Chapter Fifty-Three: What a Worthless Piece of Junk

Zheng Yongxiang had no interest in whether Tang Hongdou was guilty of plagiarism, nor did he care if Meng Xiaodie was lying. He simply wanted nothing more to do with Feng Jingzhe, and before the dispute was resolved, he had already left the Warm Jade Pavilion alone.

The two men and one woman remaining had no desire to continue drinking. Fan Zihui was now intent on preserving the image of his goddess in his heart. Before the half-finished Journey to the West appeared, Tang Hongdou might have been just a refined courtesan in his eyes, the difference being merely the price paid in the end. But with this half of Journey to the West, Tang Hongdou had found her place in the hearts of scholars—not as the foremost courtesan of Chang’an, but as a fellow reader and learned person. This was a crossing of class boundaries, a comprehensive elevation of social status.

Zheng Yongxiang had spoken truly: even if Meng Xiaodie sang herself hoarse and argued herself raw, she could not compare to a single hair on Tang Hongdou’s head. The reason was simple. The former was a prostitute entertaining with beauty, while the latter, with half of Journey to the West, had become a literati—a scholar like all who read the classics.

Thus, Tang Hongdou’s image soared in Fan Zihui's heart, transforming from a forbidden fruit into an untouchable white lotus, admired from afar. Now, this lofty white lotus was being questioned by a prostitute. He was eager to prove that his judgment had not erred.

For other reasons as well, Meng Xiaodie, Liu Lei, and Fan Zihui immediately set out for Pingkang Ward, their urgency unable to wait for dawn. A carriage hurried along Changle Ward’s main street, flanked by two riders on spirited horses. The moon was high, and only a few scattered people walked the streets. They quickly passed through the East Market, and ahead, the gate tower of Pingkang Ward came into view.

Several Golden Guards lounged on stone posts, chatting idly, and by chance, a green donkey was ambling out from within. The person lazily reclining on its back, eyes half-closed and swaying, could only be Feng Jingzhe.

"Brother Feng? It really is you, Brother Feng..." Liu Lei’s eyesight was sharp; he recognized him from afar. Hearing someone call out unexpectedly, Feng Jingzhe opened his sleepy eyes to see two men galloping straight toward him.

"What the hell is going on?" Feng Jingzhe instinctively gripped the donkey’s reins, panic rising. When he saw one man’s eyes blazing with fury, he nearly called out for help.

"Brother Feng... what a coincidence... Surely you remember me... the first investor in 'Food is Heaven'..."

"You’re Liu Lei? The one from Runan whose family sells silk..." Feng Jingzhe was surprised, not expecting this lad’s persistence—he’d hidden at his grandmother’s, yet still got intercepted. Indeed, anyone he’d once regarded highly would inevitably have extraordinary means. Feng Jingzhe silently gave himself a nod of approval.

"Liu, what brings you here? Wait... isn’t that Brother Fan? Since the Flower Queen contest at Red Sleeve Invite, it’s been some days since we last met..."

"Isn’t that a stroke of luck! To be honest, we were planning to visit you..."

"Visit? At this hour?" Feng Jingzhe glanced at the sky, thinking these two must be mad! Who visits someone’s house after half past ten?

"What business do you have with me?" Feng Jingzhe wanted no unnecessary chatter; if he delayed any longer, he’d be late at the gambling house. Nowadays, aside from sleeping, strengthening himself was his sole pursuit. Anyone who tried to hinder him would have to face his wrath.

At this moment, the trailing carriage pulled to a stop. Meng Xiaodie impatiently poked her head out, even more eager than Xiaodou.

"Young Master Feng, Tang Hongdou of Red Sleeve Invite claims to have written half of Journey to the West. I say the story was composed by Daoist Wu, but Young Master Fan refuses to believe me. We visit at this late hour to seek your confirmation..."

Meng Xiaodie wasted no words; before she had even gotten out properly, she had made her purpose clear.

"What? Tang Hongdou? The foremost courtesan of the capital?" Feng Jingzhe was bewildered, unable to fathom how two unrelated matters could possibly be connected.

"Brother Feng, this is the half of Journey to the West written by Miss Hongdou. Can you tell us what trials the monk and his disciples face after the Kingdom of Women?" Fan Zihui, the diehard fan, carried Journey to the West with him. He hadn’t shown it earlier, hoping it would play a decisive role here.

Indeed, Feng Jingzhe was curious about Tang Hongdou’s Journey to the West. He took the thin booklet and casually flipped through a few pages. It was filled with classical prose, and the climactic ‘Havoc in Heaven’ was rendered in barely a hundred words.

More absurdly, it was riddled with obscure historical references he could scarcely understand.

"You say this book was written by Tang Hongdou?" Feng Jingzhe pointed at the booklet, seeking confirmation, his expression unconvinced.

"Of course. Miss Hongdou’s phrasing is exquisitely refined—even the Confucian scholars in the palace could hardly do better!" Fan Zihui raised his chin high, proud as could be.

"Brother Feng, you’ve seen it now—please tell us, is this half of Journey to the West truly written by the Daoist surnamed Wu? Is Miss Hongdou guilty of plagiarism?"

"Yes, Young Master Feng, please tell us! The story was clearly given to you by Master Wu, so how can it now be claimed as Tang Hongdou’s original work..." Meng Xiaodie stomped by the carriage, thinking this Master Wu was just an excuse Feng Jingzhe had invented to avoid showing off.

Now, with the true author before them, she wanted to see Feng Jingzhe’s false persona exposed.

"Impossible. Master Wu is but a wandering Daoist—how could he write such a masterpiece? I, Feng Jingzhe, solemnly declare: this book was absolutely not written by Wu Cheng’en and has nothing to do with him. If anyone ever tries to claim otherwise, it is slander, and I will pursue full legal responsibility!"

Feng Jingzhe’s words stunned Meng Xiaodie; she even wondered if she was hallucinating. Fan Zihui, however, was overjoyed—his goddess’s image grew even grander in his heart. If he’d previously harbored some dislike for Feng Jingzhe, after this, he felt the wastrel before him had some redeeming qualities.

When Fan Zihui hurried back to Red Sleeve Invite to claim credit, before he was out of sight, the perplexed Meng Xiaodie couldn’t help but ask:

"Young Master Feng, the story was clearly given to you... by Master Wu—why didn’t you expose Tang Hongdou’s plagiarism on the spot?"

Meng Xiaodie was angry, suspecting the man before her had fallen for Tang Hongdou’s charms.

"Tch, that trash isn’t even worth calling plagiarism. If I could stomach the embarrassment, Wu Cheng’en himself would be furious enough to leap from his grave wielding two watermelon knives. Let them see what it means to blaze a trail of sparks and lightning, hacking from the South Celestial Gate straight to the eastern road of Penglai..."