Heyue Restaurant was a renowned gathering place for the capital’s elite. With its soaring pavilions, layered towers, beaded curtains, and embroidered hangings, the air itself seemed infused with a scholarly elegance.
The western window was a favorite haunt for poets and literati, and today, it was buzzing with the clamor of voices.
Several candidates for the Imperial Examinations sat huddled around a tea table, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
“The assassin who tried to strike down ‘Gu the Cat’ was actually broken out of prison the night before last. Now, the whole city is plastered with notices offering a bounty for his capture.”
“It’s no wonder the atmosphere in the streets has been so tense these past few days. Gu’s vultures and hounds are searching house to house. There isn’t a moment of peace left in the capital!”
“Is it any surprise? Gu the Cat monopolizes the court and has persecuted countless loyal officials. For such a man to have such luck and survive… it truly makes one’s teeth itch with hatred!”
“What is the hurry? A villain of his caliber—doing so much injustice will eventually bring his own ruin. Sooner or later, the Way of Heaven will come to collect him!”
“Well said! There are gods three feet above our heads. Heaven will certainly not let this traitor go!”
The candidates spoke with righteous indignation, their faces flushed red with anger.
A soft, mocking chuckle rang out, abruptly cutting through their rising fervor.
The group followed the sound to a red sandalwood tea table by the window. There sat a young man in white, his face as fair as polished jade, his features handsome and upright. He held a folding fan, tapping the fan’s ribs against the table.
One of the candidates stood up, pointing a finger at him. “What are you laughing at?”
The youth tapped the fan against his palm, speaking with unhurried ease. “I am laughing at you sirs for reading the classics in vain. When loyal officials are murdered, you pray to gods and Buddha; when treacherous ministers hold power, you wait for a thunderbolt from the sky to strike them?”
His companion, seated beside him and clearly used to such outbursts, offered the candidates a faint smile.
The mocked candidate’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson, too choked with rage to speak.
With a sharp snap, the youth unfurled his fan, his tone turning lazy and biting. “Since Gu the Cat entered the court, who in the empire hasn’t cursed him to death? Yet, I see Gu the Cat living perfectly well, while the loyal and righteous are the ones losing their lives one by one.”
“You… what do you mean! You tell us then, what could we possibly do?” the candidate bit out, retorting in embarrassment.
Just as the youth was about to speak, his companion placed a hand on his shoulder, advising with a smile, “Shaoling, stop bullying them.”
At the mention of the name “Shaoling,” which thundered in their ears like a clap of lightning, the candidates’ eyes widened. they stared at the youth in pleasant surprise.
“You are Xie Shaoling?”
“The ‘Snow of Ying,’ Xie Shaoling?!”
“The poem on the wall of Heyue Restaurant mocking Gu… was that truly your work?”
The name Xie Shaoling was known to every household in the capital.
Born of a prestigious family of scholars, Xie Shaoling had been a famous child prodigy since his youth. Rumor had it he could compose poetry at the age of seven. His talent was so immense that even Grand Preceptor Dong had praised him highly, calling him the “Snow of Ying”—a reference to the most refined of arts—and predicting he would become a pillar of the state.
The youth shed some of his casual air, closed his fan, and gave them a slight nod. “I am indeed Xie Shaoling.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside. The door was slammed open, and a scholar rushed in, gasping for breath. “Shaoling! This is bad!”
Xie Shaoling stood up. “What happened?”
The scholar wiped the sweat from his brow, panting heavily. “Someone matched your couplet! They’re about to erase your poem on the south wall and write a new one!”
Literati throughout history loved to write poems on walls, and Heyue Restaurant had a dedicated South Wall for this very purpose. However, there was a rule: to write a poem on this wall, one had to first match the couplet left by the previous author.
Whenever someone produced a superior match, they could have the waiter wipe away the existing text and replace it with their own work.
The current work on the South Wall, the Ode to the Mockery of the Cat, was a masterpiece Xie Shaoling had written a year ago. Until today, no one had been able to match its concluding line.
Xie Shaoling did not panic in the slightest. He let out a light laugh. “Since someone has matched it, let’s hear it.”
The scholar recalled the words. “He matched it with: ‘One should wield the sword of wisdom to cleave the winds and clouds; where the weight falls, heaven and earth are renewed.’“
