Chapter 1287: Promise of the moonlit orchid (2)

“That proctor harbored a grudge for fourteen years. And come exam day, when our dear founder—changed and transformed, all his youthful bluster reined in and replaced with an air of ‘righteous propriety’—walked into that hall dreaming that his moment had come to change the world with pen and paper, blissfully unaware… a harbinger of vengeance was waiting to collect on his debt from all those years ago,” said Chen Yung, laughing wildly as he slapped his thigh.

“Can you imagine the look on his face when he failed and him reaizing why?” Chen Yung burst out laughing until tears welled at the corners of his eyes.

Yang Qing outwardly kept a polite smile, doing all he could not to laugh like the old man before him, even though he wanted to. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he and Chen Yung were cut from the same cloth when it came to sadistic relish. Yet the glint in the old man’s eyes as he looked at him suggested he already knew: he and Yang Qing were the same kind.

Maybe that was why he felt so free to show his unfiltered glee over the misfortunes of Hebei Kingdom’s founder.

“That proctor failed him,” Chen Yung said curtly, before stooping forward as he leaned lower over the table.

Wearing a conspiratorial look and lowering his tone to match, he said, “Fellow Daoist, you’d do well not to get on the wrong side of scholars. A scholar’s patience is long, but so is their list of grievances—and their methods of repayment, each is more insidious than the last.

A scholar will kill you politely, then write your eulogy in perfect grammar, and even weep at your tombstone over what a stellar individual you were, all the while, in the background, they’ll be spreading word of your stupidity so thoroughly that even your great-grandchildren will hear of it long after you’re dead.”

He paused to sip his wine before finishing, “They are as magnanimous as they are petty.”

“I will keep that in mind, fellow Daoist,” said Yang Qing, raising his wine cup toward Chen Yung. “You said the founder was brilliant. How did that scholar with the grudge pull it off without drawing eyes?” he asked curiously.

“By doing it the scholar’s way,” Chen Yung chuckled. “Praising and mocking in equal measure. He praised our founder’s mind and talents, while subtly pointing out his shortcomings—even bringing up the folly of his youth.

He knew exactly which buttons to press, slowly goading our founder into abandoning the next set of exams, and in doing so, he failed him. He knew his opponent well,” Chen Yung said as he stroked his sparse, wiry beard.

“I had no idea something like that happened,” Yang Qing said in surprise.

“It’s a well-known story. Of the teahouses you’ve visited, haven’t you noticed there are always two specials you can find on the menu? The Failed Exam Comfort Set and the Proctor’s Secret Snack.

There isn’t a single restaurant or teahouse in all of Hebei that doesn’t have them. The dishes might differ from place to place, but the names are always the same,” said Chen Yung.

“Oh, so that’s why,” Yang Qing said in realization. After leaving the Velvet Orchid, his whimsical wanderlust had taken him to a few roadside stalls, teahouses, and restaurants, and without fail, every one of them had featured those two combos.

“So what happened next?” Yang Qing quickly asked.

“Well, our founder was goaded by that proctor into exploring the world. He told him that his experience in worldly affairs didn’t match his ambitions or talents. That it would be a waste of his gifts if he didn’t see and experience the dust and dew of the world, and expose himself to different things. After all, traveling ten thousand miles offers more than reading ten thousand books.

He advised him to explore the world, but the hidden innuendo was really just calling our founder a sheltered flower, whose worth was only in being pretty. In defiance, not wanting to appear weak, our founder immediately declared that he would roam the continent and create tales so grand that even the proctor’s grandchildren would sing of them. He pushed it further still, boasting that he would live a life so glorious that the proctor’s entire family would worship him as they did their own ancestors,” Chen Yung said, laughing uproariously.

Eish, how vindictive, Yang Qing thought with a wry smile.

“Now herein comes the moonlit orchid,” Chen Yung continued in a building tone. “Our founder had made that bold remark in the heat of the moment, and though he had no plan, he had his dear friend—’spite’—to encourage him to keep going.

Luckily, though, he didn’t have a penny to his name, he did have…” He paused meaningfully.

“A moonlit orchid,” Yang Qing finished.

“Correct,” said Chen Yung in praise as he cheerfully refilled his cup, along with Yang Qing’s.

“He was raised by a single mother who loved growing flowers, with the moonlit orchid being her favorite, as it matched her hair. When she passed away, she left her son—whom she prized above all else—with another thing she cherished: a low-tier sky-grade moonlit orchid, which our founder treasured just as dearly as she once had,” Chen Yung said, his tone and expression softening.

“The day he resolved to leave and venture into the unknown, he walked into a blacksmith’s shop and asked for a sword. Since he had no money, he offered the only thing of value he possessed—the moonlit orchid his mother had given him.

Of course, given how much that orchid meant to him, he wasn’t truly buying the sword with it. Rather, he was using it as collateral. He promised the blacksmith that the sword he made for him would become renowned for ages, and that he would repay the cost in due time. In the meantime, the blacksmith could hold onto the orchid as a pledge of his promise.

The blacksmith agreed and kept the orchid safe for one hundred and fifty years. When he eventually died of old age, his son continued to guard it, adhering to his father’s last instructions: preserve the orchid and hold fast to the dream of a promise,” Chen Yung said wistfully.

“Our founder returned fourteen years after the blacksmith had passed,” said Chen Yung with a sigh. “By then, he had become a domain expert, and that sword, which had been sky grade when he first received it, had risen to an ascendant grade weapon—along with the prestige to match.

The founder had fulfilled his promise, carving world-shaking moments with that sword as though it were a pen. And when it came to repayment, he paid not the price of a sky-grade sword, but of an ascendant-grade one. As for him, he reclaimed his orchid, perfectly preserved.”

Chen Yung paused briefly before continuing.

“Influenced by that story, we give out sky-rank moonlit orchids not as collateral, but as a promise—a pledge from patron to establishment that though they may leave for a time, they will one day return. The establishment, in turn, preserves that orchid as acknowledgment of the bond between them.

And the lanterns above…” Chen Yung lifted his gaze upward, Yang Qing following suit.

“They are the evidence of every promise kept,” he added.

“So,” he said, turning his gaze back to Yang Qing, “for those visiting, if they find a place they truly appreciate, they leave a moonlit orchid before departing Hebei. It is their way of saying, ‘Even though I’m leaving, I carry the memories with me, and I promise to return in the future.’

There is no greater honor for an establishment than to receive a moonlit orchid… or to be granted the chance to light a lantern.”