Chapter Twenty: Please Call Me the Marketing Master

The next morning, a man from the tooth trade delivered an invitation. It was from the new abbot of Linggu Temple, organizing a literary gathering. The event specifically invited people of status and influence from Jinling City. Ye Wuji, a scholar, was among those invited.

Ye Xiu looked at the invitation on the table. "Father, what kind of literary gathering do you think this is?"

"If the Taoist priest hits me with a cudgel, I wouldn’t doubt he’s trying to harm me; I’d be more inclined to believe there’s something dirty on me," Ye Wuji replied.

Ye Wuji tapped the invitation a few times with his finger, meaningfully. "But when that bald monk sends an invitation, my first thought is—he’s after the money in my pocket!"

"Open it and see for yourself," Ye Xiu said as he unfolded the invitation and burst out laughing. "Father, you guessed right—the bald monk really is after your money!"

The invitation was clear: the theme was “Discussing Heroes Over Wine,” but in reality, it was a charity literary event. Linggu Temple, long neglected and in disrepair, was raising funds to gild its Buddha statues.

As the saying goes, “Poor scholars, rich candidates”—asking a poor scholar to raise funds feels a bit distasteful. Yet, it was also a prime opportunity to gain fame and recognition.

Ye Xiu placed the gold ingots sent by Shen Wanshan and twenty taels of silver before Ye Wuji. "Father, choose one."

"You prodigal son!" Ye Wuji glared fiercely. "Remember this: if you donate money, donate it to the Taoist temple—don’t let that bald monk have a single cent. Shen Wanshan is also invited; with him there, do I really need to spend?"

With that, Ye Wuji opened a chest and took out only three taels of small silver pieces, handing them to Li Weishan.

Ye Wuji was confident. "Weishan, get ready. We're going to accept the invitation."

Seeing his father think this way, Ye Xiu felt relieved—the old man finally appreciated how hard earning money was.

"Father, wait for me!" Ye Xiu rushed into the room, wrote a poem and a ci (a type of lyric poetry), and handed them to Ye Wuji. "Since you don’t trust my poetry, memorize these two pieces."

"Where did you get these?" Ye Wuji asked, puzzled.

"Last night, the mountain god appeared in my dream and passed them to me. Rest assured, there’s no plagiarism."

Ye Wuji’s memory was remarkable; after reading twice, he had them memorized. "If it weren’t for the rigid Confucian style, I wouldn’t be bad at poetry myself."

"Indeed, father’s talent is well known," Ye Xiu said, still a bit uneasy. "Father, are you sure you won’t take two silver ingots with you?"

"No need, no need. The mountain hermit has his own clever plan!" Ye Wuji pressed his lips together. "But those poems of yours—I’d rather not use them if I can help it. They’re too shockingly unconventional."

Ye Wuji donned a long robe he usually reserved for special occasions and fastened his jade pendant. Li Weishan carried a silver-tipped oil-paper umbrella, and the two left Wulong Alley.

The sedan chair bearers had been waiting patiently. They gently pressed down the poles, and the bearers respectfully said, "Master, please take your seat."

Ye Wuji sat in the sedan chair while Li Weishan proudly shouted, "Lift!"

From the appearance to the momentum, it all somewhat looked the part.

Ye Xiu genuinely supported Ye Wuji attending various poetry gatherings. Simply put, it was a way to build reputation.

The higher the status and rank of the event, the faster one’s prestige grew.

The more prestigious the reputation, the greater the advantage during exams.

Literary styles were often fixed; the more famous the writer, the more their style attracted attention.

Examiners could often guess the author just by the writing style.

As long as one had no scandal, even unsigned test papers could receive some leniency from familiar examiners.

Although Ye Wuji had failed the imperial exams four times, he had no bad reputation.

He had spent nearly forty years loafing at home but never done a dishonorable thing.

On the contrary, he often helped fellow scholars and regularly performed acts of charity at the Lonely Garden and the Fortune Field Temple.

If there was any blemish, it was that he never gave the temple a cent during fundraising.

The Ye family was extraordinarily wealthy.

Sometimes Ye Wuji racked his brain trying to squander money, but it was impossible to spend it all. Frustrating, wasn’t it?

At such times, he would donate to Taoist temples—but the bald monk wouldn’t see a single coin.

Moreover, with the good reputation of Ye’s grandfather, if they encountered an examiner who had benefited from the old man’s kindness, it would be an advantage.

After all, no one could fully understand the complicated favors and entanglements of officialdom.

Just as Ye Xiu was lost in thought, Liu, the innkeeper from Jinling, hurried over.

"Master Liu? What brings you here?" Ye Xiu asked, eyeing the flustered man.

Liu wiped sweat from his brow and gulped down a glass of water.

"I spoke to the owner about selling the wine. But he said we need a gimmick to make the Imperial Jade Nectar Wine an instant hit," Liu said, wiping his mouth. "I’ve thought long and hard but can’t come up with anything that can outshine the allure of Wangyou Bai."

"Is that all?" Ye Xiu smiled calmly.

"Isn’t that hard?" Liu’s eyes widened. "Wangyou Bai is tribute wine!"

Ye Xiu was unfazed, as if this were the smallest matter imaginable. "Then find a trusted porcelain workshop to custom-make a batch of ceramic bottles."

"And then?" Liu asked eagerly.

"Rich people love to play the part of the refined, so we connect the fine wine with poetry. Make them feel our wine is worthy of an elegant price," Ye Xiu said leisurely.

"Then, pick three characters at random from whichever page you open in the dictionaries ‘Erya,’ ‘Jiyun,’ or ‘Shuowen Jiezi.’"

"Afterwards, the gimmick is: the characters on the bottle can be used separately or with one or two characters removed. Anyone who collects all the characters forming a poem or song can redeem a free bottle of Imperial Jade Nectar Wine at the Jinling Inn. Depending on the quality of the poem, they enjoy a lifelong discount."

"For official business, you can also get the prefect Huang Boyan to issue an official document stating that anyone who compiles poems or songs will be recorded by the Jinling government and, once a certain number is reached, published and printed."

"Isn’t that losing money just to gain fame?" Liu immediately shook his head.

"A five-character regulated poem has twenty characters; a seven-character quatrain has twenty-eight. What about ci and fu? Even with good luck, they can’t compose a poem after buying just ten bottles."

Ye Xiu rolled his eyes at Liu, frustrated at his lack of vision. "We use the dictionary to randomly pick words. Even if they use the characters separately, it’s still very unlikely to form a poem after ten bottles."

"Still no good," Liu shook his head again. "This obviously sounds like a scam."

"No, this is probability theory!" Ye Xiu stood and went to the study, quickly writing a poem and a ci, then handed them to Liu. "Old Liu, what if someone forms this poem on the third day of sales? And what if we print a line from this ci on each bottle as a special prize?"

In an instant, Liu fell into deep thought.

After a long while, he suddenly opened his eyes and swore loudly, "Damn, this sales plan is freaking brilliant!"

This is the advantage of official business.

Poetry collections issued by the government are recorded in the Jinling Gazetteer—this is political achievement.

Who would give up the chance to be recorded in the Gazetteer and gain fame?

Among the four social classes, merchants are the most looked down upon; they yearn even more to have their name recorded in the local government annals.

"But what if someone fakes the poems using the bottles?" Liu suddenly asked.