A Name to Be Remembered by Posterity
Zhou Tong finished copying in no time. Seeing that the steward and page were in front and no one was paying attention to him, he chuckled and quickly stuffed the manuscript back into his pocket. His smug little pride was written all over his face.
Xu Mo glanced at him closely, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly for a moment before relaxing, leaving only a look of helplessness on his face. His friend had always disliked reading but loved joining in the excitement of literary gatherings, always requiring him to prepare his manuscript in advance.
He was being opportunistic, but he didn't bother anyone else. He just wanted the prestige of getting into the park. I tried to persuade him several times, but he wouldn't listen. In the end, I could only let him be. I felt it was somewhat disgraceful to our culture, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Su Yan, on the other side, also put down her brush, gently blew away the excess ink, and placed the scroll neatly on the corner of her desk.
He glanced at the three people sitting next to him, realizing he was the last one, so he shook his head slightly, closed his eyes, and waited for the papers to be collected.
A moment later, the steward came with two pageboys to collect the scrolls. The thirty scrolls were collected, stacked, and taken directly to the main table outside the shed.
The crowd walked out of the examination hall one by one and waited in an open hall on the side. Cool tea and porcelain bowls were prepared in the corner of the hall for them to help themselves. They gathered in twos and threes, discussing the verses of their respective answers in hushed tones.
Behind the main table sat three elderly gentlemen. The one in the middle, Old Master Zhang, was a well-known veteran scholar from the provincial capital. He had served as an instructor at the prefectural school in his early years. After retiring, he often came to preside over such literary gatherings and evaluations, and his eyes were the most discerning.
After a morning of reviewing them, very few were up to standard. He glanced at most of the poems and tossed them into the pile of unacceptable papers, his brow furrowed the entire time.
He casually picked up another scroll, his gaze first falling on the title "Autumn Mountain Journey" at the beginning, then scanning the handwriting, and he couldn't help but frown slightly—although the characters were well-structured, several characters were written in a simplified manner, with many strokes omitted, unlike the proper regular script style, as if it had been simplified for the sake of speed.
He initially intended to move it to the side, but hesitated for a moment before continuing to read the text.
After reading only two lines, his tense expression eased somewhat. When he reached the line "Frosty leaves are redder than February flowers," he suddenly slammed his hand on the table and exclaimed loudly, "Wonderful! Absolutely a superb poem!"
The sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet shed, and both elderly gentlemen on either side were startled.
They spent the whole morning looking at the exam papers, Juren Zhang would at most nod and say "acceptable." They had never seen Old Zhang lose his composure like this before.
Elder Wang on the left immediately leaned over and asked in surprise, "What poem could possibly make you slam your fist on the table like that?"
Old Master Zhang didn't answer, but gently pushed the paper towards the center of the table, his fingertips tapping the surface, his tone still carrying a hint of reminiscence:
"You can judge for yourselves."
Elder Wang reached out and picked up the paper, reading it word by word. His eyes grew brighter with each reading, and by the end, he had stood up, stroking his white beard and nodding repeatedly.
"What a beautiful line! The frost-covered leaves are redder than the flowers of February! Using the beauty of spring blossoms to describe the splendor of autumn leaves, it avoids any trace of the stale melancholy of autumn. Instead, it paints the autumn mountains bright and vibrant. In just twenty-eight characters, both the scenery and the sentiment come alive."
Elder Li on the right also went around to the table, looked at the paper carefully again, and after a long while, clapped his hands and said:
"Wait, let me savor it a little longer. This poem seems simple, but every word is like a painting, clear and elegant, without the slightest trace of artifice. It's rare, truly rare."
Old Master Zhang lightly tapped the few simplified characters with his fingertip and smiled:
"The calligraphy is a bit casual, with many characters omitting strokes, giving it a touch of simplified cursive script. However, it's common for scholars to use simplified variations in their calligraphy throughout history, so the flaws don't detract from the overall beauty. The poem's spirit alone is enough to ensure its enduring legacy."
Following the scroll's end, Old Master Zhang saw the signature, which simply read "Shen Jingchuan, Yuxi Prefecture," and frowned slightly.
"Yuxi Prefecture is located in a border region; when did it produce such poetic talent?"
Elder Wang stroked his beard and sighed:
"This poetry gathering has been going on for over a hundred years. The entrance examination was originally intended to facilitate young scholars without official rank. Historically, most of the poems were mediocre. Let alone timeless masterpieces, even achieving a smooth flow of rhythm was considered outstanding. Such skill is definitely not something an ordinary young man could produce. In my opinion, he is most likely a reclusive scholar with profound learning, living in seclusion in the mountains, who has nothing better to do than join in this lively event."
"That makes sense, that makes sense." Old Master Zhang immediately straightened up, carefully folded the paper and put it into his sleeve, completely forgetting about the pile of unread exam papers on the table.
"Such a talented person, how can we let them wait there? Let's go and meet them ourselves."
The other two elderly gentlemen had already expressed the same idea, and immediately stood up together. The three of them straightened their clothes and walked together toward the shed where they were waiting for the results.
The dozens of scholars inside the shed were chatting in twos and threes. When they saw the three old gentlemen who were conducting the evaluation enter together, they all stopped talking and looked surprised.
Juren Zhang, glanced at everyone's faces, but did not see the white-haired old scholar he had imagined. He took a half step forward, cupped his hands, and asked in a loud voice:
"May I ask, gentlemen, which one of you is Mr. Shen from Yuxi Prefecture? We are honored to be here to pay our respects as the examiners."
As soon as he finished speaking, all the scholars in the open pavilion turned their heads and looked around, wondering who this "Mr. Shen" was, that it would take three renowned scholars to come and find him.
Shen Jingchuan was certain that they were looking for him. This poem was a famous work that had been passed down in Huaxia for thousands of years, so he was sure to pass the assessment without a doubt.
But he hadn't expected such a commotion, that three elderly gentlemen would put down their stacks of papers and come over in person, addressing him as "Sir."
He suppressed a slight embarrassment, stood up, stepped forward, and bowed respectfully.
"I dare not accept the title of 'sir.' I am Shen Jingchuan, a native of Yuxi Prefecture. I just completed a poem entitled 'Autumn Mountain Journey,' is that the one you were looking for, sir?"
The three old gentlemen all looked at him. They saw that the young man in front of them was no more than twenty years old, with clear features and an upright posture. Where was there any trace of the old scholar who had lived in seclusion in the mountains? The three of them looked at each other, their faces filled with disbelief.
Juren Zhang took half a step forward, extending a hand to offer a helping hand, his astonishment barely concealed in his voice:
"Is it really you? At such a young age, to be able to write such timeless lines?"
Elder Wang stroked his beard and nodded repeatedly:
"We thought it was some reclusive scholar coming out of seclusion to join in the fun, but we never expected it to be a young talent. This line, 'Frosty leaves are redder than February flowers,' is so well-known that we can't find many lines that can compare to it even after searching through hundreds of years of poetry and prose in this dynasty. Truly, the younger generation is formidable!"
Shen Jingchuan thought to himself: The previous line is even more famous than this one, but you just don't understand it.
As they talked, the three of them led Shen Jingchuan toward the main hall for grading papers, praising the imagery and word choice of the poems along the way, completely unlike their strict and cold demeanor during the earlier evaluation.
After walking a few steps, Juren Zhang couldn't help but ask:
"Young Master Shen possesses such poetic talent; he must have studied under a renowned scholar. May I ask which great Confucian scholar your teacher is?"
Shen Jingchuan bowed slightly, his tone calm:
"You flatter me, sir. I have no formal teacher; my father was my primary educator, and I have been reading and studying poetry and literature on my own in my spare time."
He paused, then brushed it off lightly.
My father has long since passed away, so I won't go into the rest.
Upon hearing this, the three old gentlemen secretly realized that it was due to his family's profound scholarly tradition, and it was understandable that he was unwilling to reveal it. So they tactfully stopped asking and only repeatedly expressed their admiration for the profound scholarly foundation of Young Master Shen.
As they entered the examination hall, the young scholar responsible for writing invitations saw them come in and had already taken out a plain blank invitation, ready to write Shen Jingchuan's name.
Seeing this, Juren Zhang quickly raised his hand to stop him. "Wait!"