Chapter Sixty-Four: The Banquet

The third update arrives... Should I continue with three updates tomorrow? Well, that will depend on the support and enthusiasm of all you readers...

Mid-Autumn, the night of the full moon.

As dusk had barely fallen, the round, disc-like moon leapt eagerly above the willow branches, impatient to bathe the world in its gentle light.

The Tian Tong Dynasty placed great importance on festivals, and the Mid-Autumn Festival was one of the grandest. On this day, from grand provincial cities to humble villages, all celebrated with extraordinary pomp and lively festivity.

Tonight, even Jiangzhou’s curfew was postponed from the hour of the dog to the hour of the rat, just to let the people fully enjoy the pleasures of this reunion night.

The bright moon above was the focus of countless eyes; but tonight, the true center of attention in all of Jiangzhou was the Scholar’s Tower.

To celebrate his qualification for next year’s provincial exams, Young Master Wu, son of the former prefect and now Minister of Rites, spared no expense, spending thousands to reserve the entire Scholar’s Tower for a grand banquet. He invited all notable officials of Jiangzhou, faculty and students of Minghua Academy, and famed scholars and poets from the region.

In the end, the guest list swelled to over three hundred.

The scale of this banquet was so high it could be said to require a dozen floors—yet the Scholar’s Tower had only three.

The details of the feast and seating arrangements had long been set: Minghua Academy’s students filled the first floor, lesser officials and most literati were placed on the second, while the third floor was reserved for truly distinguished guests.

The division of floors mirrored the division of class.

The Tian Tong Dynasty prided itself on ritual and propriety, with clear hierarchies that none could transgress—lest they provide ammunition for criticism.

Inside the Scholar’s Tower, lights burned brightly, laughter resounded, and dozens of attendants bustled about.

Compared to the racket of the lower floors, the third floor was relatively tranquil.

Upstairs, the luxurious décor had been rearranged; screens and painted partitions were removed to create a spacious hall. Despite the generous space, only three tables had been set.

At the central table sat a dignified figure with three flowing wisps of beard: Prefect Nie Zhiyuan, father of Nie Xiaoqian.

Seated with him, of course, was the host Wu Wencai, with seats for the deputy magistrate, the associate judge, and several others. Among them was a man past sixty, thin-faced and refined: Song Zhiyuan, the famous Jiangzhou Confucian scholar, whose commentary on the Book of Rites had been included in the imperial examination curriculum, its printed editions spreading across the land, his influence immense.

As for Nie Xiaoqian, she dined alone in a secluded corner screened off like a private room, attended by her maid.

During the meal, Song Zhiyuan suddenly turned to Wu Wencai and said, “Wencai, I hear you have a friend named Chen Jianchen, a youth of remarkable talent. Is this true?”

Wu Wencai curled his lip in reluctance. “There is such a person, but as for ‘remarkable talent,’ I wouldn’t go that far. In this year’s academic trials, he ranked only in the fourth tier.”

Song Zhiyuan stroked his beard and smiled. “Classical essays and discussions are not easily mastered. It’s no surprise if he struggled his first year at the academy... But I heard that last March, when you all went on an outing to Brush Mountain, he composed a poem on the spot called ‘Dusk’: ‘The evening air grows mellow and sweet, / I climb the lonely heights in retreat; / The sunset’s beauty is boundless, / Yet twilight draws near, all too fleet.’ That is the work of real talent. Was it truly composed in but three paces?”

Wu Wencai silently cursed his luck; he hadn’t expected Chen Jianchen’s poem to make such waves—even Song Zhiyuan had heard of it. But the story had already spread far and wide, and he couldn’t deny it. “It happened just so,” he said.

Judge Zhang, seated nearby and watching reactions closely, interjected, “Master Song, ‘Dusk’ is indeed a fine poem, profound in mood and meaning. Yet its somber tone seems beyond the reach of a seventeen-year-old.”

His implication was clear: perhaps Chen Jianchen was a fraud, passing off another’s work as his own.

Wu Wencai was secretly delighted, giving Judge Zhang a subtle nod of thanks for his support.

Judge Zhang, in turn, felt elated—he knew Wu’s father only had one cherished son, and to ingratiate himself with Young Master Wu was to secure favor with the Minister himself, a prospect full of promise.

Prefect Nie frowned slightly. “I’ve heard of this poem myself; it’s indeed quite good,” he said.

He offered no further comment, but his stance was clear—improvised poetry, with no foreknowledge of the topic, left little room for deceit. It was a rare stroke of fortune, like a blind cat catching a dead mouse.

Song Zhiyuan chuckled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “So even Prefect Nie feels this youth has promise... Since he is invited to tonight’s banquet, why not summon him here so we may see for ourselves? If he truly is worthy, we should encourage him; perhaps he will become a pillar of Jiangzhou one day.”

Prefect Nie smiled. “Excellent idea. It’s been years since our city has seen such a dazzling young man. We must invite him up.”

With Song’s proposal and Nie’s agreement, the rest naturally echoed their support.

Wu Wencai seethed inwardly: tonight was supposed to be his own moment of glory. After eating and drinking his fill, he planned to find an opportunity to propose to Nie Xiaoqian publicly—what a joyous event that would be!

But if Chen Jianchen appeared and outshone him, all could be ruined. He could not be allowed onto the third floor.

In an instant, Wu Wencai made his decision. “Uncles, please wait a moment. I’ll send someone to fetch Chen Jianchen.”

With that, he left the table and gave quiet instructions to his loyal servant, Wangcai.

Wangcai nodded in understanding and went downstairs to the first floor, where he found Chen Jianchen. “Young Master Chen, my master requests your presence.”

Chen Jianchen was taken aback but rose to follow, only to be led outside, down an alley beside the Scholar’s Tower.

The alley was dim and deserted; there was no sign of Wu Wencai.

What’s going on? Chen Jianchen grew cautious, watching Wangcai intently.

Wangcai crossed his arms and gruffly declared, “Young Master Chen, my master says he doesn’t like you. You were only invited tonight out of courtesy. Now that you’ve eaten and drunk your fill, it’s time for you to leave.”

He was being dismissed.

A dismissal thinly veiled in politeness!

Chen Jianchen was silent, strangely calm. He replied quietly, “In that case, thank your master for his hospitality.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

Wangcai was startled. He had expected an outburst and was prepared to use force if necessary—his master had assured him he would take responsibility. But Chen Jianchen’s composure made things much easier.

He watched Chen Jianchen disappear into the distance before returning to report to Wu Wencai.

“Well done,” Wu Wencai praised.

Back at the table, he turned to Prefect Nie and Song Zhiyuan. “Uncles, the servant just reported that when he went to fetch Chen Jianchen, the young man turned pale, mumbled something about urgent family business, and left in a hurry.”

Upon hearing this, Prefect Nie, Song Zhiyuan, and the others all wore odd expressions. The timing seemed almost too convenient.

Judge Zhang sneered, “If he was invited upstairs and suddenly had urgent business, I suspect he was simply too afraid to face us.”

Song Zhiyuan’s face darkened. “Such discourtesy! When elders call, one should never refuse. Even if there’s a family emergency, he ought to have explained himself in person, not fled in a panic.”

The others chimed in their agreement.

Prefect Nie, too, was displeased—clearly, he thought, Chen Jianchen must be hiding something. Could he truly be a fraud? In any case, his actions tonight were a great disappointment to those who had hoped for him.

Meanwhile, the young man they now deemed a fraud was already on his way home, eager to reunite with his mother, A’bao, to admire the moon and enjoy a happy festival together.

“Chen Jianchen, wait for me!”

A clear, lively voice rang out.

Chen Jianchen spun around to see Nie Xiaoqian, dressed as a young man, stepping into the moonlight. Her features were as beautiful as a painting, as if she had just walked out of the moon itself, her smile both playful and sweet.

“Nie Xiaoqian, what are you doing here?”