Chapter 11: The Fool Who Dug His Own Grave

“Let’s go, time for the poetry gathering.” Shen Shi shook out the folds of his scholar’s robe and stood up with a flourish.

A “poetry gathering”?

Yes, a poetry gathering. One never says outright that they’re going to a brothel. It’s just like in modern times, calling a meeting a discussion about life—same old trick.

You can always tell the veterans by their first words. So it was clear that the original Shen Shi was an old hand at visiting brothels.

But, honestly, who could blame him? In ancient times, scholars loved this sort of refined entertainment. The Shen family had shifted from martial pursuits to literary ones—what better way to mark the transition than a visit to a brothel?

It was a joyous affair, a matter of elegant pleasure, which meant the little rascal couldn’t be brought along. Come to think of it, Shen Shi hadn’t seen the little troublemaker for two days. Ever since they arrived at the Gongsun estate, that creature had been tormenting the local chickens and ducks. It only ever showed up when Shen Shi was reading.

The rest of the time, it was either stuffing itself until its belly was round, or dozing off to digest. Eating and sleeping, sleeping and eating—at this rate, it was destined for a pig’s life.

Gongsun Ce carefully tucked away his two sheets of paper as if they were treasures and reminded Shen Shi, “Aren’t you going to compose a few verses, my friend?”

“Write poetry?” Shen Shi patted his belly and said, “See this? There’s no straw in here—only talent!”

He was boasting, of course. He was only going for the fun and the beauty; who had the patience to actually write poetry?

“Heh, you have true talent, my friend. As for me, if I don’t write it down in advance, I’ll freeze up from nerves and have nothing to say,” Gongsun Ce admitted.

He really was excited. He was going to meet the queen of the courtesans! Unlike Shen Shi, he didn’t come for the beautiful women. To him, the courtesans were idols.

That’s right—flower queens were the ancient equivalent of modern superstars. Imagine meeting a superstar, and dining with her at the same table...

“Oh! What a blissful, muddy fantasy this is!”

Shen Shi tried to talk him down, but it was useless. The nearer they got, the more excited Gongsun Ce became. At this point, talking to him was like clucking at a duck—his mind was elsewhere. So Shen Shi gave up on conversation and instead took in the scenery around him, and he had to admit—brothels in ancient times did have a certain charm.

This one, after all, was owned by a Buddhist temple.

Zhulinxuan was a villa belonging to the Jinfusi Temple south of the city. Inside, lush bamboo groves, winding streams, and exquisite landscaping created a scene of utmost beauty. Blossoms competed for splendor, and on either side of the stone path, two towering cherry trees were in full, riotous bloom.

Truly remarkable.

But according to Gongsun Ce, this was perfectly normal. Temples in those days not only owned properties, they rented them out, acted as middlemen...

In short, they were the ancient equivalent of Wall Street—a clique of financial elites. After all, the Buddha required gold adornments; if not gold, at least bronze. And gold or bronze in those days was still money. Without investments and business, how could a temple survive on incense offerings alone?

“Jieyu—Shen Shi—there you are.”

A plump young man of about twenty approached from the other end of the path. Given Shen Shi’s reputation as an old hand, it was no surprise to run into acquaintances here.

“Ah, here I am. You got here early,” Shen Shi replied, clasping his hands in greeting.

Damn it, who is this? He had no memory of him at all.

The original Shen Shi apparently knew him, but as a soul traveler, he hadn’t inherited all those memories.

He would have to tread carefully.

The plump man came closer with great familiarity and whispered in Shen Shi’s ear, “Thank you for taking the blame for the beef incident. Not like those two cowards from the Qian family—clearly they bought the beef, yet they wouldn’t own up. We even suspect the constables were called by those two brothers.”

“What? They called them?” Shen Shi’s eyes widened. He wanted to ask, Why target me? What did I ever do to them? But before he could, the plump man continued, “Of course. The official was after you, not them. We all say it was their scheme.”

So it was a case of planting flowers in vain but reaping willows without trying. Shen Shi had been seeking the culprit who set him up, but with the power of the Gongsun family—who could even catch wild men on mountains—he found nothing. He’d thought unless magic was involved, he’d never find out. But here, a simple visit to the brothel, and a clue fell into his lap.

Still, he showed no reaction, just waved it off with feigned indifference. “We’re here to have fun. Forget about them.”

Now that he knew his enemies, they couldn’t escape. Shen Shi didn’t want to alert them; if they denied everything, it would only complicate matters for him.

The plump man simply nodded. “That’s the spirit, Jieyu. And this gentleman…”

Shen Shi made the introduction for Gongsun Ce. But Gongsun Ce, now nearly useless in his star-struck excitement, simply nodded along. Through the introductions, Shen Shi learned that the plump man’s name was Kong Xueli.

What a name for a man his size—he’d always be “the fat one” in Shen Shi’s mind.

With the fat man leading the way, things were much easier for Shen Shi, especially since Gongsun Ce was now little more than dead weight. In a place like this, without a seasoned guide, you’d never even find the right rooms.

They entered the inner garden, where the scenery was even more enchanting—quintessentially Jiangnan, breathtakingly beautiful.

Soon, the three of them reached an open-air pavilion where a number of people were already seated—about twenty or so. Dusk was falling; tall candles were lit all around, and the tables were set with food, wine, brushes, ink, and paper—everything one might need for a night of revelry.

Yes—this was no ordinary poetry gathering.

Who would hold a poetry gathering at night, burning candles and oil? If it were truly about poetry, they’d hold it in broad daylight!

Shen Shi glanced around and saw, among the guests, a petite young woman clad in a green silk gown, her hair adorned with pearl flowers. She looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, her face fair and rosy, with delicate brows that accentuated her bright, expressive eyes.

Especially by candlelight, her features gained a sculpted charm—a true beauty revealed in the glow of lamps.

In modern terms, she was the living embodiment of a beautifying photo filter. Even after nearly a thousand years, to see such an effect was strangely familiar.

Shen Shi’s arrival with his companions naturally drew the attention of the others.

He had barely taken in a few appreciative glances and was still marveling at this “beauty filter” of an ancient courtesan, when an irritating voice called out, “Well, if it isn’t Shen Shi, the illustrious young master. You rarely grace our poetry gatherings—what brings you here tonight? What a rare treat.”

Shen Shi looked over and saw a man with an oddly square face—like a coffin lid—smirking at him. He had no memory of this person.

But this, he realized, must be Qian Shengwen, the younger of the two Qian brothers, just as the fat man had mentioned earlier.