MTLNOVEL Chapter 62 - Strategic Principle
Jingxuan possessed an exceedingly refined gentlemanly demeanor; at this moment, he tilted his head slightly skyward at a 45-degree angle, yet after waiting for quite some time, what astonished him was that the anticipated chorus of praise from the crowd never arrived.
Only then did he lower his head, casting his gaze toward the hall, only to discover that everyone’s eyes were fixed upon a young man in a corner of the grand hall.
The moment Jingxuan’s gaze landed on this young man, his pupils contracted sharply. Standing at the entrance, somewhat distant, he could only catch half of Xia Chen’s profile—but even this mere half of a face sent tremors through his mind and spirit.
This profile—it seemed rather strikingly handsome!
Jingxuan felt a profound sense of pressure!
Merely a single profile was already so awe-inspiringly formidable; one can scarcely fathom what divine and majestic splendor his full face might possess!
Though Jingxuan harbored a touch of narcissism, he was exceedingly clever. Despite having asked nothing and hearing no one speak, he had already pieced together a rough understanding of the shift in the atmosphere.
It must be tied to that young lord revealing half a striking face—the crowd was comparing which of them was more handsome!
“Although I haven’t yet seen his full face, judging by the reactions of everyone present, it seems… I have already been defeated!”
Jingxuan murmured to himself; though no one had spoken a word, their gazes conveyed everything.
Silently, he folded his fan shut, then, as if nothing had transpired, wore a natural smile and stepped into the hall with composed strides.
“Jingxuan pays his respects to all present!”
Jingxuan bowed to the crowd, his etiquette impeccable, beyond any reproach.
At last, the crowd snapped back to their senses; by now, they were utterly convinced—Young Master Jingxuan had lost. That Xia Chen’s handsomeness was indeed somewhat unparalleled.
For reasons unknown, the pressure weighing on their hearts suddenly eased.
If even Young Master Jingxuan, hailed as one of the four great beauties, could not rival Xia Chen, then their own inability to match him didn’t seem so unbearable after all!
“Who is that man? Since when did such a figure emerge in the capital?”
Jingxuan found Lin Zihan amidst the throng; the crowd parted to grant him passage, and he approached Lin Zihan, whispering his query.
Lin Zihan’s face remained expressionless as he replied slowly, “That man is named Xia Chen—he is the princess’s Imperial Son-in-Law!”
“He’s Xia Chen?”
Jingxuan’s complexion shifted subtly. This time, he had come to the Literary Gathering for two reasons: first, for the event itself, and second, for Princess Yaoguang.
He knew Yaoguang had been betrothed, yet three years ago, at a banquet, he’d glimpsed her once—struck as if by a celestial vision, he’d never forgotten her.
Though Xia Chen’s fame had surged in the capital of late, Jingxuan didn’t believe Yaoguang would favor a scion of a martial noble house bred in military ranks.
Did Xia Chen grasp court politics? Did he understand Confucian learning? Was he versed in Buddhist sutras or familiar with Daoist canons?
He was nothing more than a crude warrior!
Yaoguang, a woman of lofty talent capable of weaving the heavens and threading the earth, how could she possibly take a shine to Xia Chen?
Jingxuan, on the other hand, possessed both talent and looks in abundance—so today, he had arrived brimming with confidence.
But now, Jingxuan felt no small measure of pressure!
His greatest pride—his appearance—had been utterly overshadowed by Xia Chen!
“Have you tested his literary prowess? Is he the empty husk rumors paint him to be?”
Jingxuan was a cautious man. Having lost in looks, he could not afford to falter in inner talents.
“He’s been drinking with Daoist Xuan Zhenzi the whole time, steering clear of these games!”
Lin Zihan remained steady, unrushed.
Jingxuan glanced at him—knowing Lin Zihan’s purpose here today was aimed squarely at Xia Chen.
Six years prior, Lin Zihan had passed the imperial exams; now, he was already a Fifth-Rank official—rich in learning, backed by lineage. He had no need to seek fame at a Literary Gathering.
“He’s been hunkering down over there drinking—seems he knows he’s got no real substance. That line about ‘lords as lords, vassals as vassals, fathers as fathers, sons as sons’ was likely just plagiarized, a fluke that won His Majesty’s favor!”
Jingxuan’s conviction grew, confidence swelling.
“No rush—the Literary Gathering’s just begun!”
Lin Zihan stood firm as an old hound. Who was he? The Little Chancellor!
The title “Little Chancellor” carried flattery, yes—but none denied Lin Zihan’s true ability.
Many said he bore his father’s mold—perhaps one day joining Lin Hanpu in the Cabinet, a father-son duo, a tale for the ages!
So he wouldn’t rashly provoke a Lamplighters’ Division Head favored by His Majesty.
And this was the princess’s mansion—Xia Chen, her future husband.
Liked or not, striking Xia Chen’s face here was tantamount to striking the princess’s own!
Lin Zihan, a prodigy groomed six years in the Cabinet by his father, was young but far-sighted—beyond petty rivalries.
Jingxuan’s jealous jostling? Child’s play to him…
Seeing Lin Zihan unhurried, Jingxuan calmed too—sitting to sip wine slowly. Then, watching the games, itch overcame him—he joined in…
The hall’s fervor flared anew.
Time trickled by—this Literary Gathering was grand, drawing nearly every famed scholar in the capital. Imperial Academy students dominated half the venue—some yet unranked, most bearing provincial graduate honors.
Soon came the triennial exams—a prime time to build repute.
Thus, the event’s caliber soared!
Many vied to shine—unveiling couplets and poems polished for days, their quality earning silent nods.
Some crafted verses on the spot—drawing gasps of awe!
The poetry gathering hit its peak!
The Literary Gathering’s first half was freeform—groups played games, losers drank or recited. Midpoint shifted to open stage—fine poems, recent essays, songs, all free to flaunt before all.
A golden chance for fame—queues formed. Some recited, some played scores, others blew flutes.
Through it all, Xia Chen drank on—truly uninterested, no thirst for spotlight.
To speak truthfully, Xia Chen felt that during this period in the capital he had already become somewhat conspicuous, which did not align with his approach of cautious and discreet development, nor did it conform to his strategic principle of “erect high walls, amass abundant grain, and defer proclaiming kingship.”
Xia Chen had always kept a clear head—early login didn’t mean he could coast.
This world ran deep—past players paid lives to prove it.
Pre-Spiritual Energy Revival, no martial might could topple a nation’s dread machine.
So Xia Chen aimed to rise as a power in Dawu—then bide time for heaven’s turn.
High deeds, low profile!
Literary Gatherings—fame sans substance—held no draw for him.
Moreover, he possessed the literary treasury of an entire world at his command; with ease, he could fling forth a few lines of world-shaking poetry, or even recite the indispensable “Four Sentences of Hengqu” cherished by players, and trouncing these people would be as effortless as overpowering mere children.
Xia Chen reckoned—why wield a butcher’s blade for swine? Even as a literary plagiarist, he’d save it for the cutting edge—not this low-tier stage!
Yet he didn’t know—amid the revelry, undercurrents swirled. Many eyes turned back to him.
“He’s set to watch the show and slip away at the end—can’t let that happen. Go weigh him!”
Someone turned, instructing those around.