Chapter 144: On the Love of the Lotus

Yuan Shao left once more, flanked by the radiant Yan Liang and Wen Chou, with Gao Lan following behind wearing a resentful expression.

During their parting conversation, he and Zhang Yu had reached a subtle mutual understanding.

Zhang Yu, you have no desire for an official career. I, Yuan Shao, understand this, and I thank you for your hospitality and your stratagems. But since you have used such an excuse to decline my patronage, you must never go to serve others or offer counsel under another's banner.

This includes your own maternal uncle, Liu Bei, Liu Xuande.

If you can abide by this, the Zhang family's mercantile routes in Hebei and their status in Zhongshan will remain unshaken. As long as Zhang Yu conducts himself with propriety and does not cross the line, I, Yuan Shao, shall always regard you as a bosom friend.

This even meant that Zhang Yu could roam Lunu entirely unregulated, acting with unbridled audacity and doing as he pleased.

In other words, from this moment on, Zhang Yu had Yuan Shao watching his back. Henceforth in Lunu and even throughout Zhongshan, Zhang Yu could be said to be below one person and above tens of thousands—truly one of the rare nobles of the late Han who enjoyed the rights properly due to a fief holder.

Of course, should Zhang Yu break his word, both men knew the consequences. After all, nobody yet understood the terrifying extent of Zhang Yu's capabilities better than Yuan Shao. If such a talent could not be used for oneself, it would be a catastrophic blow to one's sphere of influence should he ever end up serving another.

Though in truth, he was not actually all that terrifying...

Fortunately, it was Yuan Shao; his indecisive nature made him willing to treat Zhang Yu thus. Had it been given to the suspicious and sensitive Lord Cao, Zhang Yu's life might well have come to a premature end...

That being said, Zhang Yu was more than satisfied with the goodwill extended by Yuan Shao—which was essentially a reward for his agricultural colony strategy.

Only with such an implicit status could he slowly lay the bricks and stones for his vision, ultimately building a skyscraper in the twilight of the Han.

...

The imperial capital, Chang'an.

The Cai residence, the bamboo grove.

"Untouched by the muddy sludge from which it rises, uncorrupted by the ripples that wash it clean... Such lines are like a piece of natural jade, making even me wish to cast aside worldly affairs and truly become this green lotus!"

"Young Master Yu's composition is incomparably brilliant. Though merely a hundred words or so, it possesses no flaws or regrets, instead exuding a profound and lingering resonance. Even if one were to value words like gold, every single character is worth its weight in pearls, perfectly proportioned in both detail and conciseness," Wang Can praised in admiration.

"It seems Young Master Yu is not only extraordinarily gifted in poetry and fu, but his prose-writing skills also leave us far behind. Truly a rare talent!"

"Splendid, splendid! Far more refined than that 'Rhapsody on the Epang Palace'. Let's see how my old man punishes me now!" Wang Hall wore the smug look of someone who had scored an unfair advantage, earning looks of utter disdain from the other three.

Ever since Zhang Yu's "Rhapsody on the Epang Palace" began circulating, the fame of the "Five Friends of the Bamboo Grove" had gradually spread. That Director of the Secretariat, Wang Sheng—who knew his own son's mediocre capacities inside out—had stubbornly insisted that Wang Hall seize this opportunity for renown by committing all of Zhang Yu's finest works to memory and absorbing their lessons thoroughly. For this, Wang Hall had frequently vented his grievances to the other three in the bamboo grove.

"Wang Hall, you certainly have talent, but it is a pity you refuse to walk the righteous path..." Ruan Yu advised.

"The righteous path—what is the righteous path? Why is it that when Young Master Yu declines an official career, he is showered with praise by the scholars, yet when I harbor no intent to serve either, you lot act just like my old man, nagging incessantly day in and day out..."

Wang Can, who was even younger than him, chimed in: "The reason we do this is entirely out of care and concern for you, Brother Wang, unable to bear watching you waste your fine youth. Young Master Yu can brew fine wine and compose poetry even without holding office. If you could also write a piece like 'The Brocade Zither', we would eagerly look forward to it even if you buried your head in poetry writing every single day."

"If I could write 'The Brocade Zither', I wouldn't be here reading 'On the Love of the Lotus'..." Wang Hall muttered under his breath and said no more. He was not completely devoid of sense; otherwise, he would not have gotten along reasonably well with the other three.

The four of them discussed and appreciated the piece for a long time. When the sun climbed slightly higher, an elderly man with weathered features also arrived at the spot.

"Master Cai."

"Teacher Cai."

The four of them all stood up to bow in greeting.

"Were you discussing Yu Lang's 'On the Love of the Lotus'?"

"Indeed."

"Who would have thought," Cai Yong stroked his white beard, "the literary grace remains at the same lofty level as Yu Lang's previous works. Through the comparison of three flowers, he depicts the lotus's noble bearing and integrity with astonishing artistry, succinctly and directly expressing his aspirations through the lotus. The height of its philosophical realm has no peer among his contemporaries.

Yet... this piece is also akin to a double-edged sword. While it will propel his reputation to absolute heights, it can also be considered a self-imposed severing from an official career."

"Why is that? It merely expresses his desire to keep himself pure and untainted; how is that cutting oneself off from officialdom?" Wang Hall asked, puzzled.

"Once this 'On the Love of the Lotus' is out, the world will know that Yu Lang cares nothing for fame and fortune. 'He who excels in study should officialize'; scholars tend to disparage one another, driven by the desire to vie for power in officialdom. But who is Yu Lang?

His poetry and prose form a school of their own, and his literary reputation is immensely high. Furthermore, he is of imperial lineage, the emperor's brother, and the Marquis of Wuji—his status is noble beyond measure.

If he wished to enter the court as an official or pledge allegiance to a warlord, he would undoubtedly receive heavy patronage, rise rapidly through the ranks, and even harbor hopes of reaching the highest ministerial posts. At worst, snatching the rice bowls of us scholars would be effortless.

Yet today, by writing this 'On the Love of the Lotus' and sighing thrice through the flower—first, sighing at how few truly reclusive high-minded scholars remain; second, sighing at how rare virtuous gentlemen are; and third, sighing at how many vulgar people lust after wealth and glory—he demonstrates his unwillingness to drift with the vulgar currents and enter officialdom. In the literary world, he has cultivated an aura of transcendence, making even an old fogey like me feel profound admiration, let alone ordinary scholars and literati.

Tell me, Wang Hall, if in the future Yu Lang's actions deviate even slightly from this text, or if he breaks his word and plunges into the political arena, what will those who are now praising and eulogizing him do?"

Wang Hall fell silent. Without a doubt, the stellar reputation Zhang Yu had accumulated would multiply tenfold and spread as infamy.

When the eastern wall of a city collapses, people from the western side come to push it down—this was simply the inherent baseness of human nature since ancient times.

"It is merely that I have always heard Yuan Benchu is on good terms with Yu Lang, and Yu Lang is no reckless person. This must be a deeply considered move, so there is no need for us to worry excessively.

Let future matters be dealt with in the future. Today, riding the lingering resonance of Yu Lang's masterpiece, I have already conceived a practice topic for you all. The four of you shall each choose one flower from the lotus, the chrysanthemum, and the peony as your subject, and compose an essay just as Yu Lang did."

"I've thought of it!" Wang Hall blurted out. "Of the flowers of the land and water, those worthy of love are very many. I alone love the chrysanthemum—"

"Ahem! Congratulations, kid, you've gained another 2,000 prestige points, bringing your total to 7,300 now. Is making money really this easy?"

"No, making money is much easier than this. Little old me is so poor I've got nothing but money—do you have any idea how many brain cells I killed recalling and revising this piece?"

"We've got plenty of those in the system; why not just buy some with points?"

"Haven't you ever heard that what's left over is what you've earned? That Rhapsody on the Epang Palace last time was mercilessly fleeced by you, unscrupulous system. If I didn't whip out some genuine talent, you'd really think my nine years of compulsory education were for nothing, wouldn't you?"

...

In the autumn of 191 AD, while Cao Cao occupied Yanzhou, Young Master Yu of Zhongshan composed "On the Love of the Lotus," using the flower to express his ambition not to enter officialdom, causing a shockwave throughout the literary world.

The impact of this essay surpassed even his previous Chang'an masterpiece, "Rhapsody on the Epang Palace," and for the first time, it quietly endowed the seventeen-year-old Zhang Yu with the prestige of a literary leader.