Chapter 217: The Great Show Begins (6K Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 217: The Drum Starts Rolling (6K Request for Monthly Vote)

Chen Yi rose and departed, as he often did, unnoticed by others. Yet within the poetry gathering at the esteemed Cloud Peak College, where many had journeyed from Shu Zhou to bask in the literary prowess of this gentle scholar, his absence did not go unnoticed. Even amidst the bustling courtyard, his departure drew the attention of several observers.

On the elevated platform, Yue Ming and Zhou Ying, among others, paid no heed to their own affairs. As the poem topic was announced, they looked to Chen Yi with great anticipation. Yet instead of composing verses to display his mastery, he stepped away with a calm, unruffled demeanor, as though taking a leisurely stroll.

Both men wore expressions of mild discomposure.

Zhou Ying leaned closer, murmuring, "Dean Yue, Master Qinzhou must have found it inconvenient. This fellow has three pressing matters… quite normal, quite understandable."

Yue Ming gave a slight nod. Having spent so long in Chen Yi’s company, he understood that this occasion might not stir the latter’s poetic inspiration. Fortunately, the man’s intentions were sincere, though he held no rigid expectations. He would not demand that Chen Yi produce verses.

At that moment, Liu Shi, the magistrate of Shu Zhou, who had also noticed Chen Yi’s departure, cast a glance at the gathered scholars, then turned his gaze toward the platform. With a respectful bow, he said, "Master Yue, I have long heard of Master Qinzhou’s literary achievements, yet never had the honor to witness them firsthand."

"On this Mid-Autumn Festival, why did you not arrange for him to compose a poem? Let him display his talents, so we may all take a proper look."

Yue Ming regarded him with a steady gaze, his voice even. "Master Qinzhou is my instructor at the college, not a performer to be summoned at will. If he chooses to write, he will; if not, it matters not. Even as dean, I would not compel him."

Zhou Ying chuckled in agreement. "The dean speaks wisely."

He then turned to Liu Shi, smiling gently. "Magistrate Liu, this is a private gathering, not your official bureau. There need be no formalities of rank or station."

Liu Shi’s face flushed. "You are both correct. I am humbled."

He withdrew with a respectful nod.

Though he oversaw all affairs in Shu Zhou, the magistrate found himself in the presence of scholars whose status and influence far surpassed his own. Not a single one among them could be challenged by his official standing. Each held greater rank, greater prestige, and greater lineage. Especially seated beside Yue Ming were Liu Hong and Yang Zhe, both of gentry of the second rank. In such an informal setting, all present would have been all the more cautious and respectful.

At that moment, Liu Hong, as if having just registered something, turned his gaze around the room and asked with a smile, "Master Yue, does Master Qinzhou remain seated somewhere?"

"He need not write or calligraphy if he so chooses. Yet a man, after all, must at least let me see him, recognize his face."

Yue Ming paused, meeting Liu Hong’s eyes. With others, he might have ignored the query or offered a vague excuse. But with Liu Hong, caution was warranted.

"Master Qinzhou has just risen. We shall inquire after him and fetch him when the time is right."

Liu Hong regarded him with a knowing smile. "Ask? Does his literary prowess truly merit such attention?"

Yue Ming restored his composure, his tone direct. "Brother Liu, your words are true. Master Qinzhou’s mastery is undeniable. His acceptance into our esteemed college is a blessing for us all."

He gestured toward the scholars from other institutions. "Should he have applied to Yue Lu College or the Divine Order College, they too would have valued him as we do."

The words drew a nod from Zhang Ping, who stood nearby. "Master Yue, you speak with modesty."

"The greatest honor would be that Master Qinzhou elevates others in their pursuit of literature."

At this, Fang Si-feng, a scholar from the Divine Order College, whose bearing carried a note of arrogance, lifted his chin slightly. Even in the presence of the assembled dignitaries, he maintained his proud posture. Upon hearing Zhang Ping’s words, he smiled with a hint of sarcasm. "Zhang Ping, Master Qinzhou’s ability to instruct others in their literary endeavors… that remains to be seen."

Yue Ming and Zhou Ying exchanged glances, their expressions darkening.

Zhou Ying’s face flushed. "Si-feng, Master Qinzhou has guided us in our literary pursuits, as I and Dean Yue have witnessed. And we, too, have achieved modest success through his instruction. Your doubts are unfounded."

"But if you question it, then perhaps it is a matter of debate."

Before Zhou Ying could speak further, Yue Ming raised his hand, his voice grave. "What say you, Master Fang?"

Fang Si-feng hesitated, then ventured, "Dean Yue, with all due respect, might we invite Master Qinzhou to instruct us in a lesson?"

The words fell like a stone into still water. Zhang Ping, who had previously lent his voice in support of Yue Ming, fell silent. The other scholars from various colleges murmured in agreement. "A most excellent proposal, Master Fang."

"Thus, we may all depart with some resolution."

Yue Ming and Zhou Ying exchanged another glance, their thoughts clear. A pause followed.

Yang Zhe, dressed in a gray robe, sat beside Liu Hong. As silence settled over the gathering, he coughed lightly. "This is the Mid-Autumn Festival, a poetry contest for the season. How peculiar that it has become a forum for scholars to question the honor of Cloud Peak College!"

All eyes turned to him.

Yang Zhe, the Right Censor of Shu Zhou, sat with composed dignity. Yet as he looked upon Fang Si-feng, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. How had this man of proud bearing dared to challenge the college’s reputation?

"Sir Yang, do not take offense," Fang Si-feng said with a bow. "I meant no disruption to the festivities."

Yang Zhe regarded him without answering. "Then it was intentional?"

"This… you speak truly, Sir Yang. Tonight, the Mid-Autumn gathering remains for moon-gazing and poetry."

Seeing Fang Si-feng’s retreat, the others said no more.

Yue Ming and Zhou Ying exhaled in relief, nodding toward Yang Zhe before summoning attendants to check if any poems had already been prepared.

Liu Hong smiled, his earlier remarks about Chen Yi’s name having been merely a passing comment.

Yang Zhe sat with serene composure, his eyes drifting over the assembled scholars. A vague unease stirred in his heart. How had this old fox come to fix his gaze upon Chen Yi?

…

As the hour of Hai approached, the sky darkened.

High above, the full moon hung like a silver lantern, veiling the stars. Within the two grand courtyards of Cloud Peak College, the poetry contest raged on.

In one courtyard, scholars and beauties filled the space, laughter and chatter mingling with exclamations of "Excellent poem!" and the like.

It was most likely someone who first composed a poem or verse that drew a crowd’s admiration, prompting cheers.

Another courtyard, where Shen Huatang, Xiao Die, and Wang Li-xing were also bustling with activity.

Though they were merely enjoying the festivities, drinking in the revelry.

Yet Xiao Die did not partake so eagerly; from time to time, she would rise and glance toward another courtyard, her delicate features brimming with anticipation.

When Shen Huatang noticed her demeanor, he circulated his spiritual energy to listen to the surrounding sounds, then murmured softly:

“Don’t stare. There are too many scholars here today; it’ll take a while before it’s over.”

“The Second Aunt should be composing poetry as well. He’ll linger until the end—stay and eat something, then wait.”

Xiao Die flushed slightly, “Huatang, I—I’m just worried the Second Aunt’s poetic brilliance might overwhelm those people, leaving them unable to stand tall.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it? If he subdues the entire gathering, it only proves his literary prowess.”

Upon hearing this, Shen Huatang rolled her eyes inwardly, thinking, *Not entirely a good thing, though.*

At least not for the noble ladies.

“It is good, good—but I fear those people might grow irate and trouble the Second Aunt.”

“How could they? With Mr. Yue Ming and those bureaucratic officials watching, who’d dare lay a hand on him?”

“Some….”

Xiao Die recalled the last time Li Huaiwu wed—how those scholars who openly criticized Chen Yi afterward had snarled and growled, frightening the groom.

“Their snarling, baring teeth made them look fearsome. Even frightening the Second Aunt counts as tormenting him.”

Shen Huatang: “….”

She likely couldn’t fathom the little girl’s thoughts.

At that moment, a voice called out, “You’re here.”

Xiao Die blinked, then beamed, lifting her head eagerly, “Second Aunt, you’ve arrived!”

The speaker was none other than Chen Yi.

He had circled the courtyard where the poetry gathering was held, searching for Pei Mulan, but found no trace of her. He had thus presumed the spirited girl—nicknamed the Tiger Girl—had grown bored and wandered into the guard’s quarters.

Yet upon arriving, Chen Yi still saw no sign of Pei Mulan, and a frown creased his brow.

Xiao Die failed to notice his unease, leaning closer with excited questions:

“Second Aunt, have you finished composing your poems?”

Chen Yi blinked, glanced at the others, and shook his head calmly: “I’ve barely begun. I’m here to meet someone.”

Xiao Die didn’t despair. “Your poems are exquisite, your words are perfect—should you wish, there’s nothing you couldn’t achieve.”

Chen Yi chuckled hollowly, gently tapping her forehead: “With my abilities, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Of course…”

Meanwhile, Shen Huatang and Wang Li-xing exchanged glances at the master-servant pair bantering, none noticing anything amiss.

Shen Huatang took the moment to inquire about Xiao Wan-er’s condition.

Chen Yi smiled: “The young lady is under the care of someone in the other courtyard—she’s managing.”

“Though I’ve been here some time, I should return.”

Even if Xiao Die wished to prolong their conversation, she could only manage a halting, “Second Aunt, please take care.”

Chen Yi nodded to the group, “Eat and drink well. I’ll be going.”

The two courtyards lay close yet separated, connected by a well-lit corridor, past a rockery, then a paved path.

At this hour, the lush foliage along the path whispered with the hushed conversations of lovers nearby.

Chen Yi walked the path, ignoring the revelers, heading toward the poetry hall while mulling over Pei Mulan’s whereabouts.

The girl was spirited, yet not reckless.

Especially in his presence, Pei Mulan would have surely informed him of any matters—she would not vanish so silently.

Thinking this, Chen Yi’s gaze turned cold.

“Something happened?”

“Who could it be?”

Pei Mulan, born of the mountain clans, was a granddaughter of a mountain mother. Neither officials nor nobles would dare wrong her—let alone harm her.

This much was evident from what the Xiao family had learned: the Tiger Girl had used poison to subdue those guards, yet they’d shown no remorse or punishment.

Excluding the clans and officials, only one group remained.

The underworld.

Or rather—the evil cults!

“The Five Poison Sect!”

Chen Yi’s heart sank.

He’d once heard Liu Lang speak of the sect’s ancient grudges with the mountain clans, their enmity rivaling a sea of blood.

The sect had appeared in Shu Zhou. He’d long intended to inform the clans of their presence.

But he’d been preoccupied these past days with Liu Wen and Xiao Dongchen, unable to attend to this.

Now, their appearance here—Chen Yi had some suspicions.

Only one possibility remained.

Liu Zhaoxue had brought them.

“If so, they may have arrived unexpectedly?”

As he pondered, his face grew pale. He quickened his pace toward the poetry hall.

Along the way, he felt for his weapons.

His five-fold spear, the Qingfeng Wine, and the Immortal Wine—anything that might counter the Five Poison Sect’s poisons?

Just as he prepared to step through the red-lacquered corridor into the courtyard, his foot halted.

There, in the brightly lit courtyard beyond the gate, a plain middle-aged scholar in a black robe waved at him.

The man wore a smile, yet his eyes held cruelty. As he gestured, his lips moved silently:

“If you wish her alive, come with me.”

Chen Yi understood every word.

After a moment’s gaze, his expression steadied. He bowed respectfully to the stranger, replying, “Very well.”

Then he did not proceed through the gate. Instead, he glanced at Xiao Wan-er and the others, and signaled a student standing guard:

“Tell Minister Chen Yunfan I have business to leave early. Ask him to look after the Xiao family.”

“If he inquires, say the Tiger Girl caused trouble.”

“Yes, Master Chuan.”

The student recognized his status, bowed, and entered the courtyard.

Finish those things.

Chen Yifang nodded to the middle-aged Confucian scholar in the distance, gesturing for him to lead the way.

In this courtyard, there were few people he could trust.

But his unreliable older brother, Chen Yunfan, was certainly one of them.

And with Chen Yunfan's concealed martial arts prowess, and the presence of Cui Qingwu beside him, they would be more than enough to protect Xiao Wugou and Xiao Wanne.

The middle-aged Confucian scholar heard his voice and saw his gesture, nodding and pointing in another direction.

He immediately pushed through the crowd, heading that way.

Chen Yifang watched his silhouette, then employed the art of sensing breath, glancing at him.

Five black streams of qi suddenly filled his vision.

The breath—mid-third rank…

Either top fifth rank or bottom fourth rank!

Chen Yifang felt a slight chill in his heart, took a deep breath, and stepped through the crowd of people discussing poetry, following the scholar.

Along the way, he secretly struck out, taking useful items from those beside him and hiding them.

Hairpins, earrings, silver needles, and the like, for any occasion.

But Chen Yifang had little time; in a moment, he passed several tables and followed the middle-aged Confucian scholar out of the courtyard again.

The scholar waited ahead, raised a hand, and smiled lowly, saying, "Please!"

Chen Yifang looked him deeply in the eyes, and without a word, walked into the dark grove of trees ahead.

Letting the darkness swallow the points of light on his body.

The middle-aged Confucian scholar, seeing him disappear, turned back and silently said, "The show's about to begin."

Then he also vanished into the trees.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard where the Mid-Autumn Poetry Gathering was held,

Chen Yunfan frowned slightly upon receiving the news, looking at the newcomer with a puzzled question: "What did he say happened?"

"The young scholar said the tiger cub caused trouble."

Upon hearing this, Chen Yunfan relaxed his brows, thanked him, and said no more.

After the student left, Cui Qingwu whispered, "Did Chen Yifang leave?"

Chen Yunfan nodded, casting a glance at the oblivious Xiao Wanne and Xiao Wugou, and said,

"Leave me to watch over these two. The tiger cub from the mountain clan must have caused a big ruckus this time."

"I've always said she's impossible to handle; she'll inevitably cause trouble. Yifang, did he believe me? Let's see if he's still stubborn."

Cui Qingwu nodded, "My aunt's granddaughter, I've heard she doesn't have high martial arts talent."

"Right..."

Though to Cui Qingwu, something still felt off.

Why hadn't Chen Yifang asked Li Ming or others to take care of Xiao Wugou and Xiao Wanne, but instead sought out Chen Yunfan?

When he voiced his doubts, Chen Yunfan thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and said, "Perhaps he finally realized his older brother could be trusted?"

"...Probably."

"I've always said, after so many years, how could his attitude toward me, as his older brother, remain unchanged?"

"...Perhaps."

"Now it seems he does hold me in even greater esteem, doesn't he?"

Cui Qingwu nodded again, then pointed forward, saying, "The first poem has been sent to Li Ming and the others for review."

Chen Yunfan coughed, sat up straight, and concealed his smile, saying,

"Qingwu, this gathering's 'Poetry Master' is none other than the winner of the previous contest."

His voice was louder than before. Xiao Wugou glanced at him, asking,

"Yufu, what does 'Poetry Master' mean?"

"Naturally, the one who wrote the best poem in this gathering."

"Oh, then the 'Poetry Master' should be my husband."

Upon hearing this, Chen Yunfan coughed violently, "You... your husband, Chen Yifang... he used to learn poetry from me."

Xiao Wugou tilted his head, "I don't believe it."

"Young master, how could you not believe me? When he was three, and I was four, I literally taught him to read and write by hand."

"I don't believe..."

Xiao Wanne watched them banter, her gentle eyes scanning around, privately wondering why Chen Yifang hadn't returned yet.

Nearby, Cui Qingwu noticed her gaze, smiled, and said, "Sister Wanne, Chen Yifang sent word that he'd return soon."

Xiao Wanne accepted this without question, chatted with her briefly, then sat quietly by the table, watching over Xiao Wugou.

At that moment, the courtyard began to buzz with activity.

Some whispered and discussed their poems, others hunched over writing by the moonlit sky, and some stretched their necks to watch the platform where everyone awaited the review results.

Li Huigu finally remembered the poetry gathering, patted the hand beside him, and smiled, saying, "Ink."

Qingnü rose respectfully, refilling his water and grinding his ink.

Chen Yunfan glanced back, grimaced, and said, "Huigu brother, writing still requires grinding your own ink comfortably."

Li Huigu ignored Chen Yunfan, having grown accustomed to him over time, knowing his nature was a bit disagreeable, the more he engaged, the more uncomfortable he felt.

So he said nothing.

He waited until Qingnü had ground the ink, then took up his brush and wrote the first line of poetry:

"Jade mirror suspended in the sky, green; golden wind brushes the oak courtyard..."

Chen Yunfan glanced at it, his face slightly troubled, then looked at his own poem:

"Ten thousand miles of clear light joining the Jade Palace, nine autumns of spiritual energy gathering on the ice wheel..."

After studying it for a while, Chen Yunfan rolled up his paper and sighed softly.

"This 'Poetry Master' is unnecessary."

Cui Qingwu covered her mouth and laughed.

Perhaps his voice was too loud; Chen Yunfan glared at her and huffed, "I'm not the 'Poetry Master,' Huigu brother couldn't be either."

Li Huigu didn't argue, having finished his poetry, he brushed off the ink and said,

"Xiao's poems are heavy with meaning and sentiment; I'm nowhere near half of that."

"You know it then."

"By the way, where has our brother Qingzhou gone?"

"He’s out there settling disputes for others…"

Many shared this doubt, and from time to time, people would mention Chen Yi’s name.

Pei Zhaoye examined the poems in his hand, intending to seek the opinions of several gentlemen for appreciation, but when he looked up, that figure was nowhere to be seen, and he furrowed his brow.

"Where is Chen Qingzhou?"

"Perhaps he’s afraid of failure?"

…Afraid?

Chen Yi was indeed afraid.

If Pei Manglu had met with misfortune at the Xiao family’s estate, how would Mountain Mother seek vengeance—well, that’s another matter. But the mutual trade between the Mountain clan and the Xiao family would inevitably be affected.

Such an outcome neither he nor the Xiao family nor the Mountain clan could accept.

After all, he had known Pei Manglu for quite some time; how could he not care for her safety?

Yet in his heart, Chen Yi was grave, though on his face, there was no trace of it.

He followed the middle-aged Confucian scholar around the academy in silence, then boarded a carriage and left. Only then did the scholar speak: "Qingzhou, forgive me."

"There are many capable individuals within the academy; I have no choice but to resort to this measure."

Chen Yi glanced at him sideways, then lifted the curtain to peer outside, asking: "May I be told where that girl is now?"

In his gaze, he fixed on a nearby shop—a noodle stall beneath the clouds.

The middle-aged scholar noticed, and did not stop him, smiling: "Qingzhou, you may see her if you wish."

"But tonight’s grand gathering has just begun; to grant your wish so early would be a waste of my efforts."

Chen Yi lowered the curtain, gazed directly into the scholar’s eyes, and asked earnestly: "What do you want me to do?"

By then, he had settled on two good tidings and one bad.

The first good news: the tiger girl was still alive—at least, she was not dead yet.

The second good news: the man before him was a fool without sense.

And the bad news—this evening’s good mood had come to an end.

Indeed, Chen Yi most loathed such sudden interruptions.

The middle-aged scholar paused, scrutinized him for a moment, then nodded slowly: "At this hour, Qingzhou remains so composed; no wonder she cares for you."

"Her?"

Before Chen Yi could ask, the scholar interrupted: "Qingzhou, don’t be rash."

"The night is long; we have all the time in the world."

Chen Yi fixed him with a deep gaze. "Very well."

The men from the Five Poisons Sect—and her, Liu Zhaoxue…

Hmph.

A moment of silence.

The carriage reached the edge of Quchi Lake, and Chen Yi followed the middle-aged scholar aboard a painted boat.

He had thought they would meet her here, but looking around, he still saw no sign of the girl and frowned: "May I be permitted to see Lady Pei, having come this far?"

The scholar glanced at him, waved his hand, and said: "Not yet."

Perceiving Chen Yi’s intent, he continued: "Actually, I invited you here merely to put on a show."

"A show?"

"Yes."

"A performance set in Shuzhou, with the bright moon and scattered stars as the 'stage,' and the poetry gathering as the first act."

Upon hearing this, Chen Yi blinked, his eyes narrowing at the scholar’s words.

He had misjudged.

This man was not a fool without sense, but a great fool indeed.

Sensing his slight, the middle-aged scholar squinted, and no longer spoke at length.

He withdrew two items from his sleeve and placed them on the table: "Here are two bottles of medicine."

"One, if taken, will cause your intestines to rot and your stomach to rot within three breaths."

"The other can keep you alive for three days."

The scholar stared at Chen Yi, grinning: "Whether Qingzhou performs the second act depends on your luck."

Chen Yi glanced at the bottles on the table. "Both are death; why go to such trouble?"

The scholar smiled and shook his head: "If you remain alive, within three days, I will present you with the antidote, hands extended."

"So that’s how it is."

"...How intriguing."

Chen Yi laughed once, then directly took a bottle, uncorked it, and drank.

One breath. Two breaths…

(Chapter Complete)