No matter how much chaos stirred in the court, no matter the ghostly disturbances in the imperial city or the military troubles in the Grand Chancellor’s mansion, the lives of the common people had to go on.
On the great stone bridge connecting Wuyin Ward and Yushun Ward, Lu Qian led a cavalry squadron, galloping swiftly.
But on the Yushun side of the bridge, a huge, dense crowd blocked his way.
Here, it was only three streets away from Lu Qian’s Survey Office headquarters and the Bai family mansion.
A massive tavern called ‘Moyun Tower’ stood right at the bridgehead.
Around it grew ancient plum trees and verdant bamboo, while by the water’s edge stretched a row of over a dozen elegant pavilions built for enjoying the view.
On ordinary days, the local nobles and dignitaries of Yushun Ward loved to invite a few close friends here—to admire the river scenery, savor fresh aquatic delicacies, compose poetry and pair poetic verses, and engage in lofty conversation.
When Lu Qian’s riding squad approached, the eleven-story tavern was packed without a single empty seat, and the dozen or so costly pavilions were crowded with heads pressing close.
Moreover, directly in front of the tavern and near the bridgehead, a vast area was crammed with thousands of people.
All of them wore scholar’s gauze hats and long gowns, carrying various elegant fans despite the cold winter—a true display of literary refinement.
On the frozen canal’s surface, numerous wooden rafts were lined up in neat rows.
Countless students had set up little stoves and exquisite dishes on those rafts; each person, like a long-necked goose, craned their necks eagerly, staring fixedly at the top floor of Moyun Tower.
“Next one, next one! Who’s up next?”
The scholars, flushed with excitement, shouted and danced with their hands.
Even as Lu Qian’s heavy cavalry slowed slightly, charging ahead like a torrent of iron on the bridge, only a few people in the back row glanced back at him, then turned away with disdain.
The crowd jammed the street at the bridgehead so completely passage was impossible.
Lu Qian frowned.
From afar came low curses from other citizens who couldn’t pass through.
But faced with these literati, ordinary folk only dared to curse softly from a distance—none had the courage to approach and reason with them.
Lu Qian dismounted, strode to a scholar in the crowd, grabbed his neck and forcibly turned his body around. “Brother, what’s going on inside Moyun Tower?”
The man looked to be in his forties, pain flaring on his neck from Lu Qian’s grip.
He was about to curse when suddenly he saw the divine martial generals following behind Lu Qian, holding ceremonial staffs, nine-bend Qingluo umbrellas, and other insignias.
His eyes quickly flicked through them, and instantly his face broke into a wide smile.
“Your Excellency, this is the gathering of the Twelve Young Talents of Haojing City. They’re competing in a literary contest to see who is superior.”
“Oh, you know Sir Bai Changbai, the deputy head of the national academy, right?”
Lu Qian immediately corrected, “Deputy head!”
The scholar stared back at Lu Qian, “That’s only a matter of time… Hah, enough idle talk. Lady Bai’s granddaughter, Miss Weishuang, didn’t twelve gifted young men come to propose to her a couple days ago?”
Lu Qian raised an eyebrow—he clearly remembered the commotion from two days ago.
Xiong Dingtian and those cultists of the Nine Yin Sect had come early that morning to attack him, only to be killed by him instead.
Their corpses still lay in the coroner’s office of the Yushun Ward Magistrate’s Office.
“These twelve talents, each one is a shining dragon among the disciples of our Haojing’s literary school, brimming with culture and unmatched talent. Each is the dream suitor in countless young ladies’ hearts in Haojing City!”
“Twelve simultaneously coming to propose—that’s quite a blessing for Miss Weishuang. Truly… there’s no match for it anywhere in Haojing!”
“But Miss Weishuang has only one heart, so just that morning, she held a literary contest banquet here at Moyun Tower, inviting a group of renowned scholars and sages from Haojing to judge and pick a perfect husband from among these twelve.”
The middle-aged scholar’s face flushed with excitement. “This is a splendid event, rarely seen once in a century in Haojing City—an age of literary flourishing that will surely be remembered forever. I received the news the day before yesterday and hurried two whole days and nights to arrive this morning.”
He stomped his foot, shaking his head in anguish, “Alas, I’m still too late. Not only are there no seats left inside, the river rafts at the seats have all been snatched up. I’m forced to just watch from outside these gates.”
Lu Qian’s expression twisted oddly.
The Bai family really spared no means.
Tsk tsk.
Two days ago, the twelve fine youths had come to propose to Bai Weishuang, and today they held a literary contest to select one favored groom from among them.
“Playing with fire, and someone actually jumped in,” Lu Qian scoffed coldly.
Several nearby scholars simultaneously turned to glare at Lu Qian and were about to scold him.
But just like that middle-aged scholar, seeing the ceremonial insignias in the hands of Lu Qian’s divine martial generals, each instinctively bowed slightly and gave Lu Qian a friendly smile.
Lu Qian waved his hand forward.
The divine martial generals and a group of guards immediately burst through the crowd roughly.
No matter how much the scholars shouted and cursed, they forcibly pushed open a path.
Lu Qian strolled confidently into Moyun Tower, going straight through halls and chambers all the way up to the literary contest on the top floor.
On the top floor, all the private rooms had been entirely removed, turning the whole floor into a vast, spacious chamber.
At the northern side sat four round tables.
Upon them rested various teas, snacks, and dishes.
Around the tables sat over twenty middle-aged men, all dressed in refined scholar’s robes, wearing faces of dignified smiles.
On the southern side was a line of twelve short writing desks, each paired with a small side table.
The side tables held hot tea and refreshments.
The writing desks bore pen, ink, paper, and inkstones—the usual tools of literary study.
Those twelve brilliant talents who had come knocking on Bai Changbai’s door two days prior now sat behind the desks, nodding and shaking their heads as they squeezed their brains for inspiration.
On the western side, a row of large sheets of snow-white paper hung down.
Several scholars with rolled-up sleeves and uninhibited bearing stood nearby, hand gripping brush pens dripping with ink.
On the papers were freshly copied poems and verses, the strokes vivid and clear.
A man with a loud voice stood by the window, reciting loudly the poems transcribed on the paper below.
Inside and outside Moyun Tower, even on the canal’s surface beside it, countless people echoed the verses in unison—waves of sound shaking the heavens.
On the eastern side under the window, a row of delicate small tables stood.
Bai Weishuang, along with her usual close circle of “girlfriends” — such as Huang Kun, daughter of Marquis Luoshan, and other small ladies of prominent birth and renown in Haojing — sat by the tables.
Each of them wore the gentle and refined demeanor expected of noble young ladies, quietly smiling and pointing as they critiqued the poems.
But compared to these polished and proper ladies, the girl sitting right next to Bai Weishuang towered over eight feet tall—nearly nine feet—with a magnificent figure, stunning face, and impossibly long legs.
She drank and ate heartily, pouring wine with indifference, gulping dishes and meat with great relish.
Her bold manner was completely at odds with the strict “female virtue” and “female discipline” codes preached by the literary gentlemen.
Yet among the men on the top floor, eight or nine out of ten cast their eyes fixedly upon this long-legged young woman—including the twelve earnest talents draining their brains at the desks, who kept sneaking glances at her.
The moment Lu Qian ascended the stairs, he took in this lively scene and burst into loud laughter.
It was obvious these talents had been brought in by Bai Changbai for a staged show.
Judging by their looks, they clearly had no genuine ‘admiration’ for Bai Weishuang at all.
If Lu Qian hadn’t laughed, it would be one thing.
But once he did, with his cultivation in the imperial city having leaped tremendously—not to mention the fearsome power granted by the Unbounded Returning Void Body and his repeatedly tempered, formidable physical strength—his laughter echoed like a huge bell.
The crystal windows on the top floor vibrated loudly under the sound, and the hanging sheets of paper fluttered noisily.
Those pretentious scholars and talents nearly all felt dizzy from the enormous laughing, hurriedly covering their ears and loudly scolding.
“Where is this madman from? Stand back!”
One of the aging scholars in the judging group, an elderly gentleman over seventy but maintaining exceptional vigor and spirit, stood and shouted at Lu Qian.
This elder’s martial cultivation was likely over the tenth tier of the Vein Opening Realm.
His shout was like thunder exploded suddenly, causing visible ripples in the air as it crashed toward Lu Qian.
Lu Qian’s laughter grew even louder.
Ripples proceeded from his mouth, washing over the elder’s roaring voice and shattering it to pieces.
The elder’s face paled; his body staggered back awkwardly two steps, nearly collapsing.
“You madman!” Dozens of scholars all rose, white-faced, pointing angrily and shouting.
“Heh, heh heh!”
Lu Qian chuckled lightly, folding his hands behind his back, fixing a deep gaze on the face of Bai Weishuang, whose expression twisted terribly.
In the imperial city, he had already swapped out the vermilion robe of the Palace Guard General for the dark silver-patterned Kunpeng Ascending Great Purple Robe—an honor only ever worn by royals of the Great Yin dynasty.
Anyone with a bit of knowledge about the Great Yin’s court rituals would know exactly what that purple robe meant.
The divine martial generals moved up in orderly formation, wielding their brilliant ceremonial insignias.
The staffs, nine-bend Qingluo umbrellas, golden knives, silver swords—all shone with dazzling radiance, each heavy with an intense aura named “power.”
Thirty-six burly divine martial generals stood firmly beside Lu Qian, and the scholars’ faces changed abruptly.
Their shouts immediately ceased.
“Well now, lively here, aren’t we?”
Lu Qian cupped his hands and bowed slightly to Bai Weishuang. “Weishuang sister, it’s been a while. I wasn’t planning to crash your little gathering today, but your admirers down there have completely blocked the street, so I thought I’d come up and see what the fuss is about.”
Bai Weishuang trembled, rising to her feet with shaky steps as she eyed the purple robe on Lu Qian, speaking deliberately, word by word, “Brother Lu… Did you really achieve your goal by selling yourself for fame and fortune?”
“Sharp tongue calls for a smack!”
Lu Qian smiled and pointed at Bai Weishuang, “But I have a rule: I don’t hit women unless I absolutely must. Just now, I punched a man named Zhu Yu—half his face is smashed to bits thanks to me.”
Bai Weishuang’s expression turned ghastly.
She wanted to ask more, but in front of the twelve “suitors,” how could she open her mouth to inquire about Zhu Yu?
Lu Qian smiled and stepped over to the hanging sheets of large paper.
He glanced over the copied poems and nodded, “Oh, ‘The Virtue of a Gentleman: Ode to the Plum’… Hmm, a splendid and shining archway, the virtue of a gentleman… Heh, let’s hope it’s not a hypocrite who does filthy things behind his back.”
“You’re insolent!”
One of the twelve young talents, a youth in elegant robes, pointed angrily at Lu Qian and shouted.
“Heh, heh heh.”
Lu Qian chuckled, snatched the brush pen from a nearby scholar’s hand.
(The End of This Chapter)