zhao Ming exited, he caught a glimpse of several courtesans entering Room 8, their silk dresses clinging to their curves, revealing glimpses of smooth skin under delicate veils. The scent of perfume wafted in the air as they giggled, their soft voices teasing the young nobles waiting inside.
The attendants of these nobles discreetly ensured privacy, standing at the entrance to ward off unwanted eyes. Zhao Ming merely raised an eyebrow and kept walking, his mind already elsewhere.
By dawn, murmurs of the previous night’s duel spread through the city. Zhao Ming’s poem, though credited to Supervisor Liu Wen, remained a topic of discussion. A familiar chime echoed in his mind.
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<blockquote>
System Notification:
Fame Increased! (Current Total Fame: 20+50)
<ul>
<li>Lian Rou Takes Notice: Fame +20 (Lian Rou is intrigued by your poetic talent and sees potential in you.)</li>
<li>Sun Yichen Annoyed: Fame +10 (Sun Yichen is suspicious and irritated that he was outshined.)</li>
<li>Scholars Impressed: Fame +10 (Your poem has gained the admiration of literati, making you a subject of discussion in academic circles.)</li>
<li>Yang Tianlei Pleased: Fame +10 (Your poem’s victory indirectly humiliates the Sun family, earning you favor with Yang Tianlei.)</li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
Zhao Ming paused mid-step. (So the ripple has begun… but at what cost?)
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On his way back to the Qiao family residence, Zhao Ming walked briskly, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The city was quiet, save for the distant echoes of drunken laughter from revelers still lingering in the pleasure districts. His mind, however, was preoccupied—not with poetry, but with the ripples his words had created among the city’s elite.
Unbeknownst to him, shadows stirred in the distance, figures slipping into the darkness as they followed his trail.
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End of Chapter 10