Volume One, Chapter Four: A Remarkable Debut

Qin Youde’s heart pounded with panic, and he said in a deep voice, “Your Highness, my father is Marquis Changping, Qin Sheng. For my father’s sake, please spare me this once.”

“Take him away!”

Wang Caiwei’s voice was sharp and commanding.

As soon as she spoke, a burly warrior strode forward, grabbed Qin Youde by the collar, and dragged him off like a dead dog.

Qin Bao wore an apologetic expression. “I’ve caused trouble for you, Princess.”

Wang Caiwei waved her hand dismissively. “So long as you distinguish yourself and achieve results at the Four Kingdoms Literary Gathering, no matter how great the trouble, I can suppress it.”

Qin Bao replied solemnly, “I will not disappoint Your Highness’s expectations.”

Wang Caiwei’s lips curved into a lovely smile as she led Qin Bao into the Hall of Embodied Splendor, guiding him upstairs to the Xuan Chamber on the second floor.

The chamber was adorned with delicate folding screens and calligraphy paintings hung upon the walls, exuding an ancient charm and elegant refinement.

Qin Bao glanced through the window of the chamber at the grand hall below.

The hall was packed to bursting.

The scholars of Liang wore bright, elegant attire and beamed with delight, each one spreading his feathers like a peacock, eager to display his charm. Everyone who came to the Hall of Embodied Splendor hoped to be chosen to represent Liang at the Four Kingdoms Literary Gathering.

Wang Caiwei studied the unflappable Qin Bao and asked, “You’re not nervous?”

“Not at all,” Qin Bao replied, shaking his head.

Such a scene was hardly worth mentioning. Besides, his mind teemed with the works of immortal poets and saintly writers; it was not he who should be afraid, but the other participants.

Wang Caiwei was very pleased with his confidence. “Since you are so assured, I’ll set you a task.”

“Please, Your Highness,” Qin Bao responded.

Her expression grew serious. “Your task is to surpass the scholars of the Hall of Embodied Splendor and take first place.”

She gestured toward the grand hall, indicating a middle-aged man in a sky-blue robe. “That man is Wu Xian. He once studied in the Zhou Dynasty and is a confidant of Prince Zhong, aligned with the Retired Emperor’s faction.”

Qin Bao’s eyes grew sharp.

The current emperor of Liang was Wang Chengtai, reigning under the era name Xuanwu, known as Emperor Xuanwu. As the legitimate eldest son, he had not been crowned crown prince for many years, because the Empress Dowager died early and the Retired Emperor favored his noble consort. Only three years ago, when the Retired Emperor abdicated, was Xuanwu made crown prince and ascended the throne, while the Retired Emperor withdrew from public affairs.

Prince Zhong, the Retired Emperor’s beloved youngest son, had once been a leading contender for the throne. Though he failed in the succession struggle, the Retired Emperor’s favoritism ensured he retained considerable power.

Now Qin Bao understood: this literary gathering would inevitably become entangled with the court’s power struggles.

Seeing his silence, Wang Caiwei asked, “Are you afraid?”

Qin Bao regained his composure and shook his head. “No, quite the opposite—I thank Your Highness for the opportunity. Without your support, I would not even have a foothold.”

He did not fear contention.

Nor did he fear being used.

What he feared was having no value at all—being so insignificant that no one would even bother to use him.

Liang might be a mighty whirlpool, but for him, it was also an opportunity.

Wang Caiwei was now entirely reassured. She smiled and said with gravity, “Since you are so confident, I shall wait and see what you can do.”

Qin Bao nodded with a smile.

In the grand hall below, Wu Xian stood with his hands clasped behind his back, proud and upright, proclaiming, “The Zhou Dynasty’s culture is brilliant; when scholars gather, there must be a winding stream party, with poetry and essays, and always praise for the Four Gentlemen.”

“What are the Four Gentlemen?”

“The plum, the orchid, the bamboo, and the chrysanthemum—these are the Four Gentlemen, as called by the people of Zhou.”

“The plum, pure as snow and ice, stands with unyielding integrity; the orchid, fragrant in lonely valleys, delights in its own company; the bamboo, sifting the wind and playing with the moon, generates its own spirit; the chrysanthemum, undaunted by frost, scorns all worldly vanity.”

“This is the true essence of life.”

“Alas, no one in Liang studies these things. The commoners here only know how to brandish weapons and throw their weight around.”

An uproar broke out at once in the hall.

Many of Liang’s people frowned, quite displeased by Wu Xian’s words. Yet, for several days now, his poetry had outshone all the scholars of Liang. Unless something unexpected happened, Wu Xian would represent Liang at the Four Kingdoms Literary Gathering.

Wang Caiwei was furious, grinding her teeth. “Traitor!”

Qin Bao said, “Princess, let me deal with him.”

Wang Caiwei replied, “You must win.”

“I will,” Qin Bao answered with a smile, rising and descending to the hall below.

Wu Xian, though he had angered many with his speech, showed not a trace of fear; if anything, he stood taller still.

To him, all of Liang was barbaric.

Zhou was the Celestial Empire, the land of ceremony and learning, the most admirable of all lands.

The very air in Zhou was gentle.

Everything in Zhou was wonderful.

Deep down, Wu Xian despised being a native of Liang.

Had he been born in Zhou, educated there from childhood and steeped in the classics, his talent would long ago have made him famous throughout the world—a great Confucian revered by all.

But, alas, he was born in Liang.

It was all Liang’s fault.

With a flick of his robe, Wu Xian continued, “Liang is brutish and uncivilized. In my view, only by abandoning war and promoting education can Liang find its way.”

“Nonsense!”

A thunderous voice suddenly echoed through the hall, silencing all other noise.

“Who dares?”

Wu Xian’s gaze swept the room, his eyes sharper than ever.

Qin Bao stepped forth, looking at this self-assured yet foolish man and retorted, “You are a man of Liang. You eat Liang’s grain, drink Liang’s water, and are supported by Liang so that you could study in Zhou.”

“And yet, in the end, you revile your own homeland.”

“It is said that a dog does not dislike a poor home, nor a son an ugly mother. You who curse your own country after filling your belly—are you not worse than a beast?”

At these words, the surrounding scholars erupted in cheers.

“Well said! I’ve had enough of that dog Wu Xian!”

“Just because he soaked up some ink in Zhou, he thinks he’s better than us? He’s nothing!”

“Well said!”

The chorus of insults left Wu Xian’s face burning.

He grew only more disgusted with the people of Liang. Enraged, he declared, “In the imperial capital of Zhou, the scholars and great men I befriended all dared to criticize the court, and the court took no offense. If Liang is to improve, it must accept criticism and correct its errors.”

Qin Bao sneered, “Every word you speak insults Liang and slaps the face of your own country. Is that what you call criticism?”

“It is the best form of criticism,” Wu Xian insisted.

Qin Bao took a step forward, closing the distance in an instant, and slapped Wu Xian across the face.

A crisp, ringing blow resounded.

Wu Xian fell to the floor, a red handprint blooming on his cheek; he was left dazed.

After a moment, Wu Xian struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth. “Are you mad?”

“You said face-slapping criticism was best,” Qin Bao replied. “So I slapped your face as criticism. I’m simply following your example—is that so wrong?”

Wu Xian raged, “You are nothing but a barbaric brute! A man like you will never set foot in the halls of refinement.”

Qin Bao’s voice was cold. “I know nothing of your so-called refinement and elegance.”

“I only know that the sons of Liang shed blood and risk death to defend home and country. If that is what you call barbarism, then I am proud of it.”

“A true man should be just so!”

“Your so-called halls of refinement are filled with men draped in silk, sipping wine and writing poems, oblivious to the suffering of the people.”

“That is not refinement—it is leeching the people’s blood.”

“I know you admire Zhou, that you long to be a dog in Zhou. I don’t object. But to pine for Zhou while trampling Liang beneath your feet—I cannot accept that.”

“I, Qin Bao, am deeply ashamed!”

Wu Xian’s face burned with humiliation.

He had never imagined he would be so disgraced today.

Unwilling to accept defeat, Wu Xian resolved to recover his standing where he had fallen. He changed tack and asserted, “Qin Bao, no matter how you twist words, you cannot hide the fact that you know nothing of poetry.”

“Yesterday, here at the Hall of Embodied Splendor, I wrote a poem about plum blossoms—no one could match it.”

“Today is the last day of the literary contest, and I have composed a poem about chrysanthemums, entitled ‘In Praise of the Chrysanthemum’.”

“Chrysanthemums bloom in autumn’s light,
Golden hearts and silver threads fill the garden with scent.
The wind stirs their branches, dancing in the air,
Dew adorns their petals, a crystalline dress.
Unafraid of cold and frost, their proud bones endure,
Only pure fragrance lingers in the courtyard.
This life, I wish to be a guest among chrysanthemums,
Together admiring autumn’s beauty, drunk at sunset.”

Wu Xian looked proud. “Can you write a poem like that?”

Now, Wu Xian was confident again.

He had studied in Zhou, with great scholars as his mentors; his poetic skill was considerable.

In the chamber above, Wang Caiwei heard Wu Xian’s poem and her brow creased with worry.

Wu Xian’s poem was quite good.

Could Qin Bao respond?

Many scholars in the hall shared Wang Caiwei’s concern.

They too disliked Wu Xian, but could not deny his talent. For several days, he had outshone all others in the literary contest.

Wu Xian heard the murmurs among Liang’s scholars and, seeing their worried faces, allowed a mocking smile to curl his lips. He pressed his advantage. “Weren’t you so eloquent just now? Why are you speechless now?”

Qin Bao replied calmly, “It’s not that I’m speechless—I simply find your poem insipid and affected.”

“You claim not to fear frost, to possess proud bones and pure fragrance. Yet you are spineless, forever slandering your homeland, devoid of any integrity.”

“You say you wish to be a guest among chrysanthemums, unmoved by fame and fortune, but in truth you scheme and plot without the slightest backbone.”

“Your poem is nothing but empty moaning—nonsense from start to finish.”

His critique stabbed straight to Wu Xian’s heart.

Wu Xian swept his sleeve and gritted his teeth, “You can’t even write poetry—what do you know of critique? If you’re a real man, write one yourself. Hurry up, don’t dawdle.”

Qin Bao said at once, “My poem is called ‘Ode to the Chrysanthemum’. Listen well:

‘When autumn comes, on the eighth of the ninth month,
My flowers bloom and all others wither.’”

As soon as the lines were spoken, a surge of heroic energy filled the air—fierce and stirring, shocking all who heard.

Just two lines, yet so original in conception.

The Hall of Embodied Splendor erupted in astonished discussion.

Every pair of eyes fixed upon Qin Bao, faces alight with shock—and then with wild delight.