Chapter 011: Poetry and Wine Banquet at Qujiang Pond (5)

Using the willow as the theme is quite ordinary. In the Tang dynasty, romantic topics were all the rage, and scholars often expressed their feelings through poems about willows. Thus, this is a rather formulaic and common poetry topic.

The gathered scholars cheered loudly. Henry Bolton stood there, secretly sneering, thinking to himself that this topic was so plain, so vulgar, and utterly lacking in sophistication. Judging by the situation, this was hardly a gathering of scholars exchanging poetry for friendship—it was simply a diversion to amuse the noble lady before them.

However, this thought flashed by in an instant. He hadn’t come today to show off in the poetry contest, but for another purpose. After the poetry contest would be a pure drinking banquet, and regardless of whether one was qualified to sit at the main table, even household servants and attendants could indulge freely at the subsequent open banquet, naturally arranged by Lady Guo’s people.

Drinking wasn’t the goal, but in the open atmosphere of the Tang dynasty, such gatherings of scholars were often accompanied by bold discussions of state affairs. Regardless of official rank or status, everyone could speak their mind—this was the moment Henry Bolton was waiting for.

As for the poetry topic, it was basically irrelevant to him; he just needed to watch patiently.

Whether it was the seated honored guests or the scholars and ladies standing in the outer circle, all eyes turned to the drooping willows swaying in the breeze by the Qujiang pond, frowning in deep thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry Bolton noticed that not far away, Philip Foster was also scratching his head, desperate to compose a stunning poem to show off in front of everyone and become famous in one stroke, which Henry Bolton found rather amusing.

His memory told him that this man lacked talent more than anything, but never lacked cunning ways to seek pleasure. That such a fool would try to stand out among a gathering of scholars was truly beneath Henry Bolton's contempt.

As Philip Foster scratched his head, he suddenly saw Henry Bolton casting a mocking, half-smiling glance his way, and immediately became furious.

He considered himself an uncultured "rascal," but was Henry Bolton really any better than him? You're even worse than me... Philip Foster sneered coldly, glaring at Henry Bolton.

Henry Bolton smirked and turned his head away.

Philip Foster was instantly infuriated, striding over and lowering his voice to scold, "Henry Bolton, you little scoundrel, are you mocking me?"

Henry Bolton curled his lips in a faint smile and said calmly, "Second Young Master Foster, what are you saying? I’ve always heard that Second Young Master is learned and talented, a master of poetry and couplets. Today, Lady Guo has chosen willows as the theme, which must suit your taste perfectly. I am quietly awaiting your masterpiece—how would I dare to mock you?"

"You..." Philip Foster's face flushed red at once. To call this dissolute playboy "learned and talented" was a perfectly sharp and biting sarcasm. Yet Henry Bolton's demeanor was calm, his insults subtle, so although Philip Foster was seething inside, he dared not lash out on the spot.

In Lady Guo’s presence, he didn’t dare act recklessly. If he spoiled her mood, he’d be in serious trouble. Though he was the son of the Minister of Justice, in Lady Guo’s eyes, he was nothing more than a lowly ant.

"You little scoundrel, just you wait! I’ll see how you meet your end!" Philip Foster stomped his foot in anger, spat out a threat through gritted teeth, and stormed off.

……

……

Seeing that everyone was deep in thought, Lady Guo leaned back languidly on her soft couch and waved her hand behind her. A graceful and beautiful dancer stepped forward lightly, and began to dance elegantly to the gentle, melodious music.

When the song ended, the dance ceased as well.

After the dancers withdrew, Harold Crane stood up with a calm smile, bowed to Lady Guo, and said in a clear voice, "Madam, I, Harold Crane, humbly offer my work to inspire others."

Lady Guo looked at Harold Crane with a beaming smile and nodded, saying, "Young Master Cui is a student of Wang Mojie, and his talent is renowned throughout Chang’an. Even His Majesty and the Noble Consort have heard of you... Very well, I shall listen attentively to your fine work."

Sitting to the side, William King's usually impassive face finally showed a gentle smile. He looked at his proud disciple and nodded slightly.

With his mentor’s support, Harold Crane stood tall, strode into the center, bent over the writing desk prepared in advance, picked up the brush, paused in thought for a moment, and then wrote swiftly.

When he finished, Harold Crane held the paper in both hands, smiled, and handed it to the young attendant from Lady Guo’s household standing nearby.

The attendant respectfully presented Harold Crane's freshly written poem, still fragrant with ink, to Keith Young, the Prince Consort and today’s "poetry contest judge," seated beside Lady Guo.

Keith Young was the cousin of Yang Guifei, married to Princess Taihua, daughter of the current emperor Li Longji, and held the titles of Silver Blue Grand Master, Chief Guard, Prince Consort, and Censor.

It must be said, the relationship between the Yang and Li families was truly tangled: the younger sister married the father, while the elder brother married the daughter, which meant the younger sister became the elder brother’s elder. And if you count that Yang Yuhuan once married Prince Shou, Li Mao... it was utter chaos.

Only in the extremely open Tang dynasty could such grand and chaotic relationships exist; in any other era or dynasty, such scandalous affairs would be unthinkable.

That said, this also represented the unique and unparalleled charm of the mighty Tang dynasty.

Keith Young cleared his throat twice, put on a dignified air, and loudly recited Harold Crane's poem:

"Breaking off willows at Qujiang—

Once I planted willows by Qujiang Pond,

Twice have I left the capital since then, each time in spring.

I recall the green riverbanks from afar,

But know not who now breaks off the branches."