Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 371: A Toast
“Expressing ‘thanks’ is far too easy. Surely, as the newly crowned top scholar, you wouldn’t neglect to offer a toast to honor Lord Yan, would you?”
The moment Zhu Ping’an’s words fell, Luo Longwen, seated at the lower end of the table beneath Yan Shifan, arched an eyebrow and gave him a sly, almost poisonous smile, his voice low and mocking as he asked.
“Your words, Lord Luo, are most correct,” Zhu Ping’an replied with a nod and a gentle smile. He filled a cup of wine for himself, then rose from the table, carrying the cup in both hands as he approached Yan Shifan. Bowing slightly, he offered the wine with utmost respect. “Since my arrival in the capital, I have been the frequent recipient of your guidance and care, Lord Yan. I am truly grateful. Today, I seize this opportunity to express my sincere thanks to you.”
“You flatter me too much, young master. It was nothing but a small favor,” Yan Shifan said, smiling as he shook his head. Without warning, he reached out with his greasy, heavy hands and slapped Zhu Ping’an twice on the shoulders.
In an instant, Zhu Ping’an’s brand-new scholar’s ceremonial robe—his gleaming crown of the top scholar still perched proudly—was marred with two glaringly oily handprints that even caught the sunlight and gleamed.
Yet Zhu Ping’an appeared as though blind; he ignored the stains completely, his face radiating the same unfeigned gratitude.
“Lord Yan, your small favor has raised me to the heights of the scholar’s path. How could I ever forget it? My deepest thanks, Lord Yan,” Zhu Ping’an said, lifting his cup in both hands. His posture was respectful, almost reverent, his gratitude seemingly sincere—but inwardly, he silently offered a sly nod to Lord Yan’s female relatives.
Zhu Ping’an’s tact did not escape Yan Shifan’s notice, and the older man was visibly pleased. With another pair of greasy pats to Zhu Ping’an’s shoulders, he grabbed a cup of wine. Beside him, Luo Longwen eagerly refilled it.
Yan Shifan lifted the cup with one hand, swung it faintly toward Zhu Ping’an, and downed it in one gulp. Zhu Ping’an, holding his cup with both hands, mirrored the gesture in his direction before drinking as well.
After the toast, Zhu Ping’an returned to his seat with the four greasy handprints decorating his shoulders, wearing the same cheerful, unflappable grin as before.
Luo Longwen, observing this, muttered silently in disappointment. He had hoped to see Zhu Ping’an flinch or fume at his soiled ceremonial robe, ready to exploit that moment—but Zhu Ping’an had been utterly impervious, as if blind to the insult.
However, Luo Longwen was nothing if not adaptable. When one angle failed, he moved to another.
“Speaking of the Scholar’s Hall,” Luo Longwen said, his voice dripping venom as he slithered like a snake, tongue flicking as he spoke, “on the day of the send-off for the top scholar, I and Lord Shang were also present. I even offered some—perhaps premature—advice to the scholar. Yet now, why does the top scholar only offer a toast to Lord Yan and not to me or Lord Shang?”
Finally, Luo Longwen’s true colors emerged. That overly cordial persona at the Scholar’s Hall had been nothing but a facade.
Seeing the man’s intent—to force Zhu Ping’an into drunken submission—Zhu Ping’an could only think wryly: In this world, every favor comes due sooner or later. He had dodged a fair share of wine at the grand banquet; it seemed he could not do the same at this minor one.
The first round of toasts was unavoidable at any table, ancient or modern. If one could not evade it, it was better to face it directly—perhaps even drink a little less than expected.
“How could it be otherwise? The cup is empty. Allow Ping’an to refill it before toasting each of you in turn,” Zhu Ping’an replied with a faint, disarming smile.
And so, with one hand holding the wine jug and the other the cup, Zhu Ping’an began offering wine to each guest, starting from the right of Yan Shifan, moving methodically.
The ritual was as formal as ever: names, greetings, pouring, holding the cup in both hands, the customary words of respect—“I humbly ask for your continued guidance”—all that ceremonial chatter which, in its essence, was not so different from today. One notable difference: in the old times, clinking cups during a toast was considered improper.
When he reached Shen Lian, Shen Lian met Zhu Ping’an’s gaze and smiled.
“Zhu Ping’an, Zhu Zi-hou, at last I know your name. During the dispute over the coin purse on Renning Street, it was thanks to your forthright words that the truth came out. Otherwise, punishing that rogue would not have been so easy,” Shen Lian said.
“Heh, Lord Shen, you jest. Even without my words, I am certain you would have found a way to punish that scoundrel,” Zhu Ping’an replied modestly.
Hearing Shen Lian address him as “little brother,” Zhu Ping’an felt a flicker of pride. This was a man renowned in history: upright, fearless in condemning evil, a challenger of Yan Song, and the author of the famous Ten Memorials of Censure. Zhu Ping’an had long admired him.
Yet recalling their first meeting in the small eatery—Shen Lian, drunk, brazenly berating Yan Song, and the events that followed—Zhu Ping’an realized that while Shen Lian’s righteousness was absolute, he could be inflexible, and his hatred of evil carried a tinge of arrogance. He had admired the man but also silently worried for him.
Now, as he prepared to toast, Zhu Ping’an resolved that after the Ministry of Rites’ training, he would find a chance to discreetly warn Shen Lian: the emperor was favoring Yan Song at this time. This was not yet the moment to submit the Ten Memorials of Censure. Some phrases, if misused, would not only fail to topple Yan Song but might also provoke the capricious Emperor Jiajing. Historically, Shen Lian had suffered greatly for acting too soon.
“To this day, I still find myself in agreement with the Child Prodigy Poems you composed at the eatery, Lord Shen,” Zhu Ping’an added subtly, ensuring Shen Lian felt he could trust him.
Shen Lian was momentarily taken aback, then recalled the two impromptu poems he had composed that day:
When young, do not halt your learning; wealth can establish a man;
Observe Chancellor Yan, he values only the wealthy.
The emperor treasures men of true talent; through literature, one may instruct the court;
All else is inferior, save for the service of Lord Yan.
Both verses mocked Yan Song cleverly. Zhu Ping’an’s praise implied he fully appreciated Shen Lian’s wit and subtly revealed his own distaste for Yan Song.
“Little brother, a scholar of your caliber must surely have your own fine works. If you do not mind, perhaps one day you may come to my humble study, and we may exchange ideas together,” Shen Lian said, catching Zhu Ping’an’s hint with a smile.