The Empress's No.1 Lackey

The common folk had little strong perception of who was powerful and who was weak, so controlling public opinion was quite essential.

Xu Zhenguan knew the intricacies well, and tonight, he had arranged for quite a few literati to attend.

When the banquet began, after the singing and dancing, it moved into the poetry contest segment.

A group of literati and poets threw out their prepared poems, heaping lavish praise upon Zhao Douan and the Royal Family of Great Yu.

Their words were so blatantly flattering and sycophantic that even Zhao Douan, the petty man that he was, felt humiliated by the comparison.

He suddenly realized why the Empress usually remained unmoved by his own flattery—

These literati were just too good at licking boots!

Zhao Douan witnessed a literatus holding a scroll of poetry arrive at the entrance of the hall and read aloud, lavishing praise on him from every conceivable angle.

Praising him to the heights of heaven and the rarity on earth.

The flattery made him so uncomfortable he blushed and fidgeted, and turning his head to look at the other civil officials beside him, they all appeared unaffected, each eating and drinking at ease.

A look of being used to such boot-licking, their threshold for it was filled to the brim.

Zhao Douan felt shame and realized he still had much to learn.

Immediately, he took great interest and quietly watched these literati as they sang their praises, silently taking notes.

He planned to put what he learned to use in the future, not believing he couldn't penetrate Zhenbao's defenses.

Fortunately, the literati of Great Yu weren't entirely shameless; after the round of singing praises, they finally entered the "poetry contest" phase.

This time, Zhao Douan truly realized the elegance of the scholars of this era.

With officials making up the majority of participants, which of them wasn't erudite and well-read?

Having tumbled through mountains of poetry,

The poems they could produce at the drop of a hat followed by high-level critiques from onlookers, winning unanimous admiration.

Xu Junling, unparalleled in talent, watched everyone perform a round before she effortlessly cast out a poem that overpowered the entire gathering.

Grandmaster Dong couldn't help but offer immense praise, personally giving his evaluation.

Afterwards, a group of Capital's literati, holding their breath, mustered all their strength to compete with her.

Among them, Han Congee lived up to his reputation, his poetry not a bit inferior to that of the Commandery Princess, managing to regain some face for the people of the Capital.

Zhao Douan chuckled, spending the event drinking wine, listening to music, and watching the dances, showing little interest in the poetry contest.

The surrounding officials were not surprised, taking Mr. Zhao merely as a "military general," who, even if versed in statecraft, was not skilled in the art of poetry—this was nothing unusual.

However, no one knew the real reason; accustomed to too many timeless poems from his past life, Zhao Douan had become excessively picky about artistic taste.

The poetry he had memorized since childhood were masterpieces; now, he found it hard to be interested in the poems before him.

Today, Mr. Zhao only wished to drink wine.

Thus, as the watchman's call sounded,

The feast drew to an end, and Zhao Douan, who was heavily drinking, was unusually drunk once again.

One by one, the aged ministers stood up, took their leave, and departed.

"Gentlemen, I shall take my leave first," Zhao Douan said, exhaling the smell of alcohol as he stood up and clasped his hands towards those around.

A group of literati, already immersed in the atmosphere of the poetry contest and unwilling to end it, made a token attempt to detain him—

The circles of civil officials and military generals were distinct, and in venues like a poetry contest, civil officials were extremely passionate and full of vigor, but the military generals would merely yawn.

"No, no more for me. After today's exhaustive dueling in the arena, I yearn to return home for rest," Zhao Douan said with a smile.

The other officials then reluctantly said their goodbyes.

"Is Mr. Zhao leaving already?"

Commandery Princess Xu Junling stepped forward, her face flushed, her eyes full of excitement and pride,

Proud as a peacock.

By day, the victor on the arena had been Zhao Douan.

But at night, at this poetry contest, the victor was none other than her, Xu Junling.

"Hehe, does the Commandery Princess wish to escort me home?" Zhao Douan asked with a teasing smile, his words seemingly in jest yet possibly suggestive.

Xu Junling suddenly remembered the scene at the teahouse, when Zhao Douan had spoken lightly of her, and she felt a surge of irritation.

Hearing this, she extended her proud neck and replied with a reserved smile,

"Mr. Zhao jokes. I only thought it regrettable that you left no memento of your literary grace at tonight's Zhangtai Banquet."

"You want my literary treasure?" Zhao Douan asked, eyes twinkling with mirth as he rode the wave of drunkenness.

Xu Junling's lips curled slightly, her demeanor unperturbed,

"Of course. However, if Mr. Zhao is not adept with poetry…"

"Bring me a pen."

Zhao Douan said suddenly with a peculiar look at her.

Xu Junling was taken aback.

The surrounding civil officials also revealed a pleasantly surprised expression, realizing that Zhao Douan was going to write a poem—

a rare event indeed.

Instantly, someone moved a table set with brush and inkstone directly over to him, presenting him with a writing brush.

"The Commandery Princess is right; this moment and scene indeed deserve to be recorded."

Zhao Douan chuckled, faced with the Commandery Princess's proud gaze, raised his hand, and carelessly picked up the brush, dunking it in the ink.

His gaze swept across Zhangtai Garden.

By this time, the remaining guests had heard that Mr. Zhao was about to write a poem and gathered around with curiosity.

Zhao Douan looked up, surveying the room brimming with opulence.

Zhao Douan lowered his gaze, noting even the paperweight on the table was extravagantly carved into the shape of a golden whip.

He chuckled softly, recalling his journey through the court over the past half-year—from being despised by one and all to now being smothered with obsequious smiles.

Emotions welled up inside him.

Zhao Douan began to write:

"Remembering Zhangtai at Night"

Tonight, amidst Yu Jing's drunken blooms, I drink with dukes and nobles alike.

My spirit stands aloof before the proud heroes; how could I deign to fall behind in elegance?

As a young man favored by the Emperor, through Zhangtai I ride, wielding a golden whip.

My literary offerings reach the Taihe Palace, as song and dance linger over the tortoiseshell banquet.

Having written, Zhao Douan cast aside the brush.

Stepping through the crowd, his sleeves billowing, he entered into the night.

No one stopped him.

Inside the hall, the lights flickered, resplendently radiant.

The Minister of Rites, who stood closest, read the poem aloud.

Then, the officials who had been watching the excitement froze.

Xu Junling stared dumbfounded at the unrestrained characters on the paper.

Han Congee recited it softly within the crowd, savoring it.

Grandmaster Dong rose to his feet, silently reading it once more, his dim, turbid eyes lighting up,

"This poem…"

Then he chewed over the line "As a young man favored by the Emperor," his expression turning strange.

The next moment, the old Grandmaster suddenly beckoned a servant, pointed to the piece of poetry, and commanded,

"Take this to Her Majesty."

...

I'm late with the update; actually, I've been wanting to modify this poem since the book began...