Chapter Forty: A Father's Kindness and a Son's Filial Piety

Ultimately, Jiang Han did not become the sworn brother of Zhongli You. Jiang Zhensheng and Li Qiushui intervened, and their persistent dissuasion finally caused the two to abandon the idea.

After two jars of wine, Zhongli You was already slumped over the table, and the Recluse of Purple Bamboo was also dead drunk. As for Li Qiushui, he had fallen right under the table. Jiang Han was nearly intoxicated as well. Jiang Zhensheng, having only consumed one bowl, was not too far gone and helped his son leave the Watching Tide Pavilion.

Once inside the carriage, Jiang Zhensheng stared out the window in silent contemplation. He had never paid much attention to this son, and thus, he had been unaware that the boy had been hiding his true talents for so long. Jiang Han had kept his depth so well-concealed that even his own father had not perceived a shred of it. Looking back at the events of the day, how could this be the behavior of someone dull and incompetent? It was clearly the mark of a brilliant mind—even the Four Great Scholars would be nothing more than ink-grinders for his son.

His heart was filled with surprise and confusion, but even more so with guilt. He had failed as a father.

Just then, Jiang Han stirred from his drunken haze and muttered, "Father, since I am now sworn brothers with Brother Zhongli, let us keep our own titles from now on. I shall call you Father, and you shall call me Uncle-Master! ...Why are you just standing there? Aren't you going to call me Uncle-Master? Once you do, there will be a red envelope for you."

"..."

The lingering guilt in Jiang Zhensheng’s heart vanished instantly, replaced by such fury that his lips trembled. An unfilial son—he was truly an unfilial son! Jiang Han drifted into a heavy, dream-filled sleep.

The next morning, Jiang Han woke up. He felt dazed for a moment as he recalled the events of the night before. He had wanted to swear an oath of brotherhood with Zhongli You—had they succeeded? He thought he remembered his father intervening. Thank goodness! It would have been a disaster if he had blurted out, "Not born on the same day, but hoping to die on the same day."

He soon realized he was not in the villa. Rising to look around, he saw he was in his old room in the main residence. It felt both familiar and strange.

He made his way out, relying on his memory. The Jiang manor was quite large, a three-courtyard complex. Although his father, Jiang Zhensheng, was the head of the Anxiang Academy, his official salary was not high. This grand residence had been purchased with the dowry brought by his eldest mother, Xu Wanrong, who was the daughter of a local merchant. The year after marrying her, his father had also taken her younger sister, Xu Qingqing, as his wife.

With these thoughts passing through his mind, he headed toward the front courtyard. He found Jiang Zhensheng drinking tea there. Their eyes met.

"Father," Jiang Han called out. He had expected the word to be difficult to utter, given the lack of paternal bond between them, yet it came out with surprising ease.

"Don't call me Father! From now on, you are the father!" Jiang Zhensheng’s face darkened as he recalled the previous night.

*Oh dear,* Jiang Han thought. *That’s turning the natural order upside down, isn't it?* He remembered pushing his father to call him Uncle-Master. He had indeed gone too far; it was no wonder his father was resentful. How could he soothe his father's spirit?

With this in mind, Jiang Han said with feigned sincerity, "Father, I hope you don't confuse the hierarchy. You know that since I am brothers with Zhongli You, by seniority, you should call me Uncle-Master when we meet. But instead, I treated you as my nephew, and you treated me as your father."

Jiang Zhensheng had spent the night reflecting on his own guilt, but upon hearing this, his eyes widened in rage. He reached for a feather duster, intending to instill some filial piety through corporal punishment. Jiang Han felt his scalp tingle and took to his heels. Jiang Qingyan, having woken up early, witnessed this display of "fatherly love and filial devotion" and saw nothing unusual; such heartwarming scenes were common enough in the past.

...

Spring Breeze Pavilion stood along the post road of Yunyang County. Two horses were tethered outside, and inside sat the Great Scholar Gu Qingqiu and his disciple, Yuan Bin.

"Having come to Yunyang County this time, you should understand that there is always someone better than oneself," Gu Qingqiu said slowly. "Though you have suffered a setback, I hope you do not lose confidence."

"Yes, Teacher," Yuan Bin replied.

Gu Qingqiu continued, "The Dragon Boat Festival literary gathering this year will be even livelier than usual. There is still plenty of time; go back and prepare well."

"I wonder what the theme will be this year. In previous years, it has always been poetry..." Yuan Bin mused. "Speaking of which, Jiang Han's talent is truly shocking. If he were to participate in this year's gathering, I fear..."

Gu Qingqiu laughed. "Do you think I should have taken Jiang Han as a disciple, so you could have such a brilliant junior brother?"

Yuan Bin hesitated. "This..."

Gu Qingqiu smiled. "Jiang Han has indeed written a few good poems, and Zhongli You values him highly because of it. But I find it amusing—Zhongli laughs in triumph whenever he sees a new poem by Jiang Han, yet he fails to understand that the art of poetry relies on inspiration. If inspiration strikes, the poem is good; if it does not, one can rack their brains for an eternity and produce nothing."

"Jiang Han has talent, yes. He can write the *Longing* poems, the *Swordsman*, and the *Drinking in the Mountains*... but that does not mean every poem he writes will reach such heights or become world-renowned. How many poems in history have truly achieved such fame? Many scholars spend their entire lives without producing more than a handful of good verses. Those that are recorded in history and live on through the ages are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns."

Yuan Bin’s eyes brightened as if he had been enlightened. "Teacher is right."

Gu Qingqiu shook his head and chuckled. "Zhongli You must be mocking me for refusing to take him as a disciple, but I laugh at him for overvaluing Jiang Han, treating him like a precious treasure without understanding that poetry is often a matter of serendipity."

"Yuan Bin, though you lost this time, do not be discouraged. The path of poetry depends entirely on inspiration. If, in the future, inspiration comes to you, it is not impossible for you to write a poem that will be remembered for all time."

"Yes, Teacher, I understand." Yuan Bin knew his teacher was right. Jiang Han's poems were stunning, but so what? Producing a few by chance did not mean he could continue to do so. It was impossible; even a Great Scholar could not produce masterpiece after masterpiece, let alone poems worthy of the history books.

Gu Qingqiu stood up. "Let us go. It is time to return to the Hidden Sect."

Just as they were about to depart, a rider approached from the distance. The man dismounted and bowed, saying in a clear voice, "Great Scholar Gu, I am Zhou Hu, a servant of Zhongli You. Lord Zhongli learned that you were leaving Yunyang County today and sent me to bid you farewell, along with a piece of calligraphy he wrote himself."

Gu Qingqiu asked, "Oh? What is written?"

Zhou Hu replied, "It is a new poem Lord Zhongli recently acquired, titled *Regretting the Empty Cup*. He is very fond of it and wrote it out specifically for you to enjoy."

"Oh? Let me see." Gu Qingqiu felt a flicker of curiosity. A poem sent by him? What kind of poem could it be?

Zhou Hu produced a scroll. Gu Qingqiu unfurled it, stared at the rice paper in silence, his eyes flickering with emotion.