The caravan reached the grand gates of Anxi just as the sun began to rise, casting a golden hue over the city’s towering walls. The gates, adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and tigers, stood as a testament to the city's wealth and importance.
Guards in heavy armor inspected each traveler meticulously. Merchants presented their trade permits, some with nervous expressions, while others chatted with the guards like old friends. Zhao Ming, standing at the back of the line, observed the heightened security. There were more soldiers than usual, and their eyes carried a sharp vigilance.
Overhearing a hushed conversation between two merchants, Zhao picked up rumors of rising tensions between noble factions and mercenary groups. It seemed Anxi was not as peaceful as it appeared.
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Once inside, Zhao was met with a sight unlike any he had seen before. Anxi was a city of contradictions—grand estates stood side by side with crumbling tenements, and beggars lined the streets near bustling markets filled with exotic goods.
He parted ways with the caravan and headed toward the merchant guild. Along the way, a scrappy-looking child approached him.
"Mister, need a guide? Only two copper coins!" the child grinned, revealing a missing tooth.
Zhao considered it for a moment and handed over the coins. "Show me the noble district."
The boy led him through winding streets, dodging rickshaws and street performers. It didn’t take long before Zhao arrived at his destination—the estate of the noble family tied to Murong Jin.
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The estate belonged to House Qiao, an old ally of the Murong family. Their patriarch, Qiao Ren, was an elderly statesman who had served in court before retiring to Anxi. He received Zhao warmly upon hearing Murong Jin’s name.
Over tea, Qiao Ren spoke candidly. "Anxi is ruled by Governor Liu Feng. He is competent, but corruption runs deep in his administration. If you are to work here, tread carefully."
As Zhao listened, he learned more about Anxi's political landscape. The city was dominated by three noble families:
* House Qiao, a lineage of scholars and statesmen, known for their loyalty and strategic marriages.
* House Yang, a powerful military clan that controlled the city’s armed forces and trained elite warriors.
* House Sun, a merchant family that had amassed incredible wealth through trade and controlled much of Anxi’s economy.
These three families held an uneasy balance of power, constantly vying for influence. The Qiao family had long supported the Murong clan, but they were being squeezed by both the militaristic Yangs and the ambitious Suns.
"The governor tries to maintain neutrality," Qiao Ren continued, "but everyone knows that House Yang has his ear, while House Sun fills his coffers. We scholars? We are left to navigate between them, lest we fall out of favor."
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Zhao understood that his work in Anxi would be more than just ink and paper—it would require careful maneuvering through a city of silent wars.
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The next morning, Zhao arrived at the governor’s office, accompanied by a Qiao family attendant. He reported to the appointment hall, where a scribe briefly skimmed his recommendation before stamping a document.
"Congratulations, you’ve been appointed as a County Clerk (Zhǔbù). You’ll be assisting with record-keeping and menial tasks."
Not long after, Zhao was suddenly summoned by his supervisor.
"Boy, take this," the supervisor tossed him a bronze token. "Go to Jade Pavilion, the finest inn in Anxi, and book a private room for tonight."
At the inn, Zhao was met by the manager, an older man with shrewd eyes.
"A new scribe, eh? Let me give you some advice. Your predecessor? He was transferred to a remote county because he offended a high-ranking official. If you want to keep your position, learn how to flatter your superiors. Never ask too many questions. And, most importantly, never speak of what you hear in these halls."
Zhao nodded, understanding that survival in this city depended on discretion.
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That evening, Zhao returned to Jade Pavilion, where the private room on the second floor was filled with the chatter of clerks and officials. The air was thick with the aroma of fine wine and roasted duck.
A waiter stepped in, bowing respectfully. "Tonight, we have a special guest—a renowned courtesan passing through Anxi on her way to Luoyang. She will perform for the guests."
Excitement rippled through the room. Zhao listened as a clerk explained in a hushed voice, "The third floor is reserved for noble clans and higher-ranking officials. They always try to impress courtesans with gifts or poetry, hoping to earn a moment of their attention."
The doors opened, and the courtesan entered. She wore a flowing purple dress that shimmered under the lantern lights, her mouth veiled with silk. She carried herself with a grace that silenced the room.
She introduced herself as Lian Rou and bowed elegantly. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, I will present a piece titled Wild Rose. I welcome any scholars or noble guests to provide me with pointers after my performance."
A murmur of intrigue spread through the audience. Some young nobles immediately straightened their backs, while scholars exchanged glances, eager to offer their critiques.
Lian Rou took her seat, plucking the strings of her guqin. A soft, melancholic melody filled the air, its notes weaving a tale of longing and resilience. The room fell into silence, entranced by the performance.
When she finished, the applause was immediate.
"Exquisite!" a young noble exclaimed. "Your skill is unparalleled, Lady Lian."
"The composition is profound," a scholar mused. "The lyrics, especially, carry a deep meaning."
Lian Rou lowered her hands gracefully. "Thank you for your kind words. As the song suggests, a wild rose blooms untamed, untouched by fate. But I would love to hear the thoughts of those with poetic talent."
She smiled behind her veil. "I invite anyone here to compose a poem or calligraphy that captures the essence of Wild Rose. A brush and ink will be provided."
A burst of activity followed.
"I shall compose a verse!" a young noble announced confidently.
"Hah! Poetry should be left to true scholars," another man smirked, rolling up his sleeves.
Waitresses quickly distributed fine rice paper, inkstones, and brushes. Zhao, sitting quietly in the corner, noticed his supervisor smirking at him.
"Zhao, you’re new. Why don’t you try? Win this, and you’ll bring honor to our table."
Zhao sighed inwardly. He wasn’t keen on impressing others, but refusal would only make him stand out more. With a steady hand, he dipped his brush in ink and began writing.
The competition was set. Soon, the battle of words and artistic skill would unfold.
And in a city like Anxi, a single poem could change one’s fate.
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End of Chapter 9