Chapter 11: The Priceless Poem

The mention of “ten thousand gold pieces” silenced the entire hall. Neither the elegant Third Young Master nor the bejeweled Prince Song dared to act rashly in the face of such a gesture. Whence had this nobody come, daring to upstage the gentry? The crowd erupted—tonight would surely be a spectacle worth watching.

In truth, it was a flash of reckless inspiration, though who could say if it was clever improvisation or a blunder born of haste? To shout out “ten thousand gold” had stunned everyone into submission. Sweat beaded on Luo Gan’s brow, but he forced himself to maintain an air of shock and superiority as he looked down from the balcony, feigning invincibility.

Prince Song could restrain himself no longer. “Who is this, and how dare you cause a scene here?”

His face betrayed the arrogance of a petty official. The Third Young Master, though eager to compete, felt it beneath his dignity and chose instead to probe subtly.

The Third Young Master remarked, “Remarkable, remarkable! The greatest hermits dwell in the marketplace—Green Pavilion truly breeds talent.”

On stage, the courtesan glanced back at Luo Gan, her eyes shimmering with allure, willow-shaped brows drawn delicately upon an oval face. This was Jun Tao, the graceful beauty whose charms had conquered countless scholars and nobles.

Luo Gan gazed at her in a daze, oblivious to the stares from the crowd below. He had eyes only for the brief exchange with Jun Tao, unmindful of the others. Her half-smile, her gaze locked on his, seemed to draw his very soul from his body, leaving him rooted to the spot.

The turn of events was far from what the proprietor had anticipated. Though patrons came from all corners, their most valued guests were the officials—spendthrifts who brought both wealth and prestige. Should their pleasure be spoiled by some unknown upstart, the flow of silver would be severed.

Raising his voice, the proprietor called out, “Ah, perhaps those upstairs didn’t hear clearly—this young man merely called a name. You, come here!”

He beckoned a servant, who approached the stage, head bowed.

The proprietor asked, “Well, are you acquainted with the gentleman upstairs?”

The servant shook his head vigorously. The proprietor, growing agitated, slapped the servant on the back.

“Are you addled? Ten thousand gold—he’s your old acquaintance, isn’t he? Go and attend to him!”

The servant, still bewildered, was shoved again toward the stairs.

“Hurry up! What are you waiting for?”

Stumbling, the servant made his way up as Luo Gan, still drunk, failed to notice the laughter and jeers below.

Sizing up Luo Gan with disdain, the servant saw neither an official nor a wealthy merchant—what business had he to cause such a commotion here? Truly unbelievable.

“Hey! The boss has given you a way out—gather yourself and leave before you make more of a fool of yourself.”

Luo Gan snapped out of his trance, dismayed to see the beauty replaced by a coarse youth. Worse, the people below were pointing and whispering, leaving him no place to hide his shame.

Still tipsy—liquor, as they say, emboldens the timid—Luo Gan shoved the servant aside and raised his voice so all could hear.

“I bid ten thousand gold! What, do you look down on me?”

His voice rang out. This was not the Luo Gan—once called Li Chuang—of the real world, who had ever been meek and hesitant. When had he become so bold? Was this recklessness or heroism?

Yet to all present, it was obvious: with so many officials and gentry quietly making their bids, this drunken stranger was either a fool or a troublemaker.

With a look, the proprietor signaled to his men, and several burly attendants emerged—each broad as an ox, looming like mountains, exuding a menacing aura that kept the crowd at bay.

The onlookers’ interest was piqued. They hadn’t seen such excitement in months—yesterday an official, today a young master, but this was something new.

The Third Young Master drawled, “How amusing—he still has spirit, courage and cunning both!”

The words dripped with sarcasm, and Prince Song clapped his hands in delight.

“Ha! It’s been long since I’ve seen such a rash fellow!”

Jun Tao raised her peach-blossom fan, covering half her face, her eyes sharp as lightning as she observed Luo Gan and the assembly, keenly interested in what would happen next.

Luo Gan, still muddled, found himself at a loss, and in desperation slapped himself across the face. In his vision, options appeared: “Choose to attack—success rate 1%, failure will leave you paralyzed, a laughingstock; choose to flee—success rate 10%, but jumping from the balcony may break your leg.”

He thought, “What is this? No sensible choices at all?”

A response flashed: “Because you’re not a sensible person either.”

The crowd burst into laughter. Was this “distinguished guest” slapping himself to sober up? Drunks making a scene in the brothel—how had the place sunk so low?

Then, another line appeared in his vision: “Or you may compose a poem in response.”

This, Luo Gan thought, was at least reasonable—better than breaking a leg or being paralyzed.

But then his vision dimmed again, and Luo Gan fumed at whatever fiendish game designer tormented him—just like a car sputtering out of fuel, refusing to cooperate. How could anyone play under such conditions?

Muttering, he slapped himself once more. With a crisp sound, his mind began to search for suitable poems, and a flurry of information flashed before him.

Teetering, he descended the stairs.

His eyes bleary, Luo Gan suddenly burst out laughing:

“A man is never truly poor,
With a breeze for ten thousand gold.
All the world is lost in wine,
Yet I clutch the moon and clouds above.”

Five lines—a quatrain—declaring himself untainted and noble, subtly mocking the mercenary nature of the officials and young masters present.

The hall fell silent. The proprietor realized this was no masterpiece and feared it might offend the Third Young Master or Prince Song. What to do? He broke out in a cold sweat.

The Third Young Master, face like frost, exchanged a glance with Prince Song, then, unexpectedly, began to applaud.

“How amusing! A true gentleman indeed, living with only the breeze, noble in character.”

Prince Song was momentarily at a loss, but then realized: this way, neither side needed to pay, and all could save face—a small price for a pleasant night, to everyone’s satisfaction.

With this realization, the prince joined in the applause.

Seeing the two distinguished guests thus, the proprietor hurriedly invited Luo Gan to step down and dismissed his burly attendants.

All this was observed by Jun Tao, who thought, “What an extraordinary man! Is it true insight and wit, or simply the favor of fortune? Yet this young upstart has broken the deadlock.”

Behind her peach-blossom fan, Jun Tao’s crimson lips parted in a faint smile, while Luo Gan, touching his head, marveled—so that worked after all!