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“So how did the lord arrange things with Wang Zhongxuan?”
When Guo Jia came to report to Qiao Yan, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation he heard about. His earlier gloom from the alcohol ban seemed to lift significantly.
Watching the people of Chang’an reacting with surprise to the new road, he couldn’t help but think back to when he first arrived in Leping.
Back then, he wasn’t really one of them, and everything was so novel to him that he had once even mixed toothpaste in water and swallowed it!
Now, seeing someone hack at the concrete with a knife in Chang’an, especially under Qiao Yan’s guidance, didn’t seem like a big deal at all.
But then he remembered someone had written an article called “The Goddess Sends the Tribute” for the occasion, submitting it just right on time, prompting Qiao Yan to organize a writing contest to make it seem reasonable. Guo Jia found that amusing.
Particularly when he heard that after Qiao Yan invited Wang Can, he pulled out an essay he wrote eight years ago and asked for her to sign it. Guo Jia was curious if such a rare event would ever happen again.
When Qiao Yan glanced at him, she caught him with that amused expression on his face.
Realizing Wang Can’s fangirling moment, Qiao Yan felt a bit stuck at first, but having seen bigger spectacles and with her subordinates now more engaged, it didn’t faze her too much.
It was just that if Wang Can secured one of the top three spots, it would be wise to keep it on the down low, avoiding the tale of Wang Can’s admiration kicking off due to that article about feudalism eight years ago.
Otherwise, the point of holding the writing contest would lose its punch.
All in all, it felt like just one big self-promotion.
Of course, if Wang Can had his say, he wouldn’t just be gazing at things through fanboy glasses.
As Qiao Yan knew, Wang Can truly excelled in realistic essays; his photographic memory made him adept at observing the minutiae of life.
So in the showcase of this new road in Chang’an, he was paying more attention to how the locals reacted than to the road’s materials or its strength, or even how elite Qiao Yan’s troops were.
Especially that innkeeper who mistook his skinny frame for homesickness and offered him half a raw egg, leaving Wang Can with a strong sense of hospitality around the world.
It was these things that inspired him to write that piece, not just because of Qiao Yan’s foresight and exemplary influence back then.
At this moment, Wang Can was happily returning to the inn with a silk scroll signed by the Marquis of Leping.
Meanwhile, Qiao Yan replied to Guo Jia, “I told Zhongxuan his father was He Jin’s chief clerk back in the day, so now he can come to my Grand Marshal’s mansion to be a chief clerk as well, a nice legacy for both generations.”
This left Guo Jia dumbfounded.
Now the chief clerk at the Grand Marshal’s mansion was none other than him, Guo Jia.
If Wang Can took that position, wouldn’t it mean he was stepping down?
But seeing Qiao Yan’s teasing expression, he quickly realized it was just a joke.
“Just kidding! The situation back then and now is completely different, and I wouldn’t hand the chief clerk position to anyone else. My intention is for Zhongxuan to be a clerk at the Grand Marshal’s mansion, temporarily overseeing the paperwork.”
“Recently, someone needs to help me deal with new paper matters in Chang’an. I can’t let all the burden fall on Zhaoji. Let him take on this task in ten days. That way, we’ll have someone to handle correspondence going forward.”
Guo Jia feigned relief and settled opposite Qiao Yan, “That works.”
Even though he knew Qiao Yan wouldn’t make rash personnel decisions, he mused that if it fell onto him to write, he’d likely end up with a piece about decorative cement rather than Wang Can’s “The Goddess Sends the Tribute.”
He had to admit, everyone has their strengths.
He sighed, “Thank goodness for Wang Zhongxuan. Because of him, the lord can initiate such a contest. Even if it’s about Chang’an, without someone like him setting the standard, some folks probably would’ve opted out.”
This was exactly why Qiao Yan wanted Wang Can to make his poem public on the third day.
Pish posh, fishing isn’t simply about baiting.
“Alright, enough about that,” Qiao Yan said. “Once Zhongxuan starts at the Grand Marshal’s mansion, he should recuperate his health with you.”
Even without Wang Can stepping into the spotlight first, the showcase along the Chang’an road yesterday was enough to make people weigh their options, but the situation brewing wouldn’t necessarily unravel quickly. Overall, progress remained under Qiao Yan’s control.
What was more peculiar was the intel slipping from Yuan Yao’s mouth.
Rumor had it Yuan Shao’s second son Yuan Xi had arrived in Chang’an to meet with Tian Feng; they had to figure out how to make use of this.
Qiao Yan turned to Guo Jia and asked, “What do you think Yuan Xi should take back to Jizhou?”
Guo Jia smirked, “My lord, is this really Yuan Gonglu’s son blending in among the crowd?”
Qiao Yan raised an eyebrow, “Fengxiao, if I remember correctly, weren’t you the one who suggested publishing Tian Feng’s achievements in the Leping Monthly Report?”
When Guo Jia made that suggestion, it was just when Qiao Yan’s relations with the Qiao family in Yanzhou had soured.
As a mere observer then, Tian Feng was unaware of Guo Jia’s “malicious intentions,” thinking it was just a loyal subordinate comforting his superior, never realizing the scheming behind the suggestion.
If that’s the case, now that the person was indeed brought in, it seemed only fitting for Guo Jia to handle this matter.
“I have a hunch it’s Yuan Xi,” Qiao Yan confidently stated. “So please take care of this, Fengxiao.”
Meanwhile, Yuan Xi at the inn sneezed, feeling a chill run down his back, oblivious to the fact that someone was keeping an eye on him.
Pulled together in plain clothes, he strolled down from upstairs and ordered dinner to be sent to his room at the front desk. While paying, he overheard some folks discussing yesterday’s events in the street.
He couldn’t help but look a bit troubled.
Little did he know his cousin Yuan Yao was also in Chang’an, but he worried more about his father’s situation.
The showed strength and demeanor of the Chang’an court starkly contrasted that of the court in Ye City.
Yuan Xi had no doubt that even if something rare and extraordinary came from Ye City and they sent people over to flaunt it in Chang’an, like Princess Yang’an had done, it wouldn’t easily stir up the local opinions.
Remembering yesterday’s sights and sounds, Yuan Xi felt a greater weight of responsibility upon him.
He could easily envision how many waves this news would stir once it reached Ye City.
With his father losing the initiative in the struggle for Yu Province, such developments were like adding insult to injury.
Worry grew stronger for Yuan Shao’s situation, especially as on the second day, while walking through the streets of Chang’an, preparing to observe Tian Feng near Hongwen Hall, he suddenly caught wind of something—
The Grand Marshal intended to use the phrase “Chang’an” to collect written works from all directions, first to celebrate the completion of the New Chang’an road, and second to test the ink quality of these newly produced papers.
Two thousand sheets of new paper were moved to the end of Chang’an road, instantly gathering a crowd.
Honestly, that second reason seemed like just a cover-up.
As the one producing these two kinds of paper, Qiao Yan must know how they perform; if not, she surely had ample capable folks at Leping Academy to carry out this test. There was no need to involve others.
So overall, it was still for the first reason.
However, the existence of both reasons served as an escape route for some people.
Yuan Xi watched the two stacks of paper and had the thought of snatching a few sheets to ensure he could explain things to his father once back in Jizhou. Unfortunately, as soon as he approached to join the crowd, he learned that the paper’s acquisition required…
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“Must use real names.”
Well, he was carrying proof of a fake identity, but to avoid any exposure, it was best to be a bit cautious.
However, he was surprised that not many had come to collect the papers.
“Maybe they’re just waiting to see,” someone nearby said. “Once you get the paper, you have to write something. It’s not like chitchatting about the glories of Chang’an; putting ink to paper means taking a stand.”
“Besides, who would want to competitively compare their writings with those of regular vendors?”
Yuan Xi really wanted to point out that regular vendors couldn’t care less about the subtle uses of those papers, so why even compare?
But thinking it over, there was some truth to that. Such competitions always need an authoritative judging standard to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Nonetheless, it was probably because the winning poems could be published in the Leping Monthly Report that some aspiring scholars still signed up to get the paper with name tags and other bits.
The real turn of events happened on the third day of the event.
A young man, not particularly remarkable and quite slim, posted his work in the poetry evaluation area, astonishing many onlookers with his piece.
The title “Goddess Sends a Poem” immediately became a hot topic of discussion.
Even though some felt this poem was a bit pandering, they quickly retracted that thought when they saw the author’s name.
It was Wang Can!
A descendant of the Wang family from Shanyang, who had produced two generations of high officials; although they no longer had the mighty financial or bureaucratic power, Wang Can certainly didn’t need to say anything insincere.
Besides, according to the current scholars, an author’s work reflects their face.
This was, indeed, a great piece!
Though he was young, he had directly proven his strength with this poem, showing that this selection was quite significant. He certainly had no need to engage in any acts that could tarnish his reputation.
So, even though Wang Can’s action was simply to follow Qiao Yan’s arrangement and post his manuscript, after that, anyone who fancied themselves capable of competing with him had started furiously writing.
Whether they could actually stand up to him was still uncertain, but hey, there’s a saying: the written word has no first place.
For instance, Yang Xiu noticed that Ni Heng had also collected paper and started writing.
Earlier, he had gotten into trouble with Qiao Yan regarding the implementation of a liquor ban, which led to Yang being assigned hosting duties; now, seeing Ni Heng thoughtfully pondering over his words was hilariously ironic to Yang.
Ni Heng, on the other hand, calmly expressed that he was using this method to let Wang Can know that attaining first place didn’t have to rely on supernatural hocus pocus.
“So, how should one go about it?” Yang Xiu asked.
He keenly sensed that Ni Heng, such a sharp-tongued fellow, hadn’t badmouthed Wang Can this time, which felt like some sort of special signal.
But no need to share that observation with Ni Heng.
Ni Heng rolled his eyes, “Using objects as analogies, I suppose.”
Yang Xiu wanted to ask more, but Ni Heng had clearly decided he wasn’t saying another word.
And the stir wasn’t only due to Wang Can’s submission.
On the same day “Goddess Sends a Poem” attracted buzz in Chang’an, around dusk, another piece of paper was posted on the wall.
This time it was from the calligraphy group, not the poetry group.
A piece titled “Chang’an Fu,” written in clerical script by Zhang Chang.
Even though Wei Ji had previously initiated visits to Zhang Zhi and Zhang Chang on Qiao Yan’s orders, leading to Zhang Zhi teaching at Leping, Zhang Chang had still been branded by the Chang’an court. Nevertheless, considering Zhang Meng’s earlier attempt to hack the ground, Zhang Chang figured he had to mitigate the ongoing impact of that event, which led to this work.
This piece of literature wasn’t as strong as Wang Can’s, but the strokes in Zhang Chang’s clerical script showcased extraordinary talent, creating a strong competition.
Then Qiao Yan had another chat with Zhang Chang, still about Zhang Meng.
“I know you mean to apologize for your brother’s outburst, but who’s truly responsible for another’s life?”
Qiao Yan didn’t plan to hastily appoint Zhang Meng just because he had some muscle and was Zhang Huan’s son.
She didn’t lack military leaders, especially those who fancied themselves capable yet weren’t good enough.
Moreover, Zhang Meng was thirty, not three; why should his nearly sixty-year-old brother worry about him?
Seeing Zhang Chang still looked conflicted, Qiao Yan advised, “You don’t need to overthink. Just wait for the winner of this submission contest. Anyway, your brother’s arm needs treatment, so he should stay still for a few more days.”
Zhang Meng’s injury from that wild swing wouldn’t heal up just because he sat back for a couple of days.
So, with Qiao Yan calling Fan A to Chang’an to treat Zhang Meng before heading to Yu Province with Yuan Yao, they first attended to his wounds.
He was still drinking that bitter herbal medicine.
But you know what? Considering Zhang Meng’s bitter mouth and heartache, Yuan Xi’s days might be even tougher.
Wang Can’s poem and Zhang Chang’s calligraphy sparked a rush of submissions in Chang’an, making Yuan Xi realize that the opponent his father faced could be scarier than he had imagined.
So, he had no time to waste.
Luckily, his observations over the past few days confirmed that Tian Feng’s demeanor didn’t seem like someone who had risen high in Chang’an.
He wasn’t avoiding returning to Ye City to inform his father; his circumstances simply didn’t allow it.
As an assistant at Hongwen Hall, he received decent treatment. He no longer had to squeeze into a shared courtyard with others but instead had his own place.
But in this restored Imperial Capital of Chang’an, housing in the inner city was quite limited.
So, after these arrangements, Tian Feng found himself in a tight spot—
Coming and going from Hongwen Hall meant he always had colleagues around, and all the neighbors were “one of their own.”
Everyone would see his unusual actions quite clearly since they all brushed past each other.
At most, he would casually glance east on the way home and say he missed his family in Ji Province when asked.
But to Yuan Xi watching from behind, it was clear that Tian Feng’s body was in Qiao’s camp but his heart belonged with Yuan’s.
So, he could be found!
Yuan Xi was relieved that the new routes and literary activities in Chang’an had caused many scholars to linger around Hongwen Hall, either chatting, reciting poetry, scribbling quickly, or judging the new submissions, making it easier for him to slip in and seek out Tian Feng without being too conspicuous.
Dressing like a scholar, Yuan Xi blended in with the crowd, hurriedly making his way towards Tian Feng while others were still oblivious to his movements.
He smartly didn’t reveal Tian Feng’s identity but, following his father’s advice, quietly called out, “Mr. Yuan.”
Tian Feng halted, raising his head to look at him.
Seeing him almost made him drop his pen.
What was Yuan Xi doing here?
A flurry of thoughts flashed through Tian Feng’s mind.
He was indeed waiting for Yuan Shao to send someone to contact him, but that person could be an inconspicuous subordinate, not the second son himself!
This was Yuan Shao’s kid!
He grabbed Yuan Xi’s hand and urgently said, “Let’s go! I need to get you out of here.”
This Hongwen Hall was a mixed bag, and there was no guaranteeing someone might recognize Yuan Xi.
Tian Feng had trimmed his beard and deliberately gained a little weight over the past six months, looking different from the Tian Feng everyone knew, but standing next to Yuan Xi, things would be pretty obvious.
Given the recent grandeur, Chang’an had become extremely alluring to scholars, and those pretending to be merely on the sidelines were likely waiting for the liquor ban to be announced before making their final choices.
Some might even want to jump the gun, especially those scholars from Hebei.
Capturing Tian Feng and Yuan Xi could be seen as quite the achievement!
But before Tian Feng could take two steps, he spotted Guo Jia approaching.
Guo Jia glanced at the two and asked, “Is this your son?”
