The Thirteenth Prince’s rear garden was remarkably spacious, with lakes and artificial mountains to stimulate the mind as well as separate the courtyard in two. The Thirteenth Prince, after bringing Jing Wen to a pavilion near the walls of the courtyard, was once more reprimanded by a nearby servant. Smiling apologetically towards Jing Wen and Zhou Aimin, the Thirteenth Prince than left to receive other dignitaries.

Jing Wen was uninterested in competing with the other youths. Sipping on a cup of Longjing tea in his remote position, Jing Wen silently observed the young talents gathering and conversing, idling about until the appearance of Xiahou Jie.

Fortunately, the position Jing Wen was led to by the Thirteenth Prince was occupied by the scholarly type than the martial kind of people. It seemed all the conversation involved literary classics in some way. The scholars were allowed to drift where they please, but most seemed to gravitate towards small porcelain tables on the grass, leaving few gazes towards the periphery of the courtyard. A few nobles invited by the Thirteenth Prince noticed Jing Wen, but unbothered to greet him. Instead, they spent their time more productively, unfurling their fans and casually approaching the few women in the courtyard, making small chitchats.

These men were thankful that winter had made the sun’s rays far more attractive; otherwise, they would not have caught sight of the beautiful ladies at this gathering, who wanted to write or listen to some melancholy poets while bathing in gentle daylight.

Eventually, a well-dressed scholar walked up in curiosity as to which household Jing Wen had come from. Cupping his hands, he said, “This gentleman, may I ask for your family name?”

The man spoke with a heavy Longxi (隴西) accent, which, along with his imposing features and tall stature, made the person’s appearance rather humourous when combined with his scholarly clothing.

Jing Wen placed down his teacup and answered politely, “This one is surnamed Jing.”

After hearing this, the man from Longxi immediately realised Jing Wen’s identity. Laughing awkwardly, he continued to exchange a few more rounds of words with Jing Wen, concluding that the blind man was exceedingly dull, before withdrawing from the idle chitchat. Strolling around the artificial lake, he began conversing with more colourful scholars as he waited for the contest to begin.

Winter has long overstayed its welcome, but today was a rare exception. The sunshine was gentle, yet warming and the occasional breeze brought warmer winds from the ocean. The willow trees swayed light, occasionally tapping against the water, which, combined with the sunlight, gave one the yearning to fall asleep. A servant offered to serve Jing Wen wine, but was refused, as Jing Wen wanted to restraint the urge to fall asleep due to the drowsiness.

Yet, even so, it became increasingly difficult for Jing Wen to feign his interest in the poetry recited, and he found himself nodding off.

Jing circulated the Qi within his body to remain awake. Although he had never intended to partake in poetry events such as these, he still intended to act with proper proprietary. Listening to the happenings before him in a somewhat drowned out manner, Jing Wen continued to wait.

Unaware to Jing Wen, a group of people were sitting in the most extravagant section of the lake - it was that scholar from Longxi and, more notably, Liu Shan, who the Thirteenth Prince invited.

Upon hearing the scholar from Longxi mention ‘Jing Wen’, Liu Shan immediately left his state of absent-mindedness from watching the beautiful women from across the lake. Turning his head towards Jing Wen’s direction, he immediately lost control of his refined appearance and elegance. Feverishly, he threw the ostentatious folding hand in his hand onto the table.

Fortunately for Liu Shan, he was not far away from where the martial artists gathered, so such noises failed to attract attention.

Liu Shan’s companions attempted to calm him down; after all, while the rest of the capital doesn’t know, they have already heard of Liu Shan’s defeat at Jing Wen’s hands. Even if Jing Wen fails to protect himself this time, he was still a favourite of the emperor, and causing such a commotion so close to the palace would undoubtedly attract His Majesty’s attention.

It seemed that Jing Wen could feel the burning gaze of Liu Shan on him. So he cupped his hands towards him in greetings, ignoring them all together afterwards.

Liu Shan and the table, insulted by the act, began to murmur among themselves, and gloomy smiles broke out among them. Liu Shan’s bitter face appeared almost pleased. Only the scholar from Longxi seemed to take exception.

---

The scholars did not know what the martial artists were doing behind the artificial mountain range. Still, the sound of screams constantly echoed throughout the courtyard, and an expert could be occasionally heard reading aloud names. However, the scholars never cared for such boorish men to begin with, only bringing up the martial artists in passing comments of disdain.

“These men think of themselves as heroes.” A scholar said aloud, “but they do not understand that times have changed. Unless they become a part Imperial Guard, they will die in poverty.”

The crowd agreed, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. Abruptly, the scholar from Longxi proposed an idea; to write a poem about a topic, and the best three would be sent to the other side of the mountain.

Another scholar from Liu Shan’s table turned his gaze and suggested, “I am but I talentless individual, but may I propose the topic to be about water?”

“Jade dews and wounds the groves of maple trees…” someone began to write.

“Good. Good. I shall write a phrase myself; All day, I sit by the river in my tower on the green hill…”

Liu Shan stared at Jing Wen, who was still seated far away from commotion at the pavilion. “I did not expect Sir Jing to be here today!” He proclaimed loudly, “Why don’t we let him start.”

Jing Wen had come here to meet Xiahou Jie in the first place. He never had any intentions of writing poetry, so when he heard Liu Shan pushing him, he gave merely a faint smile, saying, “I’m not that talented. Someone else is more deserving.”

Seeing Jing Wen withdraw, Liu Shan felt his self-prime finally recovering, and that Jing Wen was all brawns and no brains. He laughed coldly. “If your father could see you now, he would surely be disappointed!”

Hearing this, most people found Liu Shan to be far too extreme. They could guess that Jing Wen and Liu Shan had formed some sort of enmity recently and that the poetry was merely an excuse to start a fight. Yet to mention someone’s deceased father? That was simply too distasteful.

However, none of them dared to stand with Jing Wen, especially when Liu Shan had brought along so many supporters, along with being a powerful cultivator himself, and on the grounds of the distancing relationship between Jing Wen and the Thirteenth Prince due to Consort Li. In the end, they simply brushed it off as Liu Shan speaking one too many words by accident, not taking Liu Shan’s words to heart.

Watching the people around him offering words regarding Jing Wen, Liu Shan took a sip of wine and laughed sinisterly. “Sir Jing’s mind must have been disturbed by the prime minister’s tragic death. They say the greatest poets are those heartbroken; I wish to see if this is true in Sir Jing.”

No longer having any excuse to divert Liu Shan’s distasteful statement, the scholars’ emotions became much more complicated. Looking at Jing Wen, they felt a tinge of pity, a trace of disdain, and many other strange sentiments.

Jing Wen’s expression did not change from the faint smile he had worn before. He continued to refuse to partake in the poetry competition. The Thirteenth Prince, watching this, could not help but become upset and outraged in the place of Jing Wen. Yet he knew he must restrain himself, so he spoke to broker a compromise. “Poetry can be only written willingly, and Marquis Jing has already stated his intentions. Gentlemen, you must respect the will of others.”

Jing Wen continued to hold the teacup in his hand, occasionally taking a sip as he continued to ignore the milling of the people and their mediocre compositions from a distance. He found the entire matter rather distasteful, but even more boring.

Yet to an observer, fondling a teacup was often a sign of contemplation. One of the scholars by Liu Shan’s side could not help but sneer, “He said he refused to compose because of his will, but I judge that this is because he is simply unable to! No wonder he is so silent.”

Liu Shan spoke quietly, but in a patronising manner, “Well, he is no different from the brutes at the other side of the mountain. He is undeserving of the name ‘Wen (文 - Literary).” Though he had spoken quietly, he made sure to let everyone around him know.

The name of an individual was given by their father. Through insulting Jing Wen’s name, Liu Shan was again indirectly attacking Jing Ping.

It was the third time, and even Liu Shan’s most loyal followers felt uncomfortable, much less the other scholars at the courtyard.