Chapter Forty-Seven: A Contest of Poetry

After enduring four agonizing days of preliminary examinations, the surviving scholars felt an immense sense of relief. Released from the Confucian Temple in Guizhou, they were like young tigers freed from their cages—some rushed back to their inns to sleep soundly, unwilling to wake, while others gathered friends to drink recklessly and vent their frustrations in wine. Still others wandered the mountains and rivers, seeking solace in nature and forgetting worldly troubles.

Most chose revelry and drink; those from wealthier families drank in grand taverns, while the less fortunate gathered in humble wine shops or inns. Four or five hundred scholars swarmed into Guizhou’s usually quiet taverns, wine houses, teahouses, and inns, turning the city lively and bustling overnight. The proprietors, anticipating this, had prepared fine wines and delicacies in advance—even arranging for female entertainers to accompany the guests.

Here, these women were not prostitutes but companions for drinking, employed primarily to attract business or encourage consumption. The Song Dynasty practiced a “reverence for literature” policy, granting officials generous salaries and favoring scholars, as well as providing frequent holidays. Official holidays—imperial and empress birthdays, the Spring Festival, Tian Shen Festival, Kun Cheng Festival, New Year’s Day, Lantern Festival, Zhonghe Street Festival, and countless others—meant the gentry spent much of the year on leave.

Given such circumstances, luxury, enjoyment, feasting, and the company of entertainers became routine for officials and scholars. The rise of the wine industry brought forth numerous taverns and wine shops, along with singers and dancers, fulfilling demands from all levels of society. Though Song law forbade officials from consorting with entertainers, this regulation was practically obsolete. Even the emperor indulged, so who dared enforce such a law? Thus, the fashion of feasting with entertainers swept the officialdom and became a mark of pride.

Countless gentlemen, celebrities, and literary scholars lingered in the pleasure quarters, leaving behind innumerable masterpieces of poetry and song, and tales of romance that captivated listeners for years. Though Guizhou was far from the capital and central government, it was a major city in Guangnan West Circuit, boasting many taverns and wine shops, each small but complete. Come nightfall, the most bustling area was Guizhou’s “Tile Market.” As darkness descended, the city lit up with myriad lamps, their brilliance like stars, illuminating the entire city and transforming it into a sleepless metropolis.

At this hour, it was mainly officials and merchants weaving through the taverns, but with the influx of hundreds of scholars aged from their teens to twenties, a striking new scene unfolded.

Li Sanjian was dragged by Zeng Gongming to a small tavern called “Elegant Guests’ Abode,” where Zeng also summoned Daoist Zhang, Shan Kui, and his young page to join in the revelry. Though “Elegant Guests’ Abode” was modest in size, it was decorated with refined taste; a pavilion with flying eaves and painted corners offered a panoramic view of dazzling lights.

Inside, the tavern was crowded and lively. After settling in their private room, Zeng Gongming ordered two singing girls to accompany them. So this was the surprise Zeng had mentioned?

Li Sanjian was startled upon hearing about female entertainers. Though his mind was mature, his body was not yet sixteen—youthful and unseasoned. How could he withstand such “torment”? If he fell ill, it would be disastrous. Venereal diseases had existed since ancient times.

More importantly, Li Sanjian and his companions were candidates in the provincial examination. If the examiners learned they frequented the pleasure quarters and consorted with entertainers, wouldn’t that spell trouble? Even if they passed, they might be disqualified.

Li Sanjian had seen singers and dancers before in Chen Family Village, but those were Chen Tao’s private retainers. At the time, aside from some minor flirtation, Li Sanjian dared not do more.

But now, these women were genuine entertainers of the pleasure districts—or so Li Sanjian believed. Only after Zeng Gongming explained did he realize their true role, though he still thought them as “selling art, not body,” merely waiting for a better offer.

Afterward, Li Sanjian sat awkwardly and uneasily to the side, while Zeng Gongming and Daoist Zhang bantered freely with the singing girls. Li Sanjian glared fiercely at Daoist Zhang.

Zeng Gongming was understandable—well-versed in such matters—but Daoist Zhang, who had been sold into poverty, how did he learn these ways? He acted as if he were quite familiar. Li Sanjian wished he could slap that leering face.

“‘When will the bright moon appear? I raise my wine to ask the heavens. Not knowing in the celestial palaces, what year is tonight? I long to ride the wind home, yet fear the jade towers are too high, and the chill unbearable. Dancing with my shadow, how unlike life among mortals. The moon moves over red chambers, through carved windows, shining on the sleepless. Should not bear resentment; why, then, is the moon full when people part? People have sorrow and joy, partings and reunions; the moon waxes and wanes—this has been so since time immemorial. May we all be blessed, and share the moon’s beauty, even if miles apart.’”

The song lingered gracefully, its lyrics tender and moving. Li Sanjian enjoyed the melodious singing without realizing this tune, “Prelude to Water Melody,” was composed by his own teacher, Su Shi.

“Hanjin, what troubles you?” Zeng Gongming asked, noticing Li Sanjian’s gloomy expression.

Li Sanjian smiled bitterly and waved his hand. He wasn’t worried—after traveling for over a month without rest and enduring four days of exams, he was utterly exhausted. A few cups of wine made him even sleepier, and the gentle music nearly closed his eyes. All he wished was to embrace a firm pillow and sleep for days.

“My dear brothers,” Daoist Zhang leaned in with a grin, “this humble mountain man has already divined that you two will surely succeed this time. Why worry?”

“Success? Success in what? It’s not so easy. If it were, everyone would be climbing the ranks,” Li Sanjian retorted, glancing at Daoist Zhang.

“Haha,” Zeng Gongming was optimistic, raising his cup with a smile. “If Hanjin can’t pass, we have no hope. Don’t worry, brother—you’re bound to succeed. Come, let’s drink to Daoist Zhang’s auspicious words.”

“Indeed,” Daoist Zhang replied, “if you two brothers achieve fame, don’t forget to lend a hand to your humble friend.”

“You... it’s still far off,” Li Sanjian sighed, joining Zeng Gongming, Daoist Zhang, and Shan Kui in downing their drinks.

Even if he survived this provincial exam, it meant little. This was only for Guangnan West Circuit; Song had twenty-three circuits in total. Guangnan West, being remote, held its exam only in Guizhou, while other circuits spread theirs across many cities. The closer to the capital, the more exam sites and scholars—so, nationwide, there were millions of scholars.

To pass the imperial examination and achieve fame on the golden list was no easy feat. Li Sanjian was acutely aware of this.

A thousand troops crossing a single plank bridge; those who make it find a golden road, those who fail fall into the abyss.

“Hmph, ignorant child, how dare you speak of achieving fame? You don’t know your place,” came a cold snort from the doorway.

“Master Huang speaks rightly. They even dine with their servants—utterly disgraceful,” another chimed in.

“Haha, well said, brother. Ignorant children, with female companions? What do you know of romance and poetry?”

Li Sanjian, Zeng Gongming, and the others turned to see four or five men in their twenties standing at the door, mocking them.

In this world, masters indeed did not dine with servants; to do so was looked down upon. Yet Li Sanjian never saw Shan Kui as a servant, but as a brother. Thus, for them to eat and drink together seemed perfectly natural. But what he regarded as normal appeared strange to many.

“Impertinent...” Zeng Gongming, furious, was about to curse, but Li Sanjian quickly stopped him and addressed the newcomers calmly, “We are merely drinking here—what concern is it of yours? Why speak such insulting words?”

Another “Master Huang”? Was this term synonymous with troublemakers? Li Sanjian wondered silently. In truth, “Master Huang” was simply an honorific for sons of officials, not all of whom were rogues.

“We don’t care if you drink,” Master Huang replied, “but today you need to find another place.”

“Yes, yes, hurry along, ignorant children—go home, this place isn’t for you.”

These men were also candidates in the Guizhou provincial exam. After their tests, they sought a place to celebrate, but most taverns were full, so they tried to forcibly claim Li Sanjian’s private room, ignoring the staff’s objections.

“Is this reasonable?” Zeng Gongming protested. “There may be bullies who seize land and people, but who ever heard of snatching a private room?”

“Easy, Donglin,” Li Sanjian said, then addressed Master Huang and his group, “Very well, we’ll yield the room to you.”

“Donglin, Shan Kui, let’s go,” Li Sanjian said to Zeng Gongming and Shan Kui.

Shan Kui had already cracked his knuckles loudly, but without Li Sanjian’s command, he did not act.

Better to avoid trouble—especially when traveling. Li Sanjian was already exhausted and had no interest in conflict.

“‘Half your clothes and food are wasted, golden sounds are mere old poetry. Sea blossoms and wild grasses bloom through winter—why seek poems at the gates of barbarians?’”

As Li Sanjian and his friends were about to leave, Master Huang recited a poem, his head swaying. It was a seven-character hidden middle poem; the third character in each line spelled out “You are barbarians,” with veiled sarcasm about Li Sanjian’s shabby attire and supposed lack of poetic talent.

Li Sanjian, enraged, immediately replied with a poem:

“‘Willows hang silk to the ground, yellow dust stirs as I linger, sparse chrysanthemums by the fence, fallen paulownia on the steps—now, the wild guest has no home.’” With that, he pulled Zeng Gongming and Shan Kui away, laughing loudly.

Master Huang and his companions were stunned into silence. The singing girls in the private room covered their mouths, giggling.

Li Sanjian’s poem was a seven-character hidden ending poem; the last character in each line spelled “Fail again and again...”