The Jade Pavilion hummed with life as nterns bathed the grand hall in warm hues. Nobles, schors, aeemed guests gathered for an evening of cultured eai—a poetry and calligraphy duel where wit and eloquence reigned supreme. Each partit had their crafted verses dispyed upon the elevated stage, their calligraphy swaying uhe gentle flicker of dlelight. A respected elder, Schor Wu, sat at the ter as the evening’s judge, his wise gaze each stroke and verse with measured appreciation.

  Among the entries, one particur poem, submitted under Room No. 8, captured the crowd’s attention. Its words, profou effortlessly graceful, wove a tapestry of longing, ambition, and the fleeting nature of power. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the audience, and many turo admire the exquisite calligraphy that matched its elegance.

  A young noble from the Sun family, Sun Yi, furrowed his brows as he read it. “Which esteemed schor resides in Room 8?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

  One of his panions nudged him. “It’s Supervisor Liu Wen, a minor official overseeing clerks. He has a det reputation but is not known for his eloquence.”

  Sun Yi smirked. “Then, I must inquire further. That level of poetry—” his voice lowered, ced with skepticism, “—did not e from him.”

  His friend shrugged. “Just let it go. There’s o stir trouble with a mere supervisor.”

  Ign the warning, Sun Yi gestured to a servant. “Look into Room 8.”

  Meanwhile, Liu Wen basked in the wave of praise that came his way. He chuckled modestly, raising his cup in gratitude. “Ah, poetry is a fickle muse. Sometimes, inspiration strikes in ued ways.” He was careful not to overpy his role, but the reition from iial schors and nobles elevated his standing siderably. A few murmured that he might be due for a promotion, which pleased him immensely.

  Across the hall, the ongoing tensioween the Yang and Sun families reached a boiling point. A fiery-tempered noble from the Yang family, Yang Tianlei, scoffed. “Sun Yi, I see every ot save your family's deing talent.”

  Sun Yi's jaw tightened. “You’d do well to mind your words, Yang Tianlei. Your family’s reputation isn’t much better.”

  The air thied with hostility. A few older nobles exged gnces, knowing that any slight betweewo houses could escate into a bigger feud. Some younger nobles, eained by the spectacle, whispered bets oher fists would be thrown before the night ended.

  Schor Wu cleared his throat, sileng the heated exge. “Gentleme us not taint art with petty disputes.”

  As the tension simmered, several schors approached Supervisor Liu Wen, expressing their admiration and wishing to exge verses with him. Liu Wen, though pleased, feigned humility, ughing awkwardly as he accepted their pliments. A few ook note, reassessing Liu Wen’s potential influence.

  Lian Rou, the pavilion’s renowned courtesan and host for the night, stepped forward with a graceful smile. a flowing silk robe embroidered with golden plum blossoms, she moved like a wisp of inse smoke, drawing all eyes to her. “Tonight, every poet is a victor in their ht,” she decred, raising her cup. “To art, wisdom, and fleetiy.”

  The room echoed with cheers as she took a sip before retreating to the backstage chambers. There, her trusted servant, Xiao Lan, leaned in. “My dy, I’ve discovered the poet behind Room 8’s entry. It’s a neointed scribe, Zhao Ming.”

  Lian Rou’s eyes flickered with i as she slowly removed her ornate hairpin, twirling it between her fingers. “A mere scribe, you say?”

  Xiao Laated. “Is he worth the attention? He holds no real power.”

  Lian Rou exhaled softly, a wistful look crossing her face. “Power is fleeting, but talent has a way of rising. Unlike us, even a mere scribe has the opportunity to carve a future beyond the walls of pleasure houses. Meanwhile, I—” she paused, a bitter smile toug her lips. “I am a fallen noble, and my fate will likely end as someone’s e.”

  Xiao Lan lowered her gaze, sympathy etched across her face. “My dy…”

  Lian Rou sighed. “At the very least, let us see where his path leads. Watch him.”

  She then ged into her sleeping attire and decided to rest for the night.

  Supervisor Liu Wen, basking in the unintended glory, enjoyed his drinks alongside fellow officials. With every toast, his name gained weight in noble circles. A few iial figures whispered about his ‘hidden talent,’ and a few more saw him as a man to watch. Liu ted these praises with practiced ease, already sidering how to use this newfound status to his advantage.

  As the feast tinued, he casually waved off his subordinates. “Zhao Ming, you and the other clerks should retire for the night. I shall hahe rest.”

  As Zhao Mied, he caught a glimpse of several courtesaering Room 8, their silk dresses ging to their curves, revealing glimpses of smooth skin under delicate veils. The st of perfume wafted in the air as they giggled, their soft voices teasing the young nobles waiting inside.

  The attendants of these nobles discreetly ensured privacy, standing at the entrao ward off unwanted eyes. Zhao Ming merely raised an eyebrow a walking, his mind already elsewhere.

  By dawn, murmurs of the previous night’s duel spread through the city. Zhao Ming’s poem, though credited to Supervisor Liu Wen, remained a topic of discussion. A familiar chime echoed in his mind.

  System Notification:

  Fame Increased! (Current Total Fame: 20+50)

  Lian Rou Takes Notice: Fame +20 (Lian Rou is intrigued by your poetic talent and sees potential in you.)Sun Yi Annoyed: Fame +10 (Sun Yi is suspicious and irritated that he was outshined.)Schors Impressed: Fame +10 (Your poem has gaihe admiration of literati, making you a subject of discussion in academic circles.)Yang Tianlei Pleased: Fame +10 (Your poem’s victory ily humiliates the Sun family, earning you favor with Yang Tianlei.)Zhao Ming paused mid-step. (So the ripple has begun… but at what cost?)

  On his way back to the Qiao family residence, Zhao Ming walked briskly, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The city was quiet, save for the distant echoes of drunken ughter from revelers still lingering in the pleasure districts. His mind, however, reoccupied—not with poetry, but with the ripples his words had created among the city’s elite.

  Unbeknownst to him, shadows stirred in the distance, figures slipping into the darkness as they followed his trail.

  End of Chapter 10