The laughter in the room crushed Scholar Lin, making him unable to lift his head.
The young master in brocade robes sitting on the left snapped his folding fan shut with a crisp sound, pointing at Scholar Lin as he laughed, doubled over. "Taoyuan? Scholar Lin, are you suggesting Young Master Song go roll in the mud, or go smell the foul stench of fertilizer concocted by that Xu family girl? Are you afraid our Qinghe County's face isn't dirty enough, so you want to borrow some mud from next door to smear on it?"
Several others around joined in the mockery.
"If you ask me, Scholar Lin has read so much his brain's gone stiff. What kind of place is Taoyuan County? A barren land of harsh mountains and wicked waters breeding troublemakers, topped off with that madwoman Xu Qinghuan who only knows how to amass wealth. Sending Young Master Song there? That's not hosting a poetry gathering; that's exile."
Master Wang held his teacup, not even lifting his eyelids, a trace of mockery hanging at the corner of his mouth. "It's good for young men to want to make their mark, but one must consider the occasion. Such reckless nonsense should be spoken less in the future, lest people laugh at our academy for producing students with no sense."
Scholar Lin's face flushed a purplish-red, the sweat in his palms soaking through his sleeves. He hadn't expected his offhand suggestion to provoke such ridicule. He wanted to shrink back, but under the gaze of so many, that stubborn streak of a scholar's pride welled up instead.
"It's... it's not nonsense," Scholar Lin gritted his teeth. Though his voice still trembled, its pitch rose a few notches. "Half a month ago, my peddler cousin just returned from Taoyuan County. He says it's different there now."
The young master in brocade scoffed. "How different? Did a pie from the sky fall and turn that poor hovel into a golden nest?"
Ignoring his sarcasm, Scholar Lin hurriedly explained, "They're building a road there. Said to be a grand thoroughfare, stretching from the county magistrate's office all the way to Oxhead Mountain. Thousands of refugees have gathered, people are swarming over the hills and fields, a massive scene. My cousin said, though it's a bit chaotic over there now, it's... it's lively."
"Building a road? Refugees?" The young master laughed even harder. "My great scholar, are you truly ignorant or just pretending? Thousands of refugees gathered together, that's called lively? That's called a mob! That's a powder keg ready to explode at any moment! Do you want Young Master Song to go watch street performances among a refugee camp?"
The room erupted in another wave of laughter. Those present were all respectable people; they usually avoided refugees on the street, fearing bad luck. Who would willingly rush into a refugee crowd?
Scholar Lin was completely silenced. His pitiful source of information indeed seemed flimsy and laughable before these well-connected scions of privilege. He lowered his head, wishing he could find a crack in the floor to crawl into.
Su Bingzhang, who had been sitting silently in the host's seat all along, lightly tapped his fingers on the table twice.
The laughter gradually subsided. Everyone looked at the academy head, waiting for him to reprimand this poor scholar who didn't know his place.
Su Bingzhang didn't look at Scholar Lin. His gaze fell on the half-borer-eaten old locust tree outside the window, his eyes deep and penetrating—the kind honed over years of navigating officialdom, capable of seeing through to the bone.
"Thousands of refugees..." Su Bingzhang chewed on these words, his voice low, betraying neither joy nor anger.
Master Wang quickly chimed in, "Academy Head, don't listen to this fool's babbling. Taoyuan County is a complete mess. Let's discuss other locations instead."
"No."
Su Bingzhang suddenly turned his head. In those somewhat cloudy eyes, a startling brightness shone. "This place is an excellent choice."
The room fell silent.
The young master's fan halted mid-air. Master Wang's just-raised teacup froze at his lips. Even Scholar Lin jerked his head up, looking at Su Bingzhang with an expression as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Academy Head?" The young master in brocade doubted his ears. "You mean... that Taoyuan County full of refugees and stench?"
Su Bingzhang stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and took two measured, firm-paced steps around the room.
"You all are still too young. You only see the surface of things."
Su Bingzhang walked to the painting "Fishing Alone on a Cold River" hanging on the wall, his back to the group.
"Young Master Song's journey south this time is ostensibly for visiting family and leisure, but in reality, he is investigating local conditions on behalf of his uncle who holds a post in the Ministry of Revenue. Since it's about investigating local conditions, where best reflects the 'hardships of the people'?"
The group exchanged glances, somewhat unable to follow the old fox's train of thought.
Su Bingzhang turned around, a hint of an inscrutable smile on his face. "If we hold the poetry gathering in Squire Li's garden, with fine clothes, sumptuous food, and music, that's the vulgarity of merchants. Even if Young Master Song writes a few good poems, it would merely be 'forcing sorrow for the sake of new verse.' When word gets back to the capital, those censors and remonstrance officials will only say he's a pampered noble son, ignorant of the people's suffering."
He paused, his voice suddenly rising. "But what if we go to Taoyuan County?"
"There are thousands of refugees there. People lacking adequate clothing and food. A place scarred and in ruins, with everything needing restoration. If Young Master Song stands amidst that mob of refugees, witnessing those struggling in the mud just to survive, even if he does nothing but furrow his brow and sigh, that becomes 'a heart concerned for the common people,' that becomes 'compassion for the world'!"
Everyone in the room was dumbfounded.
This... this could be interpreted that way?
Su Bingzhang spoke more and more fluently, his train of thought now fully clear. "What we need to build for Young Master Song is not some gilded stage—the capital has plenty of those. What we need to build for him is a backdrop against which he can demonstrate his ambitions and display his benevolence!"
"Imagine this," Su Bingzhang narrowed his eyes, as if already seeing the scene. "On that half-built, broken road in Taoyuan County, surrounded by sallow, emaciated refugees. Young Master Song, clad in pristine white robes, stands alone amidst the dust, beholding the world's suffering, wielding his brush to compose an essay 'Lamenting the Multitude of Hardships Among the People.' Once such a piece is transmitted back to the capital, what prestige would that bring? What an achievement?"
"This is called—leveraging the situation."
Su Bingzhang delivered the final verdict. "Using the scars of an entire city to secure a nobleman's reputation for virtue for a lifetime."
A deathly silence filled the room.
After a long while, Master Wang finally drew a long, sharp breath, his teacup trembling in his hand. "Brilliant... utterly brilliant! Academy Head, this move of yours calculates human nature to the very marrow! The poverty and dilapidation of Taoyuan County, in your eyes, are all material for an essay!"
The young master in brocade also caught on, slapping his folding fan against his palm. "Marvelous! If we make the setting too luxurious, we'd actually harm Young Master Song. Taking him to experience hardship, to see the suffering refugees—that's truly a high-grade form of flattery!"
Even Scholar Lin was stunned. His original intent was merely to say the place was lively. He never imagined that in the mouths of these important figures, its "misery" could become a scarce resource.
"But..." a scholar in the corner still voiced concern, "That is, after all, the Xu family's territory. That Xu Qinghuan is a lawless, unreasonable character. What if she offends the distinguished guest, or the place is simply too foul-smelling to set foot in..."
"No matter," Su Bingzhang waved his hand, his face full of confidence. "That Xu Youde is an office-seeker and a clever man.
As long as we send the visiting card and subtly reveal Young Master Song's status, even just to curry favor with a distinguished guest from the capital, the Xu family will sweep those streets clean and drive those overly frightening refugees farther away."
"As for that Xu family girl..." Su Bingzhang sneered, "She's nothing but a spoiled, foolish brat. I hear she's been busy lately selling that so-called fertilizer? A merchant's daughter reeking of copper coins, upon meeting a noble scion like Young Master Song, would likely not dare to lift her head, consumed by her own inferiority."
He returned to the table, picked up his brush, and dipped it fully into the ink.
"Grind the ink," Su Bingzhang instructed. "I shall write to Jinshi Wang personally."
Master Wang hurriedly stepped forward to grind the ink, his movements obsequious.
Su Bingzhang's brush danced across the paper, the wording in the letter exceedingly refined. He did not mention Taoyuan County's poverty outright, only stating that the place was where "the people's livelihood is fraught with hardship, and all trades await revival," making it an ideal destination for "us scholars to personally involve ourselves and observe the people's condition." He packaged their plan to freeload in the neighboring county as a cultural pilgrimage borne of concern for the nation and its people.
With the final stroke completed, Su Bingzhang blew on the still-wet ink and nodded in satisfaction.
"This," he declared, "is what you call—turning decay into magic."
He folded the letter and handed it to the servant beside him. "Dispatch it post-haste to the courier station where Jinshi Wang is staying. Say it conveys the sincere devotion of all the scholars of Qinghe County."
The others in the room chimed in with agreement. The earlier gloom and despair had vanished, replaced by the excitement of soon climbing onto a lofty branch. They were already painting a splendid picture in their minds:
Upon the dilapidated ruins of Taoyuan County, they would cluster around the distinguished guest, pointing out the landscape with authority, passionately discussing literature, trampling their poor neighbor underfoot, and thus creating a fine tale of their own.
"Hahahahaha!"
They all laughed joyously together.
"Marvelous! Truly marvelous!"
