"No, no! I simply cannot stand it! I am furious, utterly... utterly furious!"
The Prince of Badong's brows knotted together, his chest heaving as he pointed at Wang Yang, drawing out each "utterly":
"Wang Yang, you are far too brazen! Far too arrogant! Even if death is staring you in the face, you cannot boast like this! Has your Wang family spoiled you rotten? Or have all those 'the Master said' and 'the Odes declare' addled your brain? Have you forgotten who you are? If you say you excel at Confucian scholarship, surely no one would object. If you say you understand Laozi and Zhuangzi, probably no one in this hall would make a peep. Even if you say you are good at wagers and can trap people, though others might disagree, I could still put in a few words for you. But when your boasting knows no bounds, who could bear to listen? Look, even you blushed after saying it!"
Wang Yang frowned in puzzlement:
"Did I?"
The Prince of Badong jabbed his finger repeatedly, lying with his eyes wide open:
"You did, you did! It is plain as day! Don't you all agree?"
After that storm of furious rebukes and abuse, with cries for his beating and death, everyone had now fallen silent, merely glaring at Wang Yang.
Their anger was genuine. Had Wang Yang not belonged to the Langya Wang, and had the Prince of Badong not already given his word, they might well have rushed up and beaten him. As for the prince's almost childish argument over whether his face was red, no one answered. Only Wang Yang responded.
Wang Yang touched his face, faintly flushed with wine, and said uncertainly:
"Perhaps it is the wine..."
The Prince of Badong offered Wang Yang a way down: