A Whole Lot of Trouble
When the servant went downstairs to retrieve the letter, he noticed a tear stain on the corner of the paper. Upon seeing this, Jin Niang quickly bowed and repeatedly said, "I'm sorry, I was impolite." The servant didn't say anything more, took the letter, and turned to go upstairs.
Downstairs, all was silent. Most of the male guests were composed and silent, their expressions moved. Many of the female guests at the table had tears in their eyes, and some could not hold back their sobs.
The letter was delivered upstairs, and the old scholar had barely received it when Prince Jing waved his hand. He had already noticed that several people beside him were holding back their hands, so he smiled and said:
"No need to pass it around, Liu'er. Read it again, so everyone won't fight over it. One reading isn't enough to appreciate a poem like this."
Upon hearing this, the old scholar quickly handed over the poem. Xiao Mingliu had already felt a lump in his throat when he heard it, and now, taking the poem, his voice slightly hoarse, he read it aloud again in a deep voice.
After she finished reading, Jin Niang downstairs had already wiped away her tears. Seeing that the emotions in the room were running high, she took the opportunity to speak up, her voice clear yet not harsh:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure everyone is curious about the author of this timeless masterpiece. Perhaps we could invite Mr. Shen. Shen Jingchuan to come forward and meet us?"
Upon hearing this, the entire room came alive again. All the guests turned to look around, and the women lifted the brim of their veils, peering around with tearful eyes. Several girls couldn't help but blurt out "Good!", completely forgetting their usual etiquette.
Zhou Tong, sitting next to Shen Jingchuan, was both surprised and delighted, and quickly tugged at his sleeve:
"Brother Shen! They're calling you! Hurry up and go up!"
Shen Jingchuan hesitated for a moment. He had come today to make a name for himself, so he didn't refuse. He stood up and walked calmly to the front of the stage.
In an instant, countless eyes from upstairs and downstairs were focused on him. Even Prince Jing leaned forward slightly, looking with great interest at the young man who had written two amazing works.
Shen Jingchuan was over eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His upright and robust physique was the result of years of martial arts training, with clean lines and no hint of bulkiness. He had fair skin and handsome features. When he stood on the stage, his posture was like a pine tree, making him stand out among the group of frail scholars.
Jin Niang's eyes were still red-rimmed, and she was momentarily stunned when she saw the person, subconsciously taking a few more glances. She quickly composed herself, curtsied, and smiled faintly, her tone carrying a hint of genuine surprise:
"Sir, are you Shen Jingchuan from Yuxi Prefecture? I had previously thought that someone who could write such poignant and unforgettable poems must be a middle-aged man who had experienced the ways of the world, but I never expected him to be so young."
She paused, softening her tone, which carried a hint of probing:
"I have a question to ask you without hesitation. How could you, at your age, write such deeply moving and sincere lines? Could it be... that you have experienced the profound regret of parting, which would enable you to express such sentiments?"
On the second floor, beside the curtains, Yan Shuyao's gaze fell on Shen Jingchuan, and she was slightly taken aback.
She had assumed that the author of such heart-wrenching lyrics, expressing profound love and devotion, must be a disillusioned scholar who had experienced the vicissitudes of life and whose hair had turned gray, or at the very least, a middle-aged man.
But the man before her was young and handsome, with a tall and straight figure, looking no more than twenty years old, and with a dashing appearance. He was nothing like the melancholy poet she had imagined.
Her fingertips lightly touched the cool wooden railing, a question rising in her mind. At such a young age, a time of youthful vigor and high spirits, how could he write of the utter desolation and loneliness in the lines, "Across ten thousand miles of layered clouds, a thousand mountains covered in snow at dusk, a lone shadow, to whom does it turn?" Had he witnessed such a thing firsthand, or did he himself harbor a past of unrequited love and separation by death?
She gazed at the composed figure standing downstairs, and the more she looked, the more she felt a contradictory attraction to him—he appeared open and handsome, yet he could write such poignant and heart-wrenching sentences. For a moment, she forgot to look away, and even when Princess Zhaohua spoke to her beside her, she was a beat late in reacting.
Princess Zhaohua turned her head and whispered a laugh in her ear, "Little girl, you're staring so intently, could it be that you've fallen for someone?"
Yan Shuyao's cheeks flushed crimson. She gently tugged at the princess's sleeve, turned her face away, and whispered reproachfully:
"Princess, please don't make fun of him. I'm just amazed that someone so young can write such profound and melancholic lyrics."
Despite saying that, her gaze couldn't help but drift downstairs a little further, landing on Shen Jingchuan's tall and straight figure, and her ears burned even more.
Jin Niang's question struck a chord with everyone present. They were already curious about how such a young scholar could write such poignant and tragic lyrics, and now they held their breath, waiting for the answer.
Yan Shuyao on the second floor nodded to herself; this was exactly the question she wanted to ask. She looked down at Shen Jingchuan, waiting quietly for him to speak.
Shen Jingchuan quickly reviewed the situation in his mind and decided there was no need to make things up. He could simply tell the story based on the original author's real experience. He had passed through the Fen River on his way from Yuxi Prefecture to Chang'an, so the place names and routes matched perfectly, leaving no room for error. He quickly went over his story in his mind before addressing the crowd.
"This poem, 'Wild Goose Mound Lyric,' tells the story of a pair of wild geese. I was traveling from Yuxi Prefecture to Chang'an when I passed the Fen River. I saw a hunter shoot down one of the wild geese. The other, which had already escaped, refused to fly away on its own. It kept circling in the sky, crying mournfully, and finally crashed to the ground and died, following the other in death."
"I felt a pang of sorrow seeing them, so I bought the pair of geese from a hunter and buried them together by the Fen River, naming the place Wild Goose Mound. I was deeply moved at the time and wrote this poem. Today, the poetry competition had a theme of autumn geese, and I happened to remember this old work, so I copied it and submitted it."
As soon as he finished speaking, the entire room fell silent for a moment, followed by a chorus of low sighs.
Many women in the women's section had tears in their eyes. Lin Qingyao buried her face in her arms on the table, her shoulders shaking as she cried uncontrollably, heartbroken for the pair of wild geese.
They had no recollection of coming together; where on the road had they encountered geese? Yue'er, unaffected, was pondering when the young master had buried a pair of geese.
Yan Shuyao, on the second floor, also shed tears, her fingers clutching her handkerchief, her heart aching with a tightness in her chest. Princess Zhaohua also abandoned her usual spoiled demeanor, gazing silently downstairs, her eyes slightly reddening.
Bai Ruoli, backstage at the waterside pavilion, was already sobbing uncontrollably, leaning against the curtain frame, her breath trembling.
Having spent many years in the world of romance and witnessed countless pretense of affection, she had come to believe that most love in the world was fleeting and superficial. Yet, the vow of life and death expressed in this poem touched the softest spot in her heart with every word.
She gripped the curtain and parted it a crack. When her gaze fell on Shen Jingchuan, her heart skipped a beat, as if something had grabbed it.
She had originally thought that someone who could write such a poignant and passionate poem must be a middle-aged person who had suffered the pain of separation. But the person on the stage was young and handsome, with clear features, and he possessed a calm and profound temperament that strangely overlapped with the lonely and deep affection in the poem.
She gazed at that figure, tears still clinging to her cheeks, yet a burning passion surged within her. In her life, she had seen too many heartless and ungrateful men, never believing in everlasting love. But at this moment, she was suddenly certain that the person who could write "I would gladly die for you" must be a person of profound and genuine affection.
She suddenly had an unprecedented longing—if she could know and cherish such a person and spend her whole life with him, then her life would not have been in vain.