Chapter Twelve: Since We're Here.

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"Ah! The two young masters have arrived!"

As soon as they entered, Madam Liu, the proprietress, greeted them with delight, swaying forward with graceful steps.

"Bring out the finest wine and dishes—we have distinguished guests!"

The familiar scene and lines gave Shiyi the illusion of stepping back in time. Yet there was a difference: at the Drunken Moon Pavilion, the girls excelled at music and dance, attracting mostly men of the martial world. Here, in the Music Bureau, the girls were skilled in poetry and verse; thus, scholars, courtiers, and the elite flocked to indulge in merriment and test their literary talents.

Each brothel had its own merits, one in the east of the city, the other in the west. They kept to their own territories, never encroaching on the other's domain.

"You two young masters have come at just the right time!" Madam Liu fanned herself with an embroidered silk fan, her laughter bubbling. "Today, our Music Bureau welcomes a new Flower Queen!"

"According to tradition, whoever wins the poetry contest tonight shall have the honor of spending an evening with the Flower Queen."

As she spoke, she shyly concealed her face behind her fan, swaying her plump figure enticingly.

"I'll pass on winning," Zhao Hong chuckled foolishly. "Just catching a glimpse of the Flower Queen’s beauty tonight is enough for me."

He was well aware of his own lack of talent. At the Imperial Academy, he and Li Yunjie were nicknamed "the two fools." Whenever Master He announced a poetry topic, the two of them would mumble and stammer, earning their infamous moniker.

As they joked, suddenly silks unfurled on stage, and music filled the air.

A woman leapt onto the stage, red ribbons and white sashes fluttering, scattering flower petals into a swirling cascade. Her alluring figure, illuminated by lantern light from above, exuded irresistible charm. Beneath cascading ebony hair, a veil as thin as cicada wings covered her face below the eyes, allowing glimpses of snow-white skin that bewitched the soul.

Her steps were light and lively, as if dancing upon the hearts of all present. The delicate fragrance she carried was entrancing, impossible to forget.

Li Yunjie was taken aback. He hadn't expected Zhou Jingzhi’s sister to possess such allure.

"Bravo!"

"Wonderful!"

The applause and cheers began the moment she stepped on stage and never ceased.

"So this is the Flower Queen?" Zhao Hong was utterly mesmerized, barely able to keep his eyes open, his face a mask of rapt infatuation, the very picture of a lovesick fool.

As the music faded, the dancer drew her performance to a close, bowed with grace, and leapt behind a curtain of white gauze, vanishing from sight.

Immediately, a serving girl in blue ascended the stage, unrolling a scroll and calling out in a clear voice:

"The theme for tonight’s poetry contest is—"

"Dream."

As soon as the word left her lips, the crowd erupted in discussion. Everyone scrambled for brush and paper, eager to take part.

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Zhao Hong, however, looked unsatisfied, muttering, "She wore a veil, of all things... What a letdown!"

"Brother Zichuan, it seems we won’t get to see the Flower Queen’s face after all!"

With a sigh, he rose and prepared to move to a private chamber upstairs.

Li Yunjie, however, remained seated, immovable. Tonight, he was determined to see the Flower Queen.

"Brother Lingyuan, aren’t you going to try your hand?" Li Yunjie coaxed. "We’re already here."

His words caused a commotion.

"With the pitiful little learning you two have, you want to compete?"

Turning, they saw that the speaker was Wu Jin, son of the Assistant Minister of Revenue.

If anyone needed proof of how poorly Zhao Hong fared as a prince, this scene was evidence enough. Though of royal blood, he was born of questionable status and had been neglected since birth. Well cared for, never lacking food or drink, he nevertheless suffered endless mockery—even the son of a minor minister dared ridicule him.

"Let’s just go, Brother Zichuan!" Zhao Hong tugged at Li Yunjie's sleeve, eager to leave this den of trouble.

"What’s the rush?" Li Yunjie brushed off Zhao Hong’s hand, brimming with confidence. "Tonight, I will see the new Flower Queen’s face!"

"Dream on!" Wu Jin scoffed, completely dismissing Li Yunjie.

"With that infamous poem of yours—‘One duck, then two chickens, three cheerful frogs’—you still hope to see the Flower Queen?!"

"Preposterous!"

His words set off a wave of laughter throughout the hall.

That “poem” had been Li Yunjie’s notorious debut at the Imperial Academy half a year prior, nailing his reputation to the pillar of disgrace in the poetry world of the capital, making him the laughingstock of the city. It was because of this poem that Master He had expelled him, warning that he would not be allowed back until he learned the art of poetry.

Since that day, Li Yunjie had never spoken of composing verse.

"Wu Jin," Li Yunjie turned with a glare, "if you have so much to say, why aren’t you writing a poem yourself?"

Wu Jin smirked, confidence radiating from his posture. With a grand flourish, he declared, "Paper! Brush!"

His servant quickly supplied him with writing materials.

In no time at all, a poem appeared:

"Who sent a wistful dream to my pillow’s side,
Mist and water’s hues conjure fleeting years.
Moss upon the stone of three lifetimes stays damp,
A grain of dust and already the sea is field."

Regardless of its merits, to compose such a poem in so little time was no small feat, and his skill was apparent.

"Excellent verse!"

"A masterpiece!"

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The hall erupted in applause.

"Master Wu’s poem is expertly constructed, full of poetic resonance!"

"Indeed!" someone chimed in obsequiously. "With a casual stroke, Master Wu pens lines worthy of the ages."

"Such talent—how could ordinary men hope to compare?!"

The speaker shot Li Yunjie a mocking glance, his sneer practically begging for a rebuke.

Wu Jin basked in the flood of praise, clearly enjoying himself.

But Li Yunjie would not let him have his way. He slapped the table, covering his face in feigned anguish. "Who would have thought? Who would have thought! The literary arts of our Great Qian have declined so far!"

"An entire poem stuffed with empty ornamentation, devoid of genuine feeling—yet such trite phrases are called immortal lines?"

"This is the sorrow of the Imperial Academy, the sorrow of our land!"

His words clearly enraged Wu Jin. As a renowned talent in the capital, Wu Jin could not tolerate anyone trampling his dignity.

"Master Li!" Wu Jin retorted, "When it comes to poetry, who in the capital has not heard of Wu Wencheng? What right have you to criticize me?"

"Or perhaps, does Master Li have some grand opus to present tonight?"

With that, Wu Jin pushed Li Yunjie into the spotlight, certain that Li Yunjie would be unable to utter a single word—otherwise, why would he dare to act so arrogant?

"Indeed! Master Li, with such bold claims, surely you have a peerless work to show?"

"Master Li, let us all admire your artistry!"

"Yes! Let us witness the style of the great man of letters!"

Those seeking entertainment only added fuel to the fire, a few servants chiming in with pointed sarcasm, instantly igniting the crowd’s enthusiasm.

As expected, the tide of opinion was completely against Li Yunjie. Everyone was waiting for his humiliation.

"Young master," Shiyi tugged at his sleeve, "so many eyes are watching. Why not show them your skills?"

Though everyone else thought Li Yunjie was an ignorant wastrel, Shiyi never believed it. In her eyes, anyone who could write such beautiful calligraphy was already a man of learning.

"Show off? What for!" Zhao Hong rapped Shiyi on the head. "You should know your master’s abilities by now!"

He turned to Li Yunjie, almost pleading, "My dear Brother Zichuan, let’s leave this place of trouble at once!"

Li Yunjie only smiled, brushing Zhao Hong’s hand from his shoulder. He stood slowly, surveying the jeering crowd.

"I said it before, didn’t I?"

"Tonight, this Flower Queen—"

"I am determined to see her!"