NOVEL NEXT Chapter 61 - Physiognomy
The Literary Gathering commenced!
Yaoguang emerged from the side hall, Xia Chen and Lu Tong trailing her.
After stepping out from the side hall, Xia Chen led Xia Qian away from Yaoguang’s entourage, making his way to a secluded corner of the main hall and pausing beside a Daoist.
“Daoist Xuan Zhenzi drinking alone—how dull! I’ve little taste for this Literary Gathering—how about we share a drink?”
Xia Chen plopped down beside Xuan Zhenzi with easy familiarity, raising his cup in a distant toast.
Xuan Zhenzi caught the sound, turning his gaze with eyes clouded by drunken haze.
That look struck him like lightning—pupils shrank, haze snapped clear. His unsteady hand dropped the cup—it clattered on the table, wine splashing everywhere.
What did he see?
An immeasurable nine-clawed true dragon spiraled above Xia Chen’s forehead, an aura of purple qi enwreathing his form, with violet-gold radiance unfurling in splendor…
Xuan Zhenzi recoiled—blinking hard, he saw a jade-smooth young lord, smiling, toasting him.
The boundless dragon vanished—primordial purple qi faded to naught—as if it’d all been a trick of the mind.
Was he drunk?
Xuan Zhenzi’s heart wavered, tides surging within.
Xia Chen blinked, eyeing the startled Xuan Zhenzi and the spilled wine.
“Daoist, what’s wrong? Are you unwell?”
“Who are you?”
Xuan Zhenzi steadied himself, gazing at Xia Chen—reverence in his eyes, voice grave.
“I’m Xia Chen!”
Xia Chen smiled back.
Xuan Zhenzi studied him long, tracing his features—shock deepening with each glance.
“So it’s you!” Though cloistered in the Celestial Master’s Mansion, he’d caught Xia Chen’s name these past days.
“Your physiognomy is most peculiar—hardly mortal!”
Xuan Zhenzi spoke earnestly—yet inwardly faltered. He saw nothing. A master of face-reading, he’d match even the Elder Celestial Master here.
Over years among nobles, only Yaoguang’s odd features eluded him slightly—never once had he misjudged.
But Xia Chen’s face? Blank—past veiled, future opaque, present a void. As if he stood beyond this ancient chronicle, unbound by time’s river…
“Daoist, care to elaborate?”
Xia Chen, intrigued, grabbed a fresh cup, pouring Xuan Zhenzi more wine.
“It cannot be spoken, cannot be spoken—the mysteries of heaven must not be divulged!”
Xuan Zhenzi wagged his head, took the cup, and downed it—hiding his bluff. He’d seen zilch—pure bluster.
Yet beneath that bluff, dread weighed heavy. In his haze, he’d glimpsed Xia Chen swathed in purple qi, a nine-clawed golden dragon—born of fate’s might—coiling vast above.
Now? Nothing—a blank face. Unthinkable.
If that wasn’t illusion, such a vision—didn’t it scream imperial destiny?
Impossible—today, in Dawu, only Emperor Wen, the Crown Prince, and Yaoguang bore such marks.
Seeing Yaoguang’s imperial hint had floored him—he’d doubted, scrutinized, even checked with the Elder.
The Elder stayed mum—but Xuan Zhenzi was certain: Yaoguang’s face, though misty, held that imperial cast. No mistake.
It’d shaken him—could Dawu see a woman rule?
That marvel drew him to this dull Literary Gathering.
Now—a fourth?
“Dawu thrives—Emperor Wen reigns, his fate a five-clawed dragon, a meter long, half-real. But Xia Chen—suspected of a boundless nine-clawed dragon spanning untold realms?”
Xuan Zhenzi’s faith wavered—doubting his own art. Had he truly drunk too deep, dreaming delusions?
Xia Chen frowned—this Xuan Zhenzi seemed… distracted?
Too much paper last night—drained, unfocused?
“Drink!”
Xuan Zhenzi mulled long, then shook it off—he’d consult the Elder.
His physiognomy might reign, but the Elder’s mastery pierced heaven’s veil—beyond him still!
Xia Chen and Xuan Zhenzi drank, chatting—of nobles and politics, street vendors’ best eats—till wine flushed Xuan Zhenzi, arm around Xia Chen, spilling secrets.
“Listen—Suyu Street’s Rouge House, Miss Lianyu’s not the prettiest, but she serves best. One night in her room, you won’t wanna leave come morn…”
Xuan Zhenzi giggled—his sage air gone.
Xia Chen marveled within: Worthy of a future Daoist trailblazer—unbound by norms, free as will, deep in the Dao!
A trip to Suyu Street with him—why not?
This gem? All in!
Xia Chen engaged in discourse on the Dao with Xuan Zhenzi at this end, while in the main hall, the Literary Gathering unfolded with fervor and flourish.
Drinking games, drum-passing flower, arrow-tossing, and flowing-cup streams—such diversions among the cultured played out with blazing enthusiasm.
A hired troupe danced and sang at the hall’s heart.
Xia Chen cast a glance, only to sigh inwardly: every age boasts its own tavern, indeed!
Same as any—lose, drink, or improvise poetry and tricks. Dice would’ve sealed it!
His thoughts wandered—no itch to join the fray.
Why not ponder life with Xuan Zhenzi?
Though Xia Chen secluded himself in one corner, the gazes of many in attendance still gravitated toward him—there was no helping it, his striking looks and commanding presence were too captivating, drawing eyes even from the shadows.
Especially that Daoist—Xuan Zhenzi. Lesser-known, sure, but some knew: a Celestial Master’s man, the real deal.
Sudden hush gripped the Literary Gathering—then gasps erupted.
“Young Master Jingxuan’s here!”
At the gate, a stunning man stepped slow—a bookboy trailed.
Jingxuan’s lips curved—pausing there, he unfurled his fan—poise supreme.
He stopped—waiting for praise. Wherever he went, he stole the spotlight—he knew the drill.
This stance flaunted his best—his right profile, perfection itself.
He savored the stares—ready now for the storm of adulation!
“Come now, take your place as the heart of the gathering! Let torrents of praise descend upon me like a raging storm—nay, let them strike even more fiercely!”