The one who spoke up was none other than Xiao Qi, one of the older young masters who had just been put in his place by Shen Hao.

This fifty-something young master had just produced two poems in the flower selection round—one made it onto the Ink List, and the other was recognized by half the judges, allowing him to steal the show and make quite an impression as a man of exceptional literary talent.

With that, Xiao Qi was naturally riding high, his companions were hyping him up, and now that the time had come, the four young masters from the Imperial City had joined forces to snatch up five poems, with both of the only two pieces on the Ink List coming from them—it was the perfect moment to settle old scores.

Besides, did you really think they were stupid? That they’d openly provoke a real power within the Xuanqing Guard just for the sake of fame?

It’s all about the money—someone here in Fengri City paid them handsomely to cause trouble. Plus, the Flower House also offered a big sum. Otherwise, who would bother making the long trip to Fengri City for no good reason?

Actually, the idea of provoking Shen Hao had been considered and debated by these four before they even set out. As long as they kept it to poetry, even if they angered Shen Hao, there wouldn’t be direct retribution. Over time, this could be used as ammunition to defame him and block his rise. After all, the Xuanqing Guard has enemies everywhere at court; naturally, someone would seize on this to give Shen Hao trouble.

All these twists and turns, Shen Hao didn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to care about.

With a flick, he snapped open his black fan, smiled lazily at Xiao Qi without saying a word—plainly having no intention of responding. The contempt in his manner was obvious to everyone.

For Xiao Qi, a dignified member of the Imperial City’s Seven Young Masters, to be ignored yet again—his wrinkled face flushed between pale and blue, on the verge of bursting a blood vessel from anger.

But Xiao Qi had no time to argue further, because the last songstress was coming down the stairs.

Lian Xiang wore a white dress tonight, her makeup drastically different from her usual flamboyant style—she looked unusually refined, with barely any accessories. Coming down the stairs, she gave the impression of a noble lady. But up close, you’d sense a potent, restrained allure beneath the poise—a contrast so electric it was impossible to look away.

Shen Hao inwardly cursed, "Enchantress," taking some time to tame the restlessness stirring in his chest. He was only clear-headed because he’d been deliberately shutting out the songstresses’ charm skill—those who let themselves sink into it had red-rimmed eyes from excitement, some even forced to bend forward to hide their loss of composure. That much was obvious.

Shen Hao’s sharp eyes caught the bright Blue Moon Flower in Lian Xiang’s hair, and when their eyes met, she fiddled with the flower as if hinting at something.

The subtle glances weren’t lost on Zhang and Gan, who stood right by Shen Hao—they exchanged looks, thinking these two truly were interesting. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Then Lian Xiang took the stage. Musicians played. She danced gracefully, her red lips parting to sing, her melodious voice echoing through Hong’en Hall.

"Lotus scent fades on jade mats in autumn, slowly I loosen my robes, board the orchid boat alone..."

"A Cut of Plum" was brought to life in Lian Xiang’s voice, painting a vivid picture. Besides the poem’s melancholy and loneliness, her singing carried a hint of longing, as if a lonely, graceful woman were pouring out her sorrows to you and, through her dance, secretly enticing you.

Shen Hao was stunned. Only now did he realize a sorrowful poem could be performed with such effect?

This fairy is truly something else.

When the song ended, the audience snapped back to their senses, breaking into scattered applause. The literati in the crowd were quietly peeking at the second floor—the man in the cloud patterned white robe and black fan was none other than the composer of "A Cut of Plum," wasn’t he? And the young lord from the Imperial City had just been provoking him repeatedly—there was sure to be drama soon.

Afterwards, Lian Xiang returned to sit on a rattan chair, and Saitama beside her said a few "friendly" words. Lian Xiang’s face didn’t change, but her eyes flashed with anger.

"Sister Lian Xiang, it looks like the courtesan crown won’t be yours this year, will it?"

That one jab truly left Lian Xiang at a loss. Five hundred sixty thousand flower lanterns! The last time she won the courtesan crown she only had five hundred ten thousand—more than fifty thousand less. How could she possibly compete?

At the emcee’s cue, the final round of flower lantern voting began.

Maybe because it was the last round, and this was Lian Xiang’s territory, her votes quickly surged ahead of all the other songstresses this evening.

One hundred thousand... two hundred thousand... three hundred thousand...

In no time, the lantern count broke four hundred thousand, but then the climbing slowed and eventually plateaued at five hundred thirty thousand.

Typically, the first half is just a money contest to pile up lanterns. In the second half, it’s up to the scholars’ poetry to push the total higher. As the host, Hong’en Hall was well prepared. But at the critical moment, everything ground to a halt—the ones who’d promised to contribute poems were all silent. No, not exactly silent—they’d already crafted verses for the two unfamiliar faces from earlier, but for Lian Xiang, suddenly, nothing?

Lian Xiang’s face was grim, as were all the people from Hong’en Hall. The situation was obvious: someone didn’t want Hong’en Hall winning the courtesan crown and had sabotaged them on the sly.

Even the four older young masters had promised to help Lian Xiang with poems, but in the end, all their efforts had gone to Saitama, and now there wasn’t a single person stepping up for Lian Xiang. Anyone with eyes could see they’d been played.

There were still a few anxious scholars, but the ones willing to compose poems weren’t good enough and lacked someone like Xie Youlin to boost them. Several poems were submitted, barely scraping the minimum standard, but none worthy of being chosen, much less considered for the Blue Moon Flower Lantern.

Watching as the Time Fragrance burned away second by second, Lian Xiang slowly lifted her gaze, casting a coy, plaintive look at the second floor—right as she locked eyes once more with Shen Hao, white robe and black fan.

With a slightly exasperated smile, Shen Hao said, "I’ll compose one."

Not just because this enchantress was more than a little familiar, but if there was a chance to help, he might as well lend a hand. Besides, those four old young masters were already watching hungrily from the side, eager to stir up trouble—so why should Shen Hao keep sitting back?

All the better for that vixen, really.

As soon as Shen Hao spoke, a servant snuffed out the Time Fragrance under a cover, suspending the proceedings—every eye turning to the second floor.

The people who knew him were whispering among themselves, all looking forward to seeing if this rising star of the past year would produce another masterpiece tonight.

"Heh, Lord Shen is finally about to write another famous piece. He’s saving it for such a moment—no way it’ll be weaker than ’A Cut of Plum,’ right?"

"Exactly! Lord Shen never acts unless he’s going to astonish everyone. I doubt any piece that doesn’t make the Ink List would even count!"