ITIEQ C51

Chapter 51 – I Will Be the Sales Champion!

But of course, these were nothing more than the board directors of the great aristocratic academies.

And Shen Qinghe — was no longer the Shen Qinghe of old.

The corners of his lips lifted into a warmly affectionate smile.

“Brother Yue hasn’t forgotten me, has he? Ah, to think I haven’t left even one bold stroke upon your memory — what a regret that is.”

Yue Jie stared at him. In his career through bureaucracy, he had not tasted many defeats, but the strain had eaten at his spirit. Such social occasions, filled with worldliness and human calculation — in the past, he seldom joined them at all. But now, the times had changed. Even if he found them shallow compared with incense and calligraphy, by now he was adept at navigating them. One day, his cousin had even praised him for his progress.

But Shen Qinghe — his insouciant ways were unchanged. That impression was deep. To see him again now — Yue Jie thought, this was just a minor figure, already fallen from sight. That he even remembered him at all was surprising.

His eyes passed from Shen’s face, to the cup in his hand, and back to his face. No words.

The meaning was clear: I won’t drink your wine. And what will you do about it?

The other representatives of the Four Surnames also picked up on this: this nameless nobody was calling Yue “Brother” all on his own — the honored son of the Yue family wasn’t even deigning to respond!

First thing he did was aim for a big fish. His appetite was clearly ambitious.

Shen Qinghe chuckled to himself. Yue Jie wasn’t as much fun as before — not nearly as easy to tease.

“If Yue Gongzi won’t drink, then perhaps you should turn to us? Who knows, maybe we’d oblige… unless, of course, you look down on us?” Liu Fulan suddenly interjected. He fixed his gaze on the black‑haired youth’s face, then with a sudden motion tried to hook a hand around him. Shen Qinghe leaned smoothly just out of reach, and Liu Fulan’s hand closed on thin air.

Immediately Liu’s face chilled, three whites of the eyes showing, his malicious glare like a snake.

“So — won’t drink the polite wine? Then you’ll have to drink the penalty wine.”*¹

Wei Sheng knew he was brazen, but this wasn’t a private banquet — this was an occasion he himself had organized, with countless eyes here, and Yue Jie present. Liu Fulan being so reckless truly made the situation dangerous.

Being targeted upon arrival — Shen Qinghe had expected as much.

“This young master — may I ask your distinguished name?”

Liu Fulan was taken aback — the man truly didn’t know him. He leisurely gave his name. Never expecting that, the strikingly handsome youth only gave a long “Oh,” and just stood there calmly, as though unmoved. That itself was a provocation!

In all Huizhou, how many dared treat him with such discourtesy? Barely one hand’s count!

He was truly about to explode when Wei Sheng ran in to stop him: “Fulan! Fulan!” The second call was sharp, and only then did Liu Fulan narrow his eyes at Shen Qinghe and crush down the rage, snorting heavily.

Wei Sheng was vexed. Wasn’t Yunzhong Commandery his own home ground? And yet he still had to tread carefully!

In that swirling center of currents, Shen Qinghe seemed entirely oblivious to their covert signals. Only belatedly did he give a response: “Oh, the Liu clan of Jiangling. I’ve long heard the name. And I’ve also heard that Jiangling’s shad fish is the finest delicacy… I wonder if in this life Shen might be fortunate enough to taste a few.”

It was perfectly balanced in tone, as though he himself had not just been ignored moments before. The handsome youth leaned faintly forward, eyes practically gleaming in greedy longing at the fish.

Shad fish (鲥鱼) was priceless, difficult to transport, worth a king’s ransom sold outside Jiangling. And when the White Lotus Temple had been raided — hadn’t there been a few swimming in a kitchen vat, fresh and alive?

So — could it be that behind the White Lotus stood the Liu family?

“Hah, such a trifle, and all you think of is shad?” Liu Fulan scoffed. Yet seeing that gaze fixed wholly on himself, a faint blush lingered still on his cheek, his fury blurred away. Breezily he said:

“You want shad? Come with me to Jiangling. As many fish as you could eat.”

Shen Qinghe, with years of practice, understood perfectly the social truth: speak too little and you disappear, speak too much and you seem oily. He had mastered long before that elusive degree — a natural balance that could strike chords and invite conversation. When he played the humble student, eight times in ten his “mentors” found themselves liking him.

At first the great families thought him just some poor county official currying favor with Yue Jie. But the more he spoke — never fawning, never spiteful, occasionally cheeky — the more engaging he seemed. The Great Yong elite adored fashion, wit, and — truth be told — good looks. Add his playful words to that beautiful face, and the effect was multiplied.

After a few rounds, even Chang Lian and Qi Shi, at first quiet, began talking with him. As for Liu Fulan — his eyes were already glued like paste.

The heated room only grew hotter.

And yet Shen Qinghe was disappointed. For all their friendly chatter, not a true word had been revealed.

For the five surnames to look on him coldly at first — completely reasonable. But their contempt was all open, clean arrogance, as natural as breathing. No malice hidden in shadows — thus far.

“System, I think I’ve drunk too much. My head’s going foggy. Did you see anything in them?”

The Daoists in prison had all died silent deaths, surely they must know the White Lotus’ ruin was his doing. Had his enemies come trotting up themselves — why then were they smiling faces?

So cautious, so silent…

“And this moment, the Yue clan appears as well. Too hard not to suspect.” Shen Qinghe glanced again at Yue Jie. But this man — could such one truly be running heretical sects?

The system shrugged. It lacked divine sight. It knew nothing.

Yue Jie’s hand tightened and loosened upon his cup, at last crashing it down hard on the table.

Every gaze turned at once to the Yue clan’s honored son. All strained to guess what slight had provoked his displeasure.

All, save Shen Qinghe, who leaned idly against a pillar, enjoying the cool moist breeze off the river. It tossed at his dark hair, soothing the heat from wine.

They had expected shame, timidity, apology — a rat fallen in the gutter, slinking.

Only him — always him — different. Always a mirror, clean and clear, reflecting back Yue Jie’s own weary affectation.

Yue Jie’s brow drew ever tighter. Wei Sheng and the others were even holding their breath, afraid to make a sound.

They thought desperately. What could be vexing Yue Jie so? Backtracked, concluded — it must be Shen Qinghe. Between the two, it was obvious who outweighed. Yet fool Liu Fulan still tried to stretch a hand —

The cup’s heavy impact ended their suspense.

“Didn’t you want to drink with me? Drink, then.”

Shen Qinghe blinked in surprise. He had already drunk quite enough. But since the leader spoke, of course he had no choice.

“I’ll drink, I’ll drink.”

He tipped his own cup against Yue Jie’s and drained it in one go.

But truly — this was all “invalid socializing.” In academic terms, a wasted conference session: sit at table, drink and smile, add some WeChat contacts — only to find yourself ignored later. Without a title, one had no qualification to address crowned princes.

Still — familiarity breeds access. Sometimes a thick skin is enough to get a start; sometimes finding a patron opens doors later. Even letting potential reviewers “hear of your work” early could turn tides, down the road.

Even if these so‑called “iron‑crowned princes” had bought their thrones with money and monopoly. Even if their corruption had already crippled academia. One day, Shen Qinghe vowed, he would hold sway. He would tear down their rotten order.

“Enough. I truly can’t drink more.” Shen Qinghe smacked his cup on the table. If the old foxes yielded no leaks, then start with the small fry. In any family enterprise, there’s always a foolish loose end — just like even the greatest scholar has a dunce of a graduate student.

Muttering “No more, no more,” he made to depart early.

Wei Sheng was still stewing; Liu Fulan didn’t stop him either. This one suited his eye, but there would be time later.

“Who said you could leave?”

The sudden voice stopped him. Shen Qinghe turned, startled — it was Yue Jie.

So. He could still lose his temper.

An inexplicable fire boiled in Yue Jie’s chest. He saw it, but would not restrain it.

The Secretariat, closest to the imperial will, handled the empire’s keys. It was his very jurisdiction. In other words: Yue Jie was also Shen Qinghe’s direct superior.

Come fleeting, go fleeting — this man had never put him in his eyes. Yue seldom drank, but tonight he had already downed many cups.

The Yue family carried its arrogance like birthright — call it high‑nosed nobility, if you will. Shen Qinghe was now relegated to the northwest; their gulf was like earth and sky.

The wine’s heat flared restless in his body — and one thought gnawed: this man, this commoner, should be kneeling, head bowed, as when he flattered Emperor Zhaohuan himself. Surely that was what should be.

So why was he so free, so careless? By what right?

“Hm?” Shen Qinghe turned back, as though oblivious.

All the rest were rattled. For wasn’t Yue Jie famed as cold, distant? Yet now his moods swung wildly: one moment drinking, the next forbidding departure.

Were they familiars? Or foes?

Yet Shen Qinghe only stepped closer — half a step into Yue Jie’s space — smiling, plucking the cup from his hand.

“Too much drink is no good.”

Just beyond the rail, the Zhen River murmured past. Calmly, Shen Qinghe poured the clear wine into the waves.

“Brother Yue ought to drink a little less.”

Yue Jie stared. Suddenly he realized his indiscretion, and pressed fingers to brow.

What was he doing…?

“Finally. Everything you asked for is ready.”

Yao Guang oversaw men hauling and stacking goods, while fanning himself broadly.

Shen Qinghe had spent a half‑day scouting spots, then another half‑day to rent a whole stretch of storefronts along the levee. These shops were newly constructed, still bare timber frames, hardly fit for business. Usually rent meant years or decades, never “just ten days.” Yet with enough silver, he forced the landlords to agree.

Empty half‑built shells, useless short‑term — and both sides walked away convinced they had profited.

“Why on earth would you waste money on these husks?” Yao Guang muttered, though still lending a hand to an overburdened porter.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Shen Qinghe teased. “Ah — the students are here.”

Even before leaving Cangzhou, he had dispatched messages to Qiuchuan, calling for those students who had entered internship stage. And now, just as all was prepared, the missing manpower arrived.

He clapped for attention.

“You’re all fortunate. This internship shall pioneer a new model of school–enterprise collaboration.”

“This trade fair will be led by our Qingbei Academy, partnered with Qiuchuan’s textile mill, steelworks, agricultural station, and more local industries. Based on the real commercial market of Yunzhong Commandery, we aim to carry our products to all of Great Yong — to truly make our slogan ring true: ‘Qingbei’s produce must be top quality.’”

“This first trade exhibition — its results will all be recorded in the Academy Gazette. It will set the example for future classes. So — do you have confidence?”

“Yes!”

The students sprang sharpened, fists tight, voices loud.

Every product here bore their sweat and touch — they were their children, practically. How could they not throw themselves in with vigor? Moreover, sales numbers counted for grades. The one who sold most would gain the honor of “Outstanding Graduate”!

Their name pasted proudly upon the bulletin board for two months — all to see! An honor beyond price!

Eyes flashing fire, they looked to classmates — and each gaze held the same words, burning:

“I. Will. Be. Sales. Champion!”

Footnotes

1. “Polite wine / Penalty wine” (敬酒不吃，吃罚酒): A proverb meaning “If you won’t accept kindness, you’ll be forced to accept punishment.” Often used both literally in drinking contexts and figuratively as “refuse peace, then face coercion.”