Chapter Twenty-One: The Plagiarist Du Fu

Upon witnessing the struggle for the ginseng between Young Master Liu and the maiden, the elegantly poised Yu Lang and Du Fu found themselves in an awkward situation; it turned out she sold her art, not her ginseng. The maiden, with her keen mind, quickly discerned the truth from their expressions, covering her mouth with a laugh. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your brave help. But what Young Master Liu desires is merely this ginseng.”

Her voice was clear and melodious—worthy of her reputation as a renowned performer, blessed by heaven with talent. Young Master Liu pleaded sincerely, “Miss Xian’er, my father is gravely ill. He desperately needs this thousand-year-old wild ginseng as a medicine. Please, name your price; I will not bargain.”

Xian’er hesitated for a moment. “Young Master Liu, your filial piety is rare. In that case, one hundred taels of silver will suffice.” Young Master Liu promptly produced a large ingot of silver, thanked her profusely, and departed, paying no mind to Yu Lang and Du Fu, as if they were mere wooden posts.

Du Fu turned and reproached Yu Lang, “See? I told you—how could our glorious Tang Dynasty allow such vile acts as forcing women into prostitution?” Yu Lang was speechless; after all, Du Fu had rushed in ahead of him.

Du Fu then bowed to Miss Xian’er, “This child is inexperienced… Miss Xian’er, it’s been a long time. How have you been?” Xian’er’s smile blossomed with a hundred charms. “I thought you, Young Master Du, were fickle and heartless and had long forgotten this humble singer.”

Du Fu gazed at the sky. “A man must set his ambitions high and cannot indulge daily in such places.” Yet, he was often caught eavesdropping by the riverbank, and blamed his actions on a child. Yu Lang exposed him, “I think it’s just that your purse is empty, and you’re too embarrassed to come.”

Yu Lang, feeling uncomfortable witnessing their mutual affection, excused himself politely. Xian’er did not insist, offering him a gentle smile as farewell.

To his surprise, Du Zimei seemed to fancy this type. Yu Lang shook his head in resignation; he preferred a pure, delicate maiden, untouched by the dust of the world, transparent and clear.

Yu Lang paused, looking back, and realized the distance from the riverbank to the prow of the pleasure boat was nearly thirty feet. Du Fu had leapt across while Yu Lang was still stunned. Clearly, Du Fu was concealing his true abilities, not to be underestimated—a hidden tiger waiting for the right moment.

Qingqing was already standing with arms akimbo at the gate of the Yu residence, cheeks puffed in anger.

“What were you up to?”

“Shall I tell you a story?”

“Sure! I love stories.” At the mention of a tale, Qingqing instantly forgot everything else.

Yu Lang began to recount “Du Shiniang Sinks Her Treasure Chest” (Ming Dynasty, Feng Menglong), adjusting the historical setting but preserving the essence. Qingqing listened, at times enchanted, at times furious, and her prejudice against women of the pleasure quarters softened.

“Righteousness is often found among the butchers; faithlessness among scholars,” Yu Lang mused. He often wondered how loyal ministers and traitors could study the same classics yet end up so differently.

“What a good story!” Du Fu, who had been listening outside the courtyard for some time, applauded. Apparently, his time alone with the lady had not gone well, and he’d been swiftly dismissed.

Yu Lang saw from Du Fu’s knowing smile that he was likely to use this story to woo women. Hmph, what a shameless thief of tales!

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Only ten days remained before the entrance examination for Moon-Washing Academy. Qingqing plopped a stack of documents onto Yu Lang’s desk.

“These are all records about Moon-Washing Academy. I worked hard to collect them—study them well. You’re so lazy, only cramming at the last moment…”

Suddenly, Qingqing gasped.

Yu Lang produced a stack of documents three times thicker and set them before Qingqing. “Here, these are my materials. Take a look, along with my notes and analyses—no need to thank me.”

Outside, Du Fu, who was watching ants battle with Obaba, interjected, “You two are headed to Moon-Washing Academy? Have you registered? Registration must be done fifteen days in advance, with a letter of recommendation from a local worthies proving you’re from a respectable family…”

“Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t tell me you didn’t know? What’s the use of all these papers, then?”

Yu Lang longed to drag Du Fu in for a beating.

Du Fu laughed heartily. “Just teasing! Registration can be done anytime from ten to fifteen days prior. Today happens to be the last day, and I’ve already written your letter of recommendation.”

Qingqing was puzzled. “But you’re not a local, nor a worthy. What use is your letter?”

Du Fu brushed the dust from his sleeve and struck a grand pose. “Let me reintroduce myself: I am one of the ten wandering instructors at Moon-Washing Academy. Do you think the dean wouldn’t recognize my letter?”

Yu Lang blinked, putting on an obedient face. “Instructor Du, do you happen to have any reserved spots?”

“I do—just two,” Du Fu replied with a knowing smile, as if saying, “Who else would I give them to but you?”

Yu Lang and Qingqing’s eyes lit up; after all, only two hundred were chosen out of three thousand applicants.

“But,” Du Fu sighed, “one spot has already been sold to Master Xie, the richest man in Yangzhou, for one hundred thousand taels of silver.”

How did such a greedy, tale-stealing rascal ever become an instructor!

“The other is for Qingqing.” Du Fu entered the study, patting Yu Lang’s shoulder. “Those admitted via recommendation cannot compete in the entrance examination. What you seek is the spot for the cleansing and marrow-refining ceremony. In other words, you must win first place—so you shouldn’t be considering recommendation.”

Yu Lang agreed; leaving one spot for Qingqing showed Du Fu’s loyalty. On a whim, Yu Lang asked, “With Moon-Washing Academy’s underhanded ways, is it possible the top prize—the cleansing and marrow-refining spot—could be sold as well?”

Du Fu was momentarily stunned. “That depends on whether the dean needs teaching funds. You know, though our Tang Dynasty is prosperous and prices are stable, education costs keep rising, and the academy sometimes faces financial strain…”

Seeing Yu Lang’s unfriendly expression, Du Fu finally confessed, “No, it wouldn’t happen. If there’s anyone in the world who’s never short of money, it’s not the emperor, but the dean of Moon-Washing Academy.”

Yu Lang was captivated. In this world, it pays to follow the wealthiest. If he could win first place and become the dean’s personal disciple, even a fraction of their riches would suffice for a life of leisure.

Du Fu bit into a freshly picked peach from the courtyard. “It’s not that our dean is wealthy, but that he has almost no desire for money. A threadbare robe lasts him ten years—the smell is something else… Hey, what’s wrong, Yu Lang? Speak calmly, why are you drawing your knife? Are you serious? Help!”