Chapter 28 — A New Visitor
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 4
Edmund Morn left wearing a smile, and it seemed this negotiation had gone quite satisfactorily for him—save that the prince had politely declined Gao Yang's invitation to stay for dinner, saying he must return to Silverhold as quickly as possible, where the old king was still waiting for his good news.
Only after Edmund had gone did Rebecca speak her appraisal: "He seemed a very amiable sort. I'd thought a crown prince would be terribly hard to get along with, all court etiquette and whatnot..."
"That's because what he faced was an elder seven hundred years his senior, not some down-at-heel frontier viscount," Gao Yang shot her a glance. "You think what he showed here is how he acts day to day? Quite the opposite—it's precisely because his behavior just now almost perfectly matched my own habits of exchange that I'm certain he came thoroughly prepared."
Rebecca: "Huh?"
Gao Yang thought for a moment, then explained: "The so-called art of negotiation—when you boil down all the theories, it amounts to nothing more than speaking the right words to the right person. He came at first as a prince paying a call on a 'noble patriarch' of exceedingly high seniority, displaying just the right measure of courtesy and mature composure. Then he noticed my manner of speech and my attitude, and at once he became relaxed and humorous himself—which made me all the more willing to talk with him at length. That is a formidable skill."
Rebecca scratched at her hair: "...Eh?"
Gao Yang sighed. "...Just go study the four ways of shaping a fireball."
However single-tracked Rebecca's mind might be, even she could feel Gao Yang's profound exasperation now, and she grew a little nervous: "Patriarch, am I... a bit too stupid at this sort of thing?"
"Everyone has their strengths; your talent simply doesn't lie here, so don't force it," Gao Yang patted her on the head (being tall meant he could do as he pleased). "And honestly, I'm not fond of these scheming tricks either. I prefer the old style—a band of people with life and death cast to the winds, heads down, carving a path through the wilderness by sheer brute force..."
Rebecca nodded, half comprehending, then asked curiously: "Oh, right, Patriarch—was everything you said just now true?"
Gao Yang: "What are you referring to?"
Rebecca asked very seriously: "Did you really give a single red wine more than thirty names, and give each name its own sonnet?"
Gao Yang sighed. "Of course it's true."
"That sounds amazing!"
"But the truth is it was because we were poor—because back then the expedition hadn't even reached the Holy Spirit Plains, and before we found a grain-producing region, just filling our bellies was a struggle. We gave one wine more than thirty names because at the time we had only one wine, and it was the last barrel. We gave it sonnets because beyond that there was simply no other entertainment. So you should understand: the elaborate etiquette and rules of the nobility are either the idleness of the overfed or the pent-up frustration of the starving. At bottom, they're all utterly tedious stuff."
Rebecca's eyes sparkled. She felt she had gained a great deal of extraordinary knowledge—things Aunt Hedy would never have taught her!
Just then the room's window was suddenly pushed open, and Amber leaped in from outside. She flung herself into a chair, swinging her legs as she teased Gao Yang: "You're quite the interesting old fellow, aren't you! Just for what you said a moment ago, my opinion of you now surpasses that of every noble I know!"
"Stop calling me old fellow, I'm in the prime of life!" Gao Yang glared at Amber. "And weren't you told to patrol outside? Slipping in—is this you slacking off?"