Chapter Seven: The Sage's Decree, An Auspicious Day!

“What a fine bit of self-mockery, though perhaps a little too modest,” someone outside the arena exclaimed, clapping with laughter and showering Han Fu with praise.

Beside him, another cast a sidelong glance and mused, “Brother, have you considered—if he calls himself a half-baked scholar, what does that make us?”

The first was momentarily stunned; then, indignantly, he grabbed his companion’s arm. “Don’t stop me, brother. I must go teach him a lesson!”

On the stage, Han Fu paid no heed to the crowd’s reactions. Turning to Qin Weiren, he smiled, “The seven verses are done, forgive my humble effort. If I remember correctly, Brother Qin, you still owe us a poem. I’m all ears.”

Qin Weiren gazed at Han Fu, his expression cold and indifferent. He sneered, “Well played, Han Fu. I won’t forget what happened today.” With that, he turned and strode away.

“Brother Qin, if you leave now, it will be taken as conceding defeat,” Han Fu called after him in good faith. Then, feigning sudden realization, he raised his voice, “Thank you, Brother Qin, for your generosity!”

Qin Weiren paused for a moment, then descended from the stage, never looking back.

His vengeance complete, Han Fu felt a rare ease flood his body. He smiled faintly and looked around, calling out in a clear voice, “Does any gentleman wish to challenge the stage?”

The crowd regarded him as if he were mad.

With your talent defying all reason, would we dare embarrass ourselves before you? That was the thought in every literati’s mind.

“Brother Han, none dare challenge you further. You have won,” a voice rang out, startling Han Fu.

Following the sound, he saw Liu Shilin—the scholar who had previously left in defeat—smiling and nodding to him.

Han Fu nodded in return, then turned his gaze to the viewing platform.

There, Qin Ping’s face was dark as iron, his eyes burning with fury.

When Han Fu looked his way, Qin Ping quickly masked his anger, rising with a hearty laugh. “Nephew, you have truly opened my eyes. With such poetic talent, you are unmatched in history. Alas…”

He sighed dramatically and continued, “Had I known your greatness, I would never have consented to break the engagement that day.”

Such words rang hollow; Han Fu smiled faintly, letting the hypocrisy slide.

Every retort must be measured.

He and the Qin family were now enemies, but not to the point of utter ruin. If he exposed Qin Ping’s duplicity in public, he would gain nothing and might only deepen the rift.

Still, a subtle reply was warranted.

Han Fu smiled, “Uncle, there is no need for regret. Perhaps fate simply did not favor me and General Qin. Besides, there’s no undoing the matter now.”

Smooth and slippery… Qin Ping grumbled inwardly, forcing a smile. “You are quite right, nephew, quite right—ha ha ha…”

He wondered what was right about it, and whether there was a double meaning. Turning, he offered congratulations, “Brother Zhou, congratulations on gaining such a fine son-in-law.”

“Ha ha… Thank you, Brother Qin,” Zhou Xinyi replied, his laughter genuine and free from pretense.

He was truly delighted, unable to hide it.

The more he looked at Han Fu, the more pleased he became.

With the matter settled, the crowd below erupted in discussion.

Those who loved poetry savored the seven verses, lost in their beauty.

Those jealous or hostile toward Han Fu could do nothing but stew in resentment. From this moment, Han Fu was the Zhou family’s son-in-law, shielded by their influence; any plan to harm him to vent their anger would have to be abandoned.

The illiterate watched with envy, gazing at Han Fu’s upright figure, wishing they could take his place and marry Baili Mingsu.

One of Dingxing’s three beauties, a woman whose intelligence bordered on the uncanny—how could anyone not desire her?

Qin Ping felt increasingly uncomfortable, grumbling inwardly while maintaining a polite smile.

He did not wish to linger, so he rose to leave.

Just then, a sharp, piercing voice sounded from outside the crowd.

“An Imperial edict!”

Everyone was shocked, turning toward the source.

Wang De, the chief eunuch serving Emperor Xiaokang, approached, holding a whisk, flanked by four younger eunuchs. The crowd parted, forming a path as the five passed through unimpeded.

Zhou Xinyi and Qin Ping exchanged anxious glances.

For the edict to arrive just as the proceedings ended—what did that imply?

It meant the Emperor was watching nearby. Neither dared to look around, for that would be disrespectful.

They straightened their robes and hurried off the platform, bowing respectfully. “We await the edict.”

Han Fu frowned slightly, watching the palace eunuchs in their distinctive attire, sensing that the edict might concern him. Though he was of humble status, the Zhou and Qin families wielded great power, and today he had disrupted their matrimonial alliance.

Would the Emperor intervene?

This chief eunuch resembled Cao Huachun from “The Number One Under Heaven”—Han Fu wondered if this world had true energy and such things. His mind drifted.

There was no kneeling ceremony in Xu Dynasty; all remained harmonious, and the gathered scholars and citizens simply bowed their heads to express respect for the Sage.

No one dared discuss the edict, their curiosity about its content left unsatisfied.

“The Sage said, the two Dukes need not stand on ceremony,” Wang De—not Cao Huachun—smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Zhou and Qin replied.

Wang De straightened, announcing, “Today’s marriage challenge was most splendid, greatly pleasing His Majesty. More importantly, it revealed new talent; Duke of Pei’s contribution is invaluable.”

Zhou Xinyi bowed, smiling in reply.

“Never before have I heard of the second son of Duke Qin’s poetic talent. Seeing it today, it is clear that a tiger father breeds no dog sons. I am truly impressed,” Wang De continued.

Qin Ping bowed lower, understanding that the Emperor’s words carried hidden meaning.

“I had assumed that the second son of Duke Qin would win today’s challenge, but unexpectedly a prodigious talent appeared midway… The twists and turns left me breathless.”

“According to custom, Han Fu wins the challenge and shall wed Baili Mingsu. The Emperor is delighted and wishes to add to the joy, bestowing the marriage upon them.”

The entire audience was stunned, lifting their heads in disbelief toward Wang De, who was still delivering the edict.

An imperial marriage—such an honor!

Those who envied Han Fu felt even more bitter.

Zhou Xinyi and Qin Ping were equally astonished. Thinking carefully, they understood the Emperor’s intent.

The Emperor feared that the Zhou and Qin families might cause further complications, so he settled the matter decisively.

But… neither of them entertained such thoughts.

Heaven bear witness—Qin Ping’s feelings were of no concern to Zhou Xinyi, who only cared that Han Fu would become his nephew-in-law. Delighted, why would he break the engagement?

“I have my concerns, and I believe the Zhou family shares them… Han Fu’s humble origins do not match the Zhou family’s status. If Baili Mingsu were to marry him, it might be a slight. Today, I shall be the villain… Three days hence is an auspicious day; Han Fu shall marry into the Zhou family.”

Marry in as a son-in-law?

The crowd was bewildered.

How did this come to pass? What villainy was the Emperor committing?

According to the rules of the challenge, regardless of the winner’s background, he should marry Baili Mingsu… But the Emperor’s word is law; if he decrees Han Fu must marry in, so it shall be.

Now, those who envied, resented, and hated Han Fu no longer felt bitter.

Han Fu himself was surprised, but soon dismissed the matter.

He did not care about marrying in as a son-in-law; what mattered was entering Dingxing’s circle of nobility. As long as he achieved that goal, the form of marriage was irrelevant.

Within the Zhou residence, by the wall, Baili Mingda had descended from the ladder. Baili Mingsu and Ping’er had arrived as well.

All three had heard the words “marry in” clearly. Baili Mingsu’s brows furrowed.

Ping’er stared at Baili Mingsu, blinking, momentarily bewildered.

Baili Mingda spat fiercely and cursed, “Which charlatan at the Astronomical Bureau calculated this—how could three days hence be an auspicious day?”

Baili Mingsu, her mind racing, asked curiously, “Brother, which day do you think is truly auspicious?”

“One day is enough to prepare… The day after tomorrow is the auspicious day,” Baili Mingda declared with certainty.

So three days hence is indeed an auspicious day, Baili Mingsu mused.