Chapter 50: The Gentleman and the Courtesan

The four of them shared a single table. Though the table was rather long, it still felt somewhat cramped for four to sit together. Now, as this young gentleman named Meng Feiyang joined them, making it five at the table, it truly became inconvenient to wield their chopsticks; with a nudge from Santong’s backside, Shopkeeper Wu was pushed right off the table’s edge.

Shopkeeper Wu dared not utter a word, shrinking his neck and sitting quietly without a sound.

It was only people like Zhang Chi and his companions who would gather so closely at a table; other noble scions and renowned scholars would never do such a thing. Even among friends, they would sit at separate tables, each attended by beautiful women serving them drinks.

Those scholars did so, of course, to display their own status. Yet, for Zhang Chi and his friends to sit together made for lively conversation; if they were seated far apart, it would hardly be so convenient to talk.

“My thanks for your invitation, good sir. May I ask your esteemed name?” Meng Feiyang inquired.

“I do not deserve to be called esteemed. I am Zhang Chi,” he replied, then introduced, “These are my two good brothers, Dao Xuan and Santong.”

Shopkeeper Wu sat on the side like a bullied child. Meng Feiyang, keen-witted as he was, saw that Zhang Chi did not introduce this man, and thus asked no further about him.

He simply offered his greeting, clasping fists to Dao Xuan and Santong in turn. Zhang Chi, seeing how forthright Meng Feiyang was—unconcerned with parading his noble status and willing to befriend commoners—couldn’t help but admire his easygoing nature. “Judging by your bearing and attire, Master Meng, you must be of noble birth, yet you are willing to befriend humble men like us. Men of your standing who are so open-minded are truly rare.”

“Holding to one’s status is a narrow view,” Meng Feiyang replied. “As the saying goes, heroes are not judged by their origins. Among noble families and great houses, fools abound; in the markets and backstreets, many true men can be found.”

These words spoke directly to Zhang Chi’s heart. “Indeed, indeed! Master Meng, you are right. Loyalty and chivalry are often found among butchers and outcasts, and heroines have long arisen from the dust of the world.”

Loyalty found among butchers—Zhang Chi spoke offhandedly, but Meng Feiyang was greatly surprised. “To think you utter such a splendid line so casually, Master Zhang. It seems your boast of composing poems for wine was no empty talk!”

Santong, puzzled, interjected, “I understand loyalty, but what do butchers have to do with it?”

Meng Feiyang, used to mingling with nobles and seeing many who pretended to knowledge they did not possess, found Santong’s straightforwardness refreshing. “Surely you’ve heard the story of Jing Ke’s attempt on the King of Qin?”

That tale was indeed widely known, and Santong nodded in acknowledgment.

“Before Jing Ke attempted to assassinate the King of Qin, he went to Yan, where he befriended a butcher and a master of the zhu instrument named Gao Jianli. A butcher is simply one who makes a living by slaughtering dogs in the marketplace,” Meng Feiyang explained. “Many such men appear in the ancient records as heroes and worthies. The man who befriended Jing Ke was one of them, though history does not record his name. Fan Kuai was also a butcher by trade, Nie Zheng once slaughtered dogs to support his aged mother, and even Emperor Guangwu of Han, Liu Xiu, before his rise, bought dogs in the marketplace.”

Zhang Chi, having spoken without much thought, was surprised at how Meng Feiyang cited one historical example after another, so many that even Zhang Chi himself hadn’t considered them before. He could not help but admire Meng Feiyang’s broad learning.

Santong listened wide-eyed, feeling his knowledge greatly increased. Meng Feiyang laughed, “Though such men are of lowly occupation, most of our great heroes have come from among them. Those shallow scions of noble families, puffed up with their own status, are blind to true worth.”

“As true as that may be, those who make waves in the world today are still the great clans—the Wangs, the Xies, the Yus, the Huans. Money gives a man courage; without it, one is bound to seem inferior. Still, I admire Brother Zhang: penniless though he may be, he has plenty of backbone and never begs for favors,” Santong said sincerely.

Having been a bandit, Santong understood the importance of money, and for that reason he prized it dearly. He had felt heartache for days after seeing Lady Wang give away thousands of warhorses with a smile.

So he admired Zhang Chi all the more, for from start to finish, others always vied to help him—whether the monk Daoyuan traveling with him and providing food and drink, or Lady Wang promoting him to official rank. Yet Zhang Chi never played the grateful lackey; instead, he carried an air of “Help me if you like, but I’ve never asked for your help.”

Zhang Chi burst out laughing, “Santong, you should know me well enough: How could I bow and scrape before the powerful? Is it not only because I cannot bring myself to curry favor?”

“Not only is your talent impressive, but your spirit commands my respect,” Meng Feiyang said. “In all the world, there is only one other man I admire; you are now the second.”

“Oh?” Zhang Chi was surprised. “May I know who the first is?”

“He was born a commoner and once served as a humble clerk—perhaps you have not heard of him. His name is Tao Yuanming.”

How could Zhang Chi not have heard of Tao Yuanming? Any time-traveler, even if ignorant of every other figure from this era, would surely know that name. “Indeed, he was a man of great talent. I have heard of him—his poetry is excellent.”

“I do not admire him for his talent, but for his integrity in refusing to bow for the Way of Five Pecks of Rice!” At the mention of Tao Yuanming, Meng Feiyang’s expression grew solemn, his face full of reverence.

How did Tao Yuanming become associated with the Way of Five Pecks of Rice? Zhang Chi was puzzled. “Was it not said that his salary was but five pecks of rice, and unwilling to bow and scrape for such a pittance, he resigned his post and retired to the countryside? Is that not why people say he would not bend for five pecks of rice?”

But Meng Feiyang laughed heartily at Zhang Chi’s explanation. “Five pecks of rice—how much could that be? Not even enough to feed a family. If being an official brought so little, half one’s household would starve; who would want such a post?”

Zhang Chi had not considered that. Meng Feiyang continued, “I fear you have heard only the popular tale. The Way of Five Pecks of Rice is a powerful sect; it flourishes today, and countless officials are among its adherents. Yet some are not swayed by its teachings—Tao Yuanming is one such man. Now, the Way of Five Pecks of Rice secretly controls many commanderies of the realm. Tao Yuanming would not bend his knee to them, and so retired to the fields. That is why I call him a man of true integrity.”

So that was how it was. Zhang Chi could not help but sigh—so much for applying knowledge learned from history books word for word. Fortunately, the histories did not dwell much on the Sixteen Kingdoms or the Two Jin, sparing him much confusion.

As these thoughts flitted through his mind, a loud voice suddenly rang out from the hall, “Look! Miss Ruoshui is coming out to perform!”

At this, everyone looked toward the front. At the staircase from the second floor to the first stood a stunning beauty, her teeth like pearls, brows arched like distant mountains, every feature exquisite as if painted by the hand of a master—so lovely she seemed a fairy who had strayed into the mortal world.

Her beauty was secondary; it was the effortless allure she radiated that could entrance all who saw her.

From the moment she appeared, the hall fell silent. Even Dao Xuan could not take his eyes off her.

Compared to the ancient men around him, Zhang Chi seemed utterly at ease. Though the woman was indeed beautiful, she did not inspire in him the infatuation that seized the others. In his former life, he had seen countless surgically enhanced beauties, television was never short of lovely women, and every corner of the internet abounded in adult content—sights these ancient men had never imagined. Compared to them, he was well accustomed to such things.

As the music began, the beauty descended the stairs, her steps as light as lotus petals, her slender waist swaying, adding to her charm. Applause thundered throughout the hall, and the crowd cheered in unison.

Meng Feiyang noted Zhang Chi’s calm demeanor—unmoved, it seemed, by the beauty before him—and could not hide his admiration. “To be unmoved by a woman’s charms—Master Zhang, you are indeed a true hero.”

Zhang Chi laughed, “I am a lover of romance, not of beauty; I envy drink, not immortals. However lovely Miss Ruoshui may be, she has nothing to do with me—better to drink a few more cups.”

“A fine sentiment!” In this era, famous scholars were known for their romantic airs, though true romanticism was not about chasing women, but a certain refined, impassioned spirit. In the presence of Zhang Chi’s effortless charm, Meng Feiyang felt a bit ashamed, while also grateful to have befriended such a refined man among commoners.

A plain-clothed man more elegant than any noble scion—who would believe it? The thought made Meng Feiyang smile and shake his head.

With cheeks like peach blossoms, Miss Ruoshui descended the stairs. Though she was long accustomed to the attention, even relished it, today felt somehow different. As she glanced around, she suddenly noticed two men completely unmoved by her presence, drinking and conversing as if she were not there.

This piqued Miss Ruoshui’s curiosity. With a faint smile, she cast a glance their way.

That look, full of charm, made Santong slap Zhang Chi’s thigh and exclaim, “Look, she’s looking at me!”

Zhang Chi and Meng Feiyang could not help but burst out laughing.

While the rest of the hall gazed intently at Miss Ruoshui, the two of them continued to drink together, drawing even more attention for their peculiarity—especially now that they laughed aloud.

“Ignorant fools! Surrounded by treasures and unable to recognize them, they care only for their wine. Ridiculous. Have you never tasted wine before?” The speaker was the well-dressed young man Zhang Chi had encountered at the door.

“There’s wine everywhere, but where else could you see such a beauty?” others chimed in.

But Zhang Chi paid no mind. However beautiful she was, at the end of the day she was still a courtesan. Not that he looked down on such women—in truth, even with chaste maidens, he felt the same: what did their beauty matter to him? Was he supposed to fall for every pretty face he saw?

Since traveling to this world, Zhang Chi had met his share of beauties—ethereal Emei, the elegant Lady Wang, the charming Wine Maiden—each more dazzling than the last.

Still, Zhang Chi said nothing, only smiled and sipped his wine. When the room finally quieted again, Miss Ruoshui spoke: “Thank you, esteemed guests, for your presence tonight. I shall now offer a dance in gratitude.”

As her words faded, the music began anew. Miss Ruoshui twisted her slender waist, her flowing sleeves swirling as she danced—a sight of breathtaking beauty.

Though Zhang Chi had seen much since his arrival in this world, never before had he witnessed such a classical dance. He found himself captivated, nodding in silent praise.

When the dance ended, all eyes in the hall remained fixed on her. Miss Ruoshui smiled and said, “I have offered my dance. Now, I hope the gentlemen present will not be modest—surely it is time for you to compose a few verses in response.”