Volume Two: The Great and the Petty Chapter Seven: Only When the Need Arises Does One Regret Having Read Too Little

Perhaps it was due to his sense of propriety, or simply because he did not wish to overshadow the second son of the Yang family, but his companions had refrained from joining the fray from beginning to end.

Only now, seeing him thoroughly defeated, did one finally step forward.

Huang Ming cast a casual glance, noting that this newcomer was hardly more than twenty years old, slender and frail, his appearance paling in comparison to the other candidates.

Xu Qingzhi’s attitude grew even more dismissive, and he spoke at once, “What, you scholars refuse to admit defeat? Even Miss Ziyun has made her choice. Are you going to shamelessly persist?”

The newcomer paid him no heed. Instead, he turned to one side and, with a slight bow to a well-dressed middle-aged man, said, “Sir, are you the manager of this Joyful Courtyard? My name is Xu Jie, a candidate from Huating County, Songjiang.”

“So it is Young Master Xu. I am Zhao Jian. What guidance might you offer?” The man, indeed the current master of the Joyful Courtyard, smiled and returned the gesture.

This response instantly elevated the standing of the diminutive youth named Xu Jie in many eyes. He had managed, amid the chaos, to identify the key figure at a glance; such discernment was rare. Xu and Zhang exchanged tense glances, and even Huang Ming sensed there was still much to be contested.

Though Huang Ming’s expression remained unchanged, his heart was steeled. This Xu Jie—could he truly be the legendary Ming Dynasty’s “ninja turtle,” the one who survived the blood-soaked political arena of the late Jiajing era and laughed last? The name and origin matched, and the age was right. It was likely him.

Huang Ming dared not relax for a moment; this man’s future reputation far surpassed that of Yang Dun, making him a much tougher adversary.

He immediately spoke, “Manager Zhao, surely you wouldn’t disregard the rules of precedence just because of our differing status? If word got out, it would tarnish the reputation of Joyful Courtyard.”

Zhao Jian frowned deeply, realizing the difficulty of the situation. He had arrived early with his staff, choosing not to reveal himself since matters had not escalated further. More importantly, he could not afford to offend either side.

On one hand was the son of Elder Yang and several rising literary stars; on the other, the sons of two great nobles, plus the child of a palace eunuch. Should these parties truly clash, Joyful Courtyard could not withstand the fallout.

Had it only been Madam Chu negotiating, neither side would have dared vent their anger on a woman, but Zhao Jian himself was another matter.

As expected, the moment his identity was revealed, complications arose.

Before Zhao Jian could respond to Huang Ming, Xu Jie smiled, “There’s more to the rules than just that…”

“But Miss Ziyun chose us!” Zhang Han interjected.

Unperturbed, Xu Jie smiled again, “Miss Ziyun’s preference cannot outweigh Manager Zhao’s word…”

“This…” Zhao Jian was even more troubled. How could he make such a statement lightly?

“Manager Zhao, don’t forget: in a few days, the new Flower Queen will be chosen. With beauties like Miss Ziyun, in terms of appearance and talent, she is second to none.

“But often, the selection hinges on performances—songs, dances, poetry—so I wonder, how many fine verses have you prepared for Miss Ziyun?”

At these words, Huang Ming’s heart sank; the other party had indeed pinpointed the critical issue. Even the woman in his arms stiffened, subtly withdrawing, her gaze hopeful towards the front.

These days, the Flower Queen contest prized beauty and artistic skills—singing, dancing, chess, painting, calligraphy. Yet among women carefully trained by the brothels since childhood, such talents were hardly distinguishing. In the end, it was the poetry—whose verses could be set to music and sung throughout the capital—that made the difference.

And this was not something the average courtesan could achieve; it required the support of educated, romantic scholars.

For centuries, the legends of talented scholars and celebrated courtesans complementing each other were countless; for a single poem, famed courtesans would even pursue scholars, sometimes to the point of life and death.

Take Liu Yong, for instance, the renowned poet; he was a classic example.

Now, as the competition entered this realm, Huang Ming and his friends found themselves at a distinct disadvantage.

Many shared this realization, and even Zhao Jian was tempted, though he still hesitated, “This…”

Seeing his hesitation, Xu Jie was certain of victory. Two candidates stepped forward, drawing from their sleeves sheets of paper inscribed with poetry. “Here are several fine verses we composed earlier. If Manager Zhao allows Miss Ziyun and her companions to join us tonight, these poems will be theirs.”

At this, Zhao Jian was thoroughly swayed. It was not merely about a few poems; once word spread, Joyful Courtyard and the ladies would become part of a new story, drawing the city’s attention in no time.

With so many advantages, he could afford the risk of offending Huang Ming and his friends.

Decision made, he smiled, “Since you gentlemen prize our Miss Ziyun so highly, it must be fate…”

Turning, he bowed deeply to Huang Ming and his companions, “Young masters, I beg your forgiveness. Please be magnanimous and let this pass.

“To make amends, tonight all your drinks and service are free, and we will send you eight ladies—any you desire, they will serve you well. What do you say?”

One had to admit, Manager Zhao handled matters with great care; even though he was slighting Huang Ming’s party, he offered generous compensation.

Madam Chu promptly stepped forward, returning the large silver note with both hands, “Young Master Huang, please forgive us… Perhaps you might return tomorrow, and I will have several fine daughters attend you…”

Xu Qingzhi and Zhang Han were livid, staring at the change of heart from those before them, muttering repeatedly, “Fine, very fine…”

But that was all they could do; they dared not make a scene.

After all, they knew their rivals had struck at the heart of the brothel’s business.

None of them could compose poetry, and thus, they were helpless.

Relinquishing Ziyun from his embrace, Huang Ming took the silver note, turned to his companions, and smiled, “Now you see what it means to regret not studying when you need it most? You wouldn’t listen to me before…”

Just as everyone assumed the matter was settled, Huang Ming suddenly spoke, “Manager Zhao, do you not care to see what I might compose?”

His words stunned everyone. Yang Dun and Xu Jie looked at him in disbelief—he, the son of a eunuch, unlearned and unskilled, could write poetry to rival theirs?

Huang Ming gave them no chance to protest, commanding at once, “Bring ink and brush!”