Chapter 46: Stealing the Blossoming Brush in a Dream

He knew he was not a gentleman; he could be cunning, his conduct often tinged with pragmatism. Yet he valued loyalty and sentiment, which was why he regarded Xiang’er, Ye Shu, and his sister-in-law as true family, and even the young Chunming received his kindness. As for those he befriended—be it Qin Qinshou, Shi Shanzhi, He Zhizhang, or Zhang Xu—he was certainly making use of them, but he also repaid their favor.

He was aware of his status as an outsider, carefully guarding his greatest secret and concealing his true nature, but in moments of carelessness, he realized his essence would still reveal itself. One such as he, living two lifetimes and possessing rich experience, was never one to quietly accept obscurity.

While Ye Chang pondered the question of his own character, Lu Qi, after leaving, worked tirelessly to prevent Ye Chang’s resurgence, roaming and exerting influence everywhere. He often spoke of Ye Chang’s intention to organize a football competition, repeatedly emphasizing how he had bested Ye Chang.

This was the flourishing Tang era, a time of bold individuality, not the gentle, restrained society of later ages. Thus, Lu Qi’s actions and words earned him considerable notoriety. Originally, He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu had frequently recommended Ye Chang, crafting his reputation: a talented youth, his poetry mourned the fate of the people, his pen opened new rivers. And when Ye Chang forced Yuan Zai to flee outside Qinglong Temple with just a few words, Ye Chang’s name became well-known in Chang’an. Now, however, the equally clever Lu Qi had thwarted him, preventing the football match, leaving Ye Chang to seclude himself at He Zhizhang’s residence for diligent study. This, too, was widely circulated.

Thus, Lu Qi’s reputation began to overshadow Ye Chang’s.

But in a city like Chang’an, Ye Chang and Lu Qi were still minor figures—after all, even the famed poet Li Bai was only considered second-tier here. Their rivalry was mostly fodder for the literary circles; in broader society, another event drew greater attention.

The day commemorating the Bodhisattva Guanyin’s enlightenment was approaching.

The nineteenth day of the sixth month was traditionally believed to be the day Guanyin attained enlightenment. Legend had it that during the late Sui dynasty, a poisonous dragon plagued the people of Chang’an, until a monk dwelling on South Mount Wutai subdued it. The monk passed away the following year on the nineteenth day of the sixth month, and strange phenomena appeared in the sky—it was revealed to be Guanyin manifesting. This story was widespread in Chang’an, so the nineteenth day became known as Guanyin’s day of enlightenment, and all the temples in the city welcomed guests and held Buddhist ceremonies. Though the Tang dynasty promoted Daoism and suppressed Buddhism, it was not yet the era of Emperor Wuzong’s persecution, so each monastery had long been preparing for their own ceremonies.

“He Gong, today is Guanyin’s day of enlightenment. I wish to visit Qinglong Temple to pray for my elder brother’s blessing, I ask your permission.” Early that morning, Ye Chang spoke to He Zhizhang.

“Ah…” This was a matter of propriety; whatever reasons He Zhizhang might have, he could not stop Ye Chang from praying for his brother. After a brief thought, he said, “As it happens, I have no business today, so I’ll accompany you.”

Ye Chang felt embarrassed. “He Gong, my brother’s fortune is thin; he hardly deserves your presence.”

“Don’t worry, I merely wish to stroll through the temple.” He Zhizhang stroked his beard and smiled.

Ye Chang had no choice but to agree. He Zhizhang invited several guests, including Zhang Xu and Yan Zhenqing, and had wine prepared. Clearly, after the ceremony, another bout of drunken revelry would ensue.

Qinglong Temple was a renowned landmark in Chang’an, originally called Guanyin Temple, famed for its flourishing Buddhist rites. Upon their arrival, they found the crowds around Qinglong Temple surging, countless visitors present.

“Such liveliness! There are more worshippers this year than ever before.” Seeing the bustling scene, He Zhizhang was delighted—old age had made him fond of excitement. “Thirty years ago, during the Jingyun era, Qinglong Temple was still known as Guanyin Temple—do you know the origin of its name?”

“Please enlighten us, He Gong,” someone replied with a smile.

“This temple was originally Linggan Temple of the previous dynasty. In the second year of Longshuo, Princess Chengyang fell gravely ill. The monk Falan from Suzhou came here and recited the Guanyin Sutra to pray for her recovery, which was granted. Thus, the temple was renamed Guanyin Temple.” Though He Zhizhang was most devoted to Daoism, he recounted Buddhist lore with ease. “Since then, the temple’s incense has prospered, but never as bustling as today.”

“I heard the monks of Qinglong Temple are organizing a grand Buddhist event, inviting both clergy and laity, nobles and commoners alike,” someone interjected.

“A grand event? What kind of grand event?” He Zhizhang asked curiously.

“Speaking of Guanyin... He Gong, there’s something I don’t understand—why is the taboo of Emperor Taizong not observed?” Ye Chang interjected, steering the conversation away from the grand event.

He was determined to prevent He Zhizhang from digging deeper.

“The taboo of Emperor Taizong…” This question made He Zhizhang pause, pondering for a while. “I recall that Emperor Taizong only forbade the consecutive use of two characters; a single character need not be avoided.”

Guanyin was originally known as Guanshiyin. Later, the name was changed to Guanyin, many believing this was to avoid the taboo of Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin. In fact, Li Shimin was quite magnanimous; he only required the common people to avoid the consecutive reading of ‘Shimin’, not the individual ‘Shi’ or ‘Min’. This detail was somewhat distant in time; as Ye Chang shifted the topic to Emperor Taizong, He Zhizhang forgot to inquire further about the grand event at Qinglong Temple.

After their prayers and rituals at Qinglong Temple, more than half an hour had passed. Though they avoided noon, the weather was still scorching, and everyone was drenched in sweat. He Zhizhang, being elderly, felt nothing, but Ye Chang, Yan Zhenqing, and others found it unbearable. After some discussion, they settled under the temple’s trees for shade and respite from the summer heat.

Qinglong Temple stood on Leyou Plain, a relatively remote area of Chang’an, but thanks to its proximity to Yanxing Gate, traffic before the temple was heavy, and worshippers were numerous. As they rested, a group approached—Ye Chang focused and saw it was Li Zhe and his companions.

This time, Li Zhe was accompanied by even more scholars, many of whom carried folding fans, shaking them as they walked, clearly new graduates. Ye Chang smiled as he noticed the fans; most of them had been gifted by Qin Qinshou, and these men were now local celebrities, walking advertisements for him.

The more effective the advertising, the more fans sold, increasing Qin Qinshou’s capital. If Ye Chang needed a loan of three to five hundred strings of cash, it should not be difficult.

Thinking thus, he snapped open his own folding fan.

He smiled at Li Zhe’s group. Among them, someone was grinding his teeth.

It was Yuan Zai.

After being humiliated by Ye Chang’s words last time, Yuan Zai had kept a low profile for days. But when Lu Qi had stymied Ye Chang’s football event, Yuan Zai felt vindicated. Today, he shamelessly tagged along, wanting to see Ye Chang’s dejected state.

He was still without office, holding an ordinary folding fan, while the fans of the other successful scholars were obviously more refined. Ye Chang’s fan, however, was a special gift from Qin Qinshou, adorned with poetry and painting by renowned artists, the calligraphy by Zhang Xu himself. Yuan Zai was extravagant by nature and could not bear to see others possess fine things—his eyes bulged at the sight.

Ye Chang’s gentle waving and smile seemed mocking to him.

“Ah, isn’t this Ye Chang of Xiuwu? You’re nothing but a commoner, with no official in your family for three generations, yet you dare carry a Right General’s fan?” Yuan Zai spoke first. Today, besides coming to witness Ye Chang’s embarrassment, he aimed to restore his own reputation, so he wouldn’t let anyone else seize the opportunity.

Ye Chang hadn’t noticed him at first, but now realized Yuan Zai was mingling in the crowd. Hearing his barbed words, Ye Chang replied haughtily, “Though my family has no officials for three generations, our lineage traces back to Emperor Zhuanxu, descendants of the Left Marshal of Chu, with Ye Gong as the origin of our surname. What about your ancestors, Yuan Zai—what was their surname, your father’s surname, and yours?”

Many were puzzled by Ye Chang’s words, thinking him rude, but those who understood couldn’t help but cover their mouths, glancing at Yuan Zai with changed expressions. Those standing near him quickly moved away, as if afraid misfortune might rub off.

Yuan Zai’s face was now as blue as Lu Qi’s.

He regretted his quick tongue, mentioning Ye Chang’s ancestry—he should never have brought it up, and if others did, he should have diverted the topic. The reason was simple: Yuan Zai’s father originally bore the surname Jing, but as the Lady Yuan of the Cao Prince presided over land taxes in Fufeng, he assumed the Yuan surname!

Though, thanks to his connections with the Cao Prince, Yuan Zai’s father became a minor official, he was ultimately a man who changed surname and abandoned family roots. In criticizing Ye Chang, he had only shamed himself!

What puzzled Yuan Zai was how Ye Chang knew of his family’s secret, which was closely guarded. He felt a chill—his circumstances seemed entirely within Ye Chang’s grasp: his Daoist studies, his family background, even his inner thoughts.

Whispers rippled through the crowd; Yuan Zai knew that those in the know were spreading word of his father’s surname change. Soon, he would have to explain to anyone who asked why his father had abandoned his ancestral name.

He retreated into the crowd, and none of Li Zhe’s companions dared question Ye Chang’s fan further. Ye Chang’s hidden sharpness was well established—who would risk provoking him without cause?

There were exceptions, like Lu Qi. But Lu Qi, now riding high, wanted to see Ye Chang humiliated, not to become the butt of the joke himself.

The Buddhist ceremonies were lively. After a brief rest, He Zhizhang eagerly wandered about, inevitably leading his group of scholars to compose poetry. Ye Chang remained silent throughout, uttering not a word, and Lu Qi, observing him, sensed something significant behind his silence.

Yuan Zai was not skilled in poetry, but managed to recite a verse. When everyone ascended the Buddhist pagoda of Qinglong Temple and gazed west toward Chang’an’s city wall, a crimson sun hung upon it, Yuan Zai felt his last opportunity had arrived.

“Ye Chang, I’ve heard you composed two poems—one about bamboo, the other at Fengling Crossing?” He raised his voice amid the crowd; everyone sensed drama was coming and quieted down.

Ye Chang tilted his head, casting Yuan Zai a strange look.

Lu Qi noticed this and was curious: why did Ye Chang’s gaze contain a trace of pity?

Ye Chang kept silent, so Yuan Zai sneered, “See, Ye Chang, it’s not that you can’t write poems, but at this gathering of refined minds, you utter not a word. Could it be, like Jianglang, your talent has been spent and you cannot compose?”

Had he stopped there, it would merely be mockery, but Yuan Zai continued, “Or perhaps you have no talent at all, and those two poems were plagiarized?”

Everyone’s spirits lifted: the moment had come!

Having been stung by Ye Chang earlier, Yuan Zai’s return meant he was well prepared. If Ye Chang composed a poem, Yuan Zai would incite the group to criticize it harshly; if Ye Chang refused, he would cement the accusation of plagiarism!

Yuan Zai had analyzed the two “Ye Chang poems” circulating earlier, concluding that even if Ye Chang had written them, their clever conception masked limited poetic talent, emboldening him to launch this attack—among his companions were several sharp-tongued critics.

“Those two poems were indeed copied. I said so at the time—they came to me in a dream, and I wrote them down casually. I am but a commoner; what do I know of poetry?” Ye Chang replied calmly.

“Haha, so you admit to copying them, but when you copied the poems, you forgot to copy the authors’ names! Did you select them as you pleased? And if you claim to have copied them in a dream, why did you not copy more, so you could use them now?” Yuan Zai sneered.

Ye Chang laughed as well. “Who says I didn’t copy more in my dreams?”

“Oh? Then why not recite them?”

“If I do, I fear it may dampen everyone’s spirits.”

“Heh, don’t worry—even if your copied poems disappoint, they’ll only enhance our enjoyment.” Yuan Zai was delighted.

Even if Ye Chang’s poems were “copied from dreams,” the aura surrounding him would fade, and He Zhizhang, Zhang Xu, and others would no longer praise him so highly. Yuan Zai’s goal was no longer to gain praise for himself, but to damage Ye Chang’s reputation: since Ye Chang had ruined his own, he would return the favor.

Ye Chang glanced at him again, then spoke:

“The vast sky is pale, a lone bird vanishes,
Through endless ages, all dissolves here.
Consider the Han dynasty’s achievements—
No trees arise on the Five Tombs, only autumn winds.”

Everyone was stunned. This seven-character quatrain, though not astonishingly brilliant, was measured and composed—at least better than the verses recited earlier.

Before anyone could react, Ye Chang continued:

“In peaceful times, ignorance is weakness,
I love the solitary cloud, the quiet monk.
I wish to wield my staff and travel rivers and seas,
Gazing from Leyou Plain toward the Zhaoling Mausoleum.”

Once more, astonishment. This poem surpassed the previous one, especially the line “I love the solitary cloud, the quiet monk”—in this noisy gathering, it truly evoked thoughts of transcending the mundane.