Chapter One: The One and Only Kept Man

At the far end of the ten-mile-long avenue stood an ancient, weathered stone bridge. Beneath it, the river flowed ceaselessly, crystal clear, winding its way around the city. Beyond the bridge to the east lay the renowned “Eight Gardens of Smoke and Clouds” within Jiangning Prefecture—“A row of painted towers rises by the water, each home reflecting the beauty of the moon.” Even in these chaotic times, as war rages across the land and barbarian riders storm the Central Plains, this place remains a haven of flourishing splendor, a paradise where scholars and poets of Jiangnan indulge their passions, escape reality, and lose themselves in decadent dreams.

It was the eleventh day of the ninth month in the fifteenth year of Tianbao, under the Tang Dynasty.

This late summer was particularly stifling. Though dusk had fallen, the air was still thick with oppressive heat and humidity, suffocating all who breathed it.

Liu Xinru, the leading songstress of Rose Pavilion, wore delicate makeup and a pale pink, thin, low-cut dress. Her exquisite face shone above her high, fair chest. She leaned languidly against the balustrade of her chamber, gazing down at the emerald river below, where a few black-topped boats drifted by. Her expression was half amusement, half annoyance.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoed—da-da-da! A chestnut horse sped past, its rider a dust-covered soldier bearing a triangular flag. He struck a gong and shouted, “Let all subjects know! The new emperor, Lingwu, has ascended the throne, renaming the era ‘Zhide’!”

Liu Xinru was startled. She looked around—the neighboring windows filled with curious faces, whether finely dressed gentlemen seeking pleasure or scantily-clad courtesans, all wore expressions of bewilderment.

“A new emperor? What of the current Heavenly Son?”

“Good heavens, has An Lushan really seized the vast empire of Tang?”

The crowd whispered in disbelief, but soon someone shouted, “Who cares! Even if it's An Lushan, he can’t reach Jiangning Prefecture. The songs will go on, the music will play, beauties will be embraced—let us enjoy the moment!”

Laughter erupted, windows closed, and the commotion faded. It was clear that for those living comfortably in a peaceful corner, the identity of the emperor, the fate of the dynasty, or whether An Lushan wore the crown mattered little—so long as chaos stayed away. After all, court affairs were far removed from daily life in Jiangnan.

Liu Xinru sighed softly, her mood restless. She twisted her slender waist like a willow in the breeze and returned to her chamber.

She had her own judgments and thoughts. Born to a noble family, Liu Xinru had fallen into the world of courtesans after her family’s decline in childhood. Ten years of training had made her a master in dance, music, poetry, chess, calligraphy, and painting—far superior in talent and learning to the other women of the Eight Gardens.

Ever since the ninth day of the eleventh month last year, when An Lushan, the military governor of Fanyang, Hedong, and Lulong, rose in rebellion against the Tang under the pretext of purging the traitorous minister Yang Guozhong, his armies swept through the empire, capturing Luoyang and Chang’an, trampling the Central Plains, and forcing Emperor Li Longji to flee.

The Tang dynasty stood on the brink of collapse, its end seemingly imminent. After years of peace, few could endure turmoil or face war; even nobles and ministers who lived off imperial stipends despaired—some surrendered, others fled, let alone ordinary citizens.

Naturally, no one held hope for the Tang imperial family. The people of the Central Plains cowered under the barbarian’s iron hooves, lamenting in misery; even in the untouched, secluded Jiangnan, many secretly prepared themselves to change allegiance.

If An Lushan did not invade, so be it; but should he come, traitors would surely spring up throughout Jiangnan. Liu Xinru mused bitterly, her delicate lips curling into a scornful yet sorrowful smile.

Yet deep down, she did not believe that An Lushan, opportunistic and greedy, could truly succeed. The world has long been divided and united, dynasties rise and fall; but An Lushan had neither the fortune nor the strength to command the majestic empire.

It was merely chaos ravaging the heartland.

The emperor had been in flight for half a year. The disaster at Mawei Slope claimed the life of Yang Guifei, the nation’s famed beauty, and annihilated Yang Guozhong’s faction. Though the news arriving in Jiangnan was delayed and distorted, the discerning could see that the crown prince Heng must have orchestrated the upheaval.

Thus, Liu Xinru guessed that after this, even if father and son did not turn against each other at Mawei Slope, they must have parted ways. The emperor fled to Shu, and the crown prince Heng ascended north to Lingwu. Surely, the new emperor proclaimed at Lingwu could be no one else but Heng.

“Miss, look, that Yang family’s freeloading brat is here again—wait, why did he suddenly collapse?” Liu Xinru’s maid Tian’er cried in surprise, standing on tiptoe to peer downstairs.

Liu Xinru, troubled in mind, did not catch what Tian’er was muttering and waved her hand dismissively. “Tian’er, I’m not feeling well today. Close the doors—see no one!”

Tian’er paid no mind to Liu Xinru’s words.

The “Yang family’s freeloading brat” was a youth of sixteen or seventeen, with long arms and a slender waist, fair as powdered jade—a handsome figure, though his pallor betrayed a body worn thin by drink. He had been marching proudly toward Liu Xinru’s chamber, but suddenly his legs buckled and he collapsed on the stairs.

A worried expression flickered across Tian’er’s face. Though she disliked the boy’s daily pestering of her mistress, she was young and soft-hearted, fearing for his well-being. After a moment’s hesitation, she rushed downstairs.

“Hey, you freeloading brat, what’s wrong with you?” Tian’er prodded his arm, and when he did not respond, she moved closer and poked his waist. Still, no reaction.

Tian’er jumped back in fright. If he died on her mistress’s stairs, trouble would surely follow. The Yang family might not care for him, but formally he was still their “unwed son-in-law”—if anything happened, Liu Xinru would not escape blame.

She was about to call for the steward and the servants when the youth, half slumped against the stair railing, suddenly opened his eyes. He stared in a daze at Tian’er’s undeveloped chest, making her blush fiercely, flustered and angry, so that she retreated abruptly and plopped onto the steps.

She suddenly remembered that this freeloading brat was nothing to fear. Though he was said to possess great strength and had learned some swordplay from wandering heroes of the west, under the bright sky he would never dare lay a hand on a girl. Emboldened, she sat there and glared up at him, her youthful gaze feigning ferocity: if he tried anything improper, she’d kick him where it hurt—yes, hard!

The two stared at each other in silence.

After a long while, the youth frowned, slowly stood, dusted off his ornate robes, and left without another glance at Tian’er. Soon, he rounded Liu Xinru’s chamber and walked along the river, disappearing from sight.

How odd, Tian’er thought, wrinkling her delicate nose. Normally, the Yang family’s freeloading brat would pester for half a day, never leaving without seeing Liu Xinru. Why was he so different today, silent and gone so quickly?

Tian’er tilted her head in thought, but could make no sense of it, so she gave up. After all, he was only a freeloading brat—the only one in Jiangning Prefecture, infamous and unimportant.

Let him go, let him go—better if he never returns, sparing her mistress any more annoyance!

Of course, Tian’er knew well that the “Yang family’s freeloading brat” was not actually surnamed Yang, but Kong—yes, the very Kong of Confucius.

His name was Kong Sheng. Born into an official family and descended from the great Tang scholar Kong Yingda, he was the thirty-sixth generation of Confucius. The Kong family had been a renowned lineage, scholars for generations. His grandfather, Kong An, served as Assistant Minister of Revenue; his father, Kong Lin, rose to Prefect of Luoyang. After Kong Lin died young, his branch of the family moved south and quickly declined, their fortune spent and prospects lost.

Who would have thought that the Kong family, heirs to the Sage, would produce a scapegrace like Kong Sheng—uninterested in literature or upholding the family legacy, instead passionate about martial arts and swordplay, wild in nature, frequenting brothels and stirring trouble.

Kong Lin and Yang Qi, the Prefect of Jiangnan East Circuit, were close friends, and their families had arranged a betrothal in childhood. But Kong Lin could never have imagined his son would grow so unruly. While Kong Sheng’s mother lived, he was somewhat restrained; after her illness and death last year, Kong Sheng was left to his own devices, growing into a crooked tree, a constant irritation to all who saw him.