After Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai cleared the first two trials in succession, Xue Tui's attitude toward them had become entirely different from when they first arrived.
Looking at the two now, he no longer saw them as bumpkins who had stumbled in by blind luck. Instead, they struck him as rising stars of the martial world deliberately playing the fool to catch bigger prey.
Before men like these, Xue Tui naturally could not set a challenge that was too ordinary, lest he seem beneath his own reputation.
Under normal circumstances, the third trial was a literary contest where Xue Tui would pose a challenge in person. Such a contest usually meant composing a poem, matching couplets, solving a character riddle, or something along those lines.
It was precisely because Xue Tui excelled at this sort of thing that he had earned the moniker "Little Dezu"—meaning he carried something of the flair of Yang Xiu, courtesy name Dezu.
Yet this very trait made it easy to see why he had repeatedly failed the metropolitan examinations over the years without any real injustice done to him.
The cleverness he possessed had never been genuine, profound wisdom or great scholarship. Rather, it was the typical knack of a sour, pedantic literatus showing off technical tricks.
To sum it up in a phrase: he had plenty of skill for weaving ornate phrases and flourishes, but not a single strategy to pacify a nation.
Thus, serving as a retained scholar here in Bugui Tower was hardly a waste of his talents. Compared to holding government office, this line of work suited him far better.
At the moment, having invited Sun and Huang to take their seats, Xue Tui paced back and forth across the study with his hands clasped behind his back.
Earlier, he had intended to catch his guests off guard with that second trial, never anticipating that Huang Donglai would blurt out the correct answer in an instant, catching him completely flat-footed instead.
Under the circumstances, Xue Tui had no choice but to rack his brains on the spot, frantically considering what to test in the third trial.
*What should I do? Rely on my best skill and test them with couplets?*
*No… coming up with an insurmountable couplet in such short order is far too difficult, and ordinary couplets certainly won't stump them.*
*What if I assign a theme and have them compose a poem?*
*No… that won't do either. Composing poetry is too simple. Even if they just toss together a piece of doggerel, as long as it touches the prompt and the rhymes and tonal meters don't go disastrously wrong, I won't have grounds to object. Given how easily they passed the first two trials, nitpicking over subjective artistic merits in this third one will only make it look as though I'm deliberately giving them a hard time.*
*Mm… how can I make them concede defeat fair and square?*
Xue Tui turned over countless ideas, but his mind worked swiftly, so very little time was actually lost.
A moment later, he snapped his head up. A flash of inspiration crossed his eyes, and a smirk surfaced at the corners of his mouth.
The moment Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai saw his expression, they knew—blast it, this man surnamed Xue had surely hatched some wicked scheme.
"Heh… gentlemen." A second later, Xue Tui came over with a face full of smiles. He raised his hands in a salute and inquired, "For this third trial of 'One Word,' which of you will answer?"
Sun and Huang exchanged a glance. Naturally, it was Huang Donglai who spoke up: "I'll do it."
There was no helping it; of two evils, one had to choose the lesser. However mediocre Huang Donglai was at letters, he was still better off than Sun Yixie, who could barely recognize a word.
"Very well." Xue Tui nodded at his answer and seated himself. Bobbing his head rhythmically, he began, "I wonder if Young Master Huang has ever heard this tale…" Pausing briefly, he recited from memory: "'A man of Zheng was intending to buy shoes. First, he measured his foot and set the measurement on his seat. When he arrived at the market, he forgot to bring it along. Having chosen the shoes, he exclaimed, "I forgot to bring the measurement!" and turned back to fetch it. By the time he returned, the market had closed, and he ended up without shoes. Someone asked him, "Why didn't you just try them on your feet?" He replied, "I would rather trust the measurement than trust myself."'"
Xue Tui recited the classical text of "The Man of Zheng Buying Shoes" word for word, without missing a single character.
Huang Donglai… did not actually understand all of it, but from the bits and pieces he could follow, he gathered the general gist of the story. A bit nervously, he nodded and replied, "Ah… yes, I've heard it."
Xue Tui chuckled and continued, "Then what about these…" Next, he recited the classical passages for "Mending the Pen After the Sheep Are Lost" and "Carving a Mark on the Boat to Find a Dropped Sword."
Huang Donglai claimed familiarity with both.
At this point, Xue Tui felt he had laid enough groundwork. In a mocking, eccentric tone, he said, "Heh heh… Young Master Huang truly possesses vast learning, a formidable memory, and broad intellect. Thus, I imagine… with your worldly knowledge, you could surely tell an allegorical fable that even I have never heard, could you not?"
"Huh?" Caught off guard, Huang Donglai was somewhat dazed. Instinctively putting on a troubled look, he muttered, "Well…"
Seeing the look on his face, Xue Tui immediately showed a smug grin and pressed his advantage: "If Young Master Huang can produce just one, you shall be deemed to have passed this third trial. But if you cannot…"
This challenge was wicked to the extreme.
From Xue Tui's perspective as an educated scholar of the Ming dynasty, writing poems, matching couplets, and composing essays were hardly difficult. To men like him, these tasks were entirely formulaic—much like modern artists churning out doujinshi. As long as you mastered a handful of standard tropes and had adequate drawing skills, creating one was effortless. After all, the readers cared little about plot or profound spiritual depth; they were mainly there for the pictures.
However, asking someone who had spent his days drilling eight-legged essays for government service to write a story—one that carried deep philosophical reflection and expounded a moral truth—was not merely difficult; it was utterly impossible.
That was the first point.
Then came the second: Xue Tui was thoroughly confident that given his erudition, no allegorical fable existed under heaven that he had not already read. *Strategies of the Warring States*, *Mencius*, *Han Feizi*… pick whatever you liked. Give him the opening line, and he could instantly pick it up and recite the rest from memory.
Therefore, this challenge was—at least in his eyes—unsolvable.
Unexpectedly, after only a brief hesitation, Huang Donglai replied in a perfectly calm tone: "Fine, then I'll tell you the story of 'The Tortoise and the Hare.'"
"Huh?" Xue Tui was struck dumb. He had never imagined the young man would actually attempt an answer.
Yet after the initial shock passed, he steadied himself and thought, *No matter… the kid is probably trying to make something up on the spot. Hmph, a wet-behind-the-ears youth of seventeen or eighteen—what kind of coherent tale could he possibly improvise?*
Huang Donglai then proceeded to recount the story of the tortoise and the hare in plain, everyday vernacular.
By the time he finished, Xue Tui was utterly flabbergasted.
Long after Huang Donglai stopped speaking, Xue Tui remained seated there, savoring the tale for ages, looking for all the world like a child who had never heard of the tortoise and the hare.
"Mister Xue?" Seeing him sit there stunned for so long without uttering a word, Huang Donglai prodded tentatively, "Well? How about a word from you?"
"Uh…" Xue Tui collected his wits and asked numbly, "May I ask… from where did Young Master Huang obtain this fable?"
Huang Donglai could hardly tell him it was a piece from *Aesop's Fables*, so he curled his lips and spouted nonsense: "I made it up just now." Assuming a nonchalant air, he added, "Stories like this… I could invent a couple in the time it takes to take a dump. If you don't believe me, how about I tell you 'The Three Little Pigs' in a moment?"
Now Xue Tui was thoroughly stupefied. Hurriedly rising to his feet, he bowed deeply with clasped hands: "Young Master Huang's talent is ten feet tall, profound within and magnificent without! I… no, this student, Xue Tui, has been gazing at the sky from the bottom of a well, measuring the sea with a ladle. I am truly ashamed! If I caused offense earlier, I beg for your forgiveness."
"Holy crap! It was just 'The Tortoise and the Hare'… was that really necessary?" Sun Yixie was equally surprised by the man's reaction, muttering under his breath, "If I were to give you a long-form comic monologue like *One Piece*…"
"Hey! Hey! Brother Sun!" Huang Donglai quickly raised his voice and gave Sun Yixie a gentle nudge, warning, "Storytelling pingshu doesn't even exist in this world yet! Don't go stirring up trouble!"
Sun Yixie chuckled. "Ah~ just kidding, don't panic."
Xue Tui understood none of their exchange anyway; he simply took it as some sort of private jargon between the two and paid it no mind.
Huang Donglai quickly changed the subject and said to Xue Tui, "Mister Xue, since things stand as they are, we've passed the three trials of 'One Taste,' 'One Glance,' and 'One Word,' haven't we? Can we eat now?"
"Oh! Yes, of course!" Xue Tui was now exceedingly deferential, behaving as if he had crossed paths with transcendent masters from beyond the mundane world. "I shall see to the arrangements immediately. Gentlemen, please follow me… this way to your private room, if you please."
***
To make a long story short, after about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Sun and Huang were finally seated in a private room, digging into the first round of cold appetizers brought to the table.
By then, over an hour had passed since they first stepped through the entrance of Bugui Tower.
In truth, it was not that late—merely the hour of hai, which in modern terms was just under half past ten at night. Even so, the two had long been famished.
Earlier, the plate of fish Sun Yixie prepared had been modest in portion, and more than half of it was shared among Xue Tui, Yuan Fangzhi, and the others, leaving the duo with barely a few mouthfuls to eat. Far from lining their stomachs, it had only whetted their appetites further.
Fortunately, they had sailed through the second and third trials in a flash, wrapping both up in roughly ten minutes. Thus, before eleven o'clock, the pair was savoring dishes brought fresh from the kitchen of Zhixian Pavilion.
The Southern Culinary God was in high spirits that evening as well. Frying, sautéing, boiling, deep-frying, braising, quick-frying, simmering, and stewing; sweet in the south, salty in the north, spicy in the east, and sour in the west—Old Master Yuan showcased nearly every signature technique at his disposal. In any case, Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai had made it clear upon sitting down that money was no object, telling the kitchen to cook whatever they pleased and just bring out the food as fast as possible.
Of course, "Spring Tide Rushes Late with Rain" was absent from tonight's menu. It was a seasonal spring dish, and with autumn now upon them, forcing the preparation would only yield the wrong flavor.
Tonight, the grand finale dish Yuan Fangzhi prepared was called "A Thousand Gold for a Wall." If "Spring Tide Rushes Late with Rain" was his masterpiece from age twenty-five, then "A Thousand Gold for a Wall" was proof that Yuan Fangzhi's culinary arts had reached the realm of divine perfection past fifty-five.
A single piece of tofu, once placed in the mouth, allowed one to taste both the wild abandon and desolation of an eccentric scholar of an age, as well as the talent and melancholy of a fine beauty… It was as if you were Gao Shi or Du Fu standing right there, witnessing that romantic episode unfold with your own eyes, while faintly discerning the tinges of sadness in the story's ultimate conclusion…
That night, both Sun Yixie and Huang Donglai drank until they were thoroughly intoxicated, for the spread of dishes was truly magnificent—a standard of culinary excellence neither had tasted in his entire life.
The service provided by Bugui Tower for its private room guests was equally impeccable. Before the pair drank themselves into a stupor, Xue Tui had already come in to ask where they were lodging, ensuring that people could be dispatched to escort them back once they lost consciousness.
As for the bill, Xue Tui did not even collect payment that night. He merely left a note in their room at the inn, informing them that the meal had been put on their tab; whenever it was convenient, they could send someone with the money or settle it on their next visit.
Such was true elegance.
If a patron defaulted on a bill afterward, that was the patron's shortcoming. But the staff of Bugui Tower… would never rummage through a customer's belongings behind their back. Going through an incapacitated guest's pockets to take money for the meal was something Bugui Tower's workers would never dream of doing. If anyone actually dared to do so, the proprietor would never let them off, for that would cease to be the customer's problem and become Bugui Tower's disgrace.
***
The following morning, when the sun was already high in the sky, Huang Donglai was the first to awaken—owing to the solid foundation of his internal energy.
Opening his eyes, he discovered that he was lying in Sun Yixie's room, with Sun's trident resting beside the bed.
Enduring a mild headache, Huang Donglai cast his mind back to how they had returned to the inn the previous night, thinking, *Ah… the attendants from Bugui Tower must have mixed up the rooms when they carried us up, tossing Brother Sun into my room and dumping me here.*
With that thought in mind, he retrieved the chamber pot from beneath the bed to relieve himself. Then he stretched with a yawn, preparing to head next door to wake Sun Yixie.
Because he had been carried back and dumped straight onto the bed, he had spent the night without undressing or covering himself with a blanket. Still, given the season and his background as a martial artist, sleeping like that for a single night was hardly enough to catch a cold.
Clad in rumpled clothes reeking of stale alcohol, Huang Donglai walked to the doorway and pulled the door open.
To his surprise… someone was already waiting for him outside.
Broad daylight though it was, the man was dressed entirely in black. He stood tall and burly, with dark skin, sharp brows slanting up toward his temples, a straight nose, and a square mouth. Yet his most striking feature was a pair of bright, piercing ox-like eyes that seemed perpetually glaring.
When Huang Donglai opened the door, this man was standing three chi away, glaring toward the threshold.
The instant Huang Donglai appeared, the dark-complexioned man cupped his fists in salute, and in a booming, stern voice, declared without preamble: "Sun Yixie, I challenge you to a duel!"
Chapter 37