Chapter 43: The Flower Viewing Gathering

“Hmm...” Bao Fei Qiu pondered for a moment and then understood, “So that’s how it is. What a pity for a piece of local folklore.” Bao Fei Qiu knew that Jinhua had a storyteller named Shen Shi; when he took office here, Cao You had hinted at it. That handwritten Investiture of the Gods, understandable to modern people, was virtually devoid of literary flair for the ancients.

“Master Shen seems to have a fondness for tales of the supernatural,” Bao Fei Qiu recalled his own mission and asked casually.

“Yes, I’ve liked them since childhood,” Shen Shi admitted.

“So, Master Shen is telling stories, then.” Even off the main hall, Bao Fei Qiu’s upright aura brought with it a sense of solemnity, as if one were still in the magistrate’s court.

This feeling sent a jolt through Shen Shi: What’s going on? Bao Hei Zi doesn’t believe it? As a star lord, he is suspicious of demons and ghosts?

The sensation was truly absurd.

“Haha, let’s stop talking about this. The Hundred Flowers Festival is about to begin. We’d best hurry! Lanruo Temple is not close by.”

Bao Fei Qiu and Gongsun Ce were close friends, but with Kong Xueli, it was different. At this moment, Kong Xueli was already impatient to get to the festival.

“What exactly is the Hundred Flowers Festival? And why is it held at Lanruo Temple?” Bao Fei Qiu asked again.

“Let me tell you, the festival is held by the monks of Jinhua to celebrate my success in the imperial exams…”

Kong Xueli’s whole demeanor floated with excitement as soon as Bao Fei Qiu asked about the festival, answering every question promptly.

“I see, so Master Shen is also a scholar,” Bao Fei Qiu remarked, knowing Shen Shi was already a student.

“I wouldn’t call myself a scholar; I am merely a cultivator,” Shen Shi replied.

Though Shen Shi was a scholar, his temperament was far from typical. His knowledge of poetry and literature was superficial, mostly used to bluff others rather than out of genuine interest. His true passion lay in cultivation.

Bao Fei Qiu nodded, accepting Shen Shi’s explanation.

“May I also attend?” Bao Fei Qiu inquired.

“You… are you a scholar as well?” Kong Xueli asked.

“I am but a humble candidate for the imperial exams,” Bao Fei Qiu introduced himself.

Shen Shi glanced at Bao Fei Qiu; the aura of starlight and officialdom practically radiated from him, as dazzling as a stage spotlight.

However, Shen Shi chose not to expose him and let him follow along.

Only, Bao Fei Qiu’s presence soon stirred trouble. Along the way, he not only kept mentioning Shen Shi but also repeatedly admonished him, “The gentleman does not speak of ghosts, spirits, or the supernatural.”

Shen Shi was exasperated. Anyone else could say such things, but not you!

Damn it! You’re a star lord, destined to gather the world’s fortune and attain the rank of the Fifth Judge in the Underworld, and yet you lecture me about not speaking of the supernatural?

It reminded him of the factory manager from his previous life, who always complained about joining the Party, having to pay dues, and regretting it—yet was clearly boasting rather than lamenting.

Please! Was he complaining or showing off?

Now confronted with Bao Hei Zi, who just by channeling the upright energy of judging cases could one day replace Taiyi Zhenren’s avatar and ascend to the position of Judge. Yet here he was, preaching about avoiding tales of the supernatural.

Why did he feel such an urge to punch him!

Once they finally entered the city, Bao Fei Qiu stopped asking questions.

The quickest route to Lanruo Temple was to pass straight through the county town, then board a boat at the dock to cross over. Jinhua’s county was rich in waters, with rivers and lakes belonging to the four major river systems: Qiantang, Ou, Cao’e, and Jiao. Lanruo Temple lay across the Qiantang River, requiring a ferry ride.

In front of a folding fan stall, two young men stood selecting fans. Clearly, they were master and servant: one dressed as a scholar, the other as a page.

The page happened to see Bao Fei Qiu passing by, scrutinized him, then whispered to the scholar, “Young master, I just saw Bao Zheng.”

The scholar’s hand paused as he held the fan, and he followed his page’s gaze to Bao Zheng’s unmistakable face.

That face was the most distinctive landmark—one glance and it was unforgettable.

Bao Hei Zi’s arrival in Jinhua meant the official had been found; it was as good as settling the matter of chamber pots.

Yes, they had come for chamber pots.

Cao Yi had only brought eight, hardly enough. The emperor and empress needed them, and not just one for each—there had to be installations in the study, the bedroom, and the audience hall. Since the chamber pots were originally a gift for the nephew’s birth, the nephew’s residence needed one as well; after seven or eight installations, even the Imperial Uncle barely got one, so his sister, Cao Jinhua, stood no chance.

Unable to obtain one from her loving brother, the determined girl went straight to the source—Jinhua.

Seeing Bao Hei Zi, she narrowed her eyes.

She threw down a few coins, bought a folding fan, and said, “Let’s follow them and see what they’re up to.”

Thus began their pursuit, which soon brought them aboard an ornate, antique pleasure barge. Evidently, the temples Jinfu and Lanruo had spared no expense for this Hundred Flowers Festival. On the barge, singing girls played the pipa, offering a reception as grand as a modern stretch limousine escort.

Once aboard, several flamboyantly dressed women greeted them; clearly, they were courtesans from nearby brothels.

The scholar and his page, trailing behind Shen Shi’s group, frowned upon seeing their familiarity with the courtesans. The page could not help but snort, muttering, “Scoundrels!”

“Master, what should we do—do we still follow them?” the page asked.

The scholar raised his eyebrow and said, “Why not? Let’s go see for ourselves.”

“But master, isn’t this improper?” The page hesitated, seeing the barge awash in rouge and powder.

“It’s fine. Come with me,” the scholar insisted.

When Shen Shi’s group boarded, the barge was already bustling with people, many having arrived early.

Kong Xueli stroked the face of a nearby courtesan and said, “Arrange a good seat for us.”

The girl obliged, immediately leading them to a cabin.

Such service alone was enough to lure scholars, who, the more they studied, the more repressed they became—outwardly claiming to be gentlemen, but in truth… well.

Upon entering the cabin, Shen Shi’s group found tea, snacks, and dried fruits laid out. Kong Xueli, meanwhile, ate and commented on the women performing on stage.

He eyed a woman playing the zither, “That little zither player is quite nice.”

“The cheekbones are a bit high, not very delicate,” Shen Shi chimed in cheerfully, for such topics always sparked camaraderie among men.

“Shall we reward her?” Gongsun Ce asked.

“She plays well enough; let’s give her a plum blossom,” Shen Shi said.

Kong Xueli disagreed, “I’d say those ample assets deserve a rose.”

As for the Hundred Flowers Festival, it was all about flowers—so from the moment they boarded, the courtesans began welcoming guests, and the rewards were already being distributed. These greeters might not win in the end, but could already receive ‘flowers’ as tokens.