Chapter Twenty-Six: The Grand Ceremony of the Five Nations Alliance (Part Six)

The daughter of a prominent minister from the Hundred Brooks Kingdom was so furious that she stamped her foot repeatedly, clutching her silk handkerchief with indignation. Inferior? This was utterly outrageous. When had the Hundred Brooks Kingdom ever suffered such humiliation? It was enough to make her blood boil.

Nearby, whispers drifted through the crowd: “Don’t you think Princess Suhua is too heartless? She shows not a shred of sentiment for old times, watching the Second Prince make mistake after mistake without even offering a word of advice or support.”

“Exactly. After all, he’s the prince of our Hundred Brooks Kingdom. If he disgraces himself, it’s not just him who loses face.”

Indeed, as had been said before, the Six Arts competition concerned not only the honor or shame of one, but the reputation of an entire nation.

On the dais, the Emperor of Hundred Brooks felt the beginnings of a severe headache and rubbed his dry brow in resignation. He could not hear the murmurs below, but he could well imagine how the crowd was criticizing both him and his son behind his back.

He couldn’t help but envy the four other monarchs who had chosen not to show themselves. Out of sight, out of mind—if their princes excelled, they could bask in glory and pride, and if not, at least they would be spared the humiliation.

But if every prince were as reckless as Gu Nanyuan, what face would these aging kings have when, after a hundred years, they met their ancestors in the afterlife? How was it that, though all reared sons, only he had raised such a fool? He did not even ask that his son achieve the highest rank, yet he never imagined he would come in last, the very worst—utterly disgracing his lineage.

If nothing else, he could have learned a thing or two from Fuchen and Wanqi Shu—though not brilliant, at least they were refined and dignified. In that moment, the emperor’s thoughts turned suddenly to his eldest son, Gu Qiuci, sacrificed in a living ritual. If only he were still here, perhaps...

The Empress, as Gu Nanyuan’s mother, naturally felt no less shamed. Yet, for all his failings, she could not bear to reproach him harshly. With a gentle, enchanting smile, she caressed the emperor’s arm, soothing him: “Your Majesty, Yuan’er, he...”

The emperor snorted coldly, shaking off her hand, unmoved by her plea. The voice he usually found so clear and comforting now grated on his ears, harsh and discordant.

The Empress sighed in disappointment and said no more.

“He’s already a clay Buddha crossing the river and still covets another man’s betrothed. Has he no sense of shame at all?”

Changsun Chengmin listened to Su Qingfeng’s sharp words and let out a derisive chuckle, casting a thoughtful glance at Gu Nanyuan.

Gu Nanyuan had turned around, eyes fixed intently on Bai Qingye in the rear seats, his gaze that of a starving tiger spotting a plump lamb.

Changsun Chengmin lifted his amber cup and smiled slyly. “Tsk, tsk. Truly, heroes always falter before beauty.”

“Pah! More like a toad lusting after a swan.”

Changsun Chengmin had just taken a sip of wine and nearly spat it all out at this remark.

His commotion was so great that even Fu Hua, usually indifferent to all things, turned his head to look at him.

Su Qingfeng offered an awkward smile as he caught the curious glances, slipping a handkerchief to Changsun while whispering, “What are you doing? Are you trying to draw everyone’s attention?”

Changsun Chengmin coughed deliberately, took the handkerchief, and calmly wiped the wine from his lips, straightening his robes as if oblivious to the stares.

Only when the crowd’s attention waned did he sidle up to Su Qingfeng and chuckle, “You call him a toad, but doesn’t that reflect on his father—and your own master, too? What if I were to share your words with them—”

“Don’t you dare! I—That’s not what I meant,” Su Qingfeng cut him off in a panic, unable to explain himself for a moment.

“I can keep quiet, but that depends on your behavior, little Qingfeng…” Changsun Chengmin grinned, a wicked—no, lecherous—smile.

...

As the Minister of Rites approached the drill ground, the clear clang of a bronze gong sounded, bringing the crowd to silence.

He unfolded a scroll and read aloud: “There are six branches of musical arts: Yunmen, Daxian, Dashao, Daxia, Dahuo, and Dawu. Where there is ritual, so too must there be celebration and feasting with music; where such joy exists, there must be the five notes—gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu—to accompany it. Music and dance are one; the Six Arts are both dance and music. Yet, considering the traditions of the five kingdoms, where men study music and women dance, this test shall focus on the zither, the se, the xiao, the flute, the xun, and the drum…”

Gu Nanyuan listened with increasing agitation, his stomach churning. Seizing the moment, he slipped away to the lavatory.

The Kunshan drill ground was equipped with a small “Imperial Kitchen” and tents for rest and bathing—naturally, there was also a latrine.

He had not gone far before he spotted two men, both around thirty or forty, wearing soft caps and long scholar’s robes, deep in conversation.

Their attire marked them as professional storytellers. So absorbed were they in their discussion that they failed to notice Gu Nanyuan approach.

“How should we tell the people?” one whispered. “Can we really announce that the Second Prince scored only ‘inferior’ in the ritual arts? Isn’t that a slap in the face for all of Hundred Brooks?”

“Alas, I’m embarrassed even to say it. The eldest prince toiled to bring us to our present strength, but if the Second ascends the throne, all will be ruined. It’s a disaster.”

“To speak out of turn, the Second Prince is neither virtuous nor talented. If not for the Empress’s support, who knows…” He broke off as his companion pinched him in warning. “Ow, what are you—why did you pinch me?”

The other storyteller, seeing his friend still oblivious, signaled frantically with raised brows—urging him to stop.

At that very moment, Gu Nanyuan stood behind them, his face as black as stone in a cesspit. Clearly, he had overheard their conversation. The oblivious companion, oblivious still, continued venting, unaware that his doom was near.

With the spirit of “better you than me,” the first storyteller trembled to his knees and wailed, “S-second Prince…”

His companion, still bewildered, protested, “What are you doing? I know we’re talking about the Second Prince, but why are you suddenly on your knees? In broad daylight—” His words trailed off as he felt a chill gathering behind him.

Seeing the look on his friend’s face, he forced himself to turn, and found himself face-to-face with Gu Nanyuan.

“How dare you, commoners!” Gu Nanyuan, enraged, kicked him to the ground.

Scrambling up, the man knelt, his forehead beading with sweat.

A cold glint flashed in Gu Nanyuan’s eyes; his entire presence exuded a murderous, despairing terror like an abyss.

Crouching, he seized one man by the collar and, with an icy smile and the gentlest tone, murmured, “Look at me.”

The silence was so complete that one could hear sweat drip onto Gu Nanyuan’s hand. The man dared not meet his eyes, but could not avoid it. His palms were slick with sweat, his nerves stretched to breaking—his hair stood on end, forehead cold, vision swimming with stars, as if gripped by unspeakable terror.

He raised his head slowly to look at the prince, and as he tried to bow again, Gu Nanyuan struck him with a powerful fist, sending teeth and blood spilling from his mouth.

The other man, witnessing this, felt his limbs turn to ice, his panic like a cicada in winter. Gu Nanyuan, of course, did not spare him—another punch left him dazed, his cap knocked askew.

Flexing his fingers, Gu Nanyuan gripped one man’s jaw with brutal force and slapped him. “Even lowly commoners dare gossip about me? Say I’m a disgrace? Say I’m talentless, without virtue?” He shot a glare at the other man, still simmering with rage and eager for an outlet.

“Pah. You dare challenge me? Do you know your place? Killing you would be no different than crushing an ant beneath my foot.” He spat in the man’s face.

His eyes darkened as he flung the man aside, then turned to help the other up, fixing his cap with a chilling smile. “If I hear you spreading rumors again, it won’t end with just a beating. And you’d better know how to explain these injuries.”

“Yes, yes…”

“Now get out of my sight.”

“Y-yes, sir!” The two men hobbled away, supporting each other, groaning in pain as they went.