Chapter 38: Carousel!

Li Zhaogongzi, please take out the gift you prepared and let everyone have a proper look.

Indeed, the Mei Fairy holds you in such high regard that she has bestowed upon you the honored guest position. I suspect your gift must be truly extraordinary.

Haha!

Some of the male guests began to cheer, clearly trying to seize the moment to vent their dissatisfaction with Li Zhaogongzi occupying the chief seat of honor and wanting to suppress him at the same time.

Li Zhaogongzi paid no heed to any of it. He gazed at the sky now completely darkened by night and then glanced at White Mo. The two of them retrieved the parts from the box and assembled them rapidly. In no time at all, a peculiar and grotesque lantern emerged, roughly five feet tall, with twelve sides.

“Is this the gift you sent to the Mei Fairy? No wonder you hesitated so long to reveal it. Truly… it is too unusual. Haha.”

“This can still count as a gift. Surely it was not simply purchased off the street?”

…

Most of those present burst into laughter. Some doubled over with mirth, others wept from sheer hilarity. Even the young ladies from noble families could not hold back, their bodies trembling with laughter, utterly abandoning all pretense of propriety.

As night fell, lanterns blazed at every corner of the Qujiang Pond—double-happiness lanterns, eight-knot lanterns, scroll-book lanterns, banana-leaf lanterns, lotus lanterns, broadsword lanterns… their colors vivid, patterns exquisite, their numbers countless as stars in the heavens.

By comparison, the lantern Li Zhaogongzi presented was ordinary in both form and workmanship. To offer it as a gift would be enough to make anyone laugh until their teeth fell out.

Yet the mocking soon died away abruptly when Li Zhaogongzi lit the candle within.

In the warm glow, everyone finally discerned the details: each of the twelve sides of the lantern bore a painting of a beautiful woman—slender of figure, graceful and upright, clad in a lovely wide-sleeved fairy gown, striking a pose as if dancing midair.

The woman’s bearing and dress hinted unmistakably at Mei Xianzi. Between the panels hung a small poem:

Autumn waters are her spirit, jade her bones,
Lotus face, willow brows.
Spring wind scatters a thousand blooms,
Each without peer droops low!

Four lines painted the beauty in exquisite detail. Connoisseurs among the guests, after reciting it several times, could not help but secretly raise their thumbs. This young master’s literary talent was truly first-rate; no wonder he could compose a poem in seven steps.

Then there was Mei Xianzi herself—cheeks faintly flushed, lips curved in a smile she struggled to conceal yet could not fully suppress. One could not tell whether she admired the poem or the poet who had written it.

A single verse made the guests regard Li Zhaogongzi with fresh eyes, yet the scene that followed drove them to frenzy.

With the candle burning, warm air rose and turned the impeller, causing the twelve painted beauties on the lantern to spin as well.

The once-still women seemed to awaken, dancing gracefully beneath the light like immortals come to earth. Though the movements were simple, they were enough to leave one breathless.

“My heavens, the beauties dance with such life! Even the flying immortals of Dunhuang could not match this.”

“This lantern turns without wind. How is that possible? Unbelievable—utterly beyond belief.”

“Give me some space so I can examine it properly… Ouch, who stepped on my foot.”

…

The guests could restrain themselves no longer. They surged forward in a crowd, nearly crushing one another into a stew of humanity. The one leading the charge was the refined and wise young master—Yang Yan.

Yet he was not watching the dancing figures but puzzling over how the lantern could rotate without external aid.

“Thank you, Young Master Li Zhao, for this wondrous gift. This young lady is most pleased. Bring it forward and hang it at the entrance of the viewing platform so every guest who arrives tonight may see it clearly.”

“Yes, Miss!”

At Mei Xianzi’s command, the lantern was hung above the gate. Now every guest on the lake island could behold it.

Soon exclamations and murmurs filled the air as everyone wondered aloud why the lantern turned of its own accord.

Some declared it a mechanism; others claimed it was a secret technique, surely cast by a high monk or Taoist priest.

Opinions clashed, each man holding his own view!

Yet one truth remained certain: among all the gifts that night, this lantern drew the most attention, eclipsing Duguxun’s plum-blossom painting by far.

What, then, was the reaction of the once-unrivaled young master—Duguxun—whose spotlight had been seized?

He maintained his usual composure, offering no displeasure, and returned a courteous salute: “Forgive me, Young Master Li, but this lantern is truly wondrous. I wonder which esteemed master crafted it?”

“I am unworthy. It was made by me.”

“Oh? I never imagined Young Master Li possessed not only boundless learning and elegant writing but also hands capable of rivaling heaven itself. I am truly impressed. If the chance ever arises, I hope you will kindly instruct me.”

“You flatter me, you flatter me!”

Duguxun spoke with modesty and magnanimity, revealing a fine character.

Yet Li Zhaogongzi detected a glint of coldness deep in Duguxun’s eyes—sharp as a blade, venomous as a scorpion.

It seemed this so-called unrivaled young master was not truly so.

…

Then another guest approached—this time the wise young master Yang Yan. Without a word he handed over a Lu Ban lock.

In legend, during the Spring and Autumn period the Lu kingdom craftsman Lu Ban tested his son’s intelligence by fashioning six wooden sticks that could be assembled and disassembled. He set his son to play with them until the child worked through the night and finally solved the puzzle. Such toys were thereafter called Lu Ban locks.

Though outwardly simple, the Lu Ban lock embodied the profound wisdom of the mortise-and-tenon joints of ancient Chinese architecture. Originally six pieces, later generations derived eight-, ten-, and twelve-piece versions according to the same principle.

Yang Yan now proffered one with as many as sixteen pieces—an achievement already surpassing all prior art. The obvious purpose was to test Li Zhaogongzi’s skill.

As a veteran player, Li Zhaogongzi was well acquainted with the Lu Ban lock. He dismantled it in moments, reassembled it with practiced ease, and handled it with perfect fluency. Later generations, applying principles of stereoscopic geometry, had deduced thirty-six-piece versions; this sixteen-piece example was mere child’s play.

The wise young master’s Lu Ban lock had been solved, and the guests erupted in fresh astonishment.

“You are very good!”

“You are not bad either!”

Yang Yan spoke, his voice cool and curt.

Li Zhaogongzi felt no resentment. Human relationships are strange; some share words from a past life and remain distant strangers, while others forge lifelong bonds with only a few words.

Yang Yan belonged to the latter category.

…

The banquet continued. Acrobats took the stage, performing tumbling, tightrope walking, spinning bamboo hoops, and tossing jars in rapid succession, accompanied by enthusiastic cheers.

In addition to these marvels, the evening also featured a game: touhu.

As early as the Spring and Autumn period, one ritual of feudal lords entertaining guests was to invite them to shoot arrows. Martial spirit was strong; a man who could not shoot would be laughed at, and hosts never refused to invite guests to shoot.

After the two Han dynasties, martial spirit waned and Confucian learning rose. Many could no longer shoot, so they substituted arrow-tossing for wine. The rules were straightforward:

A bronze jar three feet high stood ready, its mouth wide as an adult’s arm with two smaller ears on either side.

Players stood twenty paces away and used specially made arrows to toss. Each round comprised eight arrows, and scorers kept tally.

Hitting the jar mouth scored one point; hitting an ear, two points; missing, nothing.

Beyond the basic method lay more difficult feats:

Double ears: toss with both hands simultaneously to strike both ears for six points.

Leaning pole: the arrow rests against the jar mouth rather than falling inside, fifteen points.

Dragon head: a variant where the arrow lies horizontally across the mouth, point aimed at the thrower, eighteen points.

…

As a contest, prizes were only fair. The rule of the Qujiang night banquet decreed that the winner of touhu would receive the host’s toast.

The Mei Fairy’s toast tempted every male guest, so they rose from their seats and joined the game. Only one remained seated—Li Zhaogongzi.

“Why does Young Master Li refuse to participate? Could it be that you disdain Miss Mei’s toast?”

“Haha, the Mei Fairy’s toast—no man could refuse. Unfortunately, I have never played touhu and would not dare to make a fool of myself.”

“It is only a game. What harm in losing? What harm in winning? Enjoyment is enough.”

“Miss Mei speaks truly. Since that is the case, I will give it a try. Perhaps heaven will favor me and I can truly drink the Mei Fairy’s toast!”

…

The beauty had spoken; Li Zhaogongzi could not refuse. He stepped into the contest at once.

Never having played touhu was no obstacle. Li Zhaogongzi practiced three-pronged darts daily. Within fifty paces he could hit a hundred times, felling birds in flight and piercing hard wood more than an inch thick.

Darts and touhu were kindred arts, testing eyesight, wrist strength, judgment… and temperament.

To keep the tale brief, the touhu competition began.

With so many entrants, a preliminary round was used: four players per group, winners advancing, until four finalists remained.

On his first attempt, Li Zhaogongzi felt some rustiness. Of eight arrows, only six struck the jar… but no experts were present, so he advanced smoothly.

On his second try, his aim was steadier; eight hits, eight successes, advancing again.

On his third, he scored eight hits and one more on the leaning-pole method—fifteen points—defeating his opponents cleanly.

Two others shone particularly brightly in the touhu arena: the fierce tiger young master Xue Song and the bear-cub prodigy Wang Changshou.

Xue Song possessed peerless archery, a hundred-step piercing skill, and unmatched touhu mastery—hitting every arrow, never missing. He crushed all challengers; both Duguxun and Yang Yan had fallen to him.

Wang Changshou showed prodigious talent, winning round after round and climbing the ranks, yet still fell short of Xue Song’s level.

To keep the tale brief, after several rounds the four semifinalists emerged: Xue Song, Li Zhaogongzi, Wang Changshou, and the round-faced Luo Jinfeng, whose touhu skills were also respectable.

Thereafter the contest became single-elimination: winners advanced. As for pairings, the rules called for lots. But Li Zhaogongzi stepped forward of his own accord.

“I am unworthy. May I seek your instruction, Young Master Xue?”

“Good. This young master will gladly oblige!”

Since the tournament began, Xue Song had won every match. Opponents had fallen one after another, some even surrendering. Now Li Zhaogongzi’s challenge sent ripples through the crowd.

Some praised his courage, calling him a young bull unafraid of tigers. Others warned that challenging the Chang’an City champion of touhu was courting disaster.