Chapter 5: Overdid the Act

Hearing Wu Xuan's question, Old Master Tang inwardly cursed his luck. He knew perfectly well what his grandson was capable of — or rather, wasn't. He was still racking his brain for a way to salvage the situation when Tang Yan's voice reached his ears.

"Miss Wu Xuan is absolutely right. Today, I must tell Miss Lin everything that is in my heart. No matter what she thinks of me in the end, I will not argue. Someone, bring ink and brush!"

Old Master Tang nearly choked with exasperation. Does this brat think he's some reincarnated literary star? He's never touched a book in his life, and now he wants to compose a decent poem? But then Old Master Tang quickly realized he was wrong — this little rascal had indeed done plenty of reading. The evidence was that stack of erotic picture books under his bed.

Could it be that this boy was planning to produce some vulgar, indecent verse? The thought sent Old Master Tang's blood pressure climbing several notches higher.

Soon, a servant brought the four treasures of the study, and a wide sheet of pristine white paper was spread across the table.

"Young Master Tang, shall we begin?" Qin Changdao let out a cold laugh, a flash of contempt crossing his eyes.

Qin Changdao's martial cultivation within the City Lord's Manor was nothing exceptional — only the second grade of the Profound Realm. However, his accomplishments in the literary arts far surpassed his martial path. Many of the official documents and correspondence within the City Lord's Manor had passed through his hands for drafting or review.

As a Retainer of the City Lord's Manor, he had heard plenty about the goings-on in Yun City, large and small — especially regarding this eldest young master of the Tang Clan, whose reputation for being good-for-nothing was well established. A man like Qin Changdao, who carried a certain innate pride, had little fondness for scoundrels of his sort.

He was looking forward to watching Tang Yan produce a mess of scrawled characters and a wretched poem, so he could enjoy the Tang Clan's humiliation.

"Miss Lin," Tang Yan said, paying no attention to Qin Changdao, "I told you — I spent three years on this poem, revising it five thousand two hundred and nine times. Today makes five thousand two hundred and ten. And that number represents exactly what I feel."

The crowd turned the number over in their minds, and understanding dawned on every face. Five thousand two hundred and ten — or rather, five-two-one-zero. In their number slang, it sounded close to “I love you.”

The Tang household servants couldn't help but give their young master a silent thumbs-up. When it came to shamelessness, if their young master claimed second place, who would dare claim first?

Lin Dongxue, who had been quite displeased with Tang Yan before, felt the fire of anger and disdain in her eyes dim just a little.

These words of Tang Yan's — hopelessly corny by the standards of his previous life — were fresh and heart-fluttering in this world.

She had even quietly made up her mind: as long as whatever this fellow wrote was at least passable, she would let the whole matter go.

"Young Master Tang, please." From start to finish, Wu Xuan had not detected a single trace of stage fright in Tang Yan. His confidence and composure had piqued her curiosity about the poem he was about to write.

Tang Yan wasted no more words. He rolled up his sleeve, dipped the brush in ink, and set it to the flawless white paper.

Everyone craned their necks to see whether the characters Tang Yan produced would look like a dog's scrawl or a cat's scratch.

"Joy at the Meeting."

Three characters serving as the title landed at the top center of the white paper.

There was no deliberate pause, no hint of unfamiliarity — the three characters flowed out in one unbroken stroke, the brushwork bold and vigorous yet graceful and elegant.

Tang Yan's bearing was naturally upright, his features strikingly handsome. Dressed in a long robe trimmed with gold, brush in hand, eyes focused, and with those three masterful characters on the page, he cut the image of a refined and distinguished young gentleman.

Cultured, graceful, genuinely dashing…

Old Master Tang's eyes went wider than a bull's, and Uncle Mo's jaw nearly dropped to his chest. These two old men had watched Tang Yan grow up from birth — since when had the boy learned to write like this?

Even Qin Changdao's eyes nearly fell out of his head. Calligraphy this fine — could a scoundrel like this really have produced it?

Lin Dongxue and Wu Xuan exchanged a glance, each seeing the astonishment mirrored in the other's eyes.

"Magnificent brushwork!" Wu Xuan praised without reservation. Even Qin Changdao, upon hearing it, gave a rather approving nod.

"Wordless, I climb alone to the western tower. The moon is a crescent hook. Loneliness locks the parasol tree courtyard in the quiet of autumn…"

The first stanza of the ci-poem poured forth like flowing clouds and running water, without a single pause, without a moment's hesitation — as though it truly had been practiced ten thousand times, written with such effortless fluency.

A woman's tender heart — when those desolate lines appeared, Lin Dongxue's heart gave a sudden, sharp tremor.

Qin Changdao furrowed his brow, his eyes filled with wonder, admiration, and disbelief…

As for Old Master Tang and Uncle Mo, they had long since lost track of where they were. Were they dreaming? Old Master Tang gave Uncle Mo a fierce pinch, and when he saw Uncle Mo grimace and bare his teeth, he confirmed that this was no dream.

Uncle Mo wore a long-suffering expression, feeling utterly aggrieved. He was an old man nearly ready for the grave — why was he being pinched like a child? And with such force, at that?

"Cut it, still tangled — it is the sorrow of parting. A different kind of feeling lingers in the heart."

When Tang Yan wrote out the second stanza, Lin Dongxue's heart pounded like a startled fawn.

The gazes the two women turned on Tang Yan had shifted from their initial disgust and curiosity to something now touched with emotion and relief.

The poem came to an end, and the entire hall fell silent.

Even Qin Changdao, who had come prepared to find fault, was now quiet, reading the poem over and over in his mind. He was fifty-seven years old, and yet reading these lines still stirred a heartbreaking sorrow within him.

Tang Yan said nothing to disturb the silence.

After a long while, Wu Xuan let out a slow sigh. "I truly did not expect Young Master Tang to be such a devoted soul. I confess I was skeptical at first, suspecting that what you said earlier was all nonsense. But having read this poem today, I feel that Young Master Tang has indeed put his heart into this. Junior Sister Dongxue, I think this matter should be considered settled — what do you say?"

Lin Dongxue had already made up her mind that as long as Tang Yan produced something even barely passable, she would forgive him. But what Tang Yan had written this time was not merely passable — it had struck all of them like a thunderbolt.

Every word and line was refined and concise, yet brimming with boundless emotion. "Cut it, still tangled — it is the sorrow of parting. A different kind of feeling lingers in the heart." When she read those lines, the feelings of a young girl's heart were thrown into complete disarray.

The deep longing and secret affection woven through the poem were expressed to perfection. Reading it, one found it graceful and restrained — neither flamboyant nor showy — yet utterly intoxicating, impossible to pull away from.

After all, she was the City Lord's daughter. In a brief instant, Lin Dongxue composed herself. The flush at the corners of her eyes vanished in a heartbeat. She gave Tang Yan a long, searching look and said in a clear voice: "I'll take your word for it this once. My City Lord's Manor will pursue this matter no further. But if there is a next time — whatever the reason — my City Lord's Manor will not be so lenient. Let's go!"

With that, Lin Dongxue turned and walked away. Just as she was about to leave the main hall, she suddenly called out: "Retainer Qin, this matter cannot end without a trace — bring that piece of evidence from the table."

She said no more, and without looking back, strode swiftly out.

Qin Changdao had already grown deeply fond of Tang Yan's poem and was reluctant to part with it. Hearing Lin Dongxue's instruction, he said nothing, simply rolled up the paper and followed after her.

"Young Master Tang has truly opened my eyes today. Though your reputation in Yun City leaves something to be desired, in my view, Young Master Tang possesses considerable talent in the art of poetry. If you were to devote yourself to literary pursuits, you would surely accomplish great things in time. The road ahead is long — may we meet again when fate allows. Farewell." Wu Xuan left those parting words and glided gracefully out.

The remaining members of the Tang household came back to their senses. Old Master Tang and Uncle Mo fixed their eyes on Tang Yan with the kind of look one might reserve for a rare and precious treasure.

Feeling the weight of the two old men's questioning gazes, Tang Yan inwardly groaned. He had overdone the act!

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Edited by Fat Goose