Chapter 444: Poetry with Wine, Into the Inner Courtyard Again

The carriage stopped beneath Drunken Wind Restaurant.

The Regent walked in front, the Swordsmith followed behind him, and Zheng Fan and Hero Chen brought up the rear.

Count Zheng’s head was currently filled with a profound sense of absurdity.

He had huffed and puffed his way out yesterday, slept one rather uncomfortable night, and today he was going straight back in again?

Count Zheng could, of course, choose to say “no.”

But saying “no” to that white-robed man would itself be an enormous offense.

He was the Regent. He was the “Emperor.” When a ruler spoke, his word carried the weight of nine tripods; once uttered, it became law.

More importantly, from the standpoint of the role “Su Mingzhe,” there was simply no reason to refuse at this moment.

He had supposedly been sent here by his teacher both to deliver a gift and attend the Princess’s wedding banquet.

If he refused now, the entire persona would collapse, inevitably provoking a much more extreme reaction.

From the corner of his eye, Count Zheng glanced at Hero Chen standing beside him.

Hero Chen still owed him a favor.

Zheng Fan believed that if he ordered Hero Chen to draw his sword against the Regent right now, Hero Chen would not hesitate. He would strike immediately.

Because the Regent was not a man of Qian.

He was Chu.

Yes, Qian and Chu were currently allied against Yan, but if one really started calculating things that way, there would be no end to it.

Other people could treat their promises like farts.

Hero Chen, however, had spent his entire life keeping his word.

So he would strike.

The problem was that the Swordsmith stood beside the Regent.

Zheng Fan had witnessed the Sword Saint’s terror with his own eyes. Even if the Swordsmith could not reach the realm the Sword Saint had forcibly opened to Second Grade before Snow Sea Pass, even if he were only comparable to the Sword Saint of old, Hero Chen would still have no chance of contending with him.

Even if Zheng Fan joined him, the result would be the same.

There had long been rumors in the jianghu that the Swordsmith was actually a fraud. Yes, he could forge swords, but his swordsmanship itself was mediocre. He had merely been inflated into the position of one of the Four Great Swordsmen because the Four Great States each needed one representative.

Zheng Fan had once specifically asked Yu Huaping about this rumor.

Yu Huaping’s answer had been simple:

“I don’t know.”

Then Yu Huaping had pointed at the meat soup before him and said:

“A cook who can make excellent dishes—do you think he doesn’t know how to eat?”

Besides, what did the exact probability of the Swordsmith being a fraud matter to Zheng Fan?

Ten percent?

Twenty?

Thirty?

Seventy, eighty, ninety?

None of those numbers meant anything.

Because for Zheng Fan, what mattered was only zero or one.

He knew martial arts.

Or he did not.

Correspondingly—

Zheng Fan lived.

Or Zheng Fan died.

There was no such thing as the Swordsmith having a seventy-percent chance of being skilled and Zheng Fan therefore being seventy-percent dead.

Look at it from another angle.

If Count Zheng had truly been a loyal minister of Great Yan, truly a second Tian Wujing, willing to sacrifice everything for Yan’s future, then perhaps he really would have joined Hero Chen and gambled on one desperate strike without even needing to think about it.

If the Regent died, Great Chu—only recently reunited after the struggle among its princes—might fracture once more.

The temptation was enormous.

But Count Zheng happened to be someone who placed his own life above everything else.

Emotionally, he could favor Yan.

But he would never stake his life on Yan’s behalf.

His expression remained calm while his mind raced through one absurd possibility after another. His steps never faltered.

The carriage was not enormous, but it was spacious.

The Regent and the Swordsmith had already boarded.

Only then did Zheng Fan experience a faint sense of returning to reality. He glanced at Hero Chen beside him, then climbed into the carriage.

The Regent sat in the center.

The Swordsmith sat to one side.

Zheng Fan and Hero Chen shared the opposite bench.

An old man drove the carriage.

White hair.

White beard.

Zheng Fan had noticed him while boarding.

How to put it?

The old man looked exactly like one of those legendary monastery sweepers.

What genuine carriage driver had fingernails without the slightest trace of grime, or trousers and socks as neat and clean as though they were brand new?

And outside the carriage, there were certainly many more true experts escorting them in secret.

Count Zheng sat there with the resignation of a man who had accepted his fate.

Alas.

Who knew what expression A’Ming would make when he discovered Master had disappeared again?

Perhaps because Yao Zizhan’s lyric had put him in an excellent mood, the Regent turned toward Zheng Fan and said:

“Young Mr. Su has accompanied Master Yao for several years. Do you have any worthy works you could share so we might relieve the tedium of the road?”

Hm?

Count Zheng could see it now.

This Regent presented an image of ruthless decisiveness to the outside world. When dealing with his own brothers, he had swept them aside like autumn wind clearing fallen leaves.

But on the inside he possessed a very heavy streak of literary romanticism.

“This junior’s clumsy works are hardly fit to stain the ears of my seniors.”

The Regent waved his hand.

“No matter. Recite one and let us savor it. It is like how Yan people favor heavy flavors, Qian people favor sweetness, and Chu people favor freshness. I have always believed there is no dish everyone beneath Heaven will love, but so long as it is a dish, there will always be some group whose tastes it suits.”

“Then this junior will embarrass himself.”

The Regent straightened his posture solemnly, showing respect.

The Swordsmith twirled a lock of long hair around one finger, but his gaze rested on Zheng Fan.

Clearly, he too was waiting.

Hero Chen did not understand poetry or lyrics.

He simply continued sitting there with a stern face.

Truthfully, Hero Chen was panicking inside.

He knew Zheng Fan’s true identity.

This was not the sickly scholar he had escorted all the way from Qian.

This was a general.

Hero Chen had never read *The Zheng Treatise on War*. He merely felt that a general writing a military treatise was perfectly normal, no different from a swordsman using a sword.

Hero Chen was afraid Zheng Fan might fail to maintain the disguise.

And if that happened he was already wondering what he should do.

Zheng Fan pursed his lips and slowly exhaled.

Then he began to recite:

My hair bristles in fury beneath my cap; at the railing I stand...

...

The humiliation of Jiahe remains unwashed.
When shall a subject’s hatred be quenched?
Drive the long chariots onward,
Trample through Mount Tianduan's passes.
In lofty resolve, hunger to feast on barbarian flesh;
Laughing in thirst, drink the blood of Yan slaves.

Then, when we begin anew,
Recover the old rivers and mountains,
And return in triumph before the Son of Heaven!

When the lyric ended, Count Zheng silently closed his eyes.

He believed this piece should be more than enough to pass.

In sheer breadth and grandeur, it surpassed even the hunting lyric Yao Zizhan had sent earlier.

At the lesser level, poetry was the art of words and ornament.

At the greater level, it revealed the mountains and ravines within a person’s chest.

Take Marshal Yue’s lyrics.

Perhaps he did not obsess over exquisite diction or delicate polish, but in scale and bearing he truly stood atop the peaks, looking down upon the mountains below.

Of course, none of that had anything to do with Count Zheng.

He was only a plagiarist.

Still, he was rather pleased with himself for having managed to alter several lines of *Man Jiang Hong* so quickly and adapt them to the current political situation.

His wit had arrived at exactly the right moment.

After a long silence, the Regent released a deep sigh.

He slapped one palm against his knee, then solemnly cupped his hands toward Zheng Fan in salute.

Count Zheng immediately returned the courtesy.

They were seated inside a carriage, so standing was impossible and the movement looked slightly cramped, but Count Zheng still managed to place exactly the right amount of embarrassment and modesty on his face.

The Swordsmith leaned back against the carriage wall and called to the old man driving outside:

“Wine!”

The old driver untied the wine gourd from his waist and tossed it directly inside.

The gourd flew in at great speed.

Yet the Swordsmith showed absolutely no intention of catching it.

Hero Chen had not asked for wine, so he did not catch it either.

And so the wine gourd flew straight toward the Regent seated in the place of honor.

What happened next left Zheng Fan stunned.

The Regent flicked one fingertip.

A burst of qi surged out and struck the wine gourd.

The gourd spun through the air before dropping neatly into the Regent’s hand.

“...”

Count Zheng.

Fuck your uncle!

Zheng Fan was currently a Sixth Grade Martial Artist.

Truthfully, that was not low at all.

Take off his official robes and send him into the jianghu, and he could gather a gang around himself.

Find some small city and he could easily open a martial hall and accept disciples.

A Sixth Grade Martial Artist might die without even making a splash while charging through a military formation, but in the jianghu or some smaller region, in one-on-one combat, he already possessed enough strength to command respect.

Yet Zheng Fan knew perfectly well that although this had looked like nothing more than catching a wine gourd, he himself could not control and release qi with anything approaching that effortless precision.

A moment ago, he had still been secretly calculating whether he and Hero Chen might gamble on a desperate strike.

Wonderful.

He had spent all his time calculating the Swordsmith and never once considered that the Regent of Great Chu might himself be a Martial Artist.

Zheng Fan did not know his grade.

But it was definitely higher than his own.

Generally speaking, people who occupied extremely high positions rarely also possessed extremely high cultivation.

Human energy was limited.

Among the Four Great Swordsmen, Li Liangshen was a high commander in the army.

The other three were different.

The Swordsmith came from a great clan but did not truly manage ordinary affairs.

The Sword Saint and Baili Sword came purely from the jianghu.

But nothing in this world was absolute.

Take the Marquis of Jingnan.

His personal martial strength had reached the summit, yet he also stood at the very height of court power, commanded a massive army, and used troops like a god.

So there was no reason Great Yan could produce one Tian Wujing while Great Chu could not produce a Regent.

And if members of imperial or great aristocratic houses truly possessed extraordinary talent from childhood and were willing to treat themselves harshly enough to train then the advantages they possessed in climbing the heights of cultivation were naturally far greater than those of ordinary people.

Count Zheng sighed inwardly.

Now he completely abandoned the thought of gambling on some desperate surprise strike.

Meanwhile, both the Regent and the Swordsmith were still immersed in the world of the lyric Zheng Fan had just recited.

The Regent pulled out the stopper, took a drink, then passed the gourd to the Swordsmith.

The Swordsmith accepted it and drank as well.

The Regent looked at Zheng Fan and sighed:

“Great Qian truly is a land where culture gathers in abundance. Master Yao accepted an excellent disciple. An excellent disciple indeed!”

The Swordsmith added:

“With lofty resolve, feast on barbarian flesh;
Laughing in thirst, drink the blood of Yan slaves.”

“Tsk, tsk. The scene. The spirit. The scale. Admirable. Truly admirable. This lyric truly captures the smoke and blood of the battlefield.”

The Regent nodded and asked:

“This ‘humiliation of Jiahe’—you wrote it about the time Yan marched south into Qian, correct?”

“Yes. At the time, this junior was inside Shangjing. Yan cavalry once reached the very outskirts of our Great Qian capital. This junior could not sleep at night and hated only that I was a useless scholar.

“So I hoped that one day, the soldiers and people of Qian would strive together, succeed in a northern expedition, and wash away that former humiliation.”

“Truly heroic.”

The Regent sighed.

Clearly, he had begun thinking of Chu.

Qian and Chu had shared one thing in recent years.

Both had suffered badly at Yan’s hands.

Yan cavalry had fought all the way to the walls of Qian’s capital.

Chu had left forty thousand Azure Luan Army corpses beneath Yupan City along with one Pillar of State.

So this lyric truly fit the moment.

Chu listeners could place themselves directly inside it.

The Regent said:

“I hope the people of Chu and Qian can both rise with determination and soon crush Yan’s arrogance.”

Count Zheng immediately followed:

“That is precisely what the Emperor of Great Qian desires, what my teacher desires, what this junior desires, and what the common people of Great Qian and Great Chu desire.

“Yan wages endless war, knows nothing of proper instruction, understands nothing of ritual. It is truly a state of refined degenerates. Great Qian and Great Chu are both lands of rites and propriety—how can we allow beasts to bully us forever?

“We of this generation must strive!”

“Young Mr. Su speaks directly to my heart. Come. Drink with me!”

The Regent was clearly very pleased with Zheng Fan.

A scholar did not necessarily need to understand warfare.

Since Great Xia, true scholar-commanders had been exceedingly rare across the entire East.

For a scholar to express martial spirit through poetry and use lyrics to stir hot blood that already fulfilled his duty.

Count Zheng accepted the gourd from the Swordsmith.

He did not have the nerve to wipe the mouth of the gourd first.

He simply tilted his head back and drank deeply.

The wine was rich and fragrant, though not especially strong.

Count Zheng drank, wiped his mouth, and called:

“Excellent!”

The Regent chuckled.

“The ones enjoying ourselves are us. With Young Mr. Su’s lyric accompanying the wine, this journey can no longer be called lonely.”

“You flatter me.”

After that, the carriage fell quiet.

Partly because the Regent was still silently savoring *Man Jiang Hong*.

And partly because, as the imperial villa drew closer, other thoughts had probably begun occupying his mind.

That allowed Count Zheng to relax somewhat.

He had genuinely been afraid the Regent might continue asking about his family and background.

After all, he was an impostor.

If the conversation turned to ordinary family details, the disguise would almost certainly crack.

The carriage swayed onward.

The imperial villa drew closer.

Count Zheng suddenly felt he had been entering and leaving the place far too frequently.

It was starting to resemble visiting a brothel.

Go today.

Rest one night.

Then wake up the next morning wanting to go again.

But when the villa was only four or five li away, Count Zheng suddenly remembered something.

Instantly his nerves tightened.

He had previously entered and exited the imperial villa disguised as the second shopkeeper of a Fan Clan pearl shop.

The Qu Clan retainers guarding the inner courtyard had all seen his face.

Now he was going back under a completely different identity.

Wouldn’t he be exposed the moment he appeared?

The instant he thought of this, all the calm he had finally recovered vanished.

He began sitting on pins and needles.

The Swordsmith continued drinking.

Perhaps noticing Count Zheng’s loss of composure, he asked:

“Young Mr. Su, are you sweating?”

Zheng Fan immediately answered:

“This junior... this junior simply cannot hold his liquor.”

“Heh.”

The Swordsmith only smiled and continued drinking.

...

At that same moment, inside the imperial villa, squad after squad of Imperial Clan Guards marched in and took over the inner defensive ring.

Whether Qu Clan Azure Luan troops or private soldiers belonging to servant families, none showed the slightest resistance before the Imperial Clan Guards.

They obediently surrendered their positions.

Then another detachment of Phoenix Nest guards entered the inner courtyard directly.

The Qu Clan retainers who had always protected the inner courtyard saw them arrive and very consciously withdrew without a word.

After that, the eunuchs and palace maids serving inside were all cleared out.

Only two people remained within the inner courtyard: the Fourth Princess and Zhao Cheng, Eunuch Zhao, chief steward of the inner court.

At first Zhao Cheng was somewhat stunned.

He could not understand what exactly was happening.

He had never seen a changing of the guard carried out this completely.

After all, only last month he had still been the leader of a beggar gang in Xiayong City.

He might be ruthless and mentally resilient, but breadth of perspective could not be developed in one or two days.

So he failed to guess what this scene truly meant.

The Princess, however faced with all this merely sat quietly before the dressing table in her sleeping hall.

There were no palace maids around.

So she began dressing and arranging herself alone.

Looking at the reflection in the mirror she suddenly found herself somewhat unfamiliar.

Of course, she knew who had come.

He had truly come.

...

From the moment the Regent’s carriage entered the outer perimeter of the imperial villa, nobody stopped it for inspection.

The Imperial Clan Guards had already taken control of every important checkpoint.

The carriage therefore drove directly into the inner courtyard and stopped there.

When Zhao Cheng saw a carriage enter so openly and arrogantly, he still could not guess which great immortal had arrived.

He knew only that whoever it was had to be someone of terrifying importance.

Ordinary people of this era were not especially sensitive to the idea of an emperor traveling incognito.

There were not endless dramas and opera scripts popularizing that kind of story.

So it was perfectly normal that Zhao Cheng never thought in that direction.

Eunuch Zhao knelt before the carriage, trembling.

The curtain lifted.

The first person to step out was the Regent.

He looked toward the closed doors of the sleeping hall and sighed.

Without paying attention to Zhao Cheng, he walked past him, pushed open the doors, and entered.

Hero Chen and the Swordsmith descended next.

The last person down was Count Zheng who “could not hold his liquor,” and whose heart had finally put down one enormous stone.

Haa...

Thank Heaven.

The place had been cleared.

Otherwise, he really would have played himself to death.

He had spent far too much time dancing on knife edges lately.

Sooner or later he was going to frighten himself into heart disease.

At that moment, Hero Chen walked directly toward the Swordsmith and said:

“Sir, might I ask for your guidance?”

Hero Chen was a blockhead.

Of course, given his established personality, doing something like this was entirely normal.

The Swordsmith looked slightly surprised at first, but then smiled and nodded.

He gestured for Hero Chen to follow him toward the side and said:

“I would not dare call it guidance. Come. Let me see your sword first. Perform a sequence for me too. I can help you judge whether the blade needs to be reforged or tempered again.”

“Many thanks, Sir.”

With that, Hero Chen followed the Swordsmith away.

As he left—

Hero Chen even winked at Zheng Fan.

Count Zheng stared after him, baffled.

Understanding Hero Chen’s version of “watch my eyes and act accordingly” was truly beyond the ability of ordinary humans.

Only after quite a while did Zheng Fan finally recover and begin guessing.

Was Hero Chen saying that he had deliberately drawn the Swordsmith away, so Zheng Fan could now do whatever he wanted?

Perhaps, in Hero Chen’s mind, he had accidentally dragged Count Zheng, a Yan noble, straight into a Chu nest.

So after agonizing over the problem all this time he had finally thought of one way to help.

But Count Zheng had already abandoned any thought of solving matters through force.

The carriage driver had driven the carriage in, then left as well.

So now only two people remained near the carriage:

Count Zheng and Eunuch Zhao, who had been kneeling there the entire time and still did not dare lift his head.

Count Zheng licked his lips.

Then stretched out one foot and lightly kicked Zhao Cheng’s leg.

“Bring me a cup of water.”

“Yes, yes—hm?”

Zhao Cheng suddenly felt that voice sounded extremely familiar.

As he climbed up, he took the chance to lift his head and look at the man before him.

What entered his eyes was Zheng Fan’s smiling face.

Zhao Cheng froze completely.

Then both legs kicked out at once and he dropped heavily onto his backside.

A startled cry escaped his mouth:

“Mother!”

Fortunately, Zheng Fan’s gaze immediately turned cold.

Zhao Cheng swallowed the rest of the sound before it grew louder and hurried away to pour tea.

Before leaving he could not help casting Count Zheng an extremely aggrieved glance.

The Prince-Consort doesn’t visit the Princess as often as you do!

————

[End of Chapter 444]