Chapter 308 Competition

Chapter 308: The Contest

It wasn't until everyone had taken their seats that the crowd finally started to relax. Meng Wan and Chang Jinhua sat at the second-to-last table, far from the Empress, princesses, and the wives of marquises up front.

"Mother, we can talk now," Meng Wan whispered to Chang Jinhua.

"*Ahem*." Chang Jinhua cleared her throat softly. By now, some of the familiar ladies had already begun conversing.

The inner hall was vast, and despite the heated floors and charcoal braziers, one could still feel the occasional chill wind.

Meng Wan pulled his cloak tighter, keeping his head bowed and eyes lowered as he gazed at the fruits, pastries, and cold dishes laid out on the table before him.

The silver tableware was engraved with auspicious phrases like "Longevity Without End" and "Good Fortune as Desired" along the edges—the characters were neat and uniform in size. Such handicrafts were truly one-of-a-kind; if sold in later generations, they would fetch astronomical prices.

The items on the silver platters also looked familiar—they were the lychees and tangerines from Xiwu's Zhen Guan Workshop. He'd heard that pineapples had also sold well this year, but none were on the table.

"You're pretty good at playing dumb, aren't you?" A voice suddenly came from Meng Wan's left, the words gritted through clenched teeth.

Meng Wan lifted his gaze from the golden floor tiles and looked over with a bewildered expression. "You are...?"

Luo Jining was about to blow his top. He let out a cold laugh and shot back, "You don't know who I am?"

Meng Wan looked at his consort robes and made a show of sudden realization. "Oh, I see—you're the Commander of the Capital Guards' husband." There were only a few third-rank capital officials, so it was easy to guess who he was.

"Bastard!" Luo Jining was about to explode, but his slightly raised voice drew attention. Consort Nie cast a cool glance at him from the corner of her phoenix eyes, and Luo Jining instantly fell silent.

Only after Consort Nie's gaze moved away did his lips twitch, a barely audible curse slipping out. "Husband, my ass!"

Meng Wan kept his eyes straight ahead, fixing them either on the golden bricks on the floor or on the palace maids serving dishes.

"Hey, you... are you or aren't you one of us?" Luo Jining asked persistently.

Once the cold dishes were done being served, the hot dishes began to arrive. Meng Wan said nothing, only watching the food, distractedly calculating the time.

The Emperor in the main hall had already begun his meal; only after that would the Empress announce the start of the banquet.

Luo Jining wanted to curse again, but he hadn't lost his head enough to lose his composure at an imperial banquet. A few people nearby had already glanced at him, but since he was now a military officer's husband, their looks only held mockery.

Luo Jining kept an eye on Consort Nie while asking through gritted teeth, "Why did you lie to me back then?"

Because of the soap, he had made a fortune for Prince Lian and gained considerable favor in the prince's eyes. That was how he'd later learned about Meng Wan and Xia Yuan's trip to Giba Island—and even heard Xia Yuan's extremely high praise of Meng Wan.

Zhen Guan Workshop really was built by him, and even the sugar workshop was his. And wasn't the courier service that shook up all the southern post stations just Shunfeng?!

Damn it—Meng Wan had been playing him the whole time!

Why? If he'd joined forces with him earlier, would he have been reduced to being forced into marriage?

If he hadn't still been of some use and pulled every trick he could, he'd now be nothing more than a concubine in Prince Lian's household!

And hell, forget being a side consort—would he even care if he were offered the position of princess consort?

No matter how many colorful expressions flitted across Luo Jining's face, Meng Wan ignored him entirely. He had things on his mind and no time to deal with Luo Jining at the moment.

To put it more bluntly, Meng Wan should have "taken care of" someone as ostentatious as Luo Jining—then no one in this world would ever be able to guess he was from another world.

That thought lingered in his mind, hard to suppress yet impossible to act upon. Killing someone was still a bit beyond him.

The best solution would be for Luo Jining to die as collateral damage once Prince Lian fell from power.

So forget about acknowledging each other—as far as Meng Wan was concerned, Luo Jining was as good as dead.

Between their seats sat an elderly lady who played deaf and dumb with masterful skill. But Luo Jining noticed her ears perking up.

Fine. Once he finished what he was doing, he would definitely storm the Song residence and demand answers.

Meng Wan enjoyed some peace and quiet for a while, until a palace attendant came over from the main hall and the Empress announced the start of the banquet. Everyone rose, raised their wine cups, and offered congratulations to the Empress and the consorts.

Though the imperial banquet was filled with delicacies—the royal chefs crafting each dish with the fear of losing their heads if they failed—the array of fine foods set in gold and jade vessels was like a collection of artworks.

But Meng Wan truly couldn't eat. It was freezing cold, and to keep the dishes fresh, he'd be lucky not to end up with a mouthful of ice.

He glanced sideways—everyone was just going through the motions, except for Chang Jinhua and the wife of the Minister of Revenue, who were genuinely eating.

"Mother, eat less, or you'll get a stomachache," Meng Wan whispered to Chang Jinhua.

Chang Jinhua didn't know what to do either. She had been following Jin Que's instructions on dining etiquette the whole time, not daring to look up for quite a while. Upon hearing Meng Wan's words, she carefully set down her chopsticks, not daring to respond, and only nodded slightly.

She had eaten a bellyful of cold food and was indeed feeling a bit off.

Halfway through the banquet, a palace attendant from the main hall suddenly hurried over and whispered something in the Empress's ear.

Everyone in the inner hall saw this. Meng Wan's heart tightened—had Yue Zhengqi made his move already?

"Which one of you is the husband of the Prefect of Shuntian?" the Empress suddenly said.

Meng Wan quickly stood and walked to the center of the inner hall to bow. "Long live the Empress. Your subject is Meng, the husband of the Prefect of Shuntian."

There were many official wives in the inner hall, but only three husbands—and of those, only Meng Wan and Luo Jining were young. The rest were elderly ladies, some even older than Chang Jinhua.

In the entire Yu Dynasty court, no one had achieved a position as high as Song Tingzhou's at just thirty-two.

Earlier at Kunning Palace, everyone had bowed with their heads lowered, so this was the first time the Empress had seen Meng Wan's face. A faint smile appeared in her eyes. "So the husband of Lord Song is this extraordinarily handsome, is he? I hear you are a disciple of Xiang Yun, with exceptional painting skills. His Majesty summons you to the main hall to paint. Before the envoys of foreign nations, do not disgrace the face of Yu."

Though this was sudden and unexpected, Meng Wan had already guessed today's banquet would not be peaceful, so he wasn't caught off guard.

"Your subject will do his utmost." Meng Wan stood tall. Even in plain attire, his bearing came not from luxurious robes but from the composure forged through great storms—so much so that everyone in the inner hall couldn't help but turn their eyes to him.

Luo Jining stared at his retreating figure, a little dazed.

This man—was he really from the same time and place as him?

Meng Wan followed the palace attendant out of the inner hall and waited in a side chamber for the summons from the main hall. He didn't have to wait long before being called in.

The main hall was magnificent and vast, its vermilion-lacquered pillars so thick that two people could barely wrap their arms around them. Meng Wan's first impression was the dazzling golden dragon motifs—on the pillars, on the palace walls, and further up, the dragon throne, which he dared not look at directly.

Meng Wan kept his head lowered, walked slowly, and discreetly searched for his people.

What rank was Yue Zhengqi now?

He wouldn't be qualified to enter the hall, would he?

Was Song Tingzhou in the front rows?

The hall was too large. Meng Wan could only see the legs of the court officials beneath their low tables on both sides, and even those were mostly hidden by their crimson court robes.

But having spent so much time together day and night, Meng Wan could recognize those legs as his husband's even from just a glimpse.

Afraid he might be nervous, Song Tingzhou hid one arm under the table, his slender, well-defined fingers tapping lightly on his own boot.

Meng Wan saw it, and the corner of his mouth curled up almost imperceptibly. He felt at ease.

"Meng Fulang, kneel and face the Emperor," a eunuch with a shrill voice reminded him attentively. He was Eunuch Xi, the same one who had delivered the imperial decree to the Song residence, and one of the Emperor's close attendants.

Hearing this, Meng Wan, though still unsure of his exact position in the hall, knelt down promptly and performed the grand salute. "Your servant pays respects to Your Majesty. May the Emperor live ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years."

"Rise," came a majestic voice from just above Meng Wan, echoing through the hall.

Meng Wan rose from the ground, lifting his head slightly but still not daring to look directly at the imperial countenance.

The Emperor spoke with a gratified tone, praising Meng Wan. "The painting of the Heshan Sugar Mill you presented years ago was excellently done. Compared to Xiang Yun, you've surpassed your master." That painting was now treasured within the palace, rarely seen by anyone except those few who had witnessed it that day in the hall.

"Thank you for your praise, Your Majesty. Your servant is not even half as skilled as my master," Meng Wan said sincerely. Xiang Yun had practiced painting since childhood, continuing until old age and failing strength forced her to set down her brush. Her skill was so refined that she could even paint with her eyes closed, a level Meng Wan admitted he was far from reaching.

However, the Emperor hadn't summoned him just to hear him humble himself.

"The Prince of the Tibetan Empire has presented me with a painting called 'Gathering Jade from Kunlun,' made by their top court artist. He claims it's a world-class masterpiece, the peak of artistic skill, unmatched by ordinary painters. I heard you were in the inner hall, so I called you here to paint a piece and compete with it," the Emperor said from his dragon throne. After these words, Meng Wan clearly felt more eyes on him.

The painting 'Gathering Jade from Kunlun' was being carried by palace attendants, displayed right in the hall. With a single glance, Meng Wan could see the large, eye-catching artwork.

To be honest, his first impression was how dazzling it was. The painting was done on thin silk, featuring jade collectors and the majestic Kunlun Mountains as its main subjects. The jade stones in the mountain mines were actually stitched onto the silk with real jade pieces—a clever touch, no wonder the Tibetan Prince was so proud.

But in Meng Wan's eyes, it really wasn't impressive. It lacked a soul; it was just a flashy show of technical skill.

How big was the Tibetan Empire, anyway? The great nation of Yu, vast and mighty, had plenty of talented people.

Even someone like Xiang Yun was just one of the more famous ones. There were true masters out there, maybe even watching the show in this very hall right now.

So why had they suddenly called Meng Wan, an obscure, already-married xiaoge, here?

Meng Wan stole a glance at Song Tingzhou, who gave him a slight nod.

Ah, the esteemed Emperor wanted to show off—that even a mere xiaoge from this great nation could outshine their top painter, no need to send any other extraordinary masters.

Meng Wan had been preoccupied with Le Zhengqi, never expecting to get caught up in this.

"Your servant obeys the decree."

Since it involved his expertise and the Emperor had personally appointed him to paint in the main hall, Meng Wan had to temporarily push aside the chaotic thoughts in his mind and focus solely on preparing to paint.

"Your Majesty sends such a baby-faced xiaoge to compete with our Tibetan Empire's finest painter?" The Tibetan Prince stepped forward, his tone seemingly displeased.

He was over thirty, with deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, medium height, and a broad, sturdy build—a typical foreign look.

The Emperor, as the Son of Heaven, held such esteemed status that he naturally wouldn't stoop to argue with a mere prince.

The censors from the Censorate were sharp-tongued. Hearing this, one immediately stepped forward and said, "Prince Yerqiang, didn't you claim your Tibetan Empire's painters were supremely skilled and unmatched? Now, do you dare not compete with a mere xiaoge from Yu?"

Wang Zan chimed in sarcastically, "How can you speak like that, Lord Zhao? Even if they don't dare, we should show some respect to Prince Yerqiang for the sake of their annual tributes. Being so blunt—wouldn't that embarrass the Prince?"

The Tibetan Prince had studied Yu's official language since childhood, but he never expected to hear such biting sarcasm he couldn't refute, nearly fuming to death.

Song Tingzhou stood up from his seat and delivered the killing blow. "Prince Yerqiang, does your country not dare to compete with our painter? If so, then stop making arrogant claims of being the world's finest, lest you become a laughingstock."

The censors fell silent. They'd been sarcastic, but Lord Song was going straight for the throat!

Glancing at the Emperor's expression on the dragon throne above, they saw his face remained calm, but a slight smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

The recent raids by Annam into the southwestern borders were likely known to neighboring countries. The Tibetan Empire, located to the northwest of Yu and larger than Annam, would hardly be content with paying annual tributes if even Annam refused to bow down. Naturally, they were growing restless, and this visit to the capital was a chance to test the waters.

"You call me arrogant? Fine, let's do it!" Yu prided itself on being a nation of propriety, and Prince Yerqiang had studied the orthodox teachings of Confucius and Mencius, which gave no guidance on dealing with sarcasm. Fuming with anger and at a loss for words, his nostrils flared.

The palace attendants were vigilant, and Eunuch Xi immediately ordered a desk prepared for Meng Wan.

Song Tingzhou stopped him. "No need to trouble the eunuch. Let my husband sit at my desk. Just prepare the paper and pigments."

Eunuch Xi turned to look at the Emperor's expression, and seeing the Emperor wave his wide imperial sleeve, he said, "Approved."

Meng Wan walked over to Song Tingzhou and, with his back to the others, flashed a smile at him. It was all the palace's rigid rules that made this so torturous—every day felt like a year. Suddenly seeing Song Tingzhou in the main hall, he'd missed him terribly.

Song Tingzhou returned a reassuring smile. No one saw Meng Wan's smile, but most in the hall noticed Song Tingzhou's smile. The usually meticulous and stern Lord Song was now smiling at his husband like a flower in bloom—a rare sight indeed.

The desk was a low, rectangular table. Song Tingzhou gave up the main seat to Meng Wan and stood behind him as a steadfast support.

Meng Wan knelt on a specially made cushion, first getting into the zone. Having traveled far and wide with vast experience, he had much on his mind. Once he found his artistic soul, he understood that painting wasn't just about creating something beautiful or aesthetically pleasing to be called a masterpiece. Rather, it was about merging the painting with the painter's mindset—that was the true soul of art.