Chapter 70: The Four Great Talents of Early Tang

On his very first night in Chang'an, Lu Xin did not sleep well. As a result, when he finally awoke the next day, it was already midday. Qian Xiaoyue had come to knock on his door several times early in the morning, but there had been no response.

When Lu Xin opened the door and stepped out, he found more than a dozen dishes placed outside, though they had gone cold. The servants of the Qian household were just in the midst of clearing them away. Upon seeing Lu Xin, they immediately bowed respectfully.

“You are finally awake, Young Master Lu. The master gave special instructions for the kitchen to prepare fresh dishes for you as soon as you woke. If you have any preferences or aversions, please let me know.”

“No need, I’m not hungry. Where is your young lady? I have something to discuss with her.”

“The young lady? She left the house early this morning. She’s likely at Ink Fragrance Pavilion in Jing’an Ward.”

Just outside the Qian residence lay South Street of the Western Market. Last night’s great fire had rendered this once-bustling trading hub eerily deserted. Although the blaze hadn’t reached South Street too badly, the wind from the east still carried a heavy scent of smoke and charred remains.

The city’s officials had sealed off the entrance to the Western Market entirely, with guards posted at every gate. Judging by their uniforms, they weren’t the yamen bailiffs of Yongzhou but rather the Emperor’s Imperial Guards, along with some men from the Ministry of Justice. Evidently, the fire in the Western Market had drawn the attention of the Taizong Emperor.

After all, the imperial examinations were imminent. At such a critical moment, any mishap in the capital would invite scorn from every corner of the realm. What’s more, the Emperor resided within Chang'an itself—if the flames reached the Vermilion Bird Gate, who could bear the consequences?

Lu Xin vividly recalled the events of the previous night. With the presence of a yin-yang master, there was no way it had been an accident. He was eager to uncover the truth, but Li Chunfeng had already secluded himself in meditation, so he had to let it go for now.

Leaving the Western City, Lu Xin made his way south along Vermilion Bird Street. The thoroughfare was still bustling, and the townsfolk were all discussing the fire that had broken out in the Western Market the night before. Jing'an Ward wasn’t far, but unfamiliar with the streets of Chang’an, Lu Xin spent a full hour wandering before he arrived. According to the Qian servant, the Ink Fragrance Pavilion was located in the largest alley of Jing’an Ward—a place favored by the city’s literati, where one could buy ink, paper, brushes, and inkstones, as well as fine food and wine. Naturally, one could also encounter a host of beautiful women.

Lu Xin had not paid much attention to the servant’s words, but upon reaching the Ink Fragrance Pavilion, he found the three-story building adorned with red silk ribbons. Even from a distance, the aroma of cosmetics and powder wafted through the air. Four scantily clad women stood at the entrance, greeting guests with unceasing smiles. The place looked uncannily like a brothel.

“What is that girl doing in a place like this?” he wondered.

Hesitating at the threshold, Lu Xin was debating whether to enter when the four women at the door suddenly rushed up to him, each grabbing hold of his arms and refusing to let go.

“What a handsome young gentleman! Have you come to our Ink Fragrance Pavilion to enjoy yourself?”

“Hee-hee, a talented scholar should always have a beauty by his side, to free himself from worldly worries. Young master, may I keep you company?”

“Ladies, I’m just looking, just looking!” Surrounded by a flock of flirtatious women and overwhelmed by the heavy scent of powder at his nose, Lu Xin’s face turned bright red. After all, he was only eleven years old and had yet to reach an age when he would be interested in women.

“Oh, but young master, whatever you wish to see, you’ll find it here at the Ink Fragrance Pavilion. The first floor offers fine wine and exotic delicacies; the second floor, ink, brush, paper, and inkstones, as well as music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. And the third floor... hee-hee... is filled with beauties, music, and dancing. I promise, you’ll never want to leave.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll just go to the second floor. Farewell, ladies, farewell.”

“Please, come in, young master.”

“Heavens, what kind of place is this? That scared me half to death,” Lu Xin muttered as he entered, his heart still pounding when he looked back. It is said that women are like water, but when they are too enthusiastic, they are more like boiling water.

The first floor of the Ink Fragrance Pavilion was indeed a dining hall, filled with the aromas of various delicacies. The space was vast, with at least thirty tables and chairs set out. Nearly every seat was occupied, all by men, young and old, drinking and eating. Each man was accompanied by one or two women, arms around waists, mouths pressed together, the scene charged with sensuality.

Lu Xin glanced around but did not see Qian Xiaoyue, so he proceeded directly to the second floor. Ascending the spiral staircase, his eyes were dazzled by what lay before him, as though he had entered another world.

Everywhere hung calligraphy and paintings, and every few steps there stood a silk screen, each exquisitely painted and inscribed, bearing prominent seals. The air was rich with the scent of ink and the fragrance of fine wood.

The second floor was divided into four sections: music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Each area was stocked with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Over a hundred young men moved about, composing poetry, painting, playing the qin, or singing. Despite the apparent bustle, everyone was well-mannered, and their voices never grew loud. Aside from the open spaces, there were also private rooms, superbly soundproofed.

Lu Xin was astonished by the scene before him—this was truly a scholar’s paradise. Compared to the vulgarity of the first floor, this was a serene retreat, filled with elegance.

“In the stillness of night, the warrior’s bow falls silent; the north wind howls, horses whinny on the frontier, frost cuts through geese at the borders... This poem by Yang Su speaks not of blades and blood, yet captures the desolation of war, making one shudder. Fortunately, the world is at peace now, and we scholars need no longer fear dying by barbarian swords.”

“Tsk tsk, Brother Lü, aren’t you afraid to read the poetry of a general from the former dynasty aloud in Chang'an? Someone might report you to the authorities.”

At the southern end of the second floor, a bookshelf stood where several young men perused scrolls. Nearby was an area for practicing calligraphy—though every sheet of paper came at a price.

“Don’t worry. Under the reign of the Taizong Emperor, the court is not so dim-witted. What harm is there in reading Yang Su’s poems? Even those of Yang Guang, for that matter.”

A young man in a white robe, holding a yellowed scroll, stood tall and proud, brimming with youthful spirit. Those around him urged him not to speak so loudly, clearly frightened.

“I say, Han fu is best. Its form—graceful as startled swans, supple as swimming dragons, radiant like autumn chrysanthemums, luxuriant as spring pines. Like faint clouds veiling the moon, like drifting snow on the wind. From afar, bright as the sun rising through morning haze; up close, dazzling as lotuses on clear water. How exquisite, how tender!”

“Bah, for all his talent, Cao Zhi still died unfulfilled. Born in the wrong age—a tragic fate. Gentlemen, this is the Tang Dynasty now. I believe our own poets surpass all others.”

As they quarreled, a boy of about ten suddenly put down his brush and emerged from behind a screen. Because of his short stature, Lu Xin had not noticed him before.

The boy was plainly dressed in coarse cloth, his hair unkempt, his face sallow and thin, yet his eyes shone with an extraordinary brightness, like stars in the night. Stranger still, Lu Xin sensed a faint aura of magic emanating from him.

“Could it be he has already kindled Daoist True Fire?” Lu Xin could hardly believe it. The boy looked even younger than himself—if he truly possessed such power, it was astonishing. Judging by his attire, he didn’t seem to belong to any noble family or sect.

“Haha, where did this pauper come from, with such arrogant words? Little brother, do you even know the difference between fu and shi?”

“Mountains and rivers span a thousand miles, city gates rise ninefold. Without seeing the Imperial Palace’s grandeur, how could one know the majesty of the Son of Heaven? Before coming to Chang'an, I thought the capital was filled with talent and beauty. Now I see, even under the palace walls, the common folk are just the same as anywhere else.”

The boy recited four lines of verse, then laughed and walked away. The young men stared at each other, dumbfounded. Yet as the boy reached the corner, he stopped again.

“There is a poem by Wei Zheng, Director of the Imperial Library—a poem every scholar should remember. ‘When the Central Plains first vied for supremacy, I cast aside my pen for the call of war. Though my strategies failed, my spirit did not wane...’ There has never been true peace in this world. We scholars—in our passion, we seek more than wealth and rank. Are lords and ministers born to their titles? Remember this: my name is Luo Binwang. Nine days from now, at the imperial examinations, may we meet again.”

With that, his expression grew solemn. He strode away and soon vanished at the staircase. Lu Xin stepped forward and picked up the sheet of xuan paper the boy had left behind. On it, a few bold strokes formed characters as if dragons danced and phoenixes soared—majestic beyond words.

“Great Fortune for All Under Heaven!”

There were only four characters, but their power was such that deep grooves had been scored into the tabletop. Lu Xin felt his throat go dry, swallowing hard.

“Luo Binwang... If I recall correctly, he is one of the Four Literary Masters of the early Tang. Amazing—so young, and already possessed of such fearsome talent!”

Lu Xin held the paper for a long time, unable to put it down. The four characters left by the boy were brimming with vigor and mastery. Of all the calligraphy he had seen, only that of the mute Wu could compare—but Wu wielded a sword for a brush and had practiced for thirty years! This boy who called himself Luo Binwang—what terrifying genius!

“Heh heh, little miss, you disguised yourself as a boy to come to the Ink Fragrance Pavilion just for this qin? What a pity. The qin possesses nine virtues and is the instrument of gentlemen. By the rules, it cannot be given to a woman.”

“Hmph, what’s wrong with being a woman? Can’t a woman play the qin? I’ll have you know, if I win the contest, the qin is mine.”

Twang!

With a sudden snap of strings, the door to one of the private rooms on the north side of the second floor burst open. At the same moment, a slender figure tumbled out, crashing into a heap of ancient zithers.