Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Banquet at Qujiang

Jiaochen!

Pei Min’s first impression was that the name was terribly strange; his second was a vague sense of familiarity, as though he had once mocked it himself, though he could not recall when. Observing the expressions of the scholars around him, Pei Min’s curiosity was piqued, and he followed their gaze: before him, a delicate beauty cradled a seven-stringed zither, emerging slowly from the Elegant Pavilion, surrounded by four attendant maidservants.

Even though Pei Min had seen countless dazzling celebrities on television, he could not help but feel awed by the sight before him. This graceful maiden was unlike the usual courtesans, neither coquettish nor flamboyant—her head was slightly bowed, her steps gentle, as if she preferred not to draw attention. Yet her cloud-like hair was softly arranged, a silver hairpin slanting through her tresses. Through translucent gauze, her fragrant shoulders were barely visible, revealing a slender jade-like neck and radiant skin. Her dark eyes were deep and luminous, glancing about with a captivating charm. With such beauty, it was impossible for her to remain inconspicuous; no wonder her fame had spread far and wide, she was truly enchanting.

What surprised Pei Min most was her pure and refined aura, so out of place in a brothel—like a lotus rising unstained from the mud.

He watched as she boarded the flower carriage and could not help but exclaim, “Remarkable indeed!”

Xue Yong, hearing Pei Min’s admiration, laughed and said, “Brother Pei, you see only the surface. Her beauty is but a minor point; what truly sets Jiaochen apart is her mastery of the zither. Her music is unmatched, lingering in the listener’s ears for days. There are many beautiful women in this world, and many talented ones too. But few possess both qualities as she does. Brother Pei, being new to the city, you may not know of her renown. Many have sought her favor, including nobles and elite families, but all have failed. Who knows who, in the end, will be fortunate enough to win her heart?”

Pei Min, seeing Xue Yong’s look of regret, smiled and said, “It seems you yourself have been rejected more than once.”

Xue Yong shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Brother Pei. Jiaochen is the star of the Music Bureau. Whenever the powerful and noble hold banquets, they often invite her to perform. The fee for her appearance equals my yearly expenses—who could hope for such fortune? She performs at the Splendid Pavilion at the beginning, middle, and end of each month; we can only watch from afar.”

Pei Min nodded in understanding. His mind began to unravel the meaning of “brothel” in this era. In Tang times, the so-called brothel girls were not women who sold their bodies, but trained songstresses, skilled in music and dance, prepared by the Music Bureau. They were not much different from modern celebrities, and in some ways, even more respectable. There were no hidden rules; all performers were officially regulated and possessed certain rights.

Of course, the brothel was still a place of pleasure. When wine flowed, and youthful, wealthy patrons mingled with lovely women, the atmosphere could become charged—passions might run high and couples might come together. Such things were considered normal, though not necessarily pure. Yet, these encounters were generally consensual and widely understood. Any attempt at force would invite government intervention. In ancient times, unless one’s status was extraordinary, no one dared ignore official oversight; and those powerful enough to do so would not risk their reputation by troubling a local songstress.

Thus, among brothel songstresses, some freely indulged, while others maintained their virtue.

Pei Min recalled a poet from history—a famed courtesan, talented and virtuous, seeking only a sincere lover. Sadly, she entrusted herself to a heartless scholar, and, betrayed, abandoned herself to a life of dissipation.

“To remain pure in such a chaotic place is truly extraordinary,” Pei Min could not help but nod in admiration.

A voice chimed in nearby, “Brother Pei praises so highly—perhaps you’re tempted to try your luck?” It was Lu Ze, the runner-up in the imperial examination, standing at his side.

Pei Min shook his head. “Such things cannot be forced; everything is up to fate.”

With Jiaochen boarding the carriage, their group of scholars, publicly consorting with courtesans, set off for their destination—Qujiang Pavilion.

All the way, the scholars laughed and chatted merrily, buoyed by spring’s delight.

Qujiang Pavilion stood on the banks of Qujiang in Apricot Garden, hence the banquet was sometimes called the Apricot Garden Banquet. They had lingered a while at Pingkang Lane, and by the time they reached Qujiang Pavilion, the riverside was already packed with people. Crowds of common folk lined the streets, while nobles and officials gathered, hoping to choose a son-in-law for their daughters. Carriages filled the thoroughfares, and literati who had come to celebrate were everywhere—a vast sea of faces, lively and festive.

If a painter were to capture this scene, the resulting scroll of Qujiang revelry would rival the famed Riverside Scene at Qingming Festival.

For Pei Min, it was his first time witnessing such grandeur in ancient times, and he was dazzled by the spectacle.

Fortunately, today’s protagonists were themselves; wherever they passed, the crowd parted to let them through. Bold young women even tossed flowers to their favored gentlemen, seeking a glance, hoping for a match made in heaven…

Under the gaze of all, they arrived at their destination, Qujiang Pavilion.

As the leading protagonist, Pei Min was first to dismount and enter the pavilion. He saw willows newly green and graceful, thick woods and blooming flowers all around, the water bright and misty—a pleasant sight that lifted his spirits. He turned to his companions and said, “What a wonderful place!”

Long ago, in the Qin and Han dynasties, this was the “Spring Garden” of Shanglin Park. In the second year of Kaihuang, Emperor Wen of Sui, finding the capital of Chang’an too cramped and chaotic, built a new imperial city—Daxing—in the southeast of Chang’an. The Qujiang pond was included within Daxing, and a special garden for imperial feasts was constructed, named “Furong Garden.” Furong was a royal garden, open to the common people only on grand occasions.

Even for Lu Ze, Feng Zhi, Xue Yong, and other locals, visits were rare—especially in spring, when all things revived and the garden was filled with the unique vitality and beauty of the season, making it impossible not to be enchanted.

Pei Min also noticed a massive three-story flower barge moored on the riverbank, surely reserved for their pleasure cruise.

He took his seat at the head of the table, and Lu Ze, Feng Zhi, Xue Yong, and the other scholars followed suit.

Various wines and dishes were brought forth, and the songstresses invited from Pingkang Lane entered the pavilion in succession.

Compared to the somewhat inexperienced scholars, these songstresses were veterans, singing and dancing with practiced charm, radiating their allure.

As Pei Min and his fellow scholars toasted and conversed, his gaze wandered among the performers. All those invited were exceptional beauties, each with her own distinctive charm—a veritable garden of blooming flowers. Though each flower had its merits, there was no doubt that the brightest of them all was Jiaochen, seated cross-legged at her zither.

It was not only Pei Min; all twenty-odd scholars were captivated by her, exchanging glances, a spirit of competition emerging.

The flowing wine and winding stream would soon decide the fate of the beauty…