PCA Chapter 69

“What’s wrong?” Su Cen paused, slightly confused, before turning with a smile. “Don’t worry, your Brother Qi won’t find his way here.”

 

“That’s not it.” Qu Ling’er frowned.

 

“Then is it because this courtesan isn’t to your taste?”

 

“No.” Qu Ling’er shook his head. “Brother Su, there might be danger on this boat. Let’s go back.”

 

“Danger?” Su Cen furrowed his brow and, after a moment, asked, “Am I in danger… or are you?”

 

“I just feel like there’s something unusual about this boat. Brother Su, listen to me—let’s leave.”

 

Su Cen pondered for a moment, his brows knitted. “Is there someone you know on this boat?”

 

Qu Ling’er fell silent, and Su Cen immediately understood. He patted Qu Ling’er lightly on the shoulder. “You head back to the inn and wait for me. There’s someone I need to follow. Don’t worry—they don’t know me, and I won’t be in danger.”

 

“Do you have to go?”

 

Su Cen nodded firmly. “I have to.”

 

He boarded just as the gangplank was being pulled away, and the flower boat creaked as it pushed off from the shore, heading toward the river’s center. Qu Ling’er bit his lip, stamped his foot, and finally leaped lightly onto the boat, using the water as a stepping stone. Landing beside Su Cen, he sighed. “Brother Su, I’m coming with you.”

 

Su Cen frowned. “Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize you?”

 

Qu Ling’er forced a weak smile. “They’re acquaintance, but not enemy.”

 

The flower boat stood three stories tall, with large red lanterns hanging from the eaves, illuminating the vessel as brightly as daylight. The shimmering water reflected the lights, creating a mesmerizing interplay of colors and shadows. The dazzling scene extended for miles, a sight unique to these floating pleasure houses. No wonder the people of Yangzhou preferred their brothels on boats—this intoxicating ambiance could only be achieved here.

 

The first floor was an open hall, used for performances of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting by the courtesans. Upstairs were private chambers, whose purposes were self-evident.

 

By the time Su Cen and Qu Ling’er entered, the crowd had already taken their seats in the hall.

 

The seating arrangement fanned out around the central stage. Su Cen quickly spotted the dandy young master from earlier, sulking in the prime seat nearest the stage—clearly frustrated that his attempts to charm the courtesan had failed.

 

Since they were the last to arrive, Su Cen and Qu Ling’er had to settle for a less favorable spot. But Su Cen wasn’t here for the courtesan anyway, so he chose a corner seat near a column, where a light curtain provided some cover—perfect for Qu Ling’er to remain inconspicuous.

 

As soon as Su Cen sat down, a servant approached to serve tea. The tea’s color and aroma suggested it was of good quality, but just as Su Cen raised the cup to his lips, a hand stopped him. Turning his head, he saw Qu Ling’er shaking his head gently.

 

“Brother Su, it’s best not to touch anything on this boat.”

 

Su Cen hesitated, then nodded, setting the cup down and leaving it untouched.

 

The brothel keeper reappeared on the stage, bantering with the guests before standing tall and announcing, “Our Miss Qingchen has said that tonight is a gathering of the literati, and she has prepared a special gift for all you gentlemen—”

 

She deliberately drew out her words, teasing the crowd until their curiosity boiled over. Only then did she continue with a sly smile, “Miss Qingchen has declared that the winner tonight will be her honored guest and the only one she will entertain this evening.”

 

The hall erupted in an uproar.

 

Everyone knew that Miss Qingchen had always been known for selling her talents, not her body. Never before had she invited anyone into her private chambers. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had the guests brimming with excitement, eager to compete for the prize.

 

At that moment, a light veil descended on the stage, and the hall instantly fell silent. A graceful figure stepped out, bowed slightly, and spoke softly, “Tonight’s contest consists of three rounds: Passing the Flower with the Drum, Singing and Pitch-Pot, and Composing Verses to a Tune. Those who lose are kindly asked to leave the hall. There are still many sisters upstairs and downstairs ready to entertain the rest of you.”

 

Hearing this, Su Cen couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. Visiting a brothel wasn’t easy—it required not one, but three rounds of tests. It was almost more demanding than the imperial exams. The so-called “talented scholars and beautiful courtesans” seemed to require the scholars to be carefully selected layer by layer.

 

Before long, a large drum, as tall as a person, was brought onto the stage.

 

Passing the Flower with the Drum involved passing a silk-embroidered ball in time with the drumbeats. When the drum stopped, the person holding the ball would have to drink. However, this game had an added challenge: whoever held the ball when the drum stopped had to recite a line of poetry praising Miss Qingchen’s beauty. Those who couldn’t would have to leave the hall in defeat.

 

Miss Qingchen turned her back to the audience, spread her flowing sleeves, and began playing the drum. The drumbeats started abruptly, and the embroidered ball was passed from person to person. Su Cen, seated far from the center, didn’t expect the ball to reach him anytime soon, so he took the opportunity to observe the figure behind the veil.

 

What he saw startled him. Miss Qingchen wasn’t using drumsticks to play the drum—she was using her water sleeves. The sleeves moved swiftly outward and retracted gracefully, producing a resonant rhythm with just their motion.

 

It confirmed Su Cen’s earlier suspicion: her skills were far from ordinary.

 

After several rounds, seven or eight people were eliminated—not because they couldn’t come up with a line of poetry, but because the drumbeats stopped so abruptly that they panicked and forgot what they had prepared.

 

The next round began, with the drumbeats transitioning from fast to slow. As the drum was about to stop, the embroidered ball was still on the far side of the hall. Su Cen let out a small breath of relief, but suddenly, the ball was thrown into the air in a moment of panic and landed squarely in his lap.

 

The drum had stopped. Su Cen was just about to stand up when the drumbeats unexpectedly resumed. Without hesitation, he tossed the ball to the next person, who caught it in confusion.

 

The drum stopped again, and the bewildered person, realizing too late what had happened, shot Su Cen a resentful glare before leaving the hall in defeat.

 

Su Cen turned to Qu Ling’er and asked, “Did she just look back at us?”

 

“Huh?” Qu Ling’er scratched his head. “Did she? I didn’t see anything.”

 

Su Cen shook his head. “I must’ve been mistaken.”

 

The first round of Passing the Flower with the Drum concluded. Those who remained were secretly delighted, while those who left were visibly disappointed. Su Cen glanced toward the center and saw that the dandy young master from earlier was still seated—neither of them had been called out.

 

The second round was Singing and Pitch-Pot. A servant brought out a narrow-necked, round-bellied celadon vase and placed it on the stage. Each remaining contestant was given five featherless arrows. Standing behind a marked line, they had to toss the arrows into the vase, with at least one successful attempt to qualify.

 

Looking at the arrows in his hand, Su Cen sighed repeatedly. Rites, music, archery, charioteering, and books—he had once ridden horses so poorly in Chang’an that he became a laughingstock. But even that wasn’t his weakest skill.

 

As for archery… he could barely keep the arrows on the target back then, let alone hit the bullseye.

 

“What’s wrong, Brother Su?” Qu Ling’er picked up one of the arrows on the table and toyed with it. While chatting, he casually flicked his wrist and threw the arrow. It sailed over the heads of the crowd and landed perfectly in the center of the vase!

 

The round-bellied vase didn’t even budge.

 

Everyone turned to look in astonishment. Su Cen and Qu Ling’er were seated in the farthest corner of the hall, more than ten feet away from the vase. Most people could barely see the narrow vase opening from that distance.

 

Qu Ling’er tossed another arrow with ease and grinned. “This isn’t hard at all. If you ask me, they should make it more interesting by blindfolding everyone.”

 

Su Cen quickly reached out to cover Qu Ling’er’s mouth, offering an apologetic smile to the crowd before turning to glare at Qu Ling’er. Enough is enough—showing off shouldn’t become a habit.

 

Fortunately, they passed this round. As a result, another large group was eliminated, including that second young master.

 

However, the man was truly shameless. Despite missing all five of his shots, he stubbornly refused to leave. A servant stood helplessly by his side, unable to drive him away and nearly in tears.

 

Miss Qingchen chuckled softly from behind the curtain. “The second young master is an esteemed guest; it’s fine if he stays.”

 

Only then did the servant breathe a sigh of relief and retreat with a bow.

 

After two rounds, only seven or eight contestants remained. The large drum was removed from the stage, replaced by a guqin for the final round: Composing Verses to a Tune.

 

In the five-tone system of traditional Chinese music—gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu—each tone corresponds to specific tonal patterns in poetry: gong and shang align with level tones, zhi with rising tones, yu with departing tones, and jue with entering tones. The challenge required Miss Qingchen to play a sequence of tones on the guqin, while the contestants recited matching poetic lines.

 

The difficulty increased progressively. At first, Miss Qingchen played a single zhi tone, and someone immediately responded with “beautiful.” While the word was rather cliché, it passed without objection.

 

When Su Cen’s turn came, he responded with “graceful,” and the round concluded with no one eliminated.

 

Next, the tones increased to two, then three, and eventually five. As the sequences became more complex, some contestants admitted defeat and left the hall.

 

Su Cen soon noticed that the second young master was hopelessly incompetent. By the third tone, he was already stumped, yet he shamelessly stayed seated, refusing to leave.

 

By the seventh tone, only Su Cen, the second young master, and one other contestant remained.

 

The seven-tone sequence rang out from behind the curtain:

 

Yu, Shang, Gong, Zhi, Yu, Gong, Shang.

 

(Tonal pattern: rising, level, level, rising, rising, level, level.)

 

The second young master, predictably, was no help. The other contestant opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed in resignation and left in silence.

 

Su Cen was the last man standing, drawing everyone’s attention as the final victor.

 

Lifting his cup, he smiled faintly toward the figure behind the curtain. “The morning rain in Weicheng moistens the light dust; a toast to Miss Qingchen.”

 

From behind the curtain, Miss Qingchen rose and offered Su Cen a smile. “Congratulations, young master, on winning the top prize. May I ask your honored surname and name?”

 

Su Cen paused briefly before replying, “My humble surname is Li, and my given name is Xu.”

 

“Please wait a moment, Young Master Li.” Miss Qingchen bowed slightly and retreated behind the curtain.

 

The moment she left, the second young master could no longer sit still. He leaned forward, staring after Miss Qingchen as she ascended the stairs, before reluctantly slumping back into his seat. He glared venomously at Su Cen, his expression clearly saying, No one’s going to make me leave.

 

Of course, no one did.

 

Before long, a servant appeared and bowed to Su Cen. “Miss Qingchen invites you to the warm pavilion.”

 

Led by the servant, Su Cen and Qu Ling’er ascended the stairs, leaving the second young master to exchange helpless glances with the two guards stationed at the staircase.

 

Su Cen didn’t feel anything while passing through the earlier rounds, but now, as he ascended the stairs step by step, he started to feel troubled. It wasn’t that he hadn’t visited pleasure houses to listen to music and drink tea before, but entering a young lady’s private quarters was indeed a first for him.

 

Standing outside the door, he hesitated. If he went in and did nothing, would people think he was incapable? But if he went along with it… Su Cen shivered at the thought—if Li Shi found out, he might as well be castrated.

 

He sighed. Why was it that others, like Xiao Yuancheng and Feng Yiming, could enjoy themselves with ease, while he had to remain virtuous for someone else?

 

At this point, it wouldn’t make sense to win the competition and then refuse to go in. Gritting his teeth, Su Cen pushed open the door.

 

 

—

 

A fragrant scent immediately filled his senses, a mix of floral and sweet dewy aromas that refreshed the spirit. Su Cen stepped inside and greeted Qingchen with a slight bow.

 

Qingchen had changed into a different outfit, and the veil covering her face was now gone. Her complexion was like jade, and her beauty was ethereal, possessing the elegance of a fish sinking into the water and the allure of a flower overshadowing the moon.

 

Such a pity. Truly, such a pity.

 

Taking his seat, Su Cen couldn’t help but sigh, saying, “They say, ‘In the north, there is a beauty, unmatched in the world.’ I never imagined that the beauties of the south could rival them.”

 

Qingchen smiled faintly and asked, “Is the gentleman from the north?”

 

“Indeed,” Su Cen replied in flawless official speech without a hint of a local accent. “My family has been merchants for generations, but our fortunes declined in my generation. I came here to seek help from relatives.”

 

“Oh?” Qingchen raised an eyebrow. “May I ask which relatives?”

 

“The Jia family of Yangzhou, salt merchants by trade,” Su Cen replied, pausing slightly to gauge her reaction. “Have you heard of them, Miss?”

 

“The Jia family?” Qingchen’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of doubt flashing across them.

 

Feigning ignorance, Su Cen scratched his head and added sheepishly, “To be honest, the master of the Jia family is my maternal great-uncle. But this is my first time in Yangzhou. Miss, how is the Jia family regarded in this city? Do you think the old master will acknowledge me as his grandnephew?”

 

Qingchen: “…”

 

Without waiting for her response, Su Cen continued, “I also heard my great-uncle has a younger son about my age. I wonder if he’s easy to get along with?”

 

It took Qingchen a moment to untangle the convoluted family connections Su Cen described. She chose not to respond directly, instead asking, “What do you think of the second young master downstairs?”

 

“The second young master?” Su Cen blinked in surprise. “Are you saying he is my younger uncle?”

 

He shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be right. My aunt clearly told me the Jia family only has one son. Why do you all call him the second young master?”

 

Qingchen explained with a sigh, “There was once an elder son, renowned for his talent and looks. Sadly, he passed away a few years ago due to illness. Now, the Jia family indeed has only one son left.”

 

Su Cen feigned sudden realization. “Ah, that explains it.”

 

 

—

 

A servant knocked and entered with tea. Qingchen rose to pour a cup for Su Cen and placed it before him.

 

“With such talent, why hasn’t the gentleman considered taking the imperial exams?” she asked.

 

“What’s so great about becoming an official?” Su Cen replied lazily, tracing circles on the rim of his cup. “There are too many rules—this isn’t allowed, that isn’t allowed. You have to bow to everyone you meet. It’s not for me. I heard my great-uncle’s business in Yangzhou is thriving. I plan to ask him for a shop, become a hands-off manager, and live a life of leisure—eating, drinking, and, of course, visiting places like this.”

 

As soon as Su Cen finished speaking, he caught a hint of disdain in Qingchen’s eyes. She likely saw him as a frivolous, idle young master wasting his days. Deciding to play the part to the end, Su Cen boldly grabbed her delicate hand, brought it to his nose, and sniffed lightly. With a smile, he said, “Qingchen, you smell so lovely. When I have money in the future, I’ll redeem you and make you my concubine. Then you won’t have to show yourself to others like this anymore.”

 

Qingchen summoned all her composure to stop herself from throwing him out. Instead, she forcefully pulled her hand back and replied with a cold smile, “It’s said that ‘the fragrance of women can steal one’s soul.’ My scent, however, is deadly. Aren’t you afraid of losing your life here?”

 

“Dying under a peony flower is still a romantic death,” Su Cen quipped as he tried to take her hand again. However, Qing Chen was quicker and stood up first.

 

Rising to her feet, she took a pipa from the wall, bowed slightly, and said, “Please enjoy your tea, Young master. Allow me to play a tune for your entertainment. What would you like to hear?”

 

Su Cen, now slightly uninterested, waved his hand and said, “Do you know The Butterfly Song? If so, please play that for me.”

 

“The Butterfly Song?” Qingchen paused briefly before lowering her head to adjust the strings and tune the instrument. Casually, she asked, “Why did you think of this song, young master?”

 

“I heard it from the boatman who brought me here. On the surface, it’s about butterflies, but it’s actually a love story. They say it’s about a courtesan and a scholar. Don’t you think this song perfectly matches our current situation?”

 

“You’ve misunderstood, young master,” Qingchen replied with a faint smile. “In the song, the scholar passed the imperial examinations and became a successful official. The two exchanged butterfly hairpins as tokens of love, but in the end, their lives were tragically misplaced.”

 

Her meaning was clear: at least the scholar had achieved something, whereas Su Cen was nothing more than a carefree, indulgent rogue.

 

Su Cen, oblivious to the jab, chuckled and said, “If you were with me, I’d never misplace such a beauty.”

 

Tired of arguing with him, Qingchen pressed her fingers to the strings and began to play. A tender and sorrowful melody flowed from the instrument, filling the room.

 

Su Cen picked up his tea, took a sip, and tapped his fingers lightly on the table in time with the music.

 

Before long, there was a dull thud. Su Cen had collapsed onto the table, unconscious.

 

Qu Ling’er immediately stepped forward. “What did you do to him?!”

 

The pipa’s music abruptly stopped. Qingchen smiled at Qu Ling’er and said calmly, “He’s just asleep. Ling’er, so you’re really alive after all.”

 

 

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