**The Elegant Lord of Yingchuan**
Though Jin Lanting, the Duke of Yingchuan, hailed from a local aristocratic family, he carried more of a scholar’s temperament than that of a bureaucrat. He had little ambition for climbing the political ladder, preferring instead to compose poetry atop scenic heights, raise geese, and pluck chrysanthemums. He often exchanged verses with the refined courtesans and literati of Yongzhou. However, upon hearing that Xu Fengnian, the eldest son of the Northern Liang King, would be staying in Yingchuan—and with his old family friend Zheng Hanhai dropping such a golden opportunity into his lap—Jin Lanting’s heart burned with rare excitement.
Yingchuan was unlike other counties in Yongzhou. It lay too close to Northern Liang, making it impossible to ignore the influence of the empire’s only Grand Pillar of State. Befriending the young prince would be an immense boon. Yet, despite the potential benefits, Jin Lanting—a man of many fastidious habits—immediately sent his beloved concubines away under the pretense of a spring outing upon receiving the news. He feared that if the notorious young prince took a liking to any of them, he might choke to death on the indignity of an unexpected cuckolding.
After meticulously cleaning and preparing his estate, Jin Lanting eagerly rode thirty li beyond the city to greet his esteemed guest. But a sudden downpour drenched his enthusiasm to the bone—Xu Fengnian was nowhere to be seen! Returning to the city, he was further humiliated when a mere maidservant barred him from his own courtyard, nearly making him the laughingstock of Tang Yinshan and his band of rough warriors. Zheng Hanhai, the elderly Deputy Registrar of Yongzhou, still dripping wet, stormed off in disgrace. Jin Lanting, too, wished to retreat with scholarly dignity, but where could he go? This was his own home!
Fortunately, the cold-faced maidservant later inquired about the aged pearwood desk and the fine xuan paper—a topic that had earned Jin Lanting great renown in Yongzhou. Instantly, his opinion of the discerning young prince soared.
A sleepless night, compounded by the absence of his favorite concubines, left Jin Lanting with bloodshot eyes by dawn. But his woes had only begun. The estate steward burst in, wailing that the oldest and sturdiest peach trees in the rear garden had been felled—Xu Fengnian’s maidservant had declared Yingchuan peachwood the finest, perfect for crafting wooden swords. Clenching his teeth, Jin Lanting swallowed his fury and ordered the steward not to interfere.
Before he could even digest this grievance, another servant rushed in, sobbing uncontrollably—the young prince had slaughtered his prized white geese for a roast! Jin Lanting clutched his chest, his scholarly face turning purple with rage. He lunged for an antique sword hanging on the wall, intent on confronting the damned prince. His horrified stewards, fearing their master had lost his mind, threw decorum aside and restrained him—one wrestled the sword away, the other wrapped his arms around Jin Lanting’s waist. The frail scholar struggled briefly before stomping his foot and flinging the expensive, never-drawn sword to the ground in despair.
Just when he thought his misfortunes had peaked, a senior maidservant hurried in with worse news: his two wives had been summoned back to the estate and were now roasting geese with the young prince. Jin Lanting fainted on the spot. His servants scrambled to carry him inside, muttering that the supposedly dashing prince was indeed a calamity in human form—within a single night, he had reduced the elegant Jin Sanlang to a bedridden wreck.
The chief steward considered seeking advice from the Jin family patriarch, for it seemed the prince had no intention of leaving Yingchuan anytime soon. If this continued, the estate would descend into utter chaos.
When Jin Lanting finally stirred back to consciousness, the prince’s icy maidservant stood outside his door, announcing blandly: *”His Highness requests several sheets of fine xuan paper. He wishes to teach your wives to compose the ‘Roast Goose Manuscript.'”*
The pitiful Jin Sanlang let out a dying wail—*”Zheng Hanhai, you’ve doomed me!”*—before collapsing once more.
—
By the lakeside, the young prince was engaged in the sacrilegious act of burning zithers and boiling cranes—or in this case, chasing Jin Lanting’s beloved white geese from shore into the water. He struck a bargain with Jiang Ni: rowing the boat would count as reading a thousand words. Then, with practiced ease, Xu Fengnian knocked out the two plumpest geese with an oar and hauled them ashore. The once-serene lake was now a cacophony of panicked squawking and floating feathers.
On the bank, the two beautiful wives—summoned back at dawn—watched in stunned silence. The elder, a Yongzhou noblewoman in the full bloom of maturity, carried herself with poise. The younger, barely sixteen, possessed a figure that defied her age—slender where it should be, full where it ought to be. Though her origins were dubious, such was the romantic license of scholars, forever celebrated in tavern tales. After all, what great poet lacked a few red-robed confidantes to warm his bed and flaunt in public?
*”Scholarship is only worthwhile if it earns you wealth and beautiful women.”*
Unfortunately, this pearl of wisdom came from the prince himself as he roasted the geese—hardly a reliable source.
His culinary skills left the two wives speechless. Xu Fengnian could roast fish or sweet potatoes with equal ease, but today, he seemed determined to trample on every refined hobby of the literati. Earlier, he had sent someone to fetch the finest peachwood from the garden, as if deliberately ensuring Jin Sanlang’s flattery would backfire.
Qing Niao arrived with the requested xuan paper. Xu Fengnian handed the roasting duties to Jiang Ni (earning her a few dozen coins) and wiped his hands on a sheet, eliciting winces from the wives. Their husband spared no expense on such elegant luxuries—yet here was the prince, treating them like rags.
Xu Fengnian turned to the elder wife, whose curves were as generous as her years. *”This paper is exceptional. Smooth as a brushstroke. What’s its story?”*
*”Your Highness, this is ‘Lanting Xuan,’ crafted by my husband himself. He traveled to Western Shu to select the finest green sandalwood bark, then commissioned a master papermaker. After countless refinements—blending bamboo pulp with hemp—he achieved this snow-white, cotton-soft texture. Even the Governor of Yongzhou praised its silent elegance.”*
The mature wife, though feigning alarm, cast lingering glances at the paper, her eyes brimming with unspoken invitation.
Xu Fengnian smirked. *”Snow-white and cotton-soft, you say? I tested the paper last night—you weren’t wrong. But some things… perhaps we should test tonight?”*
The corner of her lips curled. Silence spoke volumes.
A noblewoman’s grace in navigating such situations far surpassed that of the timid younger wife, who trembled at the thought of being dragged into the prince’s quarters by daylight. *He was the son of the Butcher of Xu!* If he decided to act on his wicked reputation, what could she do? Her husband had surely heard the rumors—yet he remained absent. Had he tacitly consented?
Her heart raced as she stole a glance at the prince. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in jade-embroidered silks, he cut a far more dashing figure than her frail husband. The mere thought of being in his arms made her cheeks burn.
Jiang Ni listened to Xu Fengnian’s shameless flirtations without batting an eye. *This* was the Xu Fengnian she knew—the profligate heir of Northern Liang. The demonic swordsman who trained like a madman was the stranger.
The old Sword God, Li Chunang, appeared by the lake, gnawing on a half-raw goose leg. *”Kid, forget the swords. Open a roast meat stall—you’d make a fortune.”*
Xu Fengnian ignored him.
The two wives, unaware of the disheveled old man’s identity, remained cautious. The younger concealed her instinctive disdain, while the elder forced a polite smile—anyone who could speak so freely to the prince deserved superficial respect.
Li Chunang, lacking all decorum, eyed the elder wife’s ample bosom. *”Those are some impressive melons. Must be a pain to carry around. Need an old man to massage them for you tonight?”*
The noblewoman paled. Flirtation with the prince was one thing, but this filthy beggar? She looked to Xu Fengnian for help, but he remained indifferent.
*”After Qi Xuanzhen of Dragon Tiger Mountain, were there any true masters?”* Xu Fengnian asked instead.
Li Chunang shrugged. *”Dunno. Probably a field of dwindling crops. But the current sect leader? Not bad. Why? Your idiot brother training there getting bullied?”*
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly.
Finally addressing the terrified wives, he declared: *”Madam, I hear you’re a master of calligraphy. Tonight, you’ll write the ‘Roast Goose Manuscript’ in my chambers. You may leave now.”*
Relieved yet oddly disappointed, the two women departed. The elder’s swaying hips painted a mesmerizing picture—one Xu Fengnian and the old Sword God both admired until they were out of sight.
*”Would you dare make trouble at Dragon Tiger Mountain?”* Li Chunang asked, spitting out bones.
*”Would you come with me if I did?”*
*”Kid, I don’t care if the world believes me or not.”*
Jiang Ni snorted. *”A mouth that can’t even control a goose leg—who’d believe you?”*
Xu Fengnian burst into laughter. The old man, undeterred, begged Jiang Ni: *”Two legs, and I’ll shut up!”*
*”Pay me a string of cash first!”*
Broke, the Sword God sighed.
Yu Youwei, holding her cat Wu Meiniang, approached hesitantly. Xu Fengnian offered her roasted goose, but she refused. *”Aren’t you afraid of infuriating Jin Lanting? Yongzhou scholars already despise Northern Liang, calling its people barbarians. This will only worsen things.”*
*”Why bother with their opinions?”*
She glared.
Xu Fengnian grinned. *”Relax. Those wives aren’t half as pretty as you. I was just teasing. By the time I leave, they’ll be fantasizing about me in their husband’s bed.”*
Yu Youwei stared, aghast. *”What kind of scoundrel are you?!”*
*”Youwei, yours are even more impressive than hers. Doesn’t it get tiring?”*
She stormed off, leaving him chuckling.
—
*(Note: The translation preserves the original’s tone—wry, irreverent, and layered with subtext—while smoothing out cultural nuances for readability. Key stylistic choices: 1) “Jin Sanlang” (Third Son Jin) retains the familial nickname for flavor. 2) “Lanting Xuan” keeps the brand name’s prestige. 3) Sword God Li Chunang’s crassness contrasts sharply with his legendary status, mirroring the text’s irony.)*
Yu Youwei tightly hugged Wu Meiniang, trying to shield the view of her ample bosom, but it was futile—only serving to accentuate its fullness even more. Unlike last night, she didn’t flee this time. Instead, she lifted Wu Meiniang’s paws in a show of solidarity and said, “Meiniang, bite him!”
Xu Fengnian made a teasing face. “Go ahead, try to bite me.”
Yu Youwei immediately backed down.
Talking to him always led to too many suggestive innuendos, which was utterly detestable.
Old Man Li, while Jiang Ni wasn’t looking, stole a piece of roast goose and tucked it into his sleeve. Watching the scene unfold, he thought to himself, *This kid probably took up swordsmanship by mistake, but his way with women is about seventy or eighty percent similar to how I was in my youth.*
*Maybe I should hold my nose and do him a favor by teaching him some top-tier sword techniques?*
—
Dongxi insisted on entering the Celestial Master’s residence, and the dim-witted little monk Ben Nanbei had no choice but to follow.
The young girl climbed the steps but suddenly stopped, cautiously scanning her surroundings.
The little monk asked in confusion, “What’s wrong?”
Dongxi whispered mysteriously, “Haven’t you heard what the pilgrims say? To ward off evil spirits, the Celestial Master places four objects at the four gates of his residence. The first gate has a bowl of water with a chopstick placed on top, turning it into an iron-chain river. The second gate has a tattered winnowing basket, which becomes a white-browed tiger. The third gate has a rope woven from grass at the base of the stone steps, transforming into a massive black serpent. Oh, I forgot what’s at the fourth gate—Ben Nanbei, you tell me.”
The little monk replied softly, “They say it’s an ancient Seven-Star Sword, forming the Thirty-Six Heavenly Stars and Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends sword formation. Dongxi, these are just scare tactics. Don’t be afraid. Look, do you see any bowl at the first gate?”
Dongxi widened her eyes and looked around. Indeed, there was no bowl, chopstick, or raging river. Still, she hesitated. She had only heard her father badmouth the Celestial Master’s residence—she wasn’t actually brave enough to cause trouble here. After all, this wasn’t her home. At home, she could play pranks on the abbots, but Xu Fengnian had told her that when traveling, she had to act like a proper lady and maintain her image as a heroine.
Seeing the girl he admired most—delicate, graceful Dongxi—too afraid to enter, the little monk, who was usually a hundred times more terrified of cockroaches and mice than she was, suddenly mustered the courage to protect her. Gently, he said, “Dongxi, don’t be scared. I’ll go in first. Just hold onto my robe’s sleeve. If I get beaten up, don’t worry about me—just run back and wait for me at the foot of the mountain. Here, take the water flask in case you get thirsty on the way down.”
Dongxi grimaced. “Ben Nanbei, the more you say that, the more scared I get. You’re terrible at chanting sutras, let alone fighting.”
The little monk sighed helplessly. “Master says debating scriptures is just arguing. He uses that as an excuse to never teach me real skills.”
Dongxi huffed, “Are you blaming my dad for your stupidity?!”
Ben Nanbei quickly explained, “No, no! Master is actually pretty good at arguing—otherwise, how could he have ended up with Mistress?”
Dongxi lifted her chin proudly. “Exactly! My dad is amazing. Nanbei, you’re just too dumb.”
The little monk turned his head and rolled his eyes. *If Dongxi says I’m dumb, I’ll accept it. But if she claims Master is some kind of genius, I won’t believe it.*
Dongxi tugged at his sleeve, unwilling to turn back but also too afraid to let Ben Nanbei lead her into the Celestial Master’s residence. What if he really got beaten up? If she ran away, would she still be a heroine? And if Xu Fengnian found out, wouldn’t he laugh at her?
“Where did this little monk come from?”
A teasing voice came from behind them, startling Dongxi. She turned to see a young Taoist priest in yellow-and-purple robes. He was older and taller than Ben Nanbei, but his smug grin was downright annoying—far worse than even Xu Fengnian’s beggar act.
Though Ben Nanbei usually shrank in fear around Dongxi, he now faced the Celestial Master’s priest with unexpected calm. He clasped his hands lightly and said, “This humble monk is named Yi Chan, from Liangchan Temple. I’ve come under my master’s orders to discuss Zen with the Celestial Master.”
The Taoist priest froze momentarily, noticing the little monk’s extraordinary robe and demeanor, far beyond that of an ordinary monk. But when he heard Yi Chan claim he was here to debate Zen with their Zhao-family Celestial Master, he couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. *So what if you’re from Liangchan Temple? You think you can show off here? Have you even read the inscription on the pillars behind you?*
*”Celestial guests from the heavenly court, the prime minister’s household in Dragon-Tiger Mountain.”*
There were countless Taoist temples in the world, but only one like this—unique and unrivaled! *Who do you think you are, the abbot of Liangchan Temple? Coming here to challenge us?*
The young priest’s gaze shifted to Dongxi’s face. *Hmm, she’s got more worldly charm than the female Taoists on Dragon-Tiger Mountain. Not exactly beautiful, but there’s something fresh about her. Maybe I should hug her and steal a kiss?*
As he thought, so he acted. The favored young priest swaggered up to Dongxi and said with a grin, “I am Zhao Ningyun, a Taoist of the Celestial Master’s residence. May I ask the young lady’s name?”
Dongxi frowned. “You live here? And your surname is Zhao? Are you one of Dragon-Tiger Mountain’s three junior Celestial Masters?”
Zhao Ningyun’s expression darkened.
Ben Nanbei stepped in front of Dongxi and said calmly, “The Buddha said, ‘A good dog doesn’t block the path.’ Unless you’re the Celestial Master himself, step aside.”
Dongxi tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Did the Buddha really say that? Don’t lie.”
The bright-eyed little monk turned and flashed a grin, revealing a row of white teeth. “Dongxi, just because I haven’t seen it in the scriptures doesn’t mean the Buddha didn’t say it. Master taught me this—he said to be a monk, one must have the courage to become a Buddha. If I ever become a Buddha whose relics can be enshrined, then this saying will have its origin, won’t it?”
Dongxi giggled. “Ben Nanbei actually had a smart moment for once.”
The little monk nodded vigorously. *So what if this is the Celestial Master’s residence? The Zen I cultivate once left even the great abbot speechless.*
While the two whispered, Zhao Ningyun was fuming, his anger boiling over.
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