Fine Writing Comes Naturally, Captured by a Master's Hand

As soon as those poems were presented, everyone in the hall was immersed in shock, unable to tear themselves away from the realms conjured by their words.

They simply sat there in a daze. All the poetry and prose they had studied, memorized, and written over the years seemed eclipsed by the clear radiance of those verses, never to raise their heads again.

Even Mr. Xun, the elders accompanying him from Jixia Academy, and the masters of White Horse Academy could not utter a single word of appraisal. Only one thought remained in their minds: such writing truly existed in this world.

When they looked again at the young man on the platform who had written those poems destined to be passed down through the ages, a chill ran down their spines.

"... So poetry can reach such heights. Everything I read before was like gazing at the sky from the bottom of a well."

"Only after hearing these works do I understand that even if we spent our entire lives honing our craft, we could scarcely hope to see his back."

"One person, someone so young, actually wrote... wait! What is he doing now? Why is he standing in front of the ci poet? Is he really going to challenge them one after another?"

Only now did everyone seem to realize something.

That person had boasted earlier that he would challenge all four, and that in every category he could produce a work that surpassed the scholar guarding that station, leaving them too afraid even to comment.

He had now proved himself in poetry. As for ci...

The ci poet looked at Shen Anxin, who was preparing to pick up her brush, and screamed inwardly, No! Impossible! It's hard enough for one person to specialize in a single field. How could he possibly master ci as well...

Shen Anxin put brush to paper. Every character she wrote seemed to strike the ci poet's chest like a heavy hammer.

Xiao Yanchen had recovered from his earlier shock. Seeing Shen Anxin writing again, he hurried forward and began to read for her. "The great river flows east, its waves sweeping away all the heroes of the ages..."

Xiao Yanchen drew a sharp breath. What magnificent ci! The opening alone carried an air that surveyed past and present and swallowed mountains and rivers whole,

as though he could see the long river of history flowing past and the deeds left behind by countless heroes.

Everyone below the platform had already risen to their feet. That line alone seemed to have settled the outcome.

But soon, everyone noticed something was wrong. Why... had she stopped writing?

Shen Anxin stood rigid, her brush suspended above the paper.

Seeing this, the ci poet finally released the breath that had caught in his throat at the words "the great river." Then he saw Shen Anxin cross out that majestic opening line, and his face twisted with excitement.

"What's wrong? Have you forgotten, Lord Shen?" The ci poet was implying that Shen Anxin had memorized her works rather than written them herself, and had now forgotten the words.

Although they were indeed not her own, Shen Anxin was copying directly from the system panel, so naturally she could not forget them.

Shen Anxin rotated her wrist. "What's the rush? I was afraid that if I wrote something too good, I'd shatter your Dao heart too, so I thought I'd switch to something gentler. And you don't even know what's good for you."

Chacha: [Host, what's wrong?]

Shen Anxin: [There's some debate over which ci is the greatest of all time, but this one is among the top contenders. I only just realized the rest would be hard to copy, though. It's full of historical figures and allusions. This isn't just mountains and rivers; there's no way I could talk my way around it. I'll pick another.]

The mind-voice members, who had been worried something had gone wrong, immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

Everyone else waited anxiously. They did not believe Shen Anxin would be kind enough to go easy on her opponent with such a wager at stake. Perhaps she really could not produce ci so exquisite that no one dared comment, and was looking for a way to save face.

But in the next moment, Shen Anxin began to write again.

This time, she did not pause.

Shen Anxin: [The best ci poet among emperors. The highest-ranking person among ci poets.]

Hearing that introduction, the mind-voice members were instantly itching with curiosity.

What? An emperor? Ci written by an emperor? Could it really crush masters who had devoted themselves to studying poetry and ci?

But as Xiao Yanchen read the words aloud, everyone felt their heads buzzing.

"When will the spring flowers and autumn moon come to an end? How much of the past remains... just like a river of spring water flowing east."

In a daze, everyone was pulled into another world by a vast and desolate sorrow. Together, they stood atop that little tower, watching the east wind stir the moonlight as they gazed toward a lost homeland a thousand li away.

Memories of home and country, the swift changes wrought by passing years, and every kind of sorrow flowed on endlessly with the river.

The younger listeners felt a sense of sorrow rise in their hearts.

As for the older ones... among the crowd were white-haired elders who might have been great scholars or old scholars who had failed the examinations time and again. Some were from Jixia Academy, while others were from Great Qi. They all had one thing in common: they were very, very old.

Yet they still vaguely remembered often hearing their elders speak longingly of Great Xia when they were children.

Great Xia was gone. Now only Great Qi and Southern Xia remained.

Their homeland was gone!

In an instant, overwhelming grief made the old men cover their faces and weep, utterly unable to control themselves.

The ci was not long, but every word shook the heart.

Xiao Yanchen remained silent for a long time after finishing. He looked at Shen Anxin. Whether she had meant it or not, this ci was more fitting for the people of Southern Xia to see now than that earlier opening!

Emperor Hongyao closed his eyes briefly on the dragon throne. As the ruler of Great Qi, his feelings on the matter were particularly different.

He seemed to understand that the emperor who had written this timeless ci had likely met an end in which his homeland fell and his realm passed into another's hands.

And his Great Qi would never perish in its second generation!

The ci poet stared blankly at what Shen Anxin had written. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his face grew paler by the inch.

"Well? Would you like to comment?"

The ci poet's eyes widened almost to bursting. Comment, my ass! Am I qualified? I'm not even qualified to appreciate it!

Shen Anxin: [What's with that expression? Is he unconvinced? I haven't finished writing Master Su's ci yet. If the allusions are too hard to write, I still have the greatest Mid-Autumn ci, "Prelude to Water Melody: When Will the Bright Moon Appear?"]

Mind-voice members: There's more? We want to see it!!!! Hey! You, the ci poet, hurry up and say you're unconvinced!

Chacha: [He doesn't seem unconvinced. He seems frozen.]

Shen Anxin frowned. "Hey? Well? Give me an answer."

The ci poet abruptly came to his senses and bent trembling into a ninety-degree bow. "I'm not qualified to judge it. I'm a frog at the bottom of a well! Seeing this ci, I'm like a mayfly looking up at the vast sky!"

With that, the ci poet turned and hurried away. He looked as though he were fleeing, as if terrified that Shen Anxin might casually produce another ci capable of shattering his Dao heart.

Mind-voice members: Don't run! Hold out for one more round! Why are you such a coward? Miss this village, and you might never find another inn!

Before long, the ci poet was nowhere to be seen.

The two scholars left guarding their stations on the platform were trembling, and both looked toward Mr. Xun.

Mr. Xun had been unable to remain standing since that ci appeared. Had the minister of rites of Southern Xia not supported him, he would probably have been lying on the ground by now.

In truth, once such poetry and ci had appeared, Shen Anxin's "fame" was beyond doubt.

After today, Shen Anlan's great name would surely spread across the continent, shattering the hearts of countless conceited scholars from afar.

But today's contest was no longer just a literary gathering. It was a wager concerning the future standing of Jixia Academy.

Mr. Xun had no way back. He could only close his eyes and keep gambling: gambling that Shen Anxin was not skilled in all four fields, that in at least one, even if her standard was the same, she would be unable to surpass the effect of her previous works, and perhaps then they could brazenly criticize her.

Songs in particular-"Bring in the Wine" could actually have been counted as a song, but she had used it for poetry and could not use it again.

Mr. Xun refused to believe that Shen Anxin could produce another immortal-grade work that could be set to music and sung.

Seeing that Mr. Xun made no move, the song scholar could only steel himself and look at Shen Anxin as she approached.

The moment he saw her face, the song scholar nearly broke down.

That handsome face seemed to have a sentence written across it: Heh heh, your daddy's here!

Song scholar: Boo-hoo-hoo, can I really hope for a miracle against someone who could write "Bring in the Wine"?

Shen Anxin: [I can't use "Bring in the Wine," so what about "Song of Everlasting Sorrow" or "The Song of the Pipa Player"... oh! This one's good. The Poetry Sage Du Fu's "Song of My Thatched Roof Torn Apart by the Autumn Wind" may not be the greatest of all time, but one line is especially suited to the occasion!]

Once again, Shen Anxin wrote while Xiao Yanchen recited.

"In the high autumn of the eighth month, fierce winds howled, sweeping three layers of thatch from my roof..."

Everyone pondered the words. They seemed... less astonishing than the earlier works.

The opening simply described the wind striking the poet's home and the leaking roof that kept him from sleep. The language was plain, with no startling lines. In both literary brilliance and artistic conception, it could not compare with the earlier works.

As Xiao Yanchen continued reading, he suddenly froze.

The song scholar, who stood closest, had been watching with shining eyes, seemingly glimpsing hope. He had even decided how he would criticize it.

But once he saw clearly what Shen Anxin had written,

he froze on the spot, the blood throughout his body seeming to flow backward.

Those in the hall who could not see could only rise anxiously onto their toes and crane their necks.

"What happened? Your Highness, why have you stopped reading?"

"Is it finished? Was it ordinary as a whole? Does His Highness think we're going to lose?"

"But the song scholar's expression doesn't look right!"

As they spoke, the song scholar's legs suddenly gave way, and he dropped straight to his knees. It was not that he wanted to kneel; his legs had gone weak.

Mr. Xun, the minister of rites, and the head of White Horse Academy rushed forward.

The head of White Horse Academy took one look and staggered back several steps.

"Oh, for ten million spacious houses to shelter all the poor scholars of the world and bring smiles to their faces! Unshaken by wind and rain, secure as mountains! Alas! When will such houses rise before my eyes? Then, though my hut alone be ruined and I freeze to death, I would be content!"

The final lines leaped beyond personal hardship, their scope soaring into the heavens and lifting the entire work to the foremost rank of timeless masterpieces.

In an instant, every impoverished student and scholar present who did not come from a great clan trembled all over, as though their very souls had been soothed.

Some even came to their senses and began frantically recalling what had come before.

"It wasn't simply plain and direct, or an ordinary description of daily life. It was laying the groundwork!"

"Only after first describing in detail the torment of being drenched on a cold night could that final sentiment be something other than empty grandstanding."

"Yes. Without the personal hardship that came first, crying out from nowhere about wishing to shelter poor scholars would have been hollow words."

"Only after tasting the full measure of his own suffering could he feel compassion for all living beings. The beginning and end are one, inseparable. We were narrow-minded. I actually just..."

"Judge it? How could we? How could ordinary mortals like us presume to judge such a state of mind and such breadth of spirit?"

Another wave of excitement nearly swept through the audience, bordering on frenzy. Some even began leading cries of Shen Anlan's name.

The surge of emotion sent blood rushing to Mr. Xun's throat, and he nearly spat it out. He stared at Shen Anxin in horror. How could someone with such a young face possess such literary skill?

But he could voice no doubts. If someone really were helping Shen Anxin cheat from behind the scenes, they could only be an immortal—and a whole group of different immortals at that!

After all, it was utterly impossible for gifted geniuses to conceal so many immortal-grade works!

Mr. Xun watched Shen Anxin in horrified, helpless bewilderment as she walked toward the final table.

The fu scholar's face had already gone pale. He wanted to run, truly wanted to run, and even wanted to cry for help.

But when he looked up, he saw that Shen Anxin's expression was not quite right. She seemed a little guilty.

Fu scholar: *????*

What's wrong with him? Everyone down there is shouting his name. Why does he look so troubled?

Surely he can't have been like a banished immortal in the first three categories, only to fail at the last?

Impossible! It must be a ploy to deceive me, so he can turn things around and slap me in the face.

I won't fall for it!

In any case, the first three had all lost. If they had simply lost after an even exchange, he would still have felt pressure at this final station, knowing that his defeat would mean losing the wager completely. But the first three had been utterly and mercilessly crushed. If he lost here, probably no one would even care.

Judging by the crowd's reaction, no one cared about victory or defeat anymore. They just wanted to see what other timeless masterpiece the person before them could produce.

Forget it. He gave up struggling too. He would just watch Shen Anxin write.

The final category was fu.

Shen Anxin began to agonize over her choice again.

Shen Anxin: [Which fu should I choose? Our ancestors were so amazing that it's a problem in itself... all right, he really is the one who should bring up the finale. After all, if the world's talent amounted to one measure, Cao Zijian alone had eight-tenths of it.]

The moment she said that, the mind-voice members' minds exploded.

Listen to yourself! Are those the words of a human being?

The earlier works were already beyond comparison even if all the literary talent in the world were gathered together, and now she had come out with "eight-tenths of all talent"? Although they were in different fields and hard to compare.

Even so, that assessment alone was astonishing enough. What kind of fu could earn such praise?

The fu was long in its entirety. As Shen Anxin wrote, she grumbled that she only wanted to write the few most famous lines.

But as the words poured from Xiao Yanchen's lips, who could still hear Shen Anxin's little complaints?

Everyone wished they could enshrine every single word.

What did it mean to be "graceful as a startled swan, supple as a swimming dragon"?

"She seemed like light clouds veiling the moon, drifting like whirling snow upon the wind." What kind of beauty was that?

"With light steps she skimmed the waves, dust rising beneath her silken stockings." Could one really write like that?

Shock, profound shock. Everyone forgot to breathe, as though a goddess had truly descended before their eyes.

Were the beauties everyone had written about before nothing but common powder and rouge?

To write such a fu went beyond mere talent. It was almost... even those who had read widely now felt unqualified to offer a single word of praise.

A great scholar in the crowd who specialized in fu took the Rhapsody on the Goddess of the Luo River that his disciple had recorded, his hands trembling.

"I swear here and now to devote the rest of my life to studying this fu. If I do not finish annotating it, I shall not rest in peace!"

The fu scholar was calm by comparison and accepted it quickly, but he snapped his own brush in two. It meant that he did not intend to write fu again for the rest of his life.

Everyone remained caught in the lingering aftershocks, unable to come to themselves.

Xiao Yanchen stood nearby, watching Shen Anxin rub her wrist, tired from writing. His feelings were complicated.

What kind of world had she once lived in? It must have been a wonderful world to possess such brilliant and splendid writing.

Would she want to go back?

Xiao Yanchen's mood sank beyond his control, until he heard Shen Anxin chatting with Chacha.

Chacha: [You successfully showed off in front of everyone. Wasn't what you exchanged for worth it, Host? Didn't that feel great?]

Shen Anxin: [It did feel great, but I also have this vague feeling that a nightmare is coming.]

Chacha: [Huh? Why?]

Shen Anxin: [Chacha, you don't understand. Of course we're proud when we talk about ancient poetry and ci now, but back when we were in school, memorizing their poems turned heaven and earth upside down and made us wish we were dead! We often clutched our language textbooks and asked the heavens, "Why did we have so many talented ancestors?!!!!!"]

Chacha: [...]

Mind-voice members: No! Your troubles are beyond us. We don't understand!!!!!!

Xiao Yanchen was taken aback. He nearly burst out laughing, then hurriedly coughed to conceal his feelings and attend to business.

He walked up to Mr. Xun and the minister of rites. "Mr. Xun, Great Qi has won this round. I hope you will honor the wager as soon as possible."

Only then did the people of Jixia Academy finally realize what had happened.

They were finished.

They had lost, disgracefully and completely.

This contest had dealt them a crippling blow. From now on, whenever people thought of poetry, ci, songs, and fu, all they would think of was Great Qi's third-ranked scholar, Shen Anlan. No one would remember Jixia Academy's four great scholars anymore.

The sacred status of Jixia Academy would vanish from this day forward.

They would no longer be the place all scholars under heaven longed to join.

The books that formed the foundation of their standing were about to be copied and taken away, and their talents were about to be bound by ten-year indentures.

Everyone from Jixia Academy, and even those from the Southern Xia delegation who had come to watch the spectacle, belatedly found it impossible to accept.

Perhaps from the very beginning, they had been absolutely certain they would not lose.

And now it was time to face reality.

But some people seemed to have already collapsed under the blow.

Mr. Xun ignored Xiao Yanchen and charged straight at Shen Anxin. "Impossible! How could one person possess so many talents, write in such wildly different styles, and produce so many immortal masterpieces in such a short time? I don't believe it! This must be fake! These absolutely aren't your works! There's definitely something wrong here! Tell me! Tell me!"

Xiao Yanchen rushed forward to stop him, and the Brocade Guards drew their blades and stepped in to block him as well.

"Fraud! Fraud! He's a fraud!" Mr. Xun screamed wildly. Deep down, he knew these works couldn't have been written by anyone else, but he simply couldn't accept it.

"Don't mind him," Xiao Yanchen hurriedly reassured Shen Anxin, afraid it would weigh on her mind. After all, it was for Great Qi that Shen Anxin had been forced to come forward as a literary plagiarist.

Shen Anxin thought for a moment, then stepped forward. "Fine writing is formed by heaven itself; a gifted hand chances upon it. What I wrote indeed can't be called mine, but rather..."

Shen Anxin pointed at the sky and smiled faintly.