Volume One, Chapter Three: I'm Afraid Brother Cui Won't Have the Chance

Just as Fang Yang was intensively paving the way for his first fortune, news of him pawning his family’s ancestral property rapidly spread throughout the streets and alleys.

At the Song residence, Song Yiran stood there, lively and resolute. Her father, Song Li, sat upright, his brow slightly furrowed. “You’re breaking off the engagement with the Duke Cheng’s family?”

“Yes, Father. That Fang Yang is uneducated and a prodigal son. His disgrace has implicated me as well. Now that he’s been expelled from the Imperial Academy, it shows how utterly unworthy he is. I would rather die than marry such a man!” Song Yiran’s determination was unwavering.

Song Li’s frown deepened.

Years ago, the late Duke Cheng had kindly recommended him, which led to this betrothal. Yet, he never expected his own daughter to take such initiative in canceling the engagement. If this spread, it would damage his reputation. But since she had already acted, there was no turning back.

Fortunately, the Duke Cheng’s family was already in decline. Had this happened decades ago, Song Li feared he might have had to beg for his family’s survival.

Before Song Li could speak, Song Yiran pressed on. “Father, I know the late Duke Cheng was indebted to you, but he passed away many years ago. That debt has long since faded.”

“Moreover, Fang Yang is no suitable match. His father just accepted the grueling border patrol duty, yet immediately pawned a hundred acres of the Duke’s prime land. Such a prodigal—if I were to marry him, who knows if he might sell me off as well.” At these words, Song Yiran grew even more pitiful.

Seeing this, Song Li could only sigh helplessly. He was aware of Fang Yang pawning the estate. The clerk who helped Fang Yang draft the pledge had reported it to the authorities, and the news of the Duke’s son pawning ancestral land spread instantly among the capital’s elite.

Everyone was waiting for a fall from grace.

After all, the father had just humbled himself to secure a show of loyalty to the Emperor, only for his dissolute son to tear the family apart.

After a pause, Song Li said, “Enough. We’ve surely offended the Duke Cheng’s family.”

“Father, don’t worry. A declining Duke Cheng’s household is nothing to fear. Cui Lang has topped the imperial exams and will surely be highly favored. His prospects far surpass those of a fallen noble’s prodigal son.” At the mention of Cui Lang, Song Yiran’s eyes shone brightly, a stark contrast to her disdain for Fang Yang.

Song Li shook his head faintly. “Right now, you only see Cui Hao. But you must know, the Duke Cheng’s recent acceptance of the border patrol post means the Emperor will likely reinstate him. Perhaps this family will rise again.”

“And so what? As long as Fang Yang is there, decline is inevitable. Besides, I hear a great figure will appear at the poetry gathering three days from now. That will be Cui Lang’s moment to shine. His start will surely be higher than any ordinary man’s.” Song Yiran’s face was full of conviction.

Unconcerned, Song Li sighed and said no more, dismissing her.

......

For three consecutive days, Fang Yang did not step outside the Duke’s mansion.

Each day, he worked late into the night.

The distillation of high-proof liquor was far more complex than he had imagined.

At last, on the afternoon of the third day, Fang Yang distilled his first jar of strong liquor.

He took a single sip.

The familiar sensation surged down his throat, filling him with a warm current.

At that moment, Fang Yang knew he had succeeded.

He immediately ordered his servants to begin distilling according to his method.

---

The next day at noon.

Fang Yang had dressed meticulously.

He wore a robe embroidered with broad patterns, a gold-threaded crown, and a jade pendant at his waist—exuding an undeniable air of nobility.

The folding fan in his hand added a touch of nonchalance.

“Lian’er, how is the wine you prepared last night?” Fang Yang asked slowly.

“Master, it’s ready, but isn’t there usually wine provided at poetry gatherings? Why bring our own...” Lian’er hesitated, clearly puzzled.

She couldn’t understand the master’s intention.

They were attending someone else’s poetry gathering, yet he insisted on bringing his own wine.

“I told you, today is the perfect opportunity for our Fang family’s ‘Celestial Drunkenness’ to become renowned throughout the capital.”

*Snap!*

Fang Yang snapped his fan shut and shouted, “Let’s go!”

Lian’er hurried to call two servants to load the wine jars onto the carriage.

Half an hour later.

Outside the capital, at the Hundred Flowers Garden.

The garden was built around a small hill.

A mountain spring flowed from the hill, creating a modest river within the garden.

The river surface was covered with blooming lotuses.

The garden by the river was already crowded with people.

Fang Yang carried a folding fan in one hand and a wine jar in the other.

Lian’er followed behind, holding another jar.

Wherever they passed, the young nobles cast curious glances.

No surprise—the strong scent of wine clung to Fang Yang’s clothes, many spots visibly damp.

The aroma came from these wet patches.

Just as Fang Yang and Lian’er neared the heart of the gathering, a sudden voice called out.

“Fang Yang!”

Fang Yang’s brow furrowed.

No need to look—it was Song Yiran.

She stepped before him, accompanied by a strikingly handsome youth whose appearance rivaled Fang Yang’s: none other than the current top scholar, Cui Hao.

“What do you want?” Fang Yang asked, displeased.

“You’ve done enough, Fang Yang. Didn’t I already tell you at your Lin estate that I won’t be attending this poetry gathering with you? Our engagement is broken; we have no relation.” Song Yiran frowned.

“I didn’t come here looking for you, Miss Song. Better not be presumptuous. Frankly, your looks are no better than any common beauty in my eyes. So please, don’t think too highly of yourself in the future,” Fang Yang said disdainfully.

“You!” Song Yiran scowled.

Then, coldly, “Hmph, you’re always finding an excuse to save face. If you’re not here for me, then what? Do you really think you can write poetry with that little knowledge you have?”

“Writing poetry is nothing difficult. I’m here to make a name for myself. Everyone says I’m a prodigal, but who knows the depths of my heart? I’m done hiding. So, Miss Song, does that satisfy you? Now, step aside and don’t block my way.” Fang Yang said impatiently.

“Hmph! You talk as if you’re a poet. Everyone knows you’re just a big rock from afar, but up close, you’re a common stone everyone gossips about!” Song Yiran retorted.

“Well then, I won’t trouble you further,” Fang Yang replied coldly.

---

Cui Hao, who had remained silent, chuckled and said, “Brother Fang, hiding your talents until now truly shows a heart with deep valleys and an abdomen full of embroidered books. We just agreed on the theme for this poetry gathering—lotus. Will you join?”

“Of course, but without wine, forget it. Poetry without wine is not worth discussing,” Fang Yang smiled slightly, his face full of unrestrained flair.

Song Yiran frowned, sensing something different about this prodigal today.

Cui Hao found it amusing but maintained his elegant demeanor and said with a slight smile, “Naturally, we have the finest plum blossom brew, guaranteed to be irresistible for Brother Fang.”

“Haha, yes, surely something Brother Fang will find irresistible!” Xie Ping laughed heartily, emphasizing the last phrase.

“Lian’er, since Top Scholar Cui has said so, let’s go see,” Fang Yang said, opening his fan with a flourish.

With one hand holding the wine jar and the other waving the fan, he strode toward the center.

Nearby, several Imperial Academy students were deep in discussion.

Suddenly, one clapped his hands. “I’ve got it!”

“Clear water reflects the fragrance of lotus,
Gentle breeze stirs the leaves to dance.
Unstained by the muddy soil beneath,
Noble and pure, its fragrance flows on.”

After reciting the poem, he snapped his fan with pride.

Cheers erupted from the surrounding students.

The elders seated in the nearby pavilion remained composed.

The poem was decent, nothing extraordinary, but given the short time, it was commendable.

One after another, others recited their verses.

Fang Yang shook his head in disbelief.

Beside him, Song Yiran frowned. “Fang Yang, why shake your head? You’re a prodigal; if you don’t understand, just go away and stop embarrassing yourself.”

“Miss Song, you’re quick to call me a prodigal, but is that proper for a young lady? Seems your father’s teaching leaves much to be desired,” Fang Yang sneered.

“You!” Song Yiran was furious.

That damned Fang Yang, who used to obey her every word, now dared to insult her repeatedly—how infuriating!

She snapped back harshly, “You rude brute!”

Then she turned away.

Cui Hao said nothing but invited, “Brother Fang, since you seem unimpressed by everyone’s poems, why don’t you recite one yourself?”

Fang Yang laughed lightly and looked at Cui Hao with interest. “Why don’t you go first? Once my poem is out, you might not get a chance.”

“Is that so? Since you say that, I’ll go ahead,” Cui Hao replied.

He paced thoughtfully a few steps.

In truth, he had prepared his poem long ago, and the lotus theme was no coincidence—it was carefully guided.

This was his well-prepared stepping stone for entering officialdom.

After pacing back and forth, he suddenly struck his palms together, as if struck by a flash of inspiration, and loudly declared, “Got it!”