Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Twelve Beauties of Yan Province

At the same moment, on the shores of Cold Sand Lake in the city of Yanzhou, a myriad of lanterns blazed, illuminating the early night so brightly that it seemed as if day had returned. Upon the lake drifted many elegant pleasure boats, where veiled women gazed out from the decks. One needed only to glimpse their eyes to know that each was exquisitely beautiful, a sight beyond compare.

Along the banks, crowds gathered, eyes wide with wonder. “That one is the Fragrant Lady from the Pavilion of Heavenly Scents! Her fragrance truly lingers for miles!” someone exclaimed.

“And that’s Yue’er from the Hall of Sea Delight! They say she outshines the moon itself—her reputation is well deserved!”

“I’ve heard Lady Wen from the Jiaping Court, famed for her mastery of poetry and unrivaled wit, has been invited as well!”

“Even Lady Wen has been summoned? What extravagance! Are they planning to gather all Twelve Beauties of Yanzhou in one place?”

“Indeed, it’s said that the champion of this Locust Poetry Gathering will have the right to choose any one of the Twelve Beauties!”

“Yanzhou’s youth are full of talent and flair. Who among them will win the highest honor?”

“By the way, it was rumored that Zhu Yuzheng, the son of Scholar Zhu, boasted he would take the top prize, but his father unexpectedly arrived this morning and had him dragged home!”

“That scoundrel! Don’t you know what happened at noon a few days ago? Zhu Yuzheng tried to tarnish the reputation of the Third Young Master Chu, posing as a storyteller at the Natural Residence. But Master Chu arrived with his wife, rebuked Zhu so harshly he spat blood, and even had him thrown out.”

“Third Young Master Chu? Who is that?”

“Chu Yucai, third son of the Duke of Chu. You haven’t heard of him?”

“But wasn’t he banished from the ducal household? I’ve heard he has neither talent nor reputation, and is nothing but a wastrel.”

“No talent? His ‘Bamboo and Stone’ is quite remarkable. The magistrate himself has invited him to this gathering. If he can match the brilliance of ‘Bamboo and Stone,’ he might yet claim the title at the Locust Poetry Gathering!”

At these words, the crowd murmured with interest and curiosity about this Chu Yucai.

Just then, a group approached from the distance. Leading them was a young man in blue robes—handsome, dashing, and spirited, yet with a rebellious gleam in his eyes.

He overheard the discussions about Chu Yucai and sneered coldly. “Chu Yucai’s ‘Bamboo and Stone’ is nothing more than a trifling trick. With me, Song Peng, present, how could he hope to take first place, or to enjoy the company of Yanzhou’s Twelve Beauties?”

His words carried a chilling menace that made those nearby shudder involuntarily.

Recalling his identity, the crowd fell silent. Song Peng was a close friend of Zhu Yuzheng. His father had been a Censor but had passed away under mysterious circumstances. It was said that Song Peng was ruthless in his dealings. Like Zhu Yuzheng, he was fond of courtesans, but unlike his friend, he possessed wealth beyond measure—lavish in his spending, with seven concubines in his household.

Recently, rumors spread that he sought to woo Lady Wen of Jiaping Court. Though he had lavished her with gifts, she remained unmoved. Tonight, it seemed, he aimed to win her favor through this poetry gathering.

Lady Wen, famed among the Twelve Beauties of Yanzhou, was known to value artistry over riches, selling her performances but never herself.

At the main table aboard the most ornate pleasure boat, a dozen elderly men sat in solemn array. They were all renowned figures in Yanzhou, specially invited by the prefect. The gathering was grand enough to rival even the Dragon Boat and Lantern Festival assemblies.

Yet, as these elders glanced toward the other boats, where young scholars in splendid attire prepared their verses, they could only sigh softly, their hopes subdued.

Yanzhou, situated by the southern coast, was prosperous and seldom troubled by war. Commerce thrived, and many indulged in leisure and the company of famed courtesans, growing complacent and lacking in ambition.

Though the region often suffered floods, droughts, and storms, the presence of many Daoist practitioners meant calamities were swiftly dealt with, leading the people to grow ever more content and idle.

Thus, most scholars had come merely to gain fame. The threat of locusts seemed trivial to them—a matter easily dispatched with a wave of the hand. Their verses dwelled on romance and charm, pleasing but unremarkable.

Of course, a few earnest scholars took the matter of driving out the locusts to heart—among them Dou Xu—but such men were too few to make a stir.

The gathering brimmed with leisure and ease, lacking any sense of urgency or contest.

As the young scholars diligently penned their ornate verses, line after line of decorative poetry was passed from hand to hand.

Yet as they read these verses, the elders’ brows furrowed ever deeper. Though they offered polite critiques, worry haunted their eyes.

As the poetry gathering progressed, the atmosphere around Cold Sand Lake grew ever more lively. By the hour of the Boar, lanterns blazed all around, and crowds surged forth from every household. Vendors hawked their wares, while dragon and lion dancers paraded through the streets. Yet the most captivating presence remained the famed courtesans of Yanzhou.

In the midst of this, Song Peng’s untitled poem slowly rose to prominence.

“…Why seek water, knocking at Blue Bridge at dawn? If you truly desire the jade pestle, it lies before you in this world.”

At the main table aboard the pleasure boat, an elder savored the poem and nodded. “Though the poem is of love, it carries an aspirational spirit. If it were turned against the locusts, it might offer some hope. Though there is no absolute in poetry, this work shines with extraordinary talent.”

“Why do those who seek clear water go to Blue Bridge at daybreak? If you truly desire the jade pestle to grind the elixir, it is right here before you. The poem blends emotion with scenery, possessing the ancient style. It is worthy of distinction,” another commented.

“‘It lies before you in this world’? Song Peng’s poem expresses his feelings for Lady Wen so intoxicatingly. His devotion is clear for all to see,” said another.

But one voice offered a different view: “After all, this is the Locust Poetry Gathering. Though this poem has ambition, it is still drenched in the colors of the mortal world…”

This was quickly drowned out.

“A poem like this, poured into the Censer of Smoke and Dust, would suffuse it with literary spirit. Even if tinged with romance, it is enough to destroy locusts. This should be ranked first…”

Upon hearing this, Song Peng’s gaze grew more self-assured.

At that moment, Lady Wen of Jiaping Court watched the proceedings in silence, her heart full of disappointment. She admired talent, but without integrity, such talent was like a tree without roots—unable to withstand storms. With the threat of locusts looming, these men still preened over their verses. Even Song Peng’s untitled poem failed to stir her interest.

The “Bamboo and Stone” that made the rounds yesterday, said to be composed by Third Young Master Chu—though he was a discarded son of the Duke’s household—was the kind of poem that truly belonged here. Yet now, would that Third Young Master Chu not appear?