Chapter 22: The Banquet at Hongmen, Murders in the Air (Part 4)

Kong Sheng's deep and commanding gaze fixed intently upon Liu Nian and Zhou Chang. Liu Nian feigned disdain, shaking his head with airs, while Zhou Chang felt a chill of awe stir within him.

"Since you have all pressed me again and again to display my humble talents, I shall not refuse your insistence. Lend me your ears as I recite—"

"Tea."

"Fragrant leaves, tender buds."

No sooner had Kong Sheng uttered these two lines than Zhou Chang furrowed his brows in displeasure, Xue Jiao and the other young scholars gaped in astonishment, and even Liu Xinru and Tian’er, the dancers and maids from the Rose Pavilion who had held some expectation, found themselves disappointed.

"Miss, what sort of poem is this? It’s so plain and banal, it’s hardly more than idle talk! If this counts as poetry, even I could make it up on the spot," Tian’er whispered with a giggle into Liu Xinru’s ear.

Liu Xinru sighed softly, shaking her head in secret.

At last, Liu Nian seized his chance. He burst into wild laughter. "Kong Sheng, is this the masterpiece you have brooded over for so long? Fragrant leaves, tender buds—so this is the famed poetry champion of Wangjiang Tower! Let us all applaud the great talent of Kong Sheng in celebration!"

His voice dripped with unending mockery, and Xue Jiao’s circle immediately exploded in laughter and jeers.

Zhou Chang felt some inward satisfaction, but as leader of the scholars and host of the tea gathering, he suppressed his mirth, rapping on the table and intoning in a grave voice, "Silence, all of you! Let Master Kong finish his recitation!"

Kong Sheng merely smiled, unaffected, ignoring the mocking or contemptuous gazes of those around him. With his hands clasped behind his back, he strode to the center of the room and recited aloud:

Fragrant leaves, tender buds.

Beloved by poets, cherished by monks.

Ground like sculpted jade, sifted in red gauze.

In the kettle, saffron hues bloom; in the cup, dust and blossoms swirl.

At night, one invites the bright moon as companion; before dawn, greets the rosy clouds.

Cleansing away the weariness of ages, never tiring—yet after drunkenness, what is there left to boast?

If the first three lines of the poem seemed ordinary, even prosaic, with the fourth, the verse turned a sudden corner—few words, yet brimming with talent. Thereafter, the poem’s spirit mounted and its imagery soared, ending abruptly but leaving endless resonance in its wake.

Liu Xinru’s eyes lit up as she softly praised its brilliance. Not all the young scholars present were Zhou Chang’s loyal followers; two or three could not refrain from pounding the table in admiration, leading the way in applause.

Zhou Chang’s face darkened at once. Xue Jiao and his cohort dropped their heads in silence. Though they had come with the intent to aid Zhou Chang in suppressing Kong Sheng, what emerged from Kong Sheng’s lips was a timeless masterpiece, a dazzling display of talent no one could deny. They could not utter falsehoods with open eyes, so they could only hold their tongues.

Kong Sheng slowly turned to look at Zhou Chang and Liu Nian. Though his voice remained calm, a note of impatience crept in; his patience was at its end, and he had no wish to continue Zhou Chang's tedious literary tests. He simply pushed matters to their limit. "May I ask Brother Zhou and Lord Liu, is this sufficient? If not, I can offer up the Song of Seven Bowls of Tea—"

"One bowl moistens the lips and throat; two bowls banish loneliness and gloom.

Three bowls search the withered soul—only five thousand scrolls linger in the mind.

Four bowls bring a light sweat, and all life’s injustices disperse through every pore.

Five bowls purify the flesh and bone, six bowls commune with the immortal spirit.

Seven bowls—no, seven I dare not take! For a cool wind rises beneath my arms.

Where is Mount Penglai? Riding this pure breeze, Kong Sheng would soar away..."

Kong Sheng recited in a gentle, unhurried flow, and when the song was complete, he laughed aloud, swept his sleeve, and returned to his seat.

His words astonished all present—an awed silence fell. Only Liu Xinru, her heart stirred to its depths, could no longer contain herself and exclaimed, "Master Kong’s Song of Seven Bowls of Tea is exquisite beyond words, truly beyond words!"

"The first bowl moistens the throat, the second chases away gloom; the third brings profound thought, and in the heart arises the Way; the fourth discards the world’s injustices, showing a mind broad and magnanimous; by the seventh, a cool wind grows beneath one’s arms, and one longs to ride it away and become immortal. Seven bowls—this tells the essence and beauty of tea, and among living tea drinkers, who can match such lofty spirit but Master Kong? He is truly one in a million!"

Liu Xinru’s eyes shone with fervent light, and she gazed at Kong Sheng’s back, lost in admiration, all her former disdain for this reputed wastrel forgotten in an instant.

The maid Tian’er blinked her lively eyes. She did not understand poetry, but she knew that her mistress, though raised in a brothel, excelled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and possessed a proud and lofty spirit. For her to lose composure and praise someone so extravagantly proved Kong Sheng’s fame was no idle rumor.

The girl felt it was all most strange. She thought, if Kong Sheng has such talent, had he displayed it in the past, would the mistress have ever despised or insulted him? She might even have fallen for him, spent her savings to buy her freedom, and followed him for life. Yet he refused, coming to the Rose Pavilion to make a spectacle of himself, repulsing everyone who saw him!

This man, for all his talent, must be a madman, she concluded. Yet as she looked at Kong Sheng again, her feelings had changed—he seemed more pleasing to the eye than before.

Though none echoed Liu Xinru’s lavish praise, Xue Jiao and the scholars were deeply shaken. Scholars may be quick to scorn one another, and those who stand out are easily attacked out of jealousy; yet among scholars, poetry and prose remain the true measure of a man’s standing in the literary world.

At this point, not a single scholar present could deny Kong Sheng’s brilliance—a subtle shift of heart had taken place, and with it, some began to disapprove of Zhou Chang’s methods.

Xue Jiao glanced at Zhou Chang’s darkened face and sighed inwardly: Brother Zhou, it seems all your efforts are in vain. Kong Sheng’s talent is overwhelming; you cannot suppress him. To compete in poetry with him is to invite your own humiliation!

Zhou Chang steadied himself, exhaling slowly. By now, he knew well he could not contend with Kong Sheng in literary arts. With that, a new resolve took root—a fierce anger and ruthless purpose welled up within him. He determined that the time for pretense was over; he would confront Kong Sheng with open hostility.

Zhou Chang rose with a broad smile, bowing deeply to Kong Sheng. "Master Kong, your talent is unmatched! Someone, bring wine in place of tea! Let us all drink heartily in honor of Master Kong’s wondrous verse!"

He cast a dark look at Liu Nian.

Liu Nian stood and called out, "Liu Tong, fetch my ten-year-old Nu’er Hong and bring out the large cups!"

Liu Tong obeyed, directing Tian’er and the other maids to serve the wine. The guests’ delicate tea sets were cleared away, replaced with stately goblets more than three inches tall. Kong Sheng sat quietly, watching as the maids carried wine cups one by one, his face calm, though inwardly taut with suspicion.

If there had been trickery in the tea, there would surely be something amiss in the wine as well. Kong Sheng cast a sidelong glance and noticed that the cup brought to Liu Nian looked identical to his own, but with a subtle difference—the faintest red mark on the bottom, almost impossible to detect. A cold smile flickered at the corner of Kong Sheng’s lips.

Zhou Chang and Liu Nian exchanged a swift glance, each reading malice in the other’s eyes. Zhou Chang raised his cup to invite the toast. "Master Kong, please! Gentlemen, let us all drain our cups!"

As everyone prepared to drink, Kong Sheng suddenly said, "I am unwell today and cannot drink. I thank Brother Zhou for your kindness, but must decline."

Zhou Chang’s hand trembled slightly as he held his cup aloft.

Liu Nian grew agitated. "Kong Sheng, don’t be so ungrateful! Brother Zhou is showing you respect—how dare you refuse?!"

Kong Sheng’s expression darkened abruptly. He reached out, seized his Xiao Sword, and with a metallic clang, a flash of white shot forth. The Po-Lu dagger flew from his hand, embedding itself high in the carved beam of the pavilion with a resonant tremor!

All present were startled. They gazed up at the gleaming blade, their faces transformed with fear.

Kong Sheng thundered, "Liu Nian, do not push me too far! I have yielded again and again—do you truly take me for a weakling? If you insult me again, do not blame me for what follows!"

Liu Nian turned ashen, his lips quivering. Only now did he realize that this man beside him was not just a scholar, but a robust, newly-trained fighter of great strength. At such close quarters, if Kong Sheng lost control, there was no escape.

Zhou Chang cursed Liu Nian inwardly as a useless wretch, ruining everything. But for the sake of his larger plan, he forced a smile and tried to smooth things over. "Master Kong, please don’t be angry! Lord Liu meant only to be friendly. Come, let us put aside all past grievances and drink together as friends!"

Kong Sheng uttered a vague assent, slowly raised the cup before him, and the cold smile at his lips vanished in an instant. He drained the cup in one draught. Zhou Chang, delighted, drank his own as well.

Liu Nian, overjoyed, did likewise, but as he set his cup down, Kong Sheng’s cold gaze swept over the faint red mark on the bottom of Liu Nian’s wine cup.