33. The Lantern Fair, Flowers Bright as Day (Part Two)

The Lantern Festival was, by tradition, the time of year when talented scholars and beautiful maidens sought to form romantic unions. The baby boom that occurred every year between November and December was, quite literally, the result of this godforsaken holiday.

Within the capital city of Jiankang, lanterns lit up the market streets so brightly that the flower beds lining the sides were as vivid as they would be in broad daylight. Men and women, all dressed in their finest, moved about the city.

In a tavern within the Changshou Ward, Ye Liangchen sat alone, raising a cup. He had a high tolerance for alcohol, and he was not drinking to drown his sorrows, but simply because he felt stifled. Ever since he had passed the first two tiers of the imperial examinations and become a frontrunner for the title of "Triple Champion," he had constantly been compared to that unknown brat—the one who wrote *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* and *Spring River Flower Moon Night*. Yet, no matter the comparison, people would acknowledge his talent, only to conclude that he was inferior to the other.

Every "inferior to him" was like a dagger to Ye Liangchen’s heart. From Yangzhou to Suzhou, and from Suzhou to Jiankang, everyone spoke of that man. Scholars critiqued his *Preface*, young ladies obsessed over his "Thirty-Two Verses of Drunkenness," daydreaming of "the swing behind the wall, the laughter of the beauty beyond the path," and even the prostitutes in the brothels would weep softly while singing lines from his works.

Whenever he heard it, an inexplicable rage would ignite within Ye Liangchen. He knew his impotent fury was useless; if he truly wanted to surpass the man, he should write something better and let the world judge. But he racked his brains, only to find that while his own work was top-tier, it was as disparate as clouds and mud when compared to the other’s.

And Ye Liangchen had become the mud.

"Damn it, is he insane?" Ye Liangchen cursed without warning. That bastard’s series of masterpieces had effectively blocked the path for all other scholars to show off their poetic talent. Lately, submissions to the Jiankang Poetry Society had plummeted, replaced entirely by critiques of the *Preface* or discussions of *Spring River Flower Moon Night*.

It wasn't that there was no poetry left, but when compared to those works, everything else looked like the clumsy scribblings of a child—not only unworthy of mention but laughable. In short, that bastard had monopolized the four greatest literary masterpieces of the age, leaving no room for anyone else to breathe.

Even a man of Ye Liangchen’s caliber, a "Three-Flower Gathering" talent, lived in that man’s shadow. But the most frustrating part was that the man was a ghost of legend—some said he was seen in Yangzhou, a young man in blue robes tossing out masterpieces, while others claimed he was in Hongzhou, drunkenly composing thirty-two songs.

"Sigh... *sigh*..."

Ye Liangchen sighed three times, drawing the curious gaze of a nearby table. Who was sitting there? None other than Princess Xunyang, Tuoba Yan, who had been humiliated and stripped of her dignity at the Pavilion of Prince Teng.

Since returning to Jiankang, she had been depressed, harboring a deep hatred for Xia Lin, and by extension, for Tuoba Qian and the Prince of Teng. But as a princess born to a mere palace maid, she lacked the status of a princess like Tuoba Qian, let alone the blood-kinship the Prince of Teng shared with the Emperor. She had to swallow all her grievances alone.

It was a bottomless sea of bitterness. Among her social circle, the daughters of officials and city poets would often ask, "Oh? Princess, you were at the Pavilion that day, weren't you? Did any of those thirty-two poems mention you?" At the mere mention of it, her rage would flare, and she felt as if the sky were collapsing.

Whenever that happened, she would coldly reply, "No." But those wretches would persist: "Why?"

*Why? Go ask Xia Lin! Don't ask me! How should I know why he didn't write about me? I'm the victim here, the greatest victim!* She had been mocked for over half a year. Now that his poetry had reached the capital, every time she heard someone reciting it, she felt as if she were back at the Pavilion, being slapped in the face over and over again. Her face would flush—either with shame or with rage.

On this Lantern Festival, she had intended to clear her mind, but sitting here, she found the man at the next table sighing incessantly. It only fueled her annoyance.

"What are you sighing about? What right do you have to sigh? I haven't even sighed yet, why are you?"

Carrying a bellyful of resentment, Princess Xunyang approached Ye Liangchen, her delicate brows furrowed and eyes filled with indignation. Ye Liangchen paused, looking up, and was almost entranced. Though the girl looked angry, her bright eyes, white teeth, and the way the spring breeze played with her features were intoxicating.

"My apologies, Miss. Perhaps my sorrow disturbed your peace."

When Ye Liangchen looked up, Princess Xunyang also froze for a moment. He was truly handsome—a high forehead, a strong jaw, heroic and dashing, yet with a hint of melancholy. One glance was like an arrow piercing the maiden’s heart.

Some people’s values follow their aesthetics. Upon seeing his face, her tone softened. She sat down, her brows still slightly knitted, but her voice now carried a hint of concern. "Has the young master encountered some hardship? If you do not mind, I can provide you with some silver."

Hearing this, Ye Liangchen felt much better. He looked into her eyes, marveling at their natural charm. He had not expected to meet such a stunning beauty.

"Young Master?"

"Miss, you overthink. It is not a lack of funds... it is just... *sigh*..." He sighed again. "Please, sit. Let me tell you."

He invited her to sit and began to recount his story regarding the mysterious Xia Daosheng. "My sorrow is not due to hardship, but to the tragedy of being a peerless talent born at the same time as another. I was once praised by all, but since he appeared, I have lived in his shadow. Do not laugh, Miss, and do not think me narrow-minded; I am merely expressing the bitterness in my heart."

After hearing his tale, the Princess was almost moved to tears. A kindred spirit! This was truly a kindred spirit! If anyone in the world understood her current feelings, it was he. And while he only suffered from being overshadowed in talent, she was being mocked, slapped, and insulted. To maintain her dignity, she had to swallow every ounce of it.

Now, having found a kindred spirit, she could finally pour out her grievances. Outside, the moon was bright and the stars sparse, while inside, two lovesick, resentful souls poured out their hearts to one another.

"Damn him! Damn him! How could he treat a woman so? If he won't write for you, I will!" Ye Liangchen was filled with righteous indignation. "I hope you will not find my work lacking."

"Not at all, not at all... I would be overjoyed."

If Xia Lin were here, he would surely exclaim that this was a case of "the blind finding the blind." It was truly a strange twist of fate that they had bonded this way. Ye Liangchen wrote poems for the Princess, and she, unable to distinguish quality, praised every word as long as it rhymed. She flattered him until the once-dejected Ye Liangchen felt confident again, even harboring the illusion that he was not much worse than that Xia Lin.

This aimless chatter brought them genuine joy. Within two hours, they were strolling through the lantern market together. In the context of the Lantern Festival, walking hand-in-hand was a declaration of intimacy. Their bond was built on the foundation of their shared enemy, Xia Lin. And since there is no such thing as pure friendship between a man and a woman, it was only natural for them to evolve into lovers.

They wandered the streets, ostensibly enjoying the lanterns, but in reality, they spent the entire time plotting how to destroy Xia Lin.

Meanwhile, the very man being discussed as if he were to be skinned alive had just lulled the teary-eyed little princess to sleep. He took out three hand-copied books and handed them to Old Zhang.

"Take these. Have them published in the city."

Old Zhang picked them up and glanced at the titles: *Enlightenment of Rhythm*, *Liweng’s Rhymes*, and *Parallel Sentences for Beginners*. "Whoa, are you serious? Starting your own school of thought?"

"Stop talking nonsense. Listen, my poetry and prose have been a devastating blow to the literary world. If the culture of poetry dies because of me, I won't have peace even in death. Copy these, put your name on them, and get it done. Understand?"

"No." Old Zhang tucked the books into his robes. "The name must be yours. I, Zhang Shuo, can take things from others without a second thought, but I won't take your work. Yours is yours; what kind of person would I be if I claimed it?"

"Cut the crap. I’m telling you to take them. I have too much of this. You go out there and build your own school; I’ll stay here, consolidate power, and climb the ranks to support you. You build influence and prestige for me, and protect me. Is this really the time to be talking about integrity? Wake up!"

"Sigh, you dog. You can insult my grandmother, but don't you dare insult my maternal grandmother. She was a general in the Left Jinwu Guard. If she hadn't died so young, who knows how much better our lives would be."

"Fine, just get on with it. It’s decided. Take them, copy them, and publish them." Xia Lin rubbed his nose and punched Old Zhang on the shoulder. "Start climbing!"