Chapter 22

Huaseo (Flower‑Script).

It was a style name everyone thought had been bestowed because he was a male favorite.

Thus, when the first rumors about Jaheon spread, all denounced him—saying he meant to sell his body for power. But after the poetry examination held at Hongdu, everything reversed, because Cai Yong spared no praise in saying “Huaseo” truly befit him.

The ill fame that had spread across Luoyang about Jaheon turned into renown in an instant.

“…What is this?”

The flustered Jaheon asked O Juk‑yeop.

“Th‑they are gifts, sent to young master.”

“Gifts?”

“Yes.”

Grinning, O Juk‑yeop pointed to the stacks of chests piled in a corner of the residence. With a rising sense of foreboding, Jaheon walked up to the heap and pried open a chest.

“……?”

Inside the chest was full of silver. As much as in the chest Cao Song had sent to have Cao Cao released. Enough to snap his mind out of its fog. With brows raised, Jaheon looked at O Juk‑yeop. Even under Jaheon’s sharp gaze, O Juk‑yeop smirked and said,

“And not only this.”

“Not only this—what does that mean…?”

At Jaheon’s question, O Juk‑yeop drew him toward the front gate.

“……?”

And Jaheon faced it.

“My lord! Lord Im! I wish to learn poetry from you!”

“I am from Bing Province…!”

“This humble one is a servant sent by Ximen Commandant to Lord Im!”

“From the Ministry of Works…!”

A reaction from Luoyang’s people that vastly exceeded Jaheon’s expectations.

“All have come to see young master,” O Juk‑yeop said.

People thronged before the residence. Servants braced the gate so it would not burst off its hinges. Could this be real? Would people react so violently merely at hearing Cai Yong’s praise? Impossible. Cai Yong was but a luminary. He could stir the scholars who studied letters, no more. Something must have happened after the examination…

Just then, as Jaheon turned thoughts over—

“Huaseo. Are you only now awake?”

A familiar voice sounded by his ear from atop the wall.

“They say beauties sleep long.”

It was Cao Cao, standing boldly upon the wall. Jaheon, giving a once‑over to the brazen intruder, frowned and asked,

“Why do you use the wall when there is a perfectly good door?”

“It’s hardly the time to use the door.”

Pointing to the gate crammed with people, Cao Cao spoke. Jaheon had no particular retort and changed the subject.

“When will you go home? At this point your father’s anger should have cooled.”

“Really. I only meant to take this from you and go. Here.”

Clicking his tongue at the coldness, Cao Cao held out a sheet of paper.

“And this is?”

“Grandfather wishes to see your hand.”

“…Grandfather? Then you could go home?”

“I went secretly. Honestly. Father doesn’t know.”

“Do you climb your own house wall as well?”

“If Father catches me, my calves will not survive.”

With a sigh, Jaheon unfolded the paper and began to write a poem. Cao Cao’s grandfather, Cao Teng, was a man one had best impress. Although retired in effect, he still exerted sway over the court.

“…By the way, you’re quite unkind. If you could write this well, you should have told me.”

Cao Cao spoke wistfully as he watched Jaheon write.

“Why on earth should I tell you…”

Then it struck him—historically, Cao Cao had considerable talent in poetry; did he not compose the famous regulated verse “Short Song Style”?

“Hold on…”

Jaheon stopped mid‑line and looked blankly up, then gazed at Cao Cao. Meeting his gaze, Cao Cao tilted his head.

“Is something wrong?”

Indeed, Cao Cao was learned in verse—enough that even Cai Yong had exchanged with him, historically. And Jaheon knew at most a few poems by Du Fu or Li Bai. If he started discussing poetry in earnest with Cao Cao, his stock would run dry. Jaheon said coolly,

“They say a gentleman speaks less than he knows. There was no need to display it.”

“…Speak less than one knows? Which sage said that? It’s my first time hearing it.”

“Lord Wang said it.”

In truth, the maxim “speak less than you know” was Shakespeare’s—and not yet born. But Jaheon brazened it out.

“Lord Wang?”

“…Yes. Surely you do not disparage Lord Wang’s discernment?”

“If you put it that way, I have nothing to say.”

“That is the point.”

“……?”

Into the bewildered Cao Cao’s arms, Jaheon thrust the sheet with the poem and gestured—go, to a brothel or home, anywhere. At the clear order of dismissal, Cao Cao burst out laughing.

“I have never met anyone as amusing as you.”

“I will take that as praise.”

“Then, before I go, let me give something amusing to the amusing you.”

Cao Cao spoke with laughter in his voice.

“Last night word spread in Luoyang that Lord Cai offered remonstrance to His Majesty.”

“……?”

Jaheon’s eyes widened. It was clear suicide—true to the Cai Yong who, historically, had failed to live out his span. Even in that brief encounter, it was searingly plain to Jaheon that the Emperor detested remonstrance…

“…Wait.”

If he were dead, the crowds before the gate and the flood of gifts made no sense. When one of the few notable literati of late Han died, people would not come flocking as to a feast.

With a short laugh, Jaheon answered,

“He lives.”

“…Yes, he lives. And do you know why?”

Cao Cao whispered by Jaheon’s ear,

“He advised His Majesty to set the eunuchs far and keep you at his side.”

And that was not welcome news to Jaheon.

The reason it was unwelcome lay in the present Emperor Liu Hong’s outward reputation as a dark ruler.

A tyrant who heeded only eunuchs and slew all who remonstrated—yet because Cai Yong mentioned Jaheon, he lived. Even though it was not Jaheon who spoke, merely saying the Emperor should keep him close spared Cai Yong. Overnight, Jaheon became the unique person who could change the Emperor.

“Hence there are those who praise you, young master. They say the true loyal minister who will lead the Son of Heaven has finally appeared…!”

In short, to a matter that might have ended with a mere reversal of reputation, the Emperor had poured oil.

“Do you trust His Majesty?” Cao Cao’s final words had been weighty.

Jaheon closed his eyes.

He had certainly not wished for this degree of acclaim.

“Damn it.”

He had wanted a reputation of great talent and imperial favor still clouded by some scandal. He did not wish to be the savior who came to rescue Han for all to see. From the beginning Jaheon had longed for this country to collapse.

And a reputation borne on such excessive praise invites checks.

“You would push me right into the arena.”

Yet a reputation so widely spread could not be recalled.

“Is that all? Because of Lord Cai’s high praise, many letters have arrived—requests to correspond with young master…”

So at O Juk‑yeop’s words, Jaheon raised his hand.

“Enough. That is far enough.”

Sighing, he looked upon the mountain of gifts. His head ached. Yet to return them all would only strengthen the repute of a “clean” scholar; to swallow them down would grate against Wang Yun’s rigid nature, and he was practically Jaheon’s patron.

After much thought, Jaheon spoke.

“Leave a chest or two, and present the rest as tribute to His Majesty.”

“…Pardon?”

“There is drought in Yuzhou. Present them as tribute to add to the relief funds for Yuzhou.”

It was a way neither to raise nor to lower his reputation. All knew that money entering the state coffers ended in eunuchs’ purses. But as it was nominally the treasury, there might be some who were disappointed, but none could blame Jaheon.

“And this…”

Rising, Jaheon took a handful of silver from a chest and pressed it into O Juk‑yeop’s hand.

“O Juk‑yeop. Send this to your family.”

“…But, y‑young master!”

Startled, O Juk‑yeop grasped Jaheon’s hand.

“This humble one is but a servant!”

“If one puts it that way, this is merely a gift that came to me.”

At Jaheon’s words, O Juk‑yeop’s eyes reddened with emotion. Having come up to Luoyang to serve Jaheon, O Juk‑yeop was originally from Bing Province and had family there. Jaheon, too, had Choseon in Bing. He could not deny that commonality had bred some affection for O Juk‑yeop.

“I also have a younger sister in Bing. You know that.”

“Of course, of course. This humble one truly knows your heart that yearns for Lady Im. Your heart yearns because Lady Im’s disposition is so gentle—but you have spoken of it so often that this humble one could recite your words by heart…”

“……?”

“…Ah, nothing. By the way—what shall we do about the many outside the gate?”

Overwhelmed by feeling, O Juk‑yeop had let his true thoughts slip and hurriedly changed the subject. Looking at him, Jaheon spoke.

“…First, have the names recorded. Until the formal command to enter court arrives, I intend to meet them all in order.”

“Yes, understood—wait, all of them?”

“Yes. All.”

In any case, Jaheon had made his name widely known and gained reputation. And those who heard it began to come seeking him.

“It is time to prepare to bring family.”

So now it was time to gather talent and lay the foundation.

Word that Jaheon was seeking talent spread quickly through Luoyang.

And small wonder, for Jaheon met people regardless of status. Half sneered that base blood cannot be hidden, half lauded him as a true sage; whatever the case, Luoyang buzzed with it.

“Uncle, will you go with me?”

And a fourteen‑year‑old boy, newly entered at the Imperial Academy, heard of this from his nephew, who was older than he—Xun Yu.

“What do you mean?”

“Im Huaseo, whom Lord Cai praised. Grandfather says you should meet him. And, Uncle, you were taken with his poem, were you not? If you wish, I could bring you along.”

At Xun Yu’s invitation, the young boy flushed bright red.

“If you would be so kind…”

The young boy’s face, reddened at the cheeks, was handsome—clear skin without a blemish save a mole beneath the eye, rich brown hair lacking any red, and a gentle expression. As he hesitated, his eyes curved guilelessly.

“…I am most grateful, Gongdal.”

The boy’s name was Xun You—who would one day be called a talent fit for the throne.