Chapter Twenty-Two: The Mysterious Benefit

"Who are you?"

"I am Han Qing, and I share some connection with this shop."

Upon hearing his name, the young gentleman immediately straightened, his attitude becoming respectful.

He had been present at the scene of the murder that occurred in the Drunken Flower Pavilion and knew well that this man had an extraordinary relationship with Master Zhu.

"Seeing Young Master Han, I understand now. The invitation to the poetry gathering is indeed genuine," the other said, moved.

Originally, he had only purchased a membership to avoid losing to others, but now he realized it brought him unexpected benefits. He had judged too soon.

"I was abrupt just now; I hope you will be magnanimous," he apologized sincerely.

Han Qing nodded.

"Those who don't know are not at fault. Though this shop is small, it may have everything you desire," he said lightly.

Yet these words left the other lost in thought.

After this episode, the old customers valued the small storybook shop even more. After all, how often did such a good opportunity arise?

"Big brother, does this mean our shop can be revived now?"

Ah? How naive.

"No, today only ensures the old customers won't forget us. What use is that? We must attract more new patrons to guarantee the shop's continued existence," he replied unhurriedly.

Yes, besides the previous customers, their gaze needed to be more far-reaching.

What about ordinary scholars? Adjustments must be made to the pricing.

Previously, each book cost twenty coins—a price too steep for the average scholar's family.

Moreover, these were merely idle storybooks, not works of literary merit. Some felt paying such a high price was not worth it, resulting in the loss of many customers.

"For now, let's wait until the Flower Viewing Poetry Gathering concludes, then make appropriate adjustments."

It seemed he must seize the top prize at the poetry gathering, for that would stimulate business at the storybook shop. Their fortunes were intertwined.

The poetry gathering was held at the residence of Young Master Wenxuan. Most of the literati present were friends of his, hailing from official families.

As for the sons of merchants, they were not particularly welcomed.

They themselves understood the disparity in status, but since they came to experience learning, they cared little for such matters.

"Brother Han, I thought you'd arrive later—didn’t expect you so early," Master Zhu teased.

"Don’t say that. What kind of occasion is this? I dare not act too boldly," Han Qing replied, shaking his head.

He who understands the times is wise, especially in this troublesome place. To anger a few sons of officials could mean risking a death sentence.

He was no fool and would not do anything foolish.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your presence is my great fortune. I, Ouyang Wenxuan, have established this Flower Viewing Poetry Gathering to appreciate the flourishing of a hundred schools. Please, feel free to compose poetry!" declared the host, his bearing impressive, not to be underestimated.

Han Qing glanced lightly, immediately sensing something amiss.

The words were gentle and courteous, but they sent a chill through him.

This man was not as simple as he appeared.

And today’s gathering was anything but ordinary.

"If we may express ourselves freely, allow me to offer my humble verse," Zhao Ke spoke slowly.

Master Zhu explained, "This is Zhao Ke of Longnan, a childhood friend of Young Master Wenxuan."

He nodded.

"At first sight, flowers reflect the moon's fullness; my words should support the willow, sinking into the deep pool."

He spoke with great confidence.

"Splendid verse! Splendid verse!"

"Brother Zhao truly lives up to his reputation—one line outshines all others."

"Too kind, too kind," came the chorus of flattery.

Few dared speak honestly.

Master Zhu noticed Han Qing was unmoved, finding it strange.

"Do you find the poem impressive? Yet I feel something odd when reading it."

"Is it not odd? The words are ornate but lack any meaning, as if simply a pile of phrases," Han Qing pointed out directly.

Master Zhu nodded.

"I sensed something was off, but couldn’t quite grasp it," he said, suddenly enlightened.

Brother Han was truly perceptive.

Their conversation caught the attention of Young Master Wenxuan.

"Master Zhu, what are you discussing so happily?"

"Young Master Wenxuan, I was just discussing a few lines with a friend," Master Zhu replied calmly, not wishing to stir trouble.

After all, Ouyang Wenxuan was famous throughout Beijun County, with many admirers.

"Oh? Is the gentleman beside you Young Master Han?"

He hesitated briefly, then nodded.

It seemed Young Master Wenxuan was not as aloof as rumors suggested; he was aware of worldly affairs.

"I've recently heard that several cases handled by the Assistant Minister of the Grand Court were aided by this Young Master Han. Tell me, do you see anything wrong with that verse?"

Uh...

Was he not setting a trap for him? Everyone knew Wenxuan valued the Zhao family of Longnan.

Now he was deliberately asking for an evaluation—wasn’t this a challenge?

The others watched eagerly, as if waiting for a spectacle.

But Han Qing, hearing the question, did not intend to flatter.

"Forgive my boldness; I will make a simple critique, meaning no offense to Young Master Zhao," he began courteously.

"Though this poetry gathering is meant to celebrate flowers, the poem lacks any true meaning. Even with the word 'flower,' what does it convey? Too vulgar."

His pointed criticism caused Young Master Zhao's expression to darken.

Who was this man, daring to mock him?

He glared coldly at Han Qing.

But Han Qing was unfazed.

"Who is he, to judge poetry he doesn’t understand? Does he even know his own worth?"

"Exactly. Only Young Master Wenxuan, with his kind heart, would invite them to exchange their learning. Now, it seems he has wasted his good intentions," came more scornful voices.

They did not know him, and his arrogance naturally provoked dislike.

"Young Master Han speaks frankly, which is rare. Then tell us, what makes a good poem? Can you compose one yourself?" Ouyang Wenxuan asked calmly, seemingly impartial.

Yet his request was clearly meant to make things difficult.

To make him stumble in front of so many literati?

"I dare to offer a few lines," Han Qing replied, expressionless, already prepared.

"When the autumn moon arrives on the eighth of September, my flower blooms and all others fade. The fragrance rises, spreading throughout Chang'an, the city adorned in golden armor."

Just four lines—an immortal verse.

Though not written by a sage, the proud chrysanthemum was depicted in all its glory.

As soon as these lines were spoken, the assembled scholars were astonished.

They had never imagined such a level or height.

Was it about flowers, or about the vicissitudes of life?

Even Ouyang Wenxuan, who had initially underestimated Han Qing, was deeply impressed upon hearing the poem.