Chapter Eight: A Casual Verse-Com trezentos poemas famosos abalando nações, só quero ser um comerciante rico!(Apoiado na varanda, observo a lua brilhante.)

Jiang Han tucked several glass bottles into his robe and set out.

The Cuiyun Garden was bustling today, filled with scholars engaged in animated discussions. Although the literary gathering had officially concluded yesterday, the winner had yet to be announced.

Upon reaching the west gate of the Cuiyun Garden, Jiang Han identified himself to the guards and stepped inside. He followed the bluestone path to a spacious courtyard, where, after providing his name to a maidservant, he was led to a secluded pavilion.

"Please, sir, take a seat," the maid said before withdrawing.

Jiang Han surveyed his surroundings. The garden was truly elegant, with lush flowerbeds and serene bamboo groves. In the distance, artificial hills and streams were artfully arranged with craggy, peculiar stones. The water in the man-made pond was crystal clear, with several carp swimming languidly in the sunlight. A sudden urge stirred within him; if only he had a fishing rod, this would be the perfect spot to pass the time.

He wondered how much money he would need to afford such a property. While property prices in Yunyang County were not as astronomical as in Luoyang, a residence like this would still command five or six thousand taels of silver.

As he was lost in thought, several people were watching him from a nearby pavilion.

Zhongli You stood with his hands behind his back, observing Jiang Han with keen interest. He was surprised to find the young man even younger than he had imagined, yet possessing a composure rarely seen in one so green. Beside Zhongli You stood a middle-aged Confucian scholar in a green robe, accompanied by a young man dressed in white.

The man standing alongside Zhongli You was no ordinary person, but Gu Qingqiu, another member of the Seven Great Families. He had come to Yunyang County because his disciple, Yuan Bin, had participated in the Cuiyun Garden gathering. Gu had initially assumed his disciple’s exceptional talent would guarantee him the top prize, but after meeting Zhongli You, he realized that was not the case. At first, he suspected bias, but after reading the poem "Longing" (Chang Xiangsi), he acknowledged that Zhongli’s judgment was fair. This sparked his curiosity about the author of the poem.

"So, this is Jiang Han?" Gu Qingqiu asked.

"Indeed," Zhongli You replied. "I have investigated those three poems; they are truly original works, confirming that this young man did not plagiarize the efforts of others."

"Perhaps his father wrote them for him," Gu mused, doubting that a man who had lived a mediocre life for half his years could suddenly possess such poetic genius.

Zhongli You shook his head. He had read the poetry of Jiang Zhensheng; while competent, it lacked a spark of brilliance and was far too rigid in form to have produced a work like "Longing."

"I shall go and see if he truly possesses such talent. Care to join me?" Zhongli You asked with a smile.

"I prefer to enjoy the scenery here," Gu Qingqiu replied, turning to his disciple. "Yuan Bin, why don't you go and see what the commotion is about?"

After waiting for a while without seeing Qin Yunmian, Jiang Han was approached by an elderly man who laughed heartily: "Are you Jiang Han, the son of Scholar Jiang?"

Jiang Han hesitated, unsure of the man's identity. "And you are, sir?"

"I am Zhongli You," the man replied with a smile. "I was just drinking tea with your father not long ago."

*Ah...* Jiang Han paused, thinking, *If your name is Zhongli, I must be Venti!* But then, he reconsidered—perhaps this man’s surname was indeed Zhongli and his given name You. Given that he was in the Cuiyun Garden and socialized with his father, he was likely a man of some standing and learning.

Jiang Han quickly bowed. "Forgive me, sir. My father often speaks of you, and he holds your character in the highest regard!"

Zhongli You smiled. He knew from Jiang Han’s initial confusion that the lad did not recognize him, yet the fact that he could deliver such a polite response proved the boy was sharp-witted and far from the dullard rumors suggested.

"Young man, if you have a moment, would you care to chat?"

Jiang Han had little interest in talking to an old man, but he could hardly refuse. "Of course, sir. I would be honored to listen to your teachings."

The two moved to the pavilion and sat on stone stools. Yuan Bin remained standing, eyeing Jiang Han critically.

"Are you here at the Cuiyun Garden to wait for the results of the literary gathering?" Zhongli asked casually. "Though it seems you've taken the wrong path; the venue is to the east."

"Oh, not at all," Jiang Han replied. "I am actually here to deliver some scented balm to a young lady."

"A scented balm? Are you planning to go into business?"

"Yes, that is correct."

Zhongli stroked his beard and gave him a meaningful look. "Why choose trade over the Imperial Examinations? Wouldn't earning an official rank be far superior to business?" In the Great Yu Dynasty, the status of a scholar was naturally far higher than that of a merchant.

*Ha! If I could pass the exams, do you think I'd be here? The problem is, I don't know how!* Jiang Han felt a bit awkward. "How do I answer this?" he wondered.

"Could it be that you fear corruption in the examinations?" Zhongli continued. "Rest assured, the Emperor is benevolent and the laws are strict; such things would never happen."

Jiang Han felt the old man was prying too much, much like a relative asking about one's job or marital status during the New Year. He shook his head. "It is not that I cannot, but that I do not wish to."

"Oh?" Zhongli asked. "And why not?"

Jiang Han smiled faintly. "How can I bow and scrape before the powerful, denying myself the joy of being true to myself? I am a man of the wilds; why should I stoop for the sake of five pecks of rice?"

One is responsible for their own reputation while away from home, and Jiang Han saw no harm in a bit of boasting.

To Zhongli You, these words were like a thunderclap, and his eyes lit up. To Yuan Bin, however, they were highly offensive. *What is that supposed to mean? You don't take the exams because you won't 'bow to the powerful'? Does that mean those of us who do are just sycophants? This boy is arrogant!*

Yuan Bin spoke with a sharp, mocking tone: "So, according to Brother Jiang, you don't take the exams because of your principles. Does that mean if you did participate, you would surely pass as a Juren?"

Jiang Han smiled and remained silent.

Yuan Bin sneered internally. "I recall a poetic prompt from last year's Autumn Examination that stumped many candidates. I should like to ask for your guidance on it."

"Oh? What is the prompt?" Jiang Han asked.

"It is a five-character quatrain with the theme of 'Sword.' With your immense talent, I imagine you could compose it in the time it takes to brew a cup of tea." He was ostensibly praising Jiang Han, but in reality, he was mocking him. Poetry required painstaking effort—as the saying went, "Two lines take three years to refine, one reading brings tears to the eyes." Composing a poem in the time it took to drink a cup of tea was considered an extraordinary feat.

Jiang Han had initially worried about being called out, but when he heard the topic, he felt relieved. It was simple. A thought crossed his mind: these two men clearly possessed an air of distinction, and their status was likely significant. Why not show off a little? It wasn't just to boast; he needed to change the stereotypical image people held of him. Otherwise, even if he opened a perfume shop, no one would bother coming if they only saw him as a useless fool.

With that in mind, Jiang Han replied, "Why would it take a cup of tea? I can recite one right now."