Chapter Twenty-Five: A Gesture of Goodwill

Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, Master Chen quickly intervened, “Don’t be angry, don’t be angry. Master Yinshan is upright and honorable; the world knows this well. I would never believe such senseless accusations. In my opinion, this young man is simply consumed by jealousy—how despicable! Have you read the classics only to let them slip into a dog’s belly?”

“Besides, the top three poems will soon be mounted and displayed. Whether there are issues or not, everyone will see for themselves.”

As soon as Master Chen finished speaking, the crowd responded immediately.

Li Zhihhe snorted coldly and finally released Qin Menghui.

Qin Menghui, humiliated and embarrassed, wished he could crawl into a hole and disappear. Those mocking eyes around him made his anger blaze; yet, remembering Li Zhihhe’s iron fists, he couldn’t help but shudder.

He had no face left to stay at the literary gathering, nor any interest in admiring others’ works. He glared fiercely at Yi An, and even Master Chen earned his resentment, for in his mind, Master Chen was clearly cowed by Wei Liang’s power and thus stood up for Yi An.

Perhaps Yi An’s poem hid some ulterior motive.

Yi An sensed someone secretly watching him, and just as Qin Menghui’s figure faded, his intuition told him that the gaze just now resonated with his soul—a feat impossible for that insignificant character.

Since building his foundation, Yi An’s memory and senses had grown exceptionally sharp; any hint of abnormality would catch his attention.

He scanned the surroundings again, but found nothing amiss.

“What’s wrong, Brother Yi? Don’t let a few shameless people spoil your mood. You’ve won first place at this literary gathering; I’m sure the master will be proud.” Li Zhihhe patted Yi An’s shoulder, his own face glowing with shared pride.

Yi An replied, “No, I’m simply pondering some matters.”

By now, many eyes had fallen upon Yi An—some intent on befriending him, others scrutinizing with curiosity or skepticism. Yet, noticing the intimidating presence of Li Zhihhe nearby, they all quietly withdrew.

After all, Li Zhihhe’s lesson to Qin Menghui was still fresh in their minds.

They weren’t foolish enough to invite trouble as Qin Menghui had. Master Yinshan’s influence was far beyond what a mere scholar could challenge.

Master Yinshan was, after all, the leader of the Pure Stream faction, a figure to whom nearly every scholar aspired. Even corrupt officials in court sought to gild themselves in his reputation.

After today’s events, Qin Menghui’s reputation was thoroughly ruined. He would surely become the target of countless scholars’ collective “condemnation,” placing him squarely against the Pure Stream. By contrast, they could align themselves as part of the Pure Stream.

Unlike the scholars, Master Chen had little concern for such things, nor was he intimidated by the formidable Li Zhihhe. Stroking his beard, he approached Yi An with a smile.

“So you must be the talented Yi. Truly, you’re a remarkable figure. I’ve read your poem—it perfectly captures the breathtaking beauty of West Lake. It seems Hangzhou is about to produce an extraordinary talent.”

With Master Chen’s endorsement, voices of praise swelled. The judges were mostly veteran scholars who had long given up hopes for officialdom, but befriending a promising talent cost them nothing.

They no longer cared about the imperial exams, but they did have sons. More connections meant more paths; if Yi An succeeded someday, the benefits would be limitless.

“Oh, the moment I first saw this poem, I knew it was exceptional. And thanks to Master Chen’s discerning eye, this masterpiece shines even brighter,” one judge exclaimed, slapping the table.

In truth, he had only skimmed the poem earlier and hadn’t given it much thought, since the final decision wasn’t his to make. He never expected such an outstanding work to appear among them.

Being shrewd, he praised Yi An and flattered Master Chen as well.

Yi An exchanged courteous words, and the other man showered him with more compliments, insisting that he must invite Yi An to his home someday to discuss poetry and literature.

Yi An agreed, though he took it as mere polite talk.

At that moment, He Ting arrived, beaming, followed by three attendants carrying the top three poems. Yi An’s was mounted with a gold-threaded frame; second and third were framed with silver thread and wood, respectively.

He Ting announced in a clear voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, here are the top three works of this literary gathering.”

Only the first place winner received a reward, but second and third always attracted much attention as well, standing out among their peers. This time, however, the second and third were utterly eclipsed by Yi An’s overwhelming victory.

The second and third place winners kept their faces dark throughout, especially the scholar from Jingyuan Academy, who had always felt a sense of superiority.

In truth, the other scholars couldn’t match him, and he had believed this year’s first place was his for the taking. He had set his sights on Miss Hong Ying. Yet, unexpectedly, a dark horse appeared, shattering his dreams completely.

He wanted to cry foul like Qin Menghui, but upon seeing Yi An’s poem, he knew he had lost fairly.

Huang Zongping wasn’t someone who couldn’t handle defeat; he had simply been dissatisfied before. Now, having seen Yi An’s work, he had no complaints.

He approached Yi An, saying earnestly, “Yi An, you’re the first opponent I truly respect. I’ll remember you. I hope your essays on the classics are as impressive as your poetry. I’ll be waiting for you at the provincial exam.”

Huang Zongping knew that Yi An’s poetic skill was unmatched, and he would be hard-pressed to catch up. Instead, he hoped to prevail in the essays on the classics, his own strong suit.

After all, for a scholar, the classics were what mattered most. Music, chess, calligraphy, and painting were for cultivating one’s character; without passing the imperial exams, even the finest poetry was futile.

Yi An was momentarily puzzled by the young man’s competitive spirit, but after Li Zhihhe explained, he realized this was the Jingyuan Academy prodigy whose first place he had taken.

Compared to Qin Menghui, Huang Zongping was far more upright.

He wasn’t a bad person—just raised too high, and the sudden drop was hard to accept.