Hearing Lin Wanrong's previous quatrains, the stunning young man's playful smile faded slightly. He gazed out at the lake, his expression thoughtful.
"Xiongtai's words were profound," he said, his tone carrying a trace of melancholy. "As you mentioned, Jiangnan is a land of talent and beauty, home to countless scholars and poets. The world praises its literary refinement, its flourishing culture. But what many fail to see is that—this is both a strength and a weakness."
Lin Wanrong raised an eyebrow.
Oh?
It was rare to find someone in this era with such a perspective. His curiosity was instantly piqued.
"This—oh, my dear—what do you mean?" Lin Wanrong asked.
He almost blurted out "demon", barely stopping himself in time. Even though this stunning young man wouldn't understand the modern slang, explaining it would be far too embarrassing.
The young master didn't notice his slip. He simply nodded, his eyes darkening as he continued,
"Since the founding of the dynasty under Emperor Taizu, we have placed great emphasis on literature over martial prowess, especially here in Jiangnan. Talented scholars and noble ladies all pride themselves on their literary refinement. In times of peace and prosperity, this is a virtue—an asset, even."
"But now?" His tone sharpened, his eyes burning with barely concealed anger. "Now, when the northern barbarians press upon our borders, when our country is in peril—what do these so-called scholars do? They compose poetry, drink fine wine, and lose themselves in indulgence. Where is their sense of duty? Their loyalty to the nation?"
He clenched his fists. "A country is called a nation because it has a home. But if every man follows their example, letting themselves be intoxicated by poetry and pleasure—drunk on the so-called 'warm winds' of prosperity—then what hope is left for the Hua Dynasty?"
As he spoke, his face filled with righteous indignation. The youthful elegance from before had been replaced by a fierce determination.
Lin Wanrong, who had been in this world for a little over a month, now understood the broader picture.
This dynasty was called the Hua Dynasty. The emperor's surname was Zhao, and the capital was Shuntian.
More importantly, the situation was dire.
The northern tribes had already begun their invasion. The Hua army had suffered one defeat after another, forced to retreat further south. If there was any silver lining, it was that the barbarian forces—despite their strength—hadn't expected the Hua army to crumble so quickly. Their supply lines were stretched thin, forcing them to temporarily halt their advance and return to the grasslands.
But that was merely a pause—a brief reprieve.
Come next year, when their forces regrouped, they would sweep into the heart of the Central Plains like a storm.
And then—
The Hua Dynasty might fall.
During the Song Dynasty, Bianzhou had once been its capital. At the time, the court was corrupt and incompetent. When foreign invaders threatened the city, the Song court had no choice but to flee south, eventually settling in Hangzhou. That humiliating retreat had never been forgotten.
When the ancestors of the Dahua Dynasty rose to power, they expelled the Hu people and founded a new empire. But the shame of losing Bianzhou remained an open wound in history.
So when Lin Wanrong remarked, "Take Hangzhou as Bianzhou," the stunning young master understood. He agreed.
(Note: This is an entirely unfamiliar world. The "Song Dynasty" mentioned here is not the one we know; it simply shares the name. A proper explanation will follow later.)
Although Lin Wanrong was still adjusting to this world, he knew one thing:
Since fate had brought him here, he had to accept it.
This was now his home.
These people—his compatriots.
And he would never allow foreign invaders to trample them.
"For a nation to rise, it must value both culture and military strength," the young master finally said, his voice filled with conviction. "But too much indulgence in poetry and song is nothing but an ornament to false peace."
His gaze was distant, heavy with a scholar's sorrow for his country.
At first, Lin Wanrong had assumed this dead shemale was just another pretty boy, spending his days indulging in wealth, flirting among the powdered faces of noblewomen. But surprisingly, this ladyboy harbored real ambition.
Lin Wanrong's impression of him shifted slightly.
Still, nation-building wasn't his concern—at least, not yet. He had no grand patriotic ambitions, so he wasn't particularly interested.
The stunning young master, however, seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with the so-called scholars gathered on the lake. He spoke with a sense of righteousness, and his words held some truth.
But Lin Wanrong's professional instincts told him there was more beneath the surface. The world was never so simple.
So he merely snorted coldly, said nothing, and turned his gaze back to the lake.
Seeing his reaction, the young master's brows furrowed.
"Does Xiongtai hold an official title?" he asked.
Lin Wanrong shook his head. "I've never held an office."
(Only you scholars care about your precious little exam rankings!)
(Besides, do I look like a scholar to you? A man dressed in coarse sackcloth, with worn-out shoes exposing his toes?)
The young master pressed on. "Then have you passed the township examination?"
Lin Wanrong shook his head again.
"I wouldn't even know which direction the examination hall is in."
The young master was taken aback. "Then... Xiongtai isn't even a proper scholar—"
He caught himself mid-sentence and stopped abruptly, realizing his mistake.
But Lin Wanrong already understood what he meant.
His anger flared.
What kind of nonsense is this?!
I, a graduate of Peking University—an elite student from the Imperial College of my world—being looked down upon like this?!
In a few years, I could've become a professor, or even held a prestigious position! And yet, this little brat dares to belittle me?!
Then again... he had to admit.
He really hadn't read much of this world's literature.
Perhaps the ladyboy's assumption wasn't entirely unfounded.
Still—Lin Wanrong refused to let it slide.
He huffed softly, then slowly recited:
"Beyond the green hills, there stands another tower.When will the singing and dancing at West Lake cease?The warm winds intoxicate, leaving travelers drunk—Until Hangzhou itself becomes Bianzhou."
The young master's eyes lit up.
He clapped his hands excitedly.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
"A masterful line—'Beyond the green hills, there stands another tower'—and such a tragic lament for West Lake's indulgence! Xiongtai is truly gifted! With just this single verse, there is no scholar in the world who can stand shoulder to shoulder with you!"
Even the cold-faced servant beside him, who had been eyeing Lin Wanrong with disdain, now showed a hint of admiration.
Lin Wanrong was secretly amused.
This ladyboy's ability to flatter was top-tier.
But he wasn't fooled.
The young master kept criticizing scholars and officials, yet now he was showering Lin Wanrong's poetry with exaggerated praise.
How ridiculous.
The young master must have sensed Lin Wanrong's amusement because he quickly adjusted his expression.
"Brother Lin, please don't misunderstand me," he said earnestly. "I never meant to look down on scholars. It's just that our country is in grave danger, and I cannot stand to see Jiangnan's nobility indulging in poetry and pleasure while the empire crumbles around them. If I offended you, I sincerely apologize."
He even bowed deeply, offering a genuine apology.
Lin Wanrong raised an eyebrow.
(This guy is quite smooth, isn't he?)
Seeing that the young master had a good attitude, and was rather skilled at flattery, Lin Wanrong decided not to hold a grudge.
He pretended to help him up, clasped his fists, and asked,
"This brother's surname is Gao?"
The young master hurriedly shook his head.
"Not at all, not at all. My humble surname is Xiao. Xiao Qingxuan."
"Oh, Brother Xiao, is it?" Lin Wanrong smiled, not bothering with formalities. "My surname is Lin—Lin Wanrong."
Xiao Qingxuan clasped his fists politely.
"So it is Brother Lin! A pleasure, a pleasure!"
As he spoke, his white cheeks flushed slightly, two dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth.
There was a certain... indescribable charm in his expression.