To sing a different tune

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Xuan Yubei’s stirring poem had caused quite a commotion. Even if the sons of noble families did not hold him in high regard, they nonetheless admired his verse repeatedly. Many young women, unable to contain their excitement, cast longing glances at him, hoping to engage in a deep conversation through the night and perhaps win his favor. After all, men of such talent and official rank, with a decent appearance to boot, were rare. Though he currently held a seventh-rank position, his future was uncertain, but at least he was far superior to the idle scions of wealthy households.

Zhang Ling regarded Ren Pingsheng with a curious look and teased, “I’m surprised you didn’t criticize him this time.”

Ren Pingsheng glanced back and retorted, “It’s not that I dislike someone, but his poetry is genuinely good. Why should I fault it? Though he is clearly a young man at the height of his pride, composing such melancholy verses strikes me as a bit of youthful affectation.”

Zhang Ling laughed. “Is it really the quality of the poem, or are you just granting him some leniency because he’s the second-ranked scholar of the current imperial examination?”

Ren Pingsheng bristled. “You talk as if you’re so formidable. Why don’t you write a poem yourself?”

Zhang Ling shook his head. “That won’t do. If I write one, no one else would need to bother.”

Zhang Ling had come seeking a single answer—a purpose worth sacrificing his life for. Thus, neither the ancient masterpiece “Heavenly Creations” nor countless timeless poems disturbed his resolve. To him, he was merely a passerby, leaving no legacy for the world to remember.

Ren Pingsheng felt somewhat perplexed. Zhang Ling took his hand and silently began to write and sketch upon it. Ren Pingsheng’s expression shifted to one of astonishment and disbelief. Zhang Ling simply gestured for quiet.

The two fell silent. Ren Pingsheng alone knew of this peerless creation, which only deepened his puzzlement. If Zhang Ling possessed such poetry, why refuse to share it with the world?

After finishing their conversation, Lu Zhaoxian and Xuan Yubei moved together to the bow of the boat.

Xuan Yubei cupped his hands respectfully. “Thank you, Mr. Lu, for your guidance.”

Lu Zhaoxian nodded with a smile. “Which young lady do you fancy? You may tell me now.”

Xuan Yubei smiled and shook his head. “A man’s ambitions should lie far ahead; matters of love can wait for another day. I must take my leave first.”

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They exchanged bows, and Xuan Yubei climbed down the rope ladder. Many young women watching dimmed in disappointment. As his boat passed their pleasure vessels, they called out to him, hoping to detain him. But a gentleman acts with resolve. Despite the affection of many, he remained unmoved.

As Xuan Yubei’s boat glided between the grand pleasure boats, he noticed a simpler vessel approaching. He cupped his hands in salute; the other party returned the gesture.

Xuan Yubei smiled, “Good fortune to you, brother.”

The other replied with a nod, “Thank you for your kind wishes.”

This mutual respect between gentlemen was largely due to the prime minister’s vigorous reforms, preventing the stark polarization between scholar and pauper.

When this modest boat passed through the narrow channel, all eyes turned to it. A young man in plain coarse linen climbed the rope ladder. Whispers began among the nobles, mocking him for trying to emulate Xuan Yubei without even looking at his own humble attire.

The youth in simple cloth met their curious gazes calmly. He bowed to Lu Zhaoxian, who did not look down on him but regarded him with the same respect as Xuan Yubei.

The youth addressed the crowd without shame: “I am Cao Minghua, a mere commoner.”

Upon hearing this, the aristocrats sneered, deeming him a toad lusting after a swan, lost in vain dreams.

Facing Lu Zhaoxian, Cao Minghua gestured for a seat and composed a poem quickly. When finished, he handed it over. Lu Zhaoxian examined it carefully, smiling but not reading the poem aloud immediately. Instead, he quietly asked, “Have you taken the imperial examinations?”

Cao Minghua nodded. Lu Zhaoxian asked no more and began to recite:

“The wind stirs the azure mists, scattering rosy clouds;
Deep waters and flames, the steed longs for the flower.
Pleased with fleeting joy, the heart aflame,
Light gauze veils the shining form.
Red blossoms stand like flames,
Fearful to sully the earth beneath.
Try, friend, to be the lotus in the pond:
Proud winds and sudden storms, do not disturb your heart.”

As Lu Zhaoxian finished, unrest stirred among the crowd. They marveled at the commoner’s talent, yet many voiced scorn, for this was no love poem but rather an admonition. Not urging ambition, but warning against passion. The first half described the sweetness of a man and woman’s encounter; the second half warned that love wounds, better to be like a willow beneath the eaves, indifferent to wind and rain. Normally, such a poem would earn applause—but today, when everyone was composing love poems to charm fair ladies, this contrarian voice naturally provoked public outrage.

On the Ye family pleasure boat, Ren Pingsheng also stared in surprise but said nothing. Zhang Ling found his reaction extraordinary, and the others nearby were mystified by the silence between the two.

Song Linjie broke the silence first: “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

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Zhang Ling smiled lightly. “This fellow is going against the grain. While everyone else writes love poems for the ladies, he advises them to see the error of their ways.”

Meanwhile, on the central painted pleasure boat,

Lu Zhaoxian wished to discuss Cao Minghua’s poem but hesitated on how to begin. After spreading out the poem, he handed the youth a jade pendant, saying, “This... is not the time to explain fully. When I return, I will ponder it further. You may present this jade to the palace gate guards; they will escort you to me. Of course, whether you come is your choice, but be warned—do not misuse this pendant, lest you bring disaster upon yourself.”

Cao Minghua accepted the jade with a respectful bow. “I will remember your instructions.”

Lu Zhaoxian’s face brightened. “Very well. Since you wrote this poem, I suppose you are not enamored with anyone. You may leave now.”

This time, Lu Zhaoxian accompanied Cao Minghua to the bow, watching him board the small boat. After Cao Minghua nodded farewell, Lu Zhaoxian leaned back and withdrew.

Back on the Ye family vessel, Ren Pingsheng looked to Zhang Ling. “Ask him to come aboard.”

Zhang Ling eyed the small boat below. As it turned back, it was separated from the Ye family boat by a larger vessel. When it entered the narrow channel, Zhang Ling employed his lightness skill, leaping onto a nearby pleasure boat. Clearly, this was not a Lu family vessel. Seeing a stranger suddenly land aboard, one of the men asked, “Who are you?”

Zhang Ling ignored them and leaned over the side, smiling at Cao Minghua. “Brother Cao, my companion wishes to meet you. Will you come aboard for a chat?”

Cao Minghua looked up and met Zhang Ling’s gaze. Bowing, he replied, “Since you invite, I shall not refuse.”