Chapter Twenty-Five: Beichuan Wishes to Compose a Poem

The competition officially entered a new round, and the twelve courtesans on stage would continue performing the programs they had prepared for the guests. During this interval, their attendants seized the opportunity to begin the essential canvassing for votes.

Unlike the beauty pageants of her previous life, where contestants flaunted their assets, each participant here was acutely aware of her own aura and persona, and would never stoop to campaign personally. Even so, the canvassing itself remained subtle; each little maid confined her efforts to her assigned table, never crossing boundaries.

Mist, carrying a carefully arranged platter of sliced fruit, approached the table. The displeasure she felt towards a certain someone had disappeared long before she reached them.

“Haha… Mist, you’re here… Earlier, Lady Zixuan’s music was truly heavenly, and I count myself thrice blessed to have heard it today,” Young Master Zheng exclaimed.

“You flatter us, Young Master Zheng. Though my mistress’s skill with the zither is high, it seems most in attendance prefer dance tonight,” the girl sighed softly, presenting the fruit platter.

“The food and drink tonight were chosen by me, but I fear the flavors were too heavy. When my lady found out, she scolded me. So, she sent me hurriedly to bring you all some fresh fruit to cleanse your palate.”

“Haha… Then many thanks to Lady Su. The oil in my stomach is too much right now—these fresh fruits are just what I need,” Feng Jingzhe said, unceremoniously grabbing a piece of pear and popping it into his mouth.

Fruit at this time of year was expensive. The platter before them held fruit harvested the previous autumn and stored in ice cellars; if one in fifty remained intact, it was considered fortunate. The piece in his mouth still retained eighty percent of its flavor—a rarity. The value of this platter nearly matched half the price of the meal before them.

“If you enjoy it, Young Master, then my lady’s intentions were not wasted. The little money spent is worth it; as for the title of Flower Queen, it’s not so important,” Mist said.

“Hahaha… Don’t beat around the bush, girl. With Third Young Master Feng here tonight, the Flower Queen title must surely belong to Lady Su!” Zheng Yongxiang raised his cup in salute to Feng Jingzhe. “What do you say, Brother Feng?”

“Becoming Flower Queen is easy enough—a matter at my fingertips! For old times’ sake with Lady Su, I’ll give a friendly price…” Feng Jingzhe held up three fingers and spat out the pulp of the pear. Overripe fruit, however costly, was not to his taste.

Mist was delighted at this display of generosity—before she had even tried any tricks, he offered three thousand taels. With this sum as a foundation, her mistress now had a seventy percent chance of winning.

“Thank you, Young Master Feng… With your promise of three thousand taels, my lady is sure to seize tonight’s crown,” she said.

‘What? Three thousand taels? Are you out of your mind? Even if your mistress were gilded, she wouldn’t be worth that much…’

“Brother Feng is truly magnanimous! With his three thousand taels, Lady Su’s victory is assured!” Zheng Yongxiang, fearing Feng Jingzhe might regret his generosity, raised his voice so that the neighboring tables could hear. By placing him high on a pedestal, he ensured there would be no change of heart.

Sure enough, Zhao Lingyou and Gu Beichuan at the next table turned to look. In the rooms upstairs, the courtesans who received the news opened their windows to gaze down. Three thousand taels was a fortune; whoever received it would almost certainly win.

“Damn it, him again! Every time I see this scoundrel, nothing good happens!” The courtesan known as Tang Hongdou—her real name Su Hongluan—clenched her fists in anger. Previously, she felt confident with Gu Beichuan’s poem, believing that the Flower Queen title was hers for the taking. But the addition of three thousand taels introduced countless new variables, making her planned whirling dance suddenly seem inadequate.

For security, Su Hongluan took a long sword from the wall, deciding to change tactics and take a risk. Her maid had just returned, bringing the freshly drawn lots.

To ensure fairness, the order of performance was determined by drawing lots. This time, Tang Hongdou’s luck was good—she drew the first slot.

As the entrance music began, a familiar crimson figure appeared on stage. Unlike the gentle, graceful dances before, this time the audience felt a fierce energy. The long sword moved like a serpent—sometimes slow, sometimes agile. She danced like a soaring dragon, like a startled swan.

From the moment Tang Hongdou stepped onto the stage, the performance reached its peak. Her stunning dance, paired with the sword, the union of strength and grace, so entranced the audience that even their breathing slowed.

Watching from the second-floor window, Dream Xiaodie realized that no matter how much she exposed her legs or bosom, even if she sacrificed all her allure, the outcome was already decided.

She could not win. Tang Hongdou was simply too powerful—the competition was on a completely different level.

Moments earlier, inspiration had struck her; she planned to weave several melodies together to invent a new style of singing, hoping to surprise the audience and win more votes. But upon seeing Tang Hongdou’s sword dance, all her hopes vanished.

Many shared her despair—only Su Zixuan remained unfazed. She knew Feng Jingzhe was about to shower her with three thousand taels. The pressure was immense; the sword dance on stage was so dazzling that even her confidence in her zither skills faltered. Thankfully, with three thousand taels as a foundation, it was clear that the contest would come down to her and Tang Hongdou.

As the music faded, Tang Hongdou, a sheen of fragrant sweat on her brow, stood like a fairy above the clouds, alone and ethereal. Thunderous applause erupted; the whole room rose in wild cheers. Gu Beichuan praised her three times, then lifted his wine jug and leapt onto the stage.

“I am Gu Beichuan, here tonight at the request of an old friend. I never imagined I’d witness this fairy from the clouds! Lady Tang’s sword dance is exquisite, reaching the very limits of praise. Since words cannot suffice, I’ll offer poetry to capture a fraction of its spirit…”

“What! That’s Gu Beichuan? The poet whose talent dominates the land…”

“Heavens, Master Gu is composing for Tang Hongdou! Isn’t that tantamount to declaring her the Flower Queen?”

“This is Gu Beichuan! What does the Flower Queen title mean? Regardless of tonight’s outcome, Tang Hongdou will be famous throughout Chang’an…”

Gu Beichuan’s promise to compose for Tang Hongdou caused a stir, as if a blade had severed all hope for the other contestants upstairs. Even Su Zixuan was affected; unless she could surpass Tang Hongdou by a truly wide margin in votes tonight, she had no chance.

“What? Three hundred taels! Now that Gu Beichuan is composing, even three thousand taels seem insufficient. Three hundred wouldn’t even fill the gap…”

Amidst the many voices of admiration, this near-shrill exclamation stood out, drawing all attention from Gu Beichuan to Mist nearby and the shameless Feng Jingzhe with his three fingers raised…