34 Communication

“What?” Guo Jia glanced at the foul water on the opposite bank, his anger flaring. “Mister Zhongdao, are you deliberately making it difficult for Yi? Are you not afraid of becoming a laughingstock throughout the realm?”

The initiators of the poetry gathering in the pavilion were all visibly awkward. It was well known that while poetry served both to praise and censure, the medium through which emotions were conveyed was always beauty—bright moons, window lattices, blossoming flowers, dense forests, great rivers, vast lakes… these were the best vessels for expressing sentiment. Who would ever compose a poem about a filthy puddle?

“Zhongdao, that’s truly unreasonable. Let’s change the topic,” advised a slightly older scholar in the pavilion.

On the sidelines, many of Yi’s admirers began to voice their discontent. “This is just too much! Who could write a poem on such a subject?”

But Wei Zhongdao was unmoved, sneering coldly. “Silence, everyone. Ziqi is a genius of our time; how could such a trivial difficulty stump him?” His gaze locked onto Luan Yi’s deep eyes. “Of course, if Ziqi can’t compose a poem, no one should blame him. After all… well! Yingchuan is not as full of talent as the capital, so even a prodigy in Yingchuan might become mediocre here in the capital!”

“Nonsense!” Even Cai Yan, who was on good terms with Wei Zhongdao, could not bear it any longer. “Ziqi’s talent is known to all. Tell me, who else in this world has authored works that circulated the land at the age of seven or eight? Even if he cannot make a poem, the title of prodigy is his by right.”

“She’s right! Wei Zhongdao, you’ve gone too far!” The gathering crowd grew increasingly indignant, seeing clearly that Zhongdao was deliberately making things difficult for Luan Yi.

Yet, what they didn’t realize was that the more Cai Yan defended Luan Yi, the more agitated and frenzied Wei Zhongdao became. Despite the advice of his peers and the disdainful glances from the crowd by the river, he stared at Luan Yi and asked, word by word, “Ziqi, are you unable to compose this poem?”

Luan Yi’s heart sank. Now the matter had been elevated by Wei Zhongdao to one concerning the honor of Yingchuan; he had been thrust into the eye of the storm. If he failed to compose a poem, how could he repay the academy that nurtured him, or face the elders and people of Yingchuan?

He said nothing, crossing his arms over his chest, thumbs twisting anxiously. He racked his brain for those familiar Tang and Song verses, but after searching again and again, he could find nothing relating to a foul ditch. What now?

He began to pace unconsciously. Some bystanders started counting his steps, “One step…” Others joined in, calling out, “Two steps…”

He paused, glancing at the stagnant water, growing ever more anxious. He was sure he had seen a poem about stagnant water before—what was it? Not in the Tang poems, nor in the Song lyrics…

“Three steps…”

Could it have been from a novel? Romance of the Three Kingdoms? Dream of the Red Chamber? No, it was from a novel rich in mythology—Journey to the West? Still wrong!

“Four steps… five steps!”

That’s it! It was from Investiture of the Gods! The realization dawned on him, and his eyes sparkled as he met Wei Zhongdao’s gaze, sending a chill down Zhongdao’s spine. In a clear voice, he recited, “The poem is complete; I invite your critique. ‘I had wished to offer my heart to the bright moon, but alas, the bright moon shines upon the ditch. Fallen flowers long to follow the flowing stream; yet the stream is heedless of the flowers.’”

The poem from the nineteenth chapter of Investiture of the Gods, delivered in Luan Yi’s adolescent, raspy voice, instantly set the crowd ablaze with applause.

“What a line: ‘I had wished to offer my heart to the bright moon, but alas, the bright moon shines upon the ditch.’”

“Excellent, truly excellent!”

The discerning immediately saw that Luan Yi was casting himself as the bright moon, with Wei Zhongdao as the ditch that sullied its light. They could not help but laugh, thinking that Zhongdao’s attempt to embarrass Luan Yi had backfired spectacularly, leaving him covered in his own disgrace.

By the time Wei Zhongdao had heard the first two lines, he was drenched in sweat, seething with anger, envy, frustration, and shame. With so many conflicting emotions roiling within him, he suddenly grew calm, realizing that he had thoroughly humiliated himself and would henceforth be known among scholars as petty and narrow-minded. Perhaps the name “the ditch” would follow him all his life. The stress overwhelmed him; he suddenly vomited a mouthful of blood and collapsed in a faint, causing chaos in the pavilion, and drawing a shriek from Cai Yan.

“Quick, fetch a physician!”

Luan Yi had little mind to pay further attention to Wei Zhongdao, but then he thought, why not take this chance to put on a show and earn a reputation for repaying enmity with virtue? Seizing the moment, he pushed through the cluster around Zhongdao, calling out, “Stand back! Give him some air!” He knelt beside Zhongdao, pinching a pressure point under his nose, but seeing no effect, quickly had Luan Fu bring a bowl of cold tea, which he splashed onto Zhongdao’s face.

At last, Wei Zhongdao regained consciousness. Blurrily, he saw Luan Yi leaning over him, beads of water on his lips, while his own face was cold and wet. Touching his cheek, he found himself drenched in tea. Furious, he pointed at Luan Yi and cursed, “You scoundrel! You humiliated me, and now you drench me with water!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the pavilion fell utterly silent, the hush so deep a pin drop could be heard. Then, suddenly, a clamor of voices arose, many repeating Luan Yi’s verse: “I had wished to offer my heart to the bright moon, but alas, the bright moon shines upon the ditch…”

More and more voices joined in, their recitation thunderous.

Only then did Wei Zhongdao realize that Luan Yi was saving him, but it was too late. His own words had sealed his fate; now, the nickname “the ditch” would haunt him forever.

With this, the poetry gathering came to an end. The sponsors shot a glare at the stunned Zhongdao sprawled on the ground and announced the event’s conclusion.

Guo Jia, Shan Fu, and the others rushed up in jubilation, surrounding Luan Yi and clapping him on the back.

“Well done, Yi! You were so quiet, yet you turned out to be a great poet. You had us all worried! You owe us a feast!”

“No problem! Eat as much as you like!” Luan Yi replied with a hearty laugh.

Side by side with Cai Yan, Luan Yi left the pavilion. Looking back at Wei Ning—who was being carried away, as lifeless as a corpse—he asked, “Was I too harsh?”

Cai Yan’s expression grew somber, and she nodded lightly. “Perhaps… Zhongdao’s life as he knew it is over. But then…” She suddenly broke into a smile. “He deserved it. Who asked him to provoke a genius? Now he’s the ditch—let’s see how he faces anyone again! But tell me, I didn’t expect you to be such a poet. Will you compose another for us?”

“That’s no trouble at all!” Luan Yi thought as he walked, then recited in a clear voice: “There is a beauty, gentle and serene. Graceful in form and smile, with a charming heart. Skilled in music, a master of the art, her subtle notes pure and fragrant. Her melodies flow like streams of Zheng and Chu, traversing the palace scales. Touching the heart, delighting the ear, with a splendor that lingers. Like birds at dusk resting on the islet, craning their necks, flapping their wings, calling to each other in sorrow. Gazing back fills me with longing. Oh, how could the ancients forget their woes?”

Having finished, Luan Yi mused inwardly: I hope Lord Cao Cao won’t be angry at me for borrowing a poem from his son, Cao Pi. But then, Cao Pi is still a child and hasn’t written any poems yet. So what’s the harm?

“Marvelous, truly marvelous!” Xun Yu applauded. “May I ask, Ziqi, what is the title of this poem?”

“‘Song of Virtue: There Is a Beauty.’”

Xun Yu nodded, then asked, “May I know which young lady is so fortunate as to trouble your heart?”

At this, Cai Yan blushed furiously. Luan Yi did not reply, but his gaze fell upon her.

Understanding instantly, Xun Yu felt a pang of regret. The elders of the Xun family had intended to propose a match between one of their daughters and Luan Yi, but it seemed Cai Yan had already claimed his heart. Still, thinking it over, what could be more fitting than a talented woman for a genius such as Luan Yi? Only the renowned Lady Cai, the Sage of Han, was a worthy match. He smiled, “Excellent! What a splendid poem!”

Luan Yi was still basking in his triumph when a sweet voice called out from the crowd, “Master Luan, will you join me for a drink tonight?”

“Master Luan, would you inscribe a title for my ‘Strange Tales’?”

“Master Luan, I have long admired you—might you grace my home with your presence?”

Good heavens. The banks of the Wei River were packed, and in a rush, the crowd surged around Luan Yi and his companions, sealing them in on all sides.

There were old and young, men and—especially—many excited women, and the scene quickly devolved into chaos.

In the press, Luan Yi fared well enough; strong and trained in martial arts, he stood firm no matter how many pressed against him. But Cai Yan, Guo Jia, and the others, young as they were, were jostled about, nearly falling several times.

Growing anxious, Luan Yi called out, “Everyone, please, don’t push! Stop, please…” Outside the circle, Luan Fu and the family retainers were desperate to reach them, but the crowd was too dense.

With his voice lost in the tumult, Luan Yi had no choice but to do his best to shield Cai Yan and his companions. But with so many people, he could only protect one at a time. He suddenly pulled the nearest, Cai Yan, into his arms.

The moment her soft form was enfolded in his embrace, he felt her tremble. She struggled briefly, but finding his hold unbreakable and understanding he was protecting her, she resigned herself.

Their eyes met—depth met tenderness, and a warm current flowed between them. Taking in her delicate fragrance, Luan Yi felt his heart sway. “Sister, will you be my wife?”

The sudden question made Cai Yan stiffen, her raised face dropping shyly.

Luan Yi reached out, cupping her chin, gently lifting her gaze to his. “Zhaoji, marry me.”

At these words, Cai Yan began to weep, her luminous eyes brimming with tears. She rested her head on Luan Yi’s solid chest, rising and falling with emotion.