Chapter 23: Cunningly Obtaining the Poetry Collection

“Ah Luo, thank goodness you introduced us to this place. It’s given us brothers somewhere to settle,” Han Xiaozhi said, removing the towel tied around his head as he walked.

“We should also thank Master Liu. After all, he did us a favor,” Luo Gan replied, seated nearby.

Without realizing it, after rounds of busy work, it was already deep into the night by the time most of the guests had left Tiger’s Roost Pavilion. Only then did Han Xiaozhi let out a relieved sigh and feel the fatigue settle in.

“Sorry for the wait. How about some flatbread?”

“No need for bread. At this hour, I have nowhere else to go. Can I help you out, Ah Luo?”

“Of course! Leave it to me.”

Han Xiaozhi greeted Old Lin, who was still entertaining the last wave of guests, spinning tales. Once a man gets drunk, he never stops talking; Old Lin probably hadn’t even noticed Luo Gan, too busy agreeing to whatever was said.

And so, Luo Gan found himself in the room where the staff of Tiger’s Roost Pavilion lived. The place wasn’t large—barely a dozen square meters—with two wooden beds and a table cluttered with cups, towels, and clothes, evidence that daily busyness left little time for housekeeping.

What caught Luo Gan’s eye were the wooden carvings and kites by the beds. Though their shapes were not yet perfect, their craftsmanship was already exquisite. Luo Gan picked one up and toyed with it in his hand.

Han Xiaozhi watched him proudly, making Luo Gan realize these must be the handiwork of this cheeky boy.

“You made these?”

“Yes, Ah Luo. I spent half a month carving this one, and it’s still too slow.”

Luo Gan clicked his tongue in admiration. “Remarkable! Who taught you?”

“No master. I used to live up in the mountains. Alone and bored, I just figured it out myself.”

Examining the carving again, Luo Gan thought that unless Han Xiaozhi possessed extraordinary talent, he could never have achieved such skill without a teacher.

“What a pity…”

Han Xiaozhi looked confused.

“It’s a pity it won’t move. It’s so lifelike—if only this bird could move!” Luo Gan lamented. He didn’t mean to criticize; he simply regretted that ancient technology wasn’t advanced enough for someone like Han Xiaozhi to truly shine.

“That’s a great idea, Ah Luo! I’ll try to make them move next time.”

Whether it was youthful bravado or genuine cleverness, it was fortunate this kind of talent hadn’t been buried in the mountains.

“By the way, where’s your brother Han Chong?” Luo Gan set the carving down and sat on the bed.

“He’s doing well. My brother is quite capable—he found a job at the post station and is now a station clerk, almost half an official.”

Luo Gan was surprised. The memory of Han Chong wounding his hand with a wolf-tooth club felt as vivid as yesterday, and now he was an official. It seemed fate had turned misfortune into blessing—what a strange thing destiny was.

As Luo Gan prepared to rest, he noticed there were three quilts on the bed and couldn’t make sense of it.

“Why so many quilts? Does someone else stay here?”

“It’s just me and Bamboo Zhang in this room. He’s gone traveling tonight. It’s this odd weather—so cold, I need all these quilts.”

“Oh, you’re young and can't handle the cold? Back in my village, I only had one quilt.”

“Trust me, brother. Leave them here. If you get cold, cover yourself at night.”

Luo Gan, confident as ever, put on a show, and Han Xiaozhi played along, extinguishing the light and falling asleep, utterly exhausted.

Before long, Luo Gan found himself unable to sleep, worrying about the next day at the magistrate’s office and how he could avoid being recognized by that damned Magistrate Wang. He must not let himself get caught by that muddleheaded official again—just thinking about the day he played the fool sent a chill down his spine.

Thinking fearful thoughts made his body cold; better to sleep it off—sleep cures all woes.

Bamboo Zhang’s quilt smelled of sweat, likely never aired out, the room too damp, and the scent stubbornly preserved.

Poor Luo Gan, just as he began to feel drowsy, was beset by the stink and the cold. One thick quilt wasn’t enough. Reluctant to lose face, he glanced at Han Xiaozhi.

Han Xiaozhi was already fast asleep, so Luo Gan decided not to worry about pride. At worst, he’d put the quilts away in the morning. A big brother’s dignity must be maintained.

He added another quilt, but soon his feet felt cold; the quilt wasn’t long enough. He hurriedly covered his feet with the third quilt, and finally felt warm. Han Xiaozhi was truly prepared for anything.

The next day, Luo Gan had slept poorly, not even sure when he’d finally drifted off. On waking, Han Xiaozhi was already gone.

Alas, so much for big brother Luo’s dignity.

Liu Buwen was already up and dressed, wearing simple clothes, and had picked out an outfit for Luo Gan from home. Fortunately, Luo Gan was from the city, so his new attire didn’t look odd. The two of them, handsome and elegant, looked every bit the scholarly gentlemen.

Walking together to the magistrate’s office, today’s task was to teach the arrested criminals a Confucian lesson, to reform their thoughts and help them mend their ways.

There were only three or five prisoners. Liu Buwen greeted the constable at the office and signaled to Luo Gan, indicating which room was their destination.

The constable said, “Oh, Young Master Liu, there’s an extra teacher today.”

“That’s right. To truly enlighten people, you need a comprehensive approach. Only then can those who’ve lost their way return to the right path.”

It seemed Luo Gan’s disguise had worked—he wasn’t recognized. What luck.

The two put on a show, teaching the prisoners. Before they left, Liu Chengyu had told them that after midday, the constable in charge of the archives would be replaced, leaving the records unattended for one to two hours. This was their opportunity.

The prisoners nodded along, reciting, “At birth, man’s nature is good,” and similar lines. Luo Gan found it amusing, realizing that rote education had always been a tradition, not just a modern failing.

After lunch, the prisoners went to work, and Liu Buwen and Luo Gan finally had time to themselves. Following Liu Chengyu’s directions, they slipped into a side room to rest.

Constable Zhang Jifeng and Magistrate Wang were walking their dog down the corridor. Their sudden appearance sent chills through Luo Gan, but luckily, the side room door shielded them from discovery.

“Women in the city can’t bear children? Isn’t that wonderful? No more musk or safflower, what a relief.”

“You’re right, sir! Shall I find some suitable women for you to entertain?”

Magistrate Wang slapped him. “Entertain? We’re investigating the plight of the people, learning about their hardships. Watch your words—don’t cause trouble!”

“Yes, yes.” Constable Zhang rubbed his face, watching Magistrate Wang walk away, muttering, “Bastard. One day, you’ll die a miserable death.”

Once both were gone, Liu Buwen prompted Luo Gan that it was time—they should search the archive for the poetry collection.

Sure enough, the entrance was empty; the two slipped into the room. Records of all kinds filled the shelves: family genealogies, commoners’ files, the Annals of Anping, but nowhere could they find the “Three Hundred Tang Poems.”

“That strange book wouldn’t be left out in plain sight—too much trouble.”

“Let’s look further inside.”

The deeper they went, the more secretive the records: criminal cases, grain taxes, and other confidential matters. Luo Gan focused all his attention, searching for the answer amidst the sea of books.

At last, on a desk, they found “Three Hundred Tang Poems.” The two exchanged smiles. Luo Gan flipped through a few pages, finally coming upon the poem from the Peach Blossom Fan. The author was from the late Tang dynasty! This confirmed that Lady Jun Tao’s fan was certainly no ordinary object.

Liu Buwen took out rice paper, preparing to copy the poem, while Luo Gan moved to the door to keep watch.

Not long after, distant footsteps sounded—it was Constable Zhang, swaggering over!

Trouble—meeting him was always bad news. Luo Gan rushed in to warn Liu Buwen.

“Bad news, the constable’s coming.”

“Damn, I haven’t finished copying the poem!”

The footsteps drew closer, and in the face of imminent danger, Luo Gan acted quickly, grabbing the “Three Hundred Tang Poems.”

“Let’s go! I have an idea—let’s swap the real for the fake.”

Liu Buwen caught on instantly, flashing a mischievous grin.

“We’ll leave now, then reveal ourselves later.”