Chapter 116: Relapse (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

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A figure quietly observed the scholar before him—broad-shouldered and sturdy, with a rugged appearance. Were it not for his scholarly attire, anyone who saw him would surely mistake him for a warrior.

“Young Master Liu, you jest,” the scholar stood up, taller than Liu Yitiao by half a head, smiling as he cupped his hands toward him. “I am but a humble scholar, lacking any strength to contend with you. Moreover, the Qingfeng Pavilion is a refined establishment, run by Young Master Li. Fighting here would be most inappropriate, would it not?”

“Oh?” Surprised, Liu Yitiao turned his gaze to Li Rusi and asked, “Young Master Li, is this Qingfeng Pavilion your property?”

Li Rusi shot a sharp glance at the scholar, then smiled at Liu Yitiao. “It is indeed my humble undertaking. Please forgive any impropriety, Young Master Liu.” Seeing the displeasure on Liu Yitiao’s face, he quickly added, “However, the rules on the second floor have nothing to do with me. They were set by the patrons themselves, and as the owner of this tavern, I dare not interfere.”

“Hm,” Liu Yitiao nodded, his expression softening. Li Rusi was not one to judge by appearance or status; otherwise, he would never have taken the initiative to befriend a farmer like him in the first place.

“Allow me to introduce this gentleman,” Li Rusi began, seeing that Liu Yitiao bore no grudge.

“This young master’s surname is Fang, given name Yi’ai. He is the second son of Minister Fang, the Left Deputy Minister of the current court.” After speaking, Li Rusi winked subtly at Liu Yitiao, signaling him not to offend Fang Yi’ai lightly. The Fang family held considerable influence in the capital.

Fang Yi’ai? The son of the mighty Fang, a notable figure, albeit historically infamous for his unfaithfulness. Liu Yitiao scrutinized him carefully, recalling vague records about the second son of the Fang household. Though Fang Yi’ai was the son of the great literary master Fang Xuanling, he had not followed in his father’s scholarly footsteps. Instead, he was more inclined toward the martial arts and had even served as a general. Yet here he was, pretending to be a scholar. Strange indeed. Had he remembered wrong?

“Master Fang, your courtesy is much appreciated,” Liu Yitiao said politely, cupping his hands toward Fang Yi’ai.

“Brother Liu, the honor is mine,” Fang Yi’ai replied, settling closer to their table. He glanced at the silver moon token in Liu Yitiao’s hand. “May I ask, what is your relationship with the venerable General Gongsun? Forgive my boldness—I have not heard of you before.”

Liu Yitiao cast him a glance. “I am but a humble farmer, tending to a modest plot of land. It’s no surprise you’ve not heard of me. As for my relation to the Gongsun household, it is nothing significant; merely that I recently swore brotherhood with the virtuous Helan.”

No wonder. Upon hearing Liu Yitiao’s connection to Gongsun Helan, the scholars’ faces lit up with newfound understanding. There is a saying: ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ Brother to Gongsun Helan? That raised Liu Yitiao’s danger level considerably in their eyes.

Fang Yi’ai sneered slightly, not fully believing Liu Yitiao’s words.

A farmer? Which farmer could possess such bearing, sitting unperturbed among scholars, speaking with ease? Which farmer commanded such respect from Li Rusi that he would personally offer him a toast? Not to mention being sworn brothers with Gongsun Helan—an ordinary farmer wouldn’t even be allowed near the Gongsun estate.

Liu Yitiao and Gongsun Helan were no ordinary men. That was Fang Yi’ai’s verdict on Liu Yitiao. Wild yet restrained, knowing when to advance or retreat, and adept at seizing opportunities. His earlier display of the silver moon token was a clear attempt to leverage Gongsun Helan’s notorious reputation to intimidate the scholars. Unlike the reckless Gongsun Helan, who would resort to brute force at the slightest provocation.

This was a man. Fang Yi’ai ceased his probing thoughts. Though his own abilities were limited, as the son of the famed Fang Xuanling, he understood some basics of discerning character.

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Therefore, after sharing a drink with Liu Yitiao, Fang Yi’ai wisely returned to his own table.

The other scholars, disappointed by Fang Yi’ai’s retreat, had hoped he would support them in their grievance, but the outcome was not as expected.

However, Fang Yi’ai’s reluctance did not deter others.

For instance, Wu Zitong, who had been silenced by Liu Yitiao moments before, now stepped forward. Risking a beating, he cupped his hands and said, “Young Master Liu, this gathering was initiated by Young Master Li to foster friendship through literature and poetry. Since you have come, surely you will leave some calligraphy as a mark of respect to our host?”

“Oh?” Liu Yitiao glanced at Li Rusi. This was somewhat difficult to refuse. Though they had only met twice, Liu Yitiao found the handsome young master quite likable and did not wish to disappoint him.

“Why don’t you inscribe a plaque for Li Rusi’s humble establishment?” Li Rusi, secretly delighted, seized the chance to request a calligraphic treasure from Liu Yitiao. An opportunity to obtain an authentic piece from the Liu school of calligraphy was not to be missed.

“An inscription?” Liu Yitiao looked at Li Rusi and suddenly recalled that he had gifted Li Rusi a painting and calligraphy a little over a month ago. The Song style of script was all the rage in Chang’an; might this be thanks to Li Rusi? “I noticed the plaque above this tavern bears the characters ‘Qingfeng Pavilion’ in a familiar style. Might I ask whose hand crafted it?”

Seeing that he could not hide this fact from Liu Yitiao, Li Rusi blushed slightly and said softly, “Please forgive me, Young Master Liu. Those three characters are my own imitation of your style, done on a whim. They fall far short of your calligraphy, and I am ashamed. I humbly ask you to kindly bestow a new inscription upon this small shop.”

“Liu school calligraphy? Liu Yitiao?” Fang Yi’ai watched Li Rusi’s respectful demeanor toward Liu Yitiao and recalled their earlier conversation. Suddenly, a realization dawned—could this Liu Yitiao be the founder of the Liu school of calligraphy?

“Very well, Young Master Li, if you do not mind, I would be honored to comply,” Liu Yitiao nodded readily. After all, it was just writing a few characters—hardly a burden.

Wherever literati gathered, there were always brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Upon Liu Yitiao’s agreement, Li Rusi clapped his hands joyfully, and a servant brought the writing implements over.

“Please, Young Master Liu,” Li Rusi personally spread the paper and handed him the brush, watching attentively.

Liu Yitiao took the brush, ground the ink on the inkstone, then said, “Very well, I shall risk disgrace.” With that, his brush flew across the paper, producing three bold characters: “Qingfeng Pavilion.” The strokes were sharp and forceful, as if carved by a blade.

Silence fell. When Liu Yitiao set down the brush, everyone stared at the characters in stunned silence.

Among them, only Li Ji and a few others had basic literacy; even the youngest attendants had some understanding of calligraphy. All recognized that Liu Yitiao’s writing was at least ten times finer than the plaque outside.

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“May I ask, Young Master Liu,” Fang Yi’ai was the first to regain composure. He parted the crowd and approached Liu Yitiao with cupped hands. “Is this Liu school of calligraphy truly your creation?” —

Palace of Governance. The imperial physicians gathered once more.

An hour ago, Empress Dowager Changsun had fallen ill again, fainting into unconsciousness, and remained unresponsive.

Emperor Taizong paced anxiously beside her bed, glancing between the Empress and the quarreling physicians. His heart was troubled, yet he knew such matters could not be rushed. Several times he had wanted to reprimand Wang Zikui, the head physician, but restrained himself.

“Your Majesty!” Just as Emperor Taizong was about to lose patience, the physicians ceased their debate. Wang Zikui stepped forward, bowing respectfully. “We have devised a treatment plan for Her Majesty’s illness, but the medication is extremely risky and requires your personal approval.”

“Do not hesitate to speak plainly, Minister Wang,” Emperor Taizong said, forcing calm. “If it will save the Empress, request whatever you require. I will do my utmost to fulfill it.”

Wang Zikui lowered his voice. “Your Majesty, waking Her Majesty is not difficult, but it requires increasing the dosage—especially arsenic—more than doubling what was used last time. Therefore, we dare not proceed without your command.”

“More than double?!” A chill ran through Emperor Taizong’s heart. Was this not akin to drinking poison to quench thirst?

“Minister Wang,” the emperor dismissed the attendants nearby, fixing his gaze on him. “Tell me honestly, how long will this medicine sustain Her Majesty?”

“Two months,” Wang Zikui murmured, avoiding the emperor’s eyes as he spoke the grim estimate.

The emperor’s hand trembled, his spirit sinking. “And after two months?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“We must double the dosage yet again. Perhaps that will extend her life another two months. We are powerless beyond this. Please, Your Majesty, punish me if you must.” Wang Zikui knelt abruptly, begging for forgiveness.

“Two months... only two months?” Emperor Taizong slumped, defeated. He waved Wang Zikui away. “Go, order the physicians to prepare the medicine. We must first save the Empress. I will stay here with her a while longer.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Wang Zikui stood and bowed carefully before leaving the hall.