Chapter 63: The Most Terrifying Poet Is the One Who Loses His Post for Drinking

At last, the game was won. Luo Gansong let out a long breath, but the farmer opposite him showed no sign of disappointment—he seemed even happier than Luo Gan himself, like a delighted child. Luo Gan was astonished to find his opponent so cheerful; he almost doubted whether he had truly won or lost, repeatedly scrutinizing the board for confirmation.

“What a marvelous spirit—no regrets in making your move. At last, after so long, I have found someone I can lose to,” the farmer said.

“Since that’s the case, I must ask: are you Master Wang Ji?” After various hints and tests, Luo Gan was nearly certain the farmer was indeed Wang Ji, yet he could not help but ask again to hear the answer from the man himself.

“What if I am? What if I am not? I am just a—” The farmer flung a handful of pieces onto the stone table; they scattered with a sharp clatter. His slow, meandering demeanor greatly irritated Luo Gan, whose eyes burned with restless flames, ready to ignite at the slightest spark.

“This is important! I’m talking to you!” Luo Gan’s anger seemed to come from nowhere, perhaps from frustrations long suppressed in real life, now flaring up in the game, provoked by every person and event. Sometimes he felt his temper had grown unruly, making him difficult to get along with, unable to bear trivial matters.

The farmer was taken aback, bewildered by the sudden outburst.

“When you speak to your elders, you ought to be polite. It’s hard to make friends otherwise,” the farmer admonished with gentle earnestness.

Luo Gan shut his eyes tightly; he had no time for wine or poetry now—what mattered was finding the clue to complete the level.

“This is the third trial, isn’t it? I’ve finished the game of chess—surely it’s over now?” Luo Gan asked.

“Playing chess is about cultivating oneself, just like drinking wine. If your heart is imprisoned, all you do is struggle like a trapped beast. Only by embracing the vastness of the world can you roam freely within it,” the farmer replied.

Luo Gan nodded. “I’ll take you for Master Wang, then. Does that mean you have wings now, Master Wang? Can you soar the heavens?”

Realizing his identity had been uncovered, the farmer no longer tried to hide.

“There is no Master Wang. In this world, there is only a wingless Farmer Wang.”

There was a note of melancholy in Wang Ji’s voice. The image of a middle-aged man, stifled and unfulfilled, unable to obtain what he desired, was written plainly on his face, stirring Luo Gan’s heart.

“I won’t beat around the bush. What should I do next?” Luo Gan pressed on.

“The answer is not with me. You must find it yourself. All I can give you are the clues: chess and wine.”

Luo Gan was at a total loss; why must these people always speak in riddles?

“Do you know Anping County?”

“Anping County? How could I not know it? That was where I tasted Jiao Ge’s wine for the first time—a place of birdsong and blossoms, eternal spring,” the farmer replied.

“But now it’s gripped by winter’s chill, the people are in dire straits, women haven’t borne children for months, officials do nothing, and disaster runs rampant,” Luo Gan said.

Wang Ji’s face hardened, and he drank alone in silence. Luo Gan was surprised by his reaction, wondering if he had spoken unclearly and prepared to repeat himself.

“Enough. I’m but a brewer and a farmer. I have no power over the fate of the world,” Wang Ji interrupted.

“There’s an old saying: ‘When high in the court, one worries for the people; when far from power, one worries for the ruler.’ Surely, a learned man such as yourself knows this?” Luo Gan pressed.

Wang Ji pondered, then shook his head. “I’ve never heard that saying. Who is it from?”

“Fan Zhongyan,” Luo Gan replied.

“I don’t know the man.” Wang Ji was unmoved.

Upon reflection, Luo Gan realized that Fan Zhongyan was not a poet of the Tang dynasty—such mistakes come easily to those who have not studied history well. Dealing with scholars was exhausting; one had to drop allusions yet not be caught in error, always maintaining a learned persona—a task Luo Gan was finding increasingly difficult.

“Never mind. The point is, Master Wang, you should worry for the people and the world!”

“The world? Hah! If I cared for the world, would I be here drinking and farming? The world belongs to the emperor, not to the commoners. We only borrow a patch of land to eke out our days.”

It seemed that in ancient times, the concept of equality was utterly unknown, let alone the idea that everyone should feel a sense of ownership and responsibility. They kept themselves lowly.

“If an official doesn’t care for the people, he’s unfit for office!” Luo Gan protested indignantly.

His reaction was fueled by the memory of being humiliated by Wang Ge—officials not only oppressed the people but also insulted their character.

“For the people? Life is but a fleeting pleasure. When I was in office, I had simple desires: no ambition for high rank, only to be music director and enjoy a cup of good wine. I never abused the people or harmed anyone; why say I was wrong?”

Luo Gan felt infuriated, angry at Wang Ji’s lack of ambition.

Ordinary men might be easily dismissed for such mediocrity, but Wang Ji was no commoner—his works were included in the Three Hundred Tang Poems, he was a renowned poet of early Tang, yet he became famous for serving and resigning three times, ending up as a recluse. So many poor scholars spent years studying, striving for fame and achievement, but Wang Ji treated office merely as a way to drink!

Others called him the “Scholar of the Wine Cup” as a jest, mocking him, but he hardly cared, even seemed to take it as praise for his erudition and drinking. What a joke.

With such a mediocre official, there was little hope, but as Wang Ji seemed to know something about Anping County, Luo Gan wondered if he could glean some information.

“No matter the fate of the people, Master Wang must have his own world—though perhaps not without its flaws,” Luo Gan said.

Wang Ji pretended not to care, but he listened intently, clearly curious.

“Freely roaming the world, yet no more Jiao Ge’s fine wine,” Luo Gan added.

Jiao Ge was a sore spot for Wang Ji. It was the allure of fine wine that had driven him to seek the post of music director and live as a carefree official. After Jiao Ge’s death, there was no longer any wine to mourn, and the world lost both a master brewer and a poet.

“Jiao Ge... Jiao Ge! Alas,” Wang Ji wept bitterly, his face hidden in his hands. The emotions of scholars were unfiltered—joy was joy, sorrow was sorrow. Life was carefree, and death brought release. For Wang Ji, who lived for wine, only those who understood it could be his true friends. Luo Gan had grasped this perfectly.

Feigning deep empathy and refraining from any mockery, Luo Gan displayed a matching grief, placing a consoling hand on Wang Ji’s shoulder.

“Jiao Ge was an exceptional brewer. I understand your pain, Master.”

“You understand? No! You don’t. Only Jiao Ge could make that wine. No matter how I tried to replicate it, I could never recapture that taste.”

Luo Gan’s eyes lit up. Suddenly, he had a plan.

“Master, there is something you may not know—a secret hidden in Anping County.”

Wang Ji seemed indifferent—what did secrets matter to him? No treasure could bring back a lost friend, and his grief was uncontrollable.

“Jiao Ge’s first brew was made in Anping. And it’s said that his last was also crafted there.”

At these words, Wang Ji’s tears stopped. He gazed at Luo Gan in astonishment.

“Is it true? There’s still wine from Jiao Ge?”

“Without a doubt. It lies beneath Anping County. But now that the county is locked in winter’s grip, who knows if it can be found,” Luo Gan said solemnly, sighing for Wang Ji’s benefit, watching carefully for his reaction. As expected, Wang Ji took the bait, his longing for his old friend’s wine unshaken.

“If that’s the case, then the snows in Anping must be melted!”

“Alas, I have no idea how,” Luo Gan replied.

“I’ve heard that Anping’s strange affliction began when the flowers withered, when all life fell silent. Only the one who ties the knot can untie it.”

Luo Gan was bewildered and pressed Wang Ji for clarity.

“Don’t be impatient! All you need do is make the flowers bloom in Anping County.”