Volume One, Chapter 14: Composing a Poem

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Fang Yang spoke with an air of arrogance.

When Lian’er arrived at the scene and heard Fang Yang’s words, she felt as if the sky had collapsed.

This young master was losing his mind again!

He actually wanted to compete with someone else!

The gathered townsfolk all craned their necks in anticipation.

They had expected a full martial contest, but unexpectedly, it turned into a literary duel.

Still, being able to witness it firsthand was something to boast about for days among neighbors and friends.

After all, those who had seen the reckless scion’s brawl with the Xie family’s young master on the street yesterday were now being handed drinks and snacks wherever they went, asked to recount the scene.

And as expected, Mu Ying did not disappoint the onlookers.

He nodded in agreement without hesitation.

Fang Yang smiled slightly: “Then please, Young Master Mu, present the topic.”

Mu Ying glanced around.

After a brief pause, he said, “I came here today to buy wine, so let’s make drinking the theme.”

“Agreed.”

Fang Yang accepted without a second thought.

Then he looked at Mu Ying: “Young Master Mu is known as an excellent student at the Imperial Academy, so you should start.”

“Heh, no need.”

Mu Ying smiled faintly, clearly confident.

He said directly, “If I go first, it would seem like I’m bullying you. Better not to reveal my poem and dampen your inspiration.”

“Very well! In that case, I won’t be polite!”

Fang Yang smiled slightly.

Then, from somewhere, he produced a folding fan.

With a sudden flick, the fan snapped open.

His expression changed abruptly, revealing a trace of melancholy.

“Speaking of drinking, last night I drank alone in the courtyard. Thinking back now, it was quite sorrowful. So I shall compose a poem about my feelings from that night.”

With a snap, the fan closed sharply.

Fang Yang raised his head slightly.

He tilted his chin and neck at a 45-degree angle, eyes half-closed, striking an impressively pretentious pose.

Coupled with his handsome and refined features, setting aside his reputation as a prodigal son, he was undeniably a strikingly handsome man.

Compared to the assembled diners, he was in a league far beyond them.

As Fang Yang gathered his emotions, the entire room fell utterly silent, awaiting his recital.

After a moment, his eyes opened.

He spoke slowly: “A pot of wine among the flowers, I drink alone with no companion. I raise my cup to invite the bright moon; with my shadow, we become three. The moon does not understand drinking; my shadow merely follows my form. For now, I shall accompany the moon and shadow; joy must be seized in spring. I sing, and the moon lingers; I dance, and my shadow scatters. Awake, we share our joys; drunk, we part ways. Forever bound in this carefree wander, we vow to meet beyond the Milky Way.”

Without pause, Fang Yang recited Li Bai’s “Drinking Alone Under the Moon.”

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The entire Tianxian Drunken Winehouse fell into a hush.

After a moment, a sudden shout rang out: “Excellent!”

It was like a heavy bomb had been thrown into a calm lake, rippling rapidly.

Cheers rose one after another.

“What a splendid ‘A pot of wine among the flowers, I drink alone with no companion!’ I have drifted alone in the capital for years, achieving nothing—how could it be otherwise!”

“Heavens, this poem strikes right at my heart. Being a man is exhausting—struggling in a foreign land, caring for wife and children, with no kin to turn to here, sigh...”

For a time, voices of melancholy filled the air.

Mu Ying stood stunned, staring at Fang Yang with disbelief.

Meanwhile, Fang Yang gently shook the fan he had opened earlier, his gaze calm and indifferent as he looked at Mu Ying.

“Mu Ying, it’s your turn.”

Mu Ying’s expression twisted with conflict.

He already had a poem in mind, but compared to Fang Yang’s, what was his?

It was like a firefly against the bright moon.

After a long while, Mu Ying exhaled slowly.

He clasped his hands and said, “I concede defeat.”

With a snap, Fang Yang closed the fan.

Then he extended a hand.

“In that case, hand it over!”

“I accept my loss,” Mu Ying replied without hesitation.

He took out a silver note from his pocket and gave it to Fang Yang.

“Not bad. You’re a man who dares to take responsibility—better than that useless Xie Ping,” Fang Yang said as he glanced at the silver note and pocketed it decisively. Then he added coolly, “Call me ‘big brother’ and you may leave.”

Mu Ying frowned, watching Fang Yang’s triumphant smile and feeling a burning hatred.

But defeat was defeat.

Reluctantly, he called out, “Big brother!”

“Good little brother, you may leave now,” Fang Yang said with a broad grin.

Mu Ying’s face darkened.

With a wave, he swiftly departed with his followers.

Nearby, Lian’er was still pondering in a daze.

After a long moment, she asked, “Young master, did you drink last night?”

Fang Yang: “...”

At the same time, upstairs in a private room—

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Chuxiong raised an eyebrow as he listened to Fang Yang’s poem.

“What a splendid ‘A pot of wine among the flowers, I drink alone with no companion!’”

Chuxiong’s mind involuntarily recalled the path he had walked for twenty years.

Though he had ascended the throne and become the supreme ruler of the realm, who truly understood the loneliness in his heart?

Once close friends from his days as a prince now kept their distance, and even a mere cough from him would spark many rumors among them.

Now the dynasty was in turmoil, lacking loyal ministers or worthy statesmen.

The more he thought, the heavier his melancholy grew.

He found himself drinking more deeply, his cheeks flushed.

“Your Majesty, you...”

Wang Bao wanted to show concern.

Chuxiong waved him off: “It’s nothing. Go fetch Fang Yang.”

“Yes.” A guard received the order and left.

Wang Bao added a peanut to the bowl before Chuxiong: “Your Majesty, have a bite.”

“Mm.”

Chuxiong readily ate it.

Soon, Fang Yang was brought in.

“You called for me?” Fang Yang frowned and glanced around, finally focusing on the only seated figure—Chuxiong.

“Yes, sit.” Chuxiong spoke slowly.

Fang Yang didn’t bother with formalities and plopped down carelessly.

Wang Bao, attending nearby, frowned but said nothing since the emperor had issued no comment.

Fang Yang stared straight at Chuxiong and asked, “Who are you?”

Chuxiong’s expression darkened.

“Did you write that couplet outside?” he asked.

“Of course I did. If not me, then who?” Fang Yang replied bluntly.

Wang Bao twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Who else in the realm would dare speak to the emperor like this but this prodigal son?

Chuxiong fell silent for a moment.

“That calligraphy style—I’ve never seen it before. Does it have a name?” he inquired again.

“Oh, just scribbled it casually. I call it ‘Slender Gold Script.’ Anything else? If not, I’m off; I’m quite busy.” Fang Yang got up to leave.

But before he could move, the one who had summoned him blocked his way.

Fang Yang groaned inwardly—he had been careless and should have brought Zhang Long along.

Since escape was impossible, he sat back down.

“Speak your mind freely. No need to hold back.”

Fang Yang said nonchalantly.