Chapter 53: You Monks Are Truly Shameless

Merchant commerce and official commerce have always been two distinct entities, bound by a certain hierarchy of mutual disdain.

Officials engaged in business wield power, yet their managerial acumen falls far short of private merchants. Consequently, official merchants have long sought to infiltrate private chambers of commerce.

However, private merchant guilds actively shunned officials, viewing them as administrative bunglers who only brought disrepute to commercial development.

Today, Wang Xingzhai’s words single-handedly shattered this unfavorable deadlock.

It was tantamount to granting the Prince of Yan a special dispensation to expand his operations throughout Jiangnan.

In contrast, Xu Yougong’s business sphere had hitherto been confined strictly to Jinling.

With Manager Liu’s admission into the Jiangnan Chamber of Commerce, it signified that Xu Yougong’s commercial network could now extend across the entire Jiangnan region.

One had to admit, this was a gesture of goodwill from Wang Xingzhai, as well as a pioneering experiment in cooperation between official and private sectors.

While to individuals like the Prince of Yan and Xu Yougong, these matters were of little consequence either way, the situation was vastly different for Managers Liu and Xiao. Their standing in Jinling—and ultimately throughout Jiangnan in the days to come—would rise exponentially in an instant.

Down in the first-floor hall, seeing that everyone was swarming around Ye Wuji and Dong Rushi, Ye Xiu pulled Monk Yanguo aside into a private room.

"Master, what kind of people have you invited here?" Ye Xiu asked impatiently.

"Naturally, they are the men of letters within Jinling who are wealthy, epicurean, fond of amusement, widely connected, and possess a sterling reputation," Monk Yanguo replied with an expression that seemed to say *I have great faith in you*. "Young Master Ye, you need only capture their palates, and within three days, the Bianyi House will be renowned throughout Jinling."

Ye Xiu cast a grateful glance at the large monk. "By the way, didn't you say you were returning to secular life? Why are you still wearing your cassock?"

*Sigh!*

"Master Huian threatened me with death, refusing to let me renounce my vows," Yanguo heaved a heavy sigh.

"Then what are your plans for the future?" Ye Xiu persuaded him earnestly. "You are a public figure; wearing that outfit makes it all the more inappropriate for you to fool around."

"I promised Master Huian that I would groom a new abbot for him first," Yanguo said, his mortal heart clearly stirred. "It will take at least a year or more."

"A year will pass in the blink of an eye," Ye Xiu suddenly grew curious. "I wonder what extraordinary woman could make the Master look upon her with such favor?"

Yanguo looked around in all directions, and upon confirming that the two of them were completely alone, he cautiously whispered, "I simply won't tell you!"

"Damn it! You bald monk, you are utterly devoid of decency," Ye Xiu's eyes filled with scorn. "Time is almost up. I'm going to go tell the servants to serve the dishes."

"Wait!" Yanguo blocked Ye Xiu's path. "Aren't you going to go down and show your face? The poetry of you and your father combined is enough to rescue the literary circles of the Great Qian."

"How old am I?" Ye Xiu shot Yanguo a sideways glance. "If you claim those poems were written by me, would anyone believe it?"

"I believe it," Yanguo said with absolute sincerity. "I believe you the same way as if you had shot an arrow into my back—I would still believe there was an enemy behind me."

"That's you, not everyone else," Ye Xiu explained with lingering patience. "Even if they believed I could write poetry, they would feel a sense of loss in their hearts. After all, I am no celebrated prodigy. When people feel a sense of loss, jealousy inevitably follows. Isn't that just asking for trouble?"

"There is certainly truth in that," Yanguo mused slightly. "If you don't want to show your face, that's fine. But couldn't you toss out a poem just to steady the atmosphere?"

"With my father present, do I really need to thrust myself into the spotlight?"

Ye Xiu pushed the door open to leave, only to be intercepted by Yanguo again.

The obstinate monk insisted stubbornly, "Young Master, if you would but add a splash of color to our Great Qian's literary scene, this humble monk guarantees that for the next three months, I shall not beg you for a single poem. If I break this vow, I shall go out and proclaim that *a tiger father begets no dog-like son*—"

"This was your own promise, you are not allowed to go back on it!" Ye Xiu instantly regretted bringing this libertine monk into the private room.

After grinding the ink, Ye Xiu handed a piece of *ci* poetry into Yanguo's hands.

*“The setting sun rolls up embroidered curtains; below the pavilion, water and sky merge into one. Knowing you wrote this new piece for me, the window frames are still damp with green and crimson. I shall long remember on Pingshan Hall, leaning on my pillow amidst the mist and rain of Jiangnan, as a solitary wild goose vanishes far away. I recognize the Drunkard’s words, where mountain colors hover between presence and absence. A thousand qing are pure as mirrors, reflecting inverted emerald peaks. Suddenly waves rise, tossing and dancing like a white-headed old man in a single leaf boat. How laughable the young lord of Lantai, failing to understand Zhuangzi’s heavenly music, stubbornly insisting on dividing male and female. A single breath of vast and noble spirit makes the wind of a thousand miles a joy to behold.”*

Holding the text like a rare treasure, Yanguo could not wait to read it aloud. "Young Master's talent is truly unparalleled; this masterpiece alone is worthy of enduring fame in the literary world... Oh..."

Gazing at the title of the poem, the burly monk was so ecstatic he nearly went mad— *Composed at the Jinling Bianyi House, Presented to Dharma Master Yanguo*.

For an individual seeking enduring fame in literary history and wishing to be commemorated by future generations, there were two paths:

Either you were a kick-ass poet; or you had kick-ass poet friends.

Much like Wang Lun, the greatest marketing genius of the ages, who achieved eternal renown solely through tipping and clinging to Little Li;

Or Yuan Chang, whose historical records were scarce, yet who ascended the historical stage simply because of Wang Wei's poem *Sending Yuan Chang to Anxi*.

Yanguo never dreamed that this poem had actually been written by Ye Xiu for him.

"Young Master, this *Shui Diao Ge Tou* is enough to secure my name in history!"

As the saying goes, those who take gifts feel the short end of things when eating, and those who eat feel soft-mouthed when speaking. Yanguo tidied his cassock, instantly restoring the dignified demeanor of an enlightened high monk. "This humble monk shall go down right now and properly entertain that gathering of scholars and literati."

*Hah,* Ye Xiu exhaled a long breath: This obnoxious, rascal bald donkey...

Upon descending the stairs, the company repeatedly raised their cups to Yanguo, well aware that the great monk strictly observed a vegetarian diet.

"Master, we came here today specifically for Mr. Wuji and Miss Dong," one diner said deliberately, trying to dampen the mood. "If neither of them is present in this restaurant, we... I fear we may never be able to come back again."

With that, he cast a subtle, meaningful glance at Yanguo and gestured vaguely toward the wall.

Yanguo understood instantly. The excuse he had used to invite everyone today was a poetry gathering, so naturally, someone needed to leave behind examples of calligraphy upon the wall.

"Today marks the official grand opening of the restaurant, and it is a rare treat indeed to have Miss Dong here to perform," Master Yanguo surveyed the gathering. "Why don't we take Miss Dong as our theme and improvise a poem each?"

Yanguo truly understood how to manage the atmosphere.

He immediately seized upon everyone's hidden thoughts.

Instantly, all the scholars were stirred with enthusiasm.

Those young gentlemen who had long been unable to restrain themselves began rolling up their sleeves and stretching their muscles, eager to try.

Hearing this, Dong Rushi took up her pipa, plucking out a serene Jiangnan melody to add to the festive mood.

One scholar sipped his wine and slowly recited: *"There is a beauty, clear-eyed and graceful; an accidental encounter fulfills my heart's desire."*

*Hahaha!*

No sooner had he finished than it drew mockery from the rest.

Too monotonous, utterly uninteresting, practically equivalent to drivel.

"Watch me, look at me," another scholar chimed in: *"Twin phoenixes open their mirrors in autumn's clear light; loosening her hair, she faces the mirror by the embroidered bed. A skein of fragrant silk scatters like clouds across the floor, where jade hairpins fall without a sound."*

This poem did elicit praise from the crowd, yet it still fell short of earning a place inscribed upon the wall.

*"Throughout the ages, no peerless beauty; what pleases the eye is a fair lady. A visage to topple cities and states, astounding all beneath heaven."*

*"Lotus flowers cannot rival a beauty's makeup; wind sweeping the palace waters carries the fragrance of pearls and kingfisher jade."*

*"The tips of her brows and corners of her eyes harbor elegance; her voice and smile reveal gentleness."*

*"Countless deities praise her, drifting like a fairy dancing; taking light, delicate steps, such a woman has no match in this world."*

*“……”*

Following that, verses tripped readily from everyone's lips, yet people always felt the words failed to match the subject, lacking a certain depth of mood.

In the end, only Ye Wuji remained.

Every expectant gaze in the room converged upon him.