Chapter 46 : Chapter 46

Chapter 46: Art

At the banquet, silence fell, and even the zither music stopped.

The crowd could no longer mock She Dakang and Liu Quxing’s names or attire, and they began to reflect: if slandered, how many would stand up to defend them?

Most people, hearing rumors about you, would only parrot others’ words back to you.

But you might care less about what others say and more about whether your friends defend you when rumors spread.

I hadn’t expected She Dakang and Liu Quxing to stand up for me. It was precisely because I hadn’t expected it that I was surprised.

At that moment, the Heir drained his wine cup. The prince’s mansion cups were small, and finding them unsatisfying, he wanted to call for a larger bowl.

But Princess Baili glared at him, and he gave up.

Martial spirit naturally clashed with the elegance of a scholarly gathering.

Still, the Heir muttered softly: “These scholars aren’t nearly as interesting as martial world folk… The name Chen Ji sounds familiar, like I’ve heard it somewhere.”

At that moment, Princess Baili looked at Chen Wen Xiao: “May I ask, are the debt notes about your brother true?”

Chen Wen Xiao tucked his sleeves and sat upright: “My brother Chen Ji is a gambler, owing seven gambling dens a total of one thousand two hundred thirty-one taels of silver. Every word is true.”

A scholar bowed to the Princess: “Wen Xiao is of noble character; he wouldn’t lie about this.”

“Alright,” Princess Baili sighed.

I listened silently by the pavilion, wondering what kind of person I used to be. Was I really a gambler?

Possibly. Those debt notes from gambling dens couldn’t be faked; such things were easy to verify.

But those matters had nothing to do with me now; they were in the past.

Consort Jing, behind the bamboo curtain, glanced vaguely at me: “Your family doesn’t know you’re with the Secret Spy Division?”

I replied: “Madam, I’m not with the Secret Spy Division, just a Harrier at best, not even a full spy.”

“Oh?” Consort Jing was puzzled: “Why do you risk your life for the Secret Spy Division?”

I answered frankly: “For money. One lead earns me fifty taels of silver.”

Consort Jing paused: “Just fifty taels? You risk your life for them for that?”

She now believed Chen Wen Xiao’s words—this clinic apprentice was indeed a gambler, risking his life for mere coin.

But I thought to myself, that’s the disparity of this world. I worked myself to death for fifty taels, yet to Consort Jing or Consort Yun, it was pocket change.

Consort Jing leaned back on her soft couch behind the curtain: “Help me take revenge, and when it’s done, I’ll give you one thousand taels of silver.”

I thought for a moment: “You want Liu Mingxian dead?”

“Exactly.”

“Lord Liu is surrounded by hidden experts and rarely ventures out; killing him is hard. Using the Secret Spy Division is even harder since Yunyang and Jiaotu were taken down by him… For revenge, it’ll cost five thousand taels.”

“Two thousand taels, no more.”

“Deal.”

I exhaled. Rich people’s money was indeed easy to earn!

With two thousand taels, I could venture into the Inner Prison again, collect all the icy currents, and ignite hundreds of furnaces.

Then, unless an Enforcer intervened, three or five ordinary spies couldn’t touch me.

As I pondered, Consort Jing suddenly asked: “What do you think of Chunhua? She’s in her prime, quite charming, though a bit older than you, but she knows how to care for someone. I bought her from Yangzhou for one hundred taels.”

I quickly replied: “Madam, don’t play matchmaker. The money’s enough.”

…

…

At the banquet, Chen Wen Zong looked at She Dakang and Liu Quxing, probing: “Are you my brother’s colleagues? How’s he doing lately? Is he here today?”

“He’s here. If you want to know how he’s doing, ask him yourself, not me,” She Dakang replied gruffly.

Chen Wen Zong looked embarrassed: “Fair point.”

Chen Wen Xiao’s face darkened: “He brought this on himself; why should we care?”

The Ning Dynasty governed by Confucian ethics—ruler and subject, father and son—set the social order. But while people preached maternal kindness and brotherly harmony, how many step-parents truly treated a concubine’s child as their own?

It was just for show.

Liu Quxing was about to retort when someone patted his shoulder. He turned to see I had returned to the table.

I bowed from a distance to Chen Wen Zong and Chen Wen Xiao: “Elder brothers, it’s been a long time. I didn’t expect things to turn out like this. Let’s leave it be—after all, this is the Heir’s literary gathering. Don’t disturb the other guests.”

Seeing me appear, Princess Baili tugged the Heir’s arm: “Brother, it’s him—the one who charged us a toll and set up the ladder. Shouldn’t have spoken up for him!”

The Heir laughed: “I think it wasn’t in vain. Isn’t he interesting? He even dared charge Prince Jing’s Heir a toll!”

Princess Baili pouted: “Three taels a time—his heart’s black. But… though he’s awful, he doesn’t seem like a gambler.”

The Heir smiled: “What do gamblers look like to you?”

Princess Baili recalled: “I saw them when I went to gambling dens with you. They’re crazed, caring only about bets, eyes bloodshot, clothes filthy, dirt in their nails… But he’s clean, full of essence, energy, and spirit.”

Gamblers lived only for gambling, betting when awake, sleeping when done, with no time for appearances.

The Heir nodded: “Doesn’t seem like one. Anyway, the Little Monk said he’s overcome greed and anger; I trust the Little Monk.”

“Where’s his reform? Even if he quit gambling, he’s still awful!” Princess Baili huffed.

The Heir soothed: “Alright, three taels is just the cost of your rouge and powder.”

At that moment, Chen Wen Zong found me vaguely familiar.

Only then did he recall I had been watching him from the table earlier, and he hadn’t recognized me.

Of course, we were never close—Mother always warned me to keep my distance.

Chen Wen Zong stood: “Wen Xiao was wrong earlier. I apologize on his behalf; don’t take it to heart.”

I smiled: “It’s fine. Mouths belong to others; you can’t stop what they say.”

Chen Wen Zong said: “Father’s been home lately. Visit when you have time to show filial piety. He’d be pleased to see you’ve reformed and are studying medicine diligently.”

I replied: “The imperial clinic keeps me busy, so… no need.”

I had no plans to return to the Chen Family, perhaps ever. As I told Old Man Yao, I truly saw the clinic as home.

I understood—a gambler son with a questionable mother’s status wasn’t welcome.

If I wasn’t wanted, I wouldn’t go back, sparing everyone the pretense.

At that moment, someone stood, smiling: “As for ruler and subject, father and son, ethics mustn’t be disordered. You might resent your father for not sending you to Donglin Academy or for neglecting you, but he’s still your father, and you’re his son. You must fulfill your filial duties.”

I looked at the man, puzzled: “And you are?”

The speaker was striking, in a blue Confucian robe, a refined black gauze hat, a jade belt with a costly jade pendant.

Hearing my question, he said proudly: “Donglin Academy, Lin Chaojing.”

As if his name alone should tell me who he was.

But my focus wasn’t there. I suddenly realized why he looked familiar!

This Lin Chaojing bore an eight-tenths resemblance to Lin Chaoqing of the Chief Punishment Division—likely brothers or close kin.

Yet I clearly remembered this voice—Lin Chaojing was the one who said he’d denounce the eunuchs at the imperial exam… and Lin Chaoqing was part of the eunuch faction.

I didn’t dwell on it, just patted Liu Quxing and She Dakang: “Let’s go. This place isn’t for us. Sorry for making you take flak for me.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Liu Quxing sniffed.

“Wait,” Lin Chaojing said loudly: “You three came to the literary gathering, so you must have some talent. Everyone’s shared their new works—what have you brought?”

I stared at Lin Chaojing, silent.

Works? I had none.

Copy works from my old world? I couldn’t.

I was heavily skewed toward sciences, studying physics, logic, deduction, investigation, and counter-investigation. Even my humanities studies focused on cryptography.

So, making gunpowder was no issue, but reciting a poem was beyond me…

If I had to recite, I could probably only recall the most famous lines.

Like, “When the strong wind breaks the waves, I’ll hoist my sail to cross the sea,” but the rest? I couldn’t recall.

More importantly, the Double Ninth Festival’s origin weighed on me. I didn’t know how this world connected to my old one. If I recited a poem someone here wrote, I’d be a laughingstock.

Wait!

A thought flashed in my mind like clouds parting for sunlight, a vast clear sky.

The earlier haze broke instantly: Gunpowder?

Gunpowder!

I might not know poetry, but I could make gunpowder.

Poetry was art— wasn’t an explosion art too?

…

There’s another chapter coming.