Chapter Fourteen: A Moment of Rashness and the Recognition of a Younger Brother

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“Set it yourself? What an audacious boast. Shall we wager on whose head is taller?” Yang Lin studied him with ill intent, sipping his tea as he teased.

The young man was so infuriated by his gaze that he nearly spat blood, while everyone around them burst into laughter, making the atmosphere livelier still.

Yang Lin was not merely trying to humiliate the boy. He had long wished to make a name for himself, and this young man had practically delivered himself to Yang’s doorstep. In the Great Song, the finest way to win fame was to compose an extraordinary poem or lyric and have a courtesan of sufficient stature perform it.

The civil-service examinations of this era had another notable feature: reputation mattered greatly. The palace examination was much like an interview. If one’s name had already resounded throughout the empire by the time one appeared before the emperor, one would enjoy a considerable advantage in the judges’ first impression.

The fair-faced servant behind the youth could bear it no longer. He shrieked, as though someone had dug up his ancestors’ graves, “You wretch! You are utterly detestable!”

Li Yunniang knew a little of the young man’s identity and understood that his origins were terrifyingly distinguished. She hurriedly intervened. “Forgive this servant for speaking out of turn. You are both dashing young talents. Why not settle your superiority through poetry?”

Yang Lin quickly said, “Then let it be so. I wonder, brother, are you skilled in this art?”

The question struck precisely where it might irritate the youth most. Not one member of his family was particularly competent at his official profession, yet every one of them was a master of both letters and the arts.

“Hmph. You?”

Yang Lin could hardly bring himself to quarrel with a boy whose beard had not yet grown. He rose, flicked his sleeve, clasped his hands behind his back, and said, “Bring me brush and ink.”

Poetic contests were the favorite spectacle of scholars. Pure Notes Pavilion was not lacking in the Four Treasures of the Study, and before long someone had brought brush and ink and laid them out on the table.

The youth held himself in lofty esteem. Two attendants bent over to grind the ink and moisten the brush, while on Yang Lin’s side a young woman held down the rice paper. The contest began.

“We are gathered here today for one reason: next year’s spring examination. I shall take that as my subject.”

Qin Hui and the others cheered loudly, though only to bolster his presence. They all knew that Yang Wenyuan was an excellent essayist, but not especially skilled at poetry and lyrics. At best, his work was conventional and respectable.

Yang Lin pondered carefully for a moment, then set brush to paper:

I would journey north! Laughing at tomorrow—
fame and rank are easily won;
but what of the heart within?

Even if my writings astonish the empire,
they are but common folk upon a page.

Like spring water—
what does it matter to you?

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At dusk the rain arrives, and the wild geese vanish;
through vast passes and mountains, all is autumn’s sound.
Urging the traveler onward—go, go like flowing water.

Let me spend three hundred million in gold,
making friends of every beauty and every famous man;
and bind myself to every brave son of the northern lands.

Next year, spring will come early to Bianliang.
I urge the apricot blossoms:
do not, I beg you, pine away in longing.
The leaves lament—enough; let us speak of it no more.

The youth was still lost in thought, while the scholars and beauties around Yang Lin had already begun to cry out their praise. Unable to believe that Yang Lin could have finished so quickly, the young man’s mind wavered. He carried the brush over to examine the writing. As he read, he unconsciously began to recite the words aloud, and a trace of awe suddenly rose within him.

Could this seemingly sly scholar truly possess such devotion to his country and people?

The youth had no desire to continue the contest. The sheer inspiration that had allowed Yang Lin to compose a lyric in a single stroke had already defeated him. He gave a cold snort and said, “‘Fame and rank are easily won; but what of the heart within?’ You certainly speak boldly. We shall see whether you possess the ability to match your words.”

Qin Hui beamed with pride, shaking his head as he declared, “Let me enlighten you. The gentleman before you is none other than the top graduate of our Yangzhou prefectural examination.”

The youth snorted again. “Very well, you win. We are leaving.”

Yang Lin waved him back with a smile. “Brother Hmph, wait a moment. Have you forgotten something?”

The youth turned around, stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. Clutching his stomach, he said, “You truly expect me to call you Big Brother?”

“A wager is a wager. Is it not only right to accept defeat?” Yang Lin replied with a roguish grin. He could not explain why, but the moment he saw this excessively handsome fair-faced boy, he felt an irresistible urge to tease him.

The youth curved one brow and lifted the corner of his mouth. “You brought this upon yourself. Listen carefully. My name is Zhao Si, and I come from Bianliang.”

He bent forward, clasped his fists, and called out, “Big Brother, this younger brother offers his respects.”

“Good boy. Remember this: your Big Brother is Yang Lin—the Yang of Yang Lin, the Lin of Yang Lin. If anyone ever bullies you, just invoke my name.”

The two old servants behind Zhao Si trembled with rage. They rolled up their sleeves and seemed ready to throw their lives away. “This old servant will fight you to the death!”

Zhao Si waved a hand and restrained his two loyal attendants. “We are leaving.”

The old servants were still unwilling to let the matter go. They glared resentfully at everyone before finally following Zhao Si out with heavy steps.

Yang Lin paid no further attention to the episode. Once seated again, he said with a smile, “This Zhao Four is not so bad. He did not tear off all pretense, and at least he can afford to lose.”

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None of them took this “Zhao Four” seriously. They reveled in the pleasure of victory and were even merrier than when they had first arrived.

Qin Hui was the most exuberant of all, waving his arms as he loudly sang the lyric Yang Lin had just composed.

A pleasant woman’s voice suddenly sounded from outside the room.

“Even if one’s writings astonish the empire, they are but common folk upon a page… What lofty aspirations, young sir.”

Two maids lifted the curtain, and a beautiful woman entered with graceful, measured steps, a zither in her arms. Everyone looked up and saw a woman of extraordinary beauty. She wore a pale-blue gown. Two smoky brows arched above eyes that seemed at once joyful and sorrowful, eyes filled with tender feeling.

Her stillness resembled a delicate flower reflected upon water; her movements were like a frail willow stirred by the breeze. Had they not known this was Pure Notes Pavilion, they might easily have mistaken her for the daughter of a noble household.

After entering, the young woman offered a poised and generous bow. “Ning’er pays her respects to all the young gentlemen.”

The scholars did not presume upon their status. They had come here for pleasure, and treating the leading courtesans of a pleasure house as though they were goddesses was customary enough. To everyone’s surprise, they rose together and returned her greeting.

That left Yang Lin, still seated in his chair, standing out conspicuously. Ning’er’s lovely eyes turned toward him. Seeing no contempt in his gaze, she felt somewhat relieved and said once more, “Young sir, your talent is remarkable. To compose such a lyric in a single sitting—I am deeply impressed.”

Yang Lin held a wine cup and had been secretly pondering how to make his name resound throughout the world. At her words, he looked up, and his eyes immediately lit up.

What a beauty. Her features were like a painting, her eyes shimmering with flowing light, as though she were a jade maiden stepped out of a picture. Her delicate loveliness defied description.

Yang Lin hurriedly said, “You must be Miss Ning’er. Truly, you are more beautiful than any flower.”

“You flatter me, young sir.”

Yang Lin studied her carefully. Though Ning’er was the leading courtesan of the house, there was no trace of seduction about her. Instead, she possessed an indescribable, faint sorrow.

These women were truly formidable. They understood the temperaments of those wretched scholars with astonishing precision. In the eyes of scholars—especially literati and officials—the more reserved and aloof a beauty appeared, the more valuable she seemed.

Of course, if one had the chance to share her bed, to caress and linger together, to stroke her fair jade-like body while listening to her soft, melodious cries, her allure would be an entirely different matter.

Yang Lin silently applauded her in his heart. People often spoke of a woman’s exquisite cleverness, but this was precisely what they meant.

Though Ning’er was a fledgling who had only just entered the profession, her reputation for beauty had yet to spread far. Still, her natural gifts were more than sufficient, and she possessed every chance of becoming a sensation.

He would lend her a hand, helping this rare beauty win fame—and, in the process, ensure that his own name spread from one end of the empire to the other.

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