Chapter 58: Brilliant Words Test the Monk—Four Encounters

“Righteousness over kin?”

“Righteousness over kin!”

The onlookers were momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter. The young fellow was clearly in league with the monk, and seeing things going awry, he now spoke of “righteousness over kin,” hoping to extricate himself? Judging by the monk’s stature and demeanor, he was not one to yield easily. If the boy truly invoked righteous justice, would the monk simply submit? Surely, the two would soon turn against each other, providing even more entertainment for the crowd.

This promised a spectacle far more amusing. At once, everyone forgot about Sister Cao, who still lay on the ground, shouting, or rather, they watched her exposed chest while eagerly anticipating the drama of “righteousness over kin”—a perfect scenario, two pleasures in one.

“Hurry, hurry, do it—righteousness over kin!”

“Yes, indeed! We can’t wait!”

Ye Chang turned to the monk, who looked bewildered, unable to comprehend how things had escalated. Ye Chang patted his shoulder, raised his voice, and declared, “Monk, today you are guilty of four offenses—do you know what they are?”

“Four offenses?” The crowd perked up, even more entertained. Wasn’t the monk’s crime “rape”? Where did four offenses come from?

The monk shook his head. He didn’t know why Ye Chang had suddenly switched sides, but was certain Ye Chang was up to some trick.

“Your first offense is disobeying your master’s teachings. What did your master tell you about what women hide in their chests?”

This provoked even greater interest—a lewd anecdote, and from a monk, no less! Everyone knew: none were more lustful than monks, nor more corrupt than officials. When monks indulge, nothing is off limits—just recall the tales of Master Xue Huaiyi and Empress Wu Zetian, whispered in every corner!

“Well…” The monk hesitated, but Ye Chang’s glare left him no choice. “Master said, in the chest of a female benefactor, there lurks a fierce tiger…”

As he spoke, he glanced lingeringly at Sister Cao’s chest; the crowd followed his gaze. But the monk, after a brief look, quickly shut his eyes, pressed his palms together, and murmured “Sinful, sinful.” The crowd roared with laughter, “What a pair of tigers!”

“This is your first offense, monk: you disobeyed your master’s teachings. The tiger may reside in her chest, but has it not now slipped into your heart?” Ye Chang asked.

The monk nodded, helpless, to another burst of laughter.

“Now you have a tiger in your heart, sniffing roses,” Ye Chang teased.

“Hurry, hurry, continue with righteousness over kin!” the crowd clamored.

“Your second offense, monk, is being indecisive and sloppy,” Ye Chang continued. “Look, since you intended to commit misconduct in broad daylight, why not do it thoroughly? You should have torn off all her clothes—outer garments, undergarments, everything—cleanly. Yet you did a half-hearted job, leaving her half-covered, frustrating everyone’s enjoyment!”

As he spoke, Ye Chang plucked the fluttering shop banner and handed it to the monk, who took it in confusion. Ye Chang said, “Rip this banner—do it with force, no hesitation!”

The monk looked at Ye Chang, then obeyed, tearing the banner in two. The crowd clicked their tongues: the monk’s strength was impressive!

“See, the monk is strong as an ox—seven or eight men would be no match. Tearing this woman’s clothes should have been easy, yet he only managed a half-job, leaving her half-exposed. Tell me, isn’t this the monk’s second offense?”

“Indeed, this offense is far worse than disobeying his master!”

“Tsk tsk, why didn’t he tear it all the way?”

Most of the onlookers were mischief-makers; Ye Chang’s guidance made it clear—the monk had not truly intended to commit rape. Had he meant it, Sister Cao would have been stripped bare like a lamb. The young man’s defense of the monk was clever and witty, not inferior to the likes of Eastern Sima. The crowd echoed his words enthusiastically.

They were sincere, too—if the monk had been more thorough, they’d have seen more than a half-exposed Sister Cao.

“There are still two offenses, two more!”

“Monk, your third offense is poor taste. Look, this lady is only slightly less fair than snow, that one is just a little less fragrant than plum, this one smiles sweetly, that one smells like orchids…” Ye Chang noted that among the crowd were several local courtesans and tavern maidens. He pointed them out one by one, quick-eyed and sharp-tongued, praising each woman’s virtues. Each woman he singled out blushed with pride, and the crowd nodded along.

Ye Chang was young and handsome, though his clothes were shabby. Yet in his critique of the women, he possessed an undeniable charm. Each woman secretly hoped he’d praise her next. When he reached the fifth, he realized she was shoving aside the others, fearful he’d compliment someone else. The moment he pointed at her, she looked shy—one eye larger than the other, cheeks flushed—pockmarked and thick-waisted, arms as stout as the monk’s.

Ye Chang nearly choked on his own saliva, and the crowd erupted in laughter. Quick-witted, Ye Chang declared, “This lady has extraordinary presence…”

When a woman’s appearance leaves nothing to praise, one must praise her character. Ye Chang’s compliment drew another round of laughter; the lady in question squealed, turned to flee, but not before casting Ye Chang a flirtatious glance.

“See, Chang’an is full of beauties. Monk, you could have chosen any of them, but instead picked this aging matron—her skin is loose, her eyes dull, her scent so strong none dare approach unless she’s soaked in perfume. Even with powder, her face resembles a frosted dung ball…”

After praising the other women, Ye Chang turned to exposing Sister Cao’s flaws—each word struck home, and the crowd nodded, agreeing the young man had nailed it. Sister Cao’s face grew paler, her gaze more hateful.

Ye Chang bore no goodwill toward her; she’d clearly been sent to trouble him, hoping to get him and the monk beaten in the street. He showed no mercy and said to the monk, “You chose to molest such a woman in public; if word spreads, won’t the world mock Chang’an for lacking beauties?”

The crowd exploded with laughter, “This offense surpasses the previous two! Monk, you’re gravely mistaken!”

The monk, unable to defend himself, remained silent, eyes downcast, hands pressed together in repentance.

The crowd enjoyed the spectacle and called out, “Fourth offense, fourth offense!”

“Monk, this summer heat is oppressive, the streets swelter. Everyone on the street has business to attend to, yet you caused trouble, forcing everyone to stop and watch, delaying their affairs. Isn’t that your fourth offense?”

With this fourth offense announced, the crowd laughed again, but this time with knowing smiles. Though they were reluctant to leave, some remarked, “Indeed, let’s disperse—we all have things to do, we can’t linger.”

Ye Chang smiled, clasped his hands in greeting, and the crowd parted, allowing passage.

Several clerks and bailiffs squeezed forward, embarrassed. “Master Ye, well done, well done.”

Ye Chang responded modestly, pulled the monk to leave. Some bold women threw him flirtatious glances, “Young master, you haven’t critiqued me yet!”

“I have business, business—farewell, ladies!” Ye Chang waved with a smile.

“Who are you? Who are you?” someone called loudly from behind.

Ye Chang had no wish to leave his name. Though he’d resolved the situation with his wit, word would spread, and the reputation might not be favorable. Some would praise his cleverness, but others would call him frivolous and sharp-tongued. He preferred anonymity; the clerks and bailiffs said nothing, but the blunt monk, Shan Zhi, was right by his side. Without hesitation, the monk replied, “He is Ye Chang, Eleventh Son of Xiuwu!”

“Ye Chang?”

“Ye Chang, the one famed for the setting sun?”

Among the crowd, some had heard of Ye Chang, and began to whisper. The women Ye Chang had praised—those from respectable families remained calm, but the courtesans’ eyes sparkled as they gazed at him.

“Quick, let’s go!” Ye Chang had planned to confront Sister Cao for the identity of her instigator, but seeing so many eager eyes around him, his expression changed. He grabbed the monk and hurried away.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind visiting Chang’an’s entertainments, but now, he wanted most to help Han Chaozong finish his task and return home.

Chang’an is delightful, but it is not my homeland.

The one who asked “Who are you?” was Sister Cao. She’d suffered a great loss, humiliated publicly by Ye Chang, and now found it impossible to remain in the Western Market. Furious, she demanded his name. Upon hearing it, she ground her teeth, repeating it under her breath, then returned to her shop.

She had lost face entirely. Meeting her patron, she complained tearfully, “Master, I could swallow the insult, but that man even tore up our shop’s banner!”

Had Ye Chang been present, he would have recognized this “Master.”

The “Master” stroked his beard and smiled, “No matter, no matter, just replace the banner. Someone, reward Sister Cao with five strings of coins.”

Though smiling, his eyes flashed with cunning. To encounter Ye Chang in the Western Market today—dressed so inconspicuously—meant Ye Chang did not want his identity known. Appearing in the district as a scholar entering the capital would attract attention, and if things went awry, his reputation might suffer, affecting his future career.

Now the stubborn monk had revealed his identity—just as well. At the right time, the right person would be told, forcing Ye Chang to slink out of Chang’an, just as Meng Haoran, famed for his poetry, was sent home despite Han Chaozong and others wishing to promote him.

“Master, are we just letting them go?” Sister Cao, still indignant, asked. She didn't know the master’s identity, but knew the shop belonged to the family of Zhang Shuo, former Chancellor, and now Zhang Jie, husband to Princess Ning.

This “Master” might even be the prince consort himself!

By court law, officials could not freely enter the market, especially to run such establishments—a grave taboo. But policies always have loopholes. Zhang Jie could not appear openly, but had a kinsman manage the business. The court did not forbid royals and officials from owning property, so most shops in this alley belonged to the Zhang brothers, rented to merchants for income, except this Red Pavilion, managed by a distant kinsman.

It was Zhang Jie’s way of saving private funds—having a princess at home made everything difficult.

This “Master” was Zhang Jie. He dared not let Ye Chang see him, so stayed hidden upstairs. Now that Ye Chang had gone, he was about to descend when he spotted several people from the window, paused, and retreated.

“Twenty-Ninth Lady… why is she here?”

He had seen the little nun, Chong Niang. The Western Market was a lowly place; though Twenty-Ninth Lady lacked a princess’s title, she was still nobility—it was improper for her to be here! Of course, Tang princesses were never conventional. Chong Niang was disguised as a nun, her eunuch companion dressed as a commoner, plus four palace maids in nun’s attire. This clever disguise meant only Zhang Jie, a close relative, recognized her.

Zhang Jie grew uneasy, recalling Ye Chang’s appearance. His imagination ran wild: had Twenty-Ninth Lady and Ye Chang arranged a secret meeting in the Western Market?

Not impossible. Though the Lady was only nine years old, the Tang princesses defied all norms. Taiping Princess was violated by Helan Minzhi before she was eight. If Ye Chang harbored evil intentions, luring little Chong Niang was not inconceivable.

This thought enraged Zhang Jie.

“Follow Ye Chang… no, follow the little nun. Be discreet, don’t let her notice. Send extra men. As soon as you know where she goes, report to me!” he ordered.

His men went to shadow her. Seeing Sister Cao still upstairs, Zhang Jie’s temper flared. “Why are you still here? Go do your job, useless fool!”

Sister Cao felt the scolding was unfair, but dared not argue with her master. She slunk downstairs. As the madam responsible for attracting customers, she returned to her duties, but everyone avoided her. Even those who wanted to enter the Red Pavilion were stopped by others, whispered a few words, then left covering their mouths.

Ye Chang’s words had been too cutting, his description of Sister Cao too vivid—loose skin, dull eyes, “a frosted dung ball.” After such remarks, no one had any desire to seek pleasure in the Red Pavilion.

Thus, its business dwindled even further.