Chapter 25: Breeze Garden

Every year in mid-to-late August, aside from the entrance examinations of the Great Cang Academy, the poetry gala hosted by the First Prince stands as one of the grandest events of the season. Countless aspiring scholars rack their brains, desperate to secure an invitation.

Although the succession to the throne has been determined, the Crown Prince remains, for now, just the Crown Prince. Since the Great Martial Emperor established the Great Martial Dynasty, through to the era of the seven great dynasties, history has seen many a Crown Prince usurped by his own brothers, his prospects vanishing into thin air. To look no further than the present, the reigning Emperor Cang himself was not the Crown Prince prior to his ascension.

Consequently, the First Prince, Huangfu Mingze, and the Third Prince, Huangfu Mingxin—both of whom wield influence in the imperial court rivaling that of the Crown Prince—are viewed by many as hopeful contenders. The First Prince’s decision to hold his poetry gala at this particular time carries an obvious intent. For the many scholars from minor noble houses or humble origins, this is a time of great anxiety. To catch the eye of the First Prince would be to secure a meteoric rise and a brilliant official career. Yet, how many of those attending each gala truly manage to earn his favor and become his confidants?

Regardless, every time the gala arrives, the entrance to the Clear Breeze Garden is bustling with activity, a sea of carriages and horses. After the steward verifies the invitations, he treats every guest with courtesy, regardless of their apparent status. After all, those holding invitations generally possess both identity and standing. Though he serves the First Prince, he is but a humble steward; there are many here whom he cannot afford to offend.

Of course, it is not impossible for those without invitations to gain entry. With the capital currently teeming with talent from across the nation, most are commoners who naturally lack the qualifications to receive an invitation from the First Prince. Yet, as the Prince’s goal is to gather talent, he could hardly turn these people away—what meaning would the gala have then? Three days prior to the event, students without invitations could submit their own essays, poems, or other works to the First Prince’s mansion. A designated official would then screen these submissions and issue credentials to those deemed qualified.

Sitting in his carriage, Wang Yu put the gala out of his mind. Should any trouble arise later, he would meet it as it came—soldiers would be met with shields, and floods with earthworks.

"Young Master, we have arrived!"

As Zhao Yun’s voice echoed, Wang Yu gently lifted the carriage curtain. The name "Clear Breeze Garden" came into view. The garden, which should have been elegant and serene, seemed today to have taken on a touch of worldly bustle. The gala was not held at the First Prince’s mansion, but here, in a spot that served as a quiet sanctuary within the noisy capital, a long-standing gathering place for self-proclaimed scholars and poets.

"Let’s go," Wang Yu said, leaping lightly from the carriage and speaking to the two men behind him. Today, aside from Ling Donglai, his ever-present "super bodyguard," Wang Yu had also pressed Zhao Yun into service as his driver.

"Young Master, please proceed. I shall wait here for your return," Zhao Yun said, cupping his hands in a salute. Though a warrior with no experience in poetry galas, he had inquired with the stewards at the General’s Mansion when his master requested his company. He learned that only the principals were to enter, while guards and drivers were to wait outside until the conclusion of the event.

"Very well," Wang Yu nodded slightly. Bringing Zhao Yun along was primarily to have a driver; he could hardly expect Ling Donglai or himself to handle the reins. It was just as well that Zhao Yun stayed behind. Unlike ancient China, the Tianqi Continent allowed women to participate in poetry galas, and Wang Yu had been looking forward to a beautiful encounter with a literary young lady. If Zhao Yun were to enter, his charisma would surely steal all the limelight!

"Young Master, I am afraid this gentleman cannot accompany you inside," the steward said, blocking Wang Yu’s path after checking the invitation. He spoke with great respect. Although Ling Donglai did not look imposing—appearing more like a scholar in the prime of his life—the steward was a man of the First Prince’s mansion and had seen many masters of internal martial arts. While Ling Donglai showed no outward signs of being a fighter, he was following behind the master of the house, so he was undoubtedly a bodyguard. It was an unspoken rule that bodyguards were not permitted, a point the First Prince had emphasized. If everyone brought their own protection, the gathering would become less of a poetry gala and more of a display of muscle.

The organizers were responsible for security, which was why such galas were not for everyone to host.

"And what if I insist on bringing him in?" Wang Yu asked, his eyes fixed on the steward’s increasingly panicked face, a hint of mockery in his tone.

"This… Young Master, the rules state that no bodyguards are permitted. Please, have some consideration for me!" The steward was visibly flustered. If he let the guard in, he would have to answer to the First Prince. Yet, having read the name on the invitation, he knew exactly who he was dealing with—he could afford to offend neither party. Moreover, if he broke the rules, how would he handle the demands of others?

"Get lost," Wang Yu snapped with feigned impatience. "Do not waste my time!"

"Young Master, this is impossible. Apart from the Princes themselves, even the heirs of noble houses are not permitted to lead guards inside. I beg for your understanding..." The steward could only offer a forced smile, explaining cautiously while signaling his subordinates to inform the important figures inside of the situation.

Wang Yu noticed the signal but paid it no mind. He had intended for this to happen today.

"You insolent cur! Do you dare block me? Do you know who I am?" Wang Yu struck the steward across the face, his voice filled with feigned fury.

The scene at the gate drew a crowd, but those watching either lacked the status to intervene, did not wish to offend Wang Yu over a mere steward, or were simply eager to watch the show. As for the subject of the confrontation, Ling Donglai stood as if oblivious, a bystander, silent and still.