Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 17: Poetry

"You..." Xu Wei was somewhat taken aback, recalling how clever and uncanny Wang Chuan was—there was no hiding anything from him. "There are so many people with the same name, how did you... When did you find out?"

"Should I pretend not to know, Your Highness? What do you think?" Wang Chuan smiled. "Would you rather I lied to you?"

"I'm not an official, why call me 'Your Highness'?" Xu Wei pouted slightly. "Just tell me when you found out."

"The first time I saw you, I knew," Wang Chuan replied. "The master knew as well, though I didn't see it at first. The master pointed it out to me, then I realized it. You have a discerning heart, able to distinguish right from wrong, pure and innocent—so rare. Just keep being yourself."

Xu Wei was left wide-eyed, and seeing the master also nodded in silent agreement, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Until fate brings us together again, Master. We will meet again, too," Wang Chuan said his farewell.

The foolish daughter in the palace—truly an interesting one.

"Be careful when you go out to play in the future. There are many wicked people outside. Take me, for example—maybe I’ll just steal you away..." Wang Chuan laughed.

"You..." Xu Wei was at a loss for words again.

"You have a good heart, but I’m afraid even when you sense danger, you won't be able to protect yourself," Wang Chuan said at last.

And with that, he left.

"Hey, what did you even come to Yuncheng for?" Xu Wei called after his retreating figure.

"I want to marry you. Is that all right?" Wang Chuan replied without turning around.

"Ah?" Xu Wei was startled, her face flushing red.

“A gentle and lovely lady, a gentleman’s good match. What if I said I liked you?” Wang Chuan said. “If you don’t wish it, just forget I said anything. But now they say your family is holding a marriage contest, right? Can I join too? If so, I’ll defeat them all and marry you…”

“Says who?” Xu Wei’s eyes widened, clenching her small fists in indignation.

“Girls grow up and must marry someday—you know that. Many in this world cannot marry the ones they truly love, and few are truly happy. But maybe you can—you have a choice,” Wang Chuan said with candor. “So, do you already have someone you like? Or a betrothal?”

He waited a while, but no answer came from behind.

Wang Chuan waved, and this time he really left.

Xu Wei wanted to say more, but could only watch his silhouette disappear around the corner.

...

"Does the young master truly like that princess?" Uncle Zhong couldn’t help asking.

Even after following Wang Chuan for so long, he still couldn't quite read his heart.

"What if I do? A wise man chooses his lord, and one should marry a virtuous wife. I like her," Wang Chuan said seriously.

Uncle Zhong also noticed that as he spoke, Wang Chuan looked genuinely happy.

He truly liked her.

They strolled through the streets of Fucheng.

The prosperity of Yu was famed throughout the world—the bustling markets needed no further description. Even ordinary passersby wore pearl-embroidered silk shoes, broad robes and wide sleeves, their manner elegant.

As one of the grandest cities under heaven, with a population of several hundred thousand and stretching dozens of miles in all directions, it was rightly called a place of pearls and brocade, where every household was rich and adorned in fine clothes.

The streets teemed with people, but as they walked outward, the crowds thinned.

At last, they left the city and reached the embankment, where a clear stream joined the broad, glimmering river.

A small boat drew near the shore.

Soon, a young man appeared at the bow, bowing slightly to Wang Chuan—it was their old acquaintance, Yang Hao.

As the boat moored, Yang Hao leaped ashore impatiently and bowed. "Your Highness."

"Let’s not have those formalities. I’m called Yan Huan now," Wang Chuan said.

"Understood," Yang Hao replied, catching on immediately.

"Thank you for all your efforts during this time," Wang Chuan said.

"It’s been no trouble—serving you is my honor," Yang Hao replied eagerly. "Congratulations, Young Master."

"I survived disaster, and now I know who truly cares for me," Wang Chuan said, patting his shoulder. "Brother Yang, you’re a true friend—the friendship between gentlemen is as light as water."

"I’m humbled," Yang Hao quickly replied.

Ahead, several ornate pleasure boats appeared on the river.

Yang Hao led them aboard. As dusk fell, lanterns were lit.

On deck was a graceful young man, wearing a jade crown, long black hair spilling down, a face as fair as jade, tall and slender in blue brocade, a silk belt at his waist, with a silver-white inner robe. He had elegant brows and bright eyes, distinguished and refined, a figure both handsome and ethereal.

"This is Xu Huaicheng, only son of Marquis Lingyue, our young marquis. We’re good friends," Yang Hao introduced. "This is Yan Huan, I—"

"I suppose I can count as Brother Yang's friend, too," Wang Chuan said, taking the initiative.

"A pleasure," Xu Huaicheng greeted.

Though this nobleman was born to a marquis's house, he showed no arrogance toward Wang Chuan, a stranger, or even Yang Hao, a merchant.

The room was spacious, with carved beams and painted rafters, beaded curtains and emerald drapes—luxurious in every detail.

The women withdrew, leaving the men to their conversation, ranging far and wide.

"I still have some business to settle in Fucheng," Yang Hao said. "What brings you to Yu, Brother Yan?"

Wang Chuan smiled. "Just traveling."

"I believe you," Yang Hao nodded, choosing not to press.

"Let’s not discuss serious matters tonight—let’s just enjoy ourselves." Yang Hao gestured to Xu Huaicheng. "Our young marquis is quite the romantic—famed in the pleasure quarters for ten miles around. Be at ease and have fun."

"Brother Yang flatters me. My father always scolds me for being worthless," Xu Huaicheng toasted Wang Chuan. "But any friend of Brother Yang's is no ordinary man. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." Wang Chuan had once frequented such gatherings with the noble sons of Wei—those carefree days seemed so distant now.

Xu Huaicheng drained his cup, tossed it onto the table, and called out loudly, "Yunniang, where is the beauty I asked for?"

Soon, the charming madam from before came up, smiling even before she spoke. "No need to worry, young marquis. I've already sent for Xiuniang and Qianniang—they'll be here soon."

"Why not keep them waiting?" Xu Huaicheng asked.

"They can't stand hardship—get seasick if they stay on the boat too long," Yunniang explained to Wang Chuan with a smile. "They're our newest stars—though a little older, they’re still charming and alluring. When they arrive, have them toast you to make amends."

Clearly, Yang Hao was a familiar patron here.

And the madam knew how to conduct herself—these were no ordinary establishments.

They drank and chatted, laughter and wit flowing freely.

Outside, the moonlight grew brighter, the decorated boat gliding over the river, slicing through the moon’s reflection.

Soon, an unremarkable black-sailed skiff drew near.

The madam returned with two women in tow.

Draped in sheer gauze with scarlet bandeaus beneath, their snow-white arms and legs half-hidden, half-revealed—a sight to stir any heart. But the two women kept their heads bowed, faces hidden.

"This is Young Master Yan—come, offer him a toast as apology," Yunniang introduced.

At last, the two women raised their heads—faces like painted portraits, true great beauties.

Their figures were graceful and exquisite, dignified and radiant, yet a single smile brimmed with irresistible charm, their beautiful eyes alive with mischief.

Wang Chuan's eyes lit up.

A true connoisseur—the taste here was exceptional.

He had never actively sought out romance—if fate allowed, so be it.

Tonight, he could simply play along.

Suddenly, he felt uneasy—a sense that someone, somewhere, was watching him.

His aura was being locked onto, yet curiously, he sensed little hostility, so the motive was unclear.

Spying? Surveillance?

Why deploy someone so powerful?

Afraid of being detected, Wang Chuan did not probe back, but acted as if nothing was amiss. Even if he noticed, he would pretend not to.

Still, the sensation left him uncomfortable.

Just then, the servants brought in food and wine, platters of fruit, jugs of clear wine.

Other flower boats drifted on the river, young nobles and scions enjoying themselves, bursts of laughter echoing now and then.

"Young Marquis? Are you in the front, Young Marquis?" someone called loudly from a nearby boat.

"That’s the son of Minister Zhou," Xu Huaicheng recognized the voice, excused himself, and went to the window to answer.

The circle was small—everyone on these boats knew one another—and when seated together, the atmosphere was lively.

Someone tapped bowls and dishes with chopsticks, then called out, "How can a night cruise on the river lack the tradition of floating cups and composing verse? Why not hold a contest—let the song girls sing the poems we compose?"

The suggestion was met with cheers all around.

Wang Chuan's expression remained calm.

Yang Hao could only smile wryly. "I only wanted to pay my respects to you tonight, Yan, and enjoy the scenery of the Western River. Now it’s turned into this..."

Once you fell in with the young marquis’s crowd, a small gathering inevitably became a large one.

"This is the Western River outside Fucheng?" Wang Chuan asked.

He looked out the window, feeling the pleasant night breeze.

"Yes, ahead is Niuzhu Mountain," Yang Hao explained in a low voice. "Yu is unlike other nations—peace and prosperity have lasted so long that literature and the arts flourish, becoming the fashion of the day."

Once, the emperor summoned all his officials to the Western River, floating wine cups along the current, and ever since, the literary atmosphere has only grown.

These sons of officials often come to the river for entertainment, song girls in their arms, holding elegant gatherings.

When they encounter friends and colleagues, all restraint is forgotten.

Some officials in Yu enjoy befriending famous scholars, often hosting gatherings to drink, recite poetry, and travel together.

At such gatherings, poets match verse with music, debate, and admire paintings, calligraphy, chess, tea, wine, incense, flowers...

Open any record of the famous gatherings, and every page shines with brilliance, enough to stir the soul.

But the people before them were only imitating, or perhaps simply amusing themselves.

The poetry contest began in earnest; the young marquis repeatedly invited Wang Chuan and Yang Hao to participate, but Wang Chuan declined, claiming ignorance.

As for Yang Hao, whether he truly could not compose or merely feigned ignorance, he kept shaking his head with a rueful smile.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out outside—their boat was jolted violently, and everyone hurried to the window to see, as a massive ship forced the smaller boats to the side.

"That’s a warship," Yang Hao said at a glance.

A warship—very different from ordinary boats.

It was pitch black, solid and imposing.

Soldiers stood in strict formation, each stern and upright.

The ship moved slowly up the Western River, heading for Fucheng.

No wonder everyone scrambled to give way—otherwise, a collision would be disastrous.

The young gentlemen on the boats kept quiet, cowed by the warship's presence—those aboard were no ordinary men.

"Who is aboard that ship?" someone asked curiously.

The pleasure boats had made way to either side.

Yet they still did not know for whom they yielded.

"I heard that the talented youths of Fucheng have assembled here, so I came to see what manner of men you are," a loud, sonorous voice called from the warship, though no figure appeared. "So much for your reputations—what a disappointment! When did the sons of Yu become addicted to shallow poetry and song, and so unskilled at that, shaming us before the world!"

A hush fell over the crowd.

It was as if a slap had landed across their faces, burning hot.

Before anyone could reply, the voice continued, "Last year the Western Qiang invaded our borders—none of you raised sword or steed to avenge our shame, but you compete in poetry and boast of it. Has peace in Yu lasted so long that you have forgotten the foundation of a hundred years, the toil of generations? Once, the Lord of Yu braved arrows and spears, and many shed blood to build this land. No matter how beautiful your verse, it cannot stop the blades of the Western Qiang, nor the covetous eyes of states to the east..."

With this rebuke, the warship moved on.

Everyone was left stunned, never having encountered such a thing before. Their minds seemed unable to react.

At home, elders never lectured them much—when they went out, they went to enjoy themselves, never thinking of the nation’s woes.

"That must have been Marquis Huai Ting, appointed Grand General of the Northern Expedition," Yang Hao whispered. "He’s just as the rumors say—unyielding and forthright."

Yang Hao knew the court of Yu better than most.

He noticed Wang Chuan nodding in acknowledgment, busying himself with pen and paper.

"What are you doing, Brother Yan?" Yang Hao asked.

"I’ll take my leave," Wang Chuan said, handing over the poem he had written.

The woman was Qianniang, and she sang the poem for him.

Master and servant disembarked onto a small boat and headed for the shore.

That tall, upright figure, unmatched in bearing, stood out.

A clear, poignant sigh echoed over the river, tinged with loneliness.

As Wang Chuan’s figure receded, the sound lingered over the water.

Night on the Western River at Niuzhu, not a cloud in the sky.
Boarding my boat, gazing at the autumn moon, I think in vain of General Xie.
I too can sing lofty verse, but those men are gone, beyond hearing.
Tomorrow I’ll raise sail, as maple leaves fall in profusion.

...