Blessed with Heirs: My Harem Made Me Invincible

Chapter 7 A Poem Worth Eighty Silver Taels

The Confucian Order's academy had assigned the venerable Great Confucian Scholar Doak as today's presiding scholar.

When the student on duty at the Word-Carving Ink Studio reported a poem had achieved province-shaking resonance, the old scholar's hands trembled with excitement. He hurried across the courtyard with uncharacteristic haste, outpacing even the messenger.

Such literary brilliance would scarcely warrant notice in Lorethyll—the ancestral seat of Confucian learning—or the culturally vibrant Crane Prefecture. Even in the Astrathrone Dynasty's capital, it would merit little more than polite acknowledgment.

But here in Astramere? This merchant port often mocked as "the land where literary spirit withers"? A poem stirring the realm might as well be jade found in a fish market. No wonder the scholar's composure faltered.

Astramere's intellectual decline stemmed not from poverty, but paradoxically from overflowing merchant wealth. While poorer regions lacked education funds, this port city's curse was its prosperity.

As the dynasty's premier trade hub, its docks generated wealth as constant as the tides. Fisheries, salt pans, cinnabar mines, cosmetics, silkworms, and porcelain compounded its riches.

Wealth bred indulgence. Soon the city boasted thirty-six brothels and seventy-two pleasure houses—a renowned pleasure district that drew visitors from across the realm.

Here, even humble vendors prospered. Why waste years memorizing ancient texts when one could master commerce and amass fortunes while young?

While nobles elsewhere prized imperial examinations, Astramere's youth cared only for the art of commerce. The brightest minds became merchants rather than scholars, leaving the local academy's standards lagging conspicuously behind the dynasty's average.

Arriving breathless at the studio, Doak's eyes locked onto the parchment glowing with golden aura. Seizing it, he studied the verses intently.

"Magnificent," he said. "Truly... wait, you are—?"

"Ethan Lockwood," the young man bowed. "Newly arrived envoy from Stellar Ascent Sect. I merely visited the academy today when... the verses came to me unbidden."

"A Stellar Ascent cultivator?" Doak's shoulders slumped. "Such talents that might have flourished in our halls! Why must the finest minds always elude our grasp?"

Ethan inclined his head. "Pardon, but are you the head scholar here?"

"Ah! My apologies for the impropriety. I am Doak, the presiding Great Confucian Scholar at the academy today," Elder Doak said with a courteous bow toward Ethan.

Ethan hastily returned the gesture before inquiring, "The gentleman who was here earlier mentioned that any poetry achieving County-level brilliance or higher would be purchased by the Confucian Order. Is this true?"

"Absolutely!" Elder Doak confirmed.

"Then may I ask," Ethan continued eagerly, "how much might this poem of mine fetch?"

The blunt question made Elder Doak mutter inwardly: "Must everything in this damned Astramere City reek of coin? Is there no room left for refinement?"

Yet despite his internal disdain, the elder recognized rare talent. After carefully reviewing the gilded manuscript again, he pronounced authoritatively: "The Confucian Academy shall purchase this work for eighty-three taels of silver."

Ethan's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. Though he'd casually spent thousands at Silk Whisper earlier, that was the Stellar Ascent Vineyard's wealth, not his personal fortune. Without substantial income, he'd soon be selling his cultivation resources.

Eighty-three taels for a single poem! This forced him to reconsider the Confucian Order's financial might—they clearly rivaled even the Stellar Ascent Sect. In Astramere City, where common households considered six taels annual savings prosperous, these earnings felt astronomical.

With barely concealed enthusiasm, Ethan accepted eight ten-tael notes and three silver pieces. "Elder Doak," he ventured, "might I return to Word-Carving Ink Studio with future compositions?"

"By all means!" the elder exclaimed. "The more brilliant works you produce, the better! Our acquisition standards remain transparent."

"I've no concerns about payment," Ethan clarified awkwardly. "I merely worry whether earning so substantially might be... improper?"

Elder Doak waved dismissively. "Nonsense! We've no shortage of material wealth. What we value is cultivated literary energy. Should you consistently produce radiant verses, we'd appoint you as an academy instructor!"

"I'll... consider that," Ethan demurred. "For now, I take my leave to contemplate further creations."

And so, beneath the astonished gazes of gathered scholars, Ethan departed the academy halls, his robes weighted with silver and promise.

Leaving the Confucian academy grounds, Ethan Lockwood was about to head home when an idea hit him. He immediately changed direction and made a beeline for the Stellar Ascent Vineyard.

The general manager Theodore arched a brow at Ethan's second appearance that day. "You again? What brings you back?"

Still slightly winded, Ethan rushed out, "Manager, I've got a quick question! You mentioned before that if I started my own business, I'd owe the sect a ten percent stake. But what if I'm just earning income through writing—getting paid for my work? Would I still need to contribute a portion to the sect?"

"Getting paid for writing?" Theodore frowned.

Ethan grinned, his face lighting up. "Haven't you heard? At the Confucian academy's Word-Carving Ink Studio! I wrote one poem today and they paid me eighty-three taels of silver. Talk about easy money! I'm thinking of going there regularly to earn this way."

A long pause. Then—"You earned from the Ink Studio? Eighty-three taels?" Theodore's eyes widened. "You didn't actually compose a Valecross-level poem?!"