A Divine Masterpiece Is Born

(At the request of readers, there's a change. Starting today, there will be four updates per day. To make it easier for everyone to follow the updates, the update times are: 8:00, 11:30, 17:00, and 20:30. Thank you for liking my story. Your encouragement is my motivation. I'm a full-time author, and writing is hard work. Thank you for your kind words and a good review!)

Then someone called out in a low, excited voice, "Juren Zhang, come and see! Shen Jingchuan from Yuxi Prefecture —isn't this the scholar who wrote 'Autumn Mountain Journey,' the one you just introduced to us?"

Juren Zhang was searching through Shen Jingchuan's poetry manuscripts when he heard the shout and quickly squeezed through. He looked down and carefully read through them, his white beard almost bristling, and exclaimed repeatedly, "Excellent! Excellent! Excellent! A masterpiece for posterity, yet another masterpiece for posterity!"

Once the ten selected poems were compiled, they needed to be sent upstairs. It was Juren Zhang's responsibility to do so, and he deliberately placed Shen Jingchuan's poem at the very top.

He examined the handwriting more closely and felt that the strokes were elegant yet the structure was solid. It had a touch of feminine grace, yet it also carried a sharp strength, unlike the handwriting of an ordinary scholar.

He was slightly surprised, but still nodded, thinking it was acceptable. As he walked upstairs, he kept looking down and examining it repeatedly, almost tripping and falling on the stairs.

As soon as Juren Zhang stepped onto the stairs, the old scholar beside Prince Jing hurriedly rose to greet him, smiling and saying, "Molin, why did you have to personally bring this up?"

Forgetting all pleasantries, Juren Zhang held up the poem in his hand and exclaimed, "Oh my, this is incredible! Come and see this one!"

The old scholar quickly took the poem, and after reading only the first two lines, he was immediately struck by its power. He composed himself and began to savor each word and phrase. After finishing the entire poem, he stroked his long beard and sighed repeatedly:

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"

He immediately turned around and respectfully presented the poem to Prince Jing. Prince Jing, who had a particular fondness for poetry, lowered his eyes and read it carefully, his eyes filled with admiration. He nodded and said:

"The opening lines are expansive and coherent, and the entire piece is deeply moving and profound. It is truly a rare masterpiece, worthy of being passed down through generations!"

Hearing Prince Jing's high praise, the three elderly scholars beside him could no longer remain seated. One of them bowed and said, "Your Highness, may I have the pleasure of seeing it?"

Commandery Princess Chang'a Xiao Mingliu of Chang'an, who was standing next to Prince Jing, quickly came over and grabbed his arm, saying:

"Father, quick, let me see!"

Prince Jing laughed heartily and placed the poem in his daughter's hand:

"There's no need to fight over it anymore, Liu'er, just read it aloud to everyone."

The princess responded crisply, unfolded the poem, and read it aloud word by word:

The bright moon rises over the sea; we share this moment though we are far apart.

Lovers lament the long night, their longing rising with each passing evening.

I extinguish the candle, pitying the remaining light; I put on my robe, feeling the dew's dampness.

I cannot bear to give you all this; I will return to my bed to dream of our happy reunion.

Princess Zhaohua Xiao Mingshu, who had been sitting upright, could no longer remain seated upon hearing this. She immediately stood up, took the poem from Commandery Princess Chang'an's hand, and began to read it carefully, word by word.

After reading the entire piece, she stood there, holding the note, stunned, unable to come to her senses for a long time.

Sitting beside her, Yan Shuyao softly called out "Princess," and when she didn't respond, she quietly took the poem from her hand.

Xiao Mingshu then came to her senses and turned her head, saying, "Shuyao, take a look too. This poem is truly moving."

Yan Shuyao was the only daughter of Yan Chongli, Yan Chongli Confucian scholar of the time, and her talent and beauty were unparalleled in the capital. After carefully reading the poem, she felt a ripple of emotion in her heart.

Most poems about longing are trapped in the sorrow of romantic love, but this one opens with the expansive image of the moon rising over the sea. It expresses the tenderness of sharing the moon across the ends of the earth and the sleepless nights of longing in a restrained yet profound way. Even the small thought of wanting to offer a handful of moonlight to a loved one far away is filled with a gentle romance.

She thought to herself that the person who could write such lines must have an outstanding mind and character. This one poem alone aroused her curiosity about the author she had never met.

She glanced at the signature— Shen Jingchuan of Yuxi Prefecture

Lake View Tower, while everyone was still passing around the poem about gazing at the moon, the preliminary judging session downstairs suddenly erupted into chaos. Those usually refined and scholarly old men, now completely disregarding decorum, stretched out their hands, scrambling for a piece of paper, shouting, "Let me see!" "Let me see it first!"

Hearing the commotion at the top of the stairs, Juren Zhang was taken aback. The thought that popped into his mind was, "Could it be Shen Jingchuan again?" He didn't bother to greet the people upstairs. He turned around and ran downstairs, his footsteps thumping loudly on the stairs.

Upstairs, Prince Jing, Princess Zhaohua, and Yan Shuyao were also drawn by the commotion and turned to look down. Seeing the excited scrambling, no one thought there was any trouble; they all knew that some amazing poem had surely emerged again.

As soon as Juren Zhang, squeezed his way to the front of the crowd, someone shouted at him at the top of their lungs:

"Old Zhang! Come quick! It's that Shen Jingchuan from Yuxi Prefecture again! This poem is simply a masterpiece!"

Seeing the commotion downstairs, Prince Jing raised his hand and said loudly, "Quiet down, everyone."

His voice, though not loud, carried an inherent authority, instantly silencing the commotion below. Prince Jing, fanning himself with his folding fan, gestured towards the crowd below, a suppressed smile playing on his lips, "Where has your usual refinement gone, you old gentlemen? What kind of behavior is this?"

At this moment, Juren Zhang was holding the poem in his hand, his eyes wide with astonishment. Seeing this Prince Jing raised his voice and asked:

"What is going on?"

An elderly scholar in the front row immediately bowed and apologized:

"Your Highness, please forgive us. We were truly out of line. But this poem is a masterpiece. Not to mention the history of our Great Qian Dynasty, even going back several dynasties, we have rarely seen such a work."

Prince Jing raised an eyebrow slightly, somewhat surprised:

"Oh? Such high praise? Zhang Molin, bring it here for me to see."

Seeing that Juren Zhang, was still staring intently at the paper, someone nearby quickly nudged his arm.

Juren Zhang, suddenly came to his senses, muttering to himself:

"Incredible, truly incredible!" Just as he looked up and was about to leave, he noticed several elderly scholars at the table with red eyes, secretly wiping away tears.

Seeing this, the surrounding crowd became even more curious, and a buzz of discussion gradually rose again, as no one could guess what kind of lyrics could make someone cry.

Prince Jing hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand to lower his voice:

"Very well, since it is such a timeless masterpiece, it is inappropriate for me to enjoy it alone. Juren Zhang, you need not come up here. Just read it aloud from the stage so that everyone present can appreciate it together."

Juren Zhang readily agreed, but his fingertips trembled as he gripped the paper, his throat tightened, and after two attempts, he couldn't utter a word. He could only smile wryly and hand the paper to Jin Niang beside him.

"My heart is in turmoil, and I truly cannot bear to recite it. I trouble Miss Jin Niang to do it for me."

Jin Niang accepted it with a smile, took a light breath, and her clear, melodious voice echoed throughout the Lake View Tower as she recited the entire poem, word by word:

What is love in this world that makes people willing to die for it?

Flying across the north and south, their old wings have weathered many winters and summers.

Joyful moments, bitter partings, and among them, the most foolish lovers.

You should have these words: Across ten thousand miles of layered clouds, amidst a thousand mountains covered in evening snow, to whom does this solitary figure turn?

Hengfen Road, the flutes and drums of yesteryear are silent, and the desolate smoke still hangs over the plains.

What lament can summon back the departed soul? The mountain spirit weeps silently in the wind and rain.

Even Heaven is jealous, unwilling to believe that orioles and swallows alike will turn to dust.

For a thousand autumns and ten thousand ages, it awaits poets to come and sing wildly and drink heartily at the Wild Goose Mound.

Jin Niang initially wore a faint smile, her tone clear and gentle, but after reciting the first line, the smile on her face gradually froze. When she read "Flying guests from the south and north, their old wings have weathered many winters and summers," her eyes were already burning, and tears silently rolled down her cheeks. By the time she read the last line, "For a thousand autumns and ten thousand ages, it remains for poets to come and visit the Wild Goose Mound, singing wildly and drinking heartily," her voice was already trembling, filled with uncontrollable sobs, and even the last syllable was choked with emotion.

The old scholar beside Prince Jing could no longer contain himself and quickly gave a wink to the attendant beside him, whispering the order:

"Go quickly and fetch that poem."