Chapter Twenty-Three: The Turmoil at the Poetry Gathering

He read it again and again, each time more deeply affected by the emotions between the lines. It was as if the poem were a cry of defiance against fate, a yearning to survive proudly even in the face of utter despair.

“This poem is not something people like you and me can judge!” someone exclaimed.

“No wonder he’s so arrogant—anyone capable of composing such verses would surely look down on the likes of us.”

Among them were a few who remained clear-headed. Though they had always followed Ouyang Wenxuan’s lead, these lines compelled them to follow their own hearts. Han Qing’s poem was a revelation.

The shock rippled through the gathering, leaving everyone at a loss. Ouyang Wenxuan, who had stood silent, now gave a subtle nod.

“My earlier words were too harsh,” he admitted, his tone shifting. “A man of such talent should never be left unrecognized.”

Wenxuan’s intentions were clear—he wanted to win Han Qing over, believing someone like him could be a great asset in the future.

But Han Qing had no desire to befriend this young master. Today, he had merely shown his hand to attract customers to his humble storytelling shop, nothing more.

“Master Ouyang, I am but a poor scholar. I wrote this poem simply to win today’s prize,” he replied honestly, stating his purpose outright.

Yet with this poem, it was certain he would claim the top prize at the poetry gathering—no one present could match his work.

“Of course,” Wenxuan replied with a wry smile, “my word is my bond. What I have promised, I will not go back on.”

Whether Ouyang was feigning ignorance or simply unwilling to flatter him, Han Qing could not tell. After winning the prize, he made to leave, clearly uninterested in forging any new connections.

Young Master Zhu, knowing Han Qing’s straightforward nature, did not try to dissuade him further, though he too was shaken by the day’s events.

The uproar quickly spread, and soon all the prominent families wished to befriend Han Qing. The poem had sparked the imagination of scholars and commoners alike, and news spread throughout the city—a great talent had emerged from the Han family.

Their household’s prestige soared, and Han’s mother could not stop smiling. The neighbors all praised her son and her skillful upbringing, bringing honor and glory to their family.

“Big brother, you’re famous now! Every book with your inscription is selling out everywhere,” Er Zhuang said excitedly.

Books bearing Han Qing’s verses were selling at an unprecedented rate.

“Let’s keep going with this approach, and intensify our efforts,” Han Qing directed. The effect of celebrity was undeniable—only when everyone knew his name could their products truly flourish.

“Did you all try to buy a book from the storytelling shop today? I’ve gone three days in a row and haven’t gotten a single copy.”

“Me too! I go every morning after breakfast, wait until noon, and still come up empty.”

“Well, don’t envy me. I was lucky today. I managed to get one with his personal inscription...”

Scholars vied to buy the books, and in just a few days, their sales had surpassed the previous month’s total many times over.

But Han Qing knew this fervor would not last forever. Temporary popularity was no guarantee of lasting success; only sustainable, long-term marketing strategies would truly matter.

After pondering for a while, he came up with a good plan, to be implemented once the current craze subsided.

When he returned home, Jiang Xiuxiu pulled him straight into the study.

“Husband, I’ve learned many words these past few days, but I heard those famous lines of yours and still don’t understand their meaning,” she said, her curiosity burning bright.

This eagerness to learn delighted Han Qing.

“Let me explain a bit,” he said gently. “Tell me, when do chrysanthemums bloom?”

“Mostly in the eighth or ninth month of autumn.”

“Then do you understand the first line?” he prompted.

He guided her through his explanation, wanting his young wife to be enchanted by the beauty of words as he was. They discussed the poem for several days, and Jiang Xiuxiu gradually grasped its essence.

Yet she understood that poetry’s meaning was not only on the surface—it depended on one’s state of mind, the mood of the moment, and the feeling evoked in each reader.

That day at the poetry gathering, Han Qing had acted in accord with Ouyang Wenxuan’s mood, creating a moment of genuine astonishment.

People are always moved in particular situations, he mused; he had simply seized the opportunity at hand—a move that brought him great benefit.

Afterward, Young Master Zhu grew somewhat distant—not as eager for friendship as before.

This was only natural. One should always keep a reserve of caution, and not trust others too easily.

Han Qing, too, needed a few quiet days; lately, too many sons of officials had come calling. He refused each one, wishing to keep his distance from such entanglements.

Yet he did not expect one more visitor to appear.

“The Deputy Minister of the Court of Judicial Review—you were never so enthusiastic before. Why come see me now?” Han Qing’s face was expressionless, his sarcasm obvious.

“What are you saying?” the official protested. “I’ve just been busy with cases. Finally found some free time, and—lo and behold—you’ve caused a sensation in the city!”

The Deputy Minister declared his innocence. He was not here to curry favor with Han Qing; he had always been upright and impartial, and would never flatter anyone just because of shifting fortunes.

It was simply a matter of timing.

“About that previous case—I must thank you for your help. It allowed me to close it quickly and draw out the real culprit.”

His words were sincere. Only after taking on the case of the traitor’s daughter did he notice the clues—a certain old woman had ties to Madam Wang of First Residence, the very same who had plotted against the Lin family years before.

After falling out of favor with some court officials, they had been forced to wander from place to place. Later, when Madam Wang found a new home, her business declined, and in desperation she contrived a vicious scheme to frame Zuihua House.

But instead of harming her rival, she ended up exposing her own weaknesses.

“If you had looked a bit deeper then, you might have seen further than I did,” Han Qing said softly. “But your straightforwardness is your strength—there’s no room for cunning in your heart.”

Han Qing admired this man. Holding a high position, his vision was sometimes limited, but his integrity brought peace to the people, and his courage to stand against outside influences was rare indeed.

“Brother Han, I cannot thank you enough. If you ever need anything from me, do not hesitate to ask,” the official said, nodding gravely.