Chapter Nineteen: The Disciple of the Immortal Poet and the Scion of Nobility

A sudden torrential rain swept down from the heavens, drenching Gu Ye to the bone in an instant, his face turning even gloomier than the stormy sky above. In such weather, it was naturally impossible to journey far; there was nothing for it but to head toward the nearby city of Mianzhou.

As though defying the heavens themselves, the young Taoist stubbornly refused to seek shelter in the carriage. Lu Liao did not press him, but merely closed his eyes, calmly listening to the relentless pounding of the rain. At his side, Tang Xiaoqi alternated between listening in awe to the storm and sneaking glances at Lu Liao, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

On the rooftops and along the streets, a white mist rose from the rain, like ethereal veils of gauze. Lu Liao kept a distance from the counter, feigning fascination with the rainy scene.

What a joke—wherever the old coachman led them, it was always the renowned Immortal Guesthouse of Mianzhou. One look at the elegant, noble décor was enough to let Lu Liao know he didn't have the courage to step inside, even if he now possessed considerable wealth.

"I've never stayed in such a high-class room since the day I was born!" Gu Ye’s voice was fiery, and Lu Liao, abandoning any pretense of appreciating the rain, hurried over.

"My dear Taoist master, it’s not that our establishment refuses you a Heaven-class room. It’s simply that all the Heaven-class rooms are occupied. We mean no slight," replied the manager, neither servile nor overbearing, his composure unshaken.

A dazzling pearl landed on the counter with a resounding crack.

"I don’t care about your reasons. I want a Heaven-class room, and that’s final!"

The manager’s expression didn’t so much as flicker, but Lu Liao and Tang Xiaoqi were stunned. To think that staying at an inn, the young Taoist could so casually toss out a pearl—how extravagant he was!

Before the manager could respond, a richly dressed, idle-looking young man of ample girth appeared from nowhere, a mocking smile plastered on his plump face.

"My, my! Since coming from the capital to this little Mianzhou, I’ve seen it all. Who would have thought—a mere Taoist, more imperious than princes and nobles!"

Soaked and delayed by the storm, only to be turned away from the inn, Gu Ye was already seething with pent-up rage. He spun around coldly.

"And what of it? Do you have a problem?"

Such a swift and seamless shift in demeanor—Lu Liao had never seen its like before. The plump young man beamed, hurried over to Gu Ye, and clapped him warmly on the shoulder.

"Of course not, of course not! Where else could one find such an unparalleled Taoist as Brother Gu Ye?"

Gu Ye’s anger instantly vanished, replaced by satisfied pride.

The plump youth then looked down his nose at the manager before turning back to Gu Ye. "What Heaven-class room could ever be worthy of you? The Immortal Guesthouse boasts tranquil, elegant courtyards—that’s what befits your status."

As a first-time traveler, Gu Ye had always believed Heaven-class rooms were the best; he had no idea there was so much to consider. Feeling somewhat frustrated, he looked to the manager.

But the plump youth seized Gu Ye’s arm. "There’s no need to look further. We’ve already reserved the largest, quietest courtyard in the Immortal Guesthouse—plenty of rooms for all. Miss Xiaoye and Young Master Xiaofeng are quite bored—they’ll be delighted to see you."

At the mention of Miss Xiaoye, the young Taoist’s face lit up, and he forgot all about introducing Lu Liao and Tang Xiaoqi, hurrying off with the plump youth.

Lu Liao could only shake his head and follow in silence. Suddenly, he felt as though both he and Tang Xiaoqi had shrunk in stature. Feeling uneasy, he straightened his back and composed himself, determined not to reveal any sign of embarrassment.

They passed through several corridors and entered a serene, refined courtyard with a garden, flowing water, artificial hills, a private kitchen, and servants at their disposal.

At the plump youth’s call, a pair of young men and women, about sixteen or seventeen, emerged from the bright, spacious main hall. Gu Ye, forgetting all decorum, rushed ahead of the plump youth, his spirits high.

"I thought this wretched rain would delay me and make me miss you, but it seems it’s done me a great favor—such a happy coincidence to meet you here!"

"It just shows the bond between brothers," the plump youth said, grinning.

The timely intervention did not go unnoticed—Gu Ye’s eyes shone with gratitude and admiration for his friend.

The young man forced a smile, somewhat awkward, while the young woman looked at the people behind Gu Ye with a peculiar gaze.

Remembering himself, Gu Ye offered an apologetic smile and hastened to make introductions.

"This is Lu Liao, styled Yuyun, disciple of my master’s friend, the venerable Elder Dong Yanzi, as well as the Immortal Poet Li Bai. He is, well, my—my—"

"Junior," Lu Liao interjected calmly, relieving Gu Ye, who sighed in relief.

The slender, aloof young man’s face twitched slightly but he said nothing more. The young woman smiled faintly, her expression growing all the more enigmatic. Only the plump youth cupped his hands with a grin.

"No wonder Brother Lu carries himself with such distinction—he’s the famed disciple of the Immortal Poet Li Bai. I’m sure you’ll carry on your master’s legacy brilliantly."

He winked teasingly at Tang Xiaoqi. Though playful, his manner was impossible to dislike, quickly putting everyone at ease.

Lu Liao intended to demur and explain, but seeing the cool detachment of the young man and woman, and Gu Ye’s gaze shifting toward the proud young woman, he merely cupped his hands and smiled politely.

When it came time to introduce Tang Xiaoqi, Gu Ye faltered, finally mumbling, "This is Miss Tang Xiaoqi, my junior’s patient. Due to her health, she’s staying with him for now."

The aloof youth’s eyes brightened as he stole a glance, blushing as he turned away. The plump youth’s face lit up, exclaiming, "A beauty beyond compare! One look at Miss Xiaoqi and I was nearly blinded!"

His exaggerated astonishment brought a radiant smile to Tang Xiaoqi’s face; she greeted them with a graceful bow.

The young woman gave a soft, dismissive snort, clearly displeased.

Gu Ye hastened to appease her, smiling ingratiatingly. "The seven stars of the Northern Dipper, General Geshu rides by night—everyone knows the verse. This is Miss Geshu Xiaoye, daughter of the great General Geshu."

She was tall and slender, with delicate shoulders, a narrow waist, bright eyes and arched brows—a heroic, striking beauty. Her emerald eyes and high-bridged nose marked her as possessing a touch of exotic charm.

Lu Liao could not help but look twice. He thought to himself that of all the poems his master wrote of foreign beauties, this young woman truly possessed an allure all her own.

"This is Yin Feng, Young Marquis Yin, descended from the founding hero Lord Yin Kaishan."

"And I’m Cheng Changmu; my ancestor was Lord Cheng, a man of little refinement. I’m no scholar either, so let’s dispense with formalities," the plump youth introduced himself cheerfully, showing not a trace of aristocratic arrogance.

As suddenly as it had come, the storm abated. A fresh, moist breeze swept through, carrying a faint whiff of fox musk that stealthily invaded the air. The young nobles discreetly stepped back, and a hint of distaste crossed Geshu Xiaoye’s face.

Tang Xiaoqi bowed her head low, wishing she could sink into the floor. Suddenly, she felt a small hand gently taken in Lu Liao’s. Instead of scolding him, her heart warmed, and tears welled in her eyes.

After refreshing themselves, the kitchen had prepared a banquet, and everyone gathered in the main hall. With the sociable Cheng Changmu present, the atmosphere was lively.

"Brother Liao, as a disciple of the Immortal Poet, your talent in poetry must be extraordinary. Since Master Li Bai could compose a hundred poems over wine, why not honor us with a verse? Let us commoners bask in your master’s immortal aura!" Cheng Changmu, ever at ease, had already started addressing Lu Liao as a brother.

Lu Liao waved his hands. "I followed Master Li Bai, but never learned poetry; only a little swordplay. I’m afraid I can’t compose a verse."

Cheng Changmu shook his head, unconvinced. "You are too modest, Brother Liao. Who could believe a disciple of the Immortal Poet doesn’t write poetry?"

Lu Liao sighed. "I did wish to learn, but I couldn’t. I’m simply unable."

"Why is that?" Cheng Changmu asked, curiosity piqued. Even the proud Geshu Xiaoye turned to listen.

Lu Liao did not explain, but instead recounted an anecdote about Li Bai.

"Do you know why, despite my master leaving masterpieces at many famous sites, he never left a verse at the renowned Yellow Crane Tower?"

"In truth, he did write one. Let me recite it for you:

'Fist strikes the Yellow Crane Tower,
Foot kicks Parrot Isle.
A view before my eyes I cannot extol—
Cui Hao’s poem is above all.'

At first, the company was stunned, then laughter erupted. They understood at last why Lu Liao, bearing the title of the Immortal Poet’s disciple, refrained from composing poetry—it was not so easy a mantle to bear.

Their laughter was unrestrained, but Lu Liao, though smiling, felt a pang of sorrow. His master, so talented and unbridled, had struggled through hardship and the climb of officialdom, seeking to fulfill great ambitions and govern the world. Yet, in the end, he was but a court poet, a jester among mandarins, departing in disappointment.

He thought of his illustrious forebears, all skilled in judgment, rhetoric, courage, and strategy—masters of both civil and martial arts, able to open and close, advance and retreat as the times demanded. Yet he himself had only ever seen their glory, never the hardship and pain beneath it.

Though they laughed and feasted together, there was an invisible chasm between him and these aristocrats—a subtle condescension. Lu Liao knew his path ahead would not be easy; knowledge alone would not suffice to smooth the way.