Chapter Nine: Abnormal Behavior

Zhou Hao wore a faint smile, utterly disregarding Zhang Jinzhong. Having already endured a biased Emperor of Zhou, a malicious Empress, and his own treacherous third brother, he found someone like this merely laughably foolish.

"I was sent to the barbarians as a hostage ten years ago, securing a decade of peace for the Great Zhou. Is that not a merit?"

"You, a man without rank or achievement, dare to insult a meritorious official like me? Are you living too comfortably? Perhaps you wish to spend a few days in a dungeon?"

"As for the Third Prince, do you not know that His Majesty promised me a private residence upon my return to the imperial capital?"

"If I possess my own estate, why would I be resting at the Third Prince’s mansion? If you were in my shoes, would you find that normal?"

Although he spoke to Zhang Jinzhong, his words were intended for Bi Ruxue. One look at her displeased expression told him exactly what he needed to know: someone had been whispering in her ear, poisoning her mind with all sorts of bizarre rumors. Zhou Hao’s goal was to gradually overturn her misconceptions and show her that everything she heard was nothing more than slander manufactured by the Third Prince. After all, she was his intended bride; he couldn't have his household in chaos. Besides, the girl was bright-eyed and beautiful—hardly a bad prospect for a wife.

Zhang Jinzhong failed to grasp the underlying meaning of Zhou Hao’s words. He only felt completely suppressed and humiliated in front of Bi Ruxue, leaving him with no way to win her over from the imperial betrothal.

"This... what does this prove? Regardless, you spend every night in the capital indulging in debauchery and wine. That much is undeniable, isn't it?" Zhang Jinzhong winced, ignoring the pain in his hand.

"You fool."

Zhou Hao had no interest in engaging further. The man was so dim-witted that he couldn't even grasp the most basic logic. To keep arguing would only lower his own intellect to the same level.

Bi Yutang, having heard Zhou Hao’s words, paused, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. It was true. If the Emperor had granted the First Prince a residence and gold, why was he staying at the Third Prince’s mansion? Either the Emperor hadn't bestowed anything at all, or the Third Prince... Bi Yutang did not dwell on it, instead turning to look at his sister. While he couldn't bring himself to admire the First Prince, the white-hot rage that had made him want to kill the man had largely evaporated. After all, his sister was intelligent; surely she could see through the deception.

Zhang Jinzhong snorted and clenched his fists. This First Prince was crude and vulgar; did he think he was made of clay?

"I see no meritorious official here; I only see a barbarian who snapped my finger!"

A barbarian? Referring to him? Zhou Hao smiled, ignoring him. There was no need to engage with an idiot. Yet, Zhang Jinzhong seemed to think he had found a path to victory. The First Prince had spent ten years in barbarian lands; he must be strong, but surely he was ignorant of music and poetry! This was the perfect chance to regain face before Bi Ruxue.

"Your Highness, are you versed in poetry?" Zhang Jinzhong challenged. "Since we have met here, why don't we compose poems as friends?"

What was this fellow playing at now? Zhou Hao glanced at Bi Ruxue. Everything hinged on her reaction. His primary goal was to assess her character and reshape her impression of him.

"That sounds like a fine idea. Your Highness, Brother Jinzhong, since we are sitting together, there is no need for such unpleasantness," Bi Yutang interjected, trying to keep the peace. "Since Brother Jinzhong has suggested it, why don't we write a poem with 'wind' as our theme?"

"Very well, I shall go first," Zhou Hao said, looking at Bi Ruxue. Composing poetry? His mind was filled with the classics. Even a random selection would be enough to cut Zhang Jinzhong down to size.

"The yellow clouds stretch for a thousand miles, the white sun grows dim;
The north wind blows the wild geese, the snow falls thick and fast.
Do not worry about having no friends on the road ahead;
Under the heavens, who does not know you?"

"My poem is finished. Pray, proceed?" Zhou Hao looked at Zhang Jinzhong with a smile—a smile that was chillingly cold. He wanted to see how the clown would handle this.

Zhang Jinzhong stood frozen, staring at Zhou Hao in disbelief. This was a poem by the First Prince? It used 'wind' as the theme, yet instead of wallowing in melancholy, it expressed a soaring, heroic spirit. He knew, deep down, that he could never have composed such a piece. He opened his mouth to retort, but his own literary foundation left him helpless; he couldn't even find a way to criticize it.

"A fine poem, a truly fine poem," he stammered, "It captures the heroic spirit of the frontier."

Zhou Hao did not let up. "And what of your poem? Surely someone who has spent years immersed in the poetry of the capital isn't outmatched by a hostage from the barbarian lands?"

The more Zhou Hao pressed, the more lost Zhang Jinzhong became. A contest of strength? The ruthless way his finger had been snapped earlier had already stripped him of any courage to fight. A contest of merit? Even if the Emperor favored the First Prince little, the fact that he had served as a hostage to secure the borders was undeniable. Even he, spending his days in the capital's revelry, owed his comfort to that sacrifice. He had no rank and no military achievements—how could he compete? A contest of poetry? After that masterpiece, his own "elegant" verses felt like mud, unworthy of a formal gathering. He felt that even speaking was a profanity against such a poem.

Like a defeated rooster, Zhang Jinzhong lowered his head. "First Prince, I am not your equal. In poetry, you take the lead."

He turned to the Bi siblings, cupping his hands. "I have urgent matters at home. I shall take my leave." Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled, not even looking back. Since he couldn't win, there was no point in staying to be humiliated. He would return home, consult his father, and find a way to trip the First Prince up from the shadows. The debt for his broken finger would not be forgotten.

Zhou Hao ignored him completely. To him, the man was nothing more than a court jester. The only thing that mattered was Bi Ruxue.

"Miss Bi, what did you think of my poem?"

Bi Ruxue smiled, the repulsion in her eyes fading significantly. "For someone who spends his time in such debauchery, Your Highness possesses a truly extraordinary spirit."