"Time is up. Put down your brushes!" Lei Dongyang shouted.
The maidservants drifted in like the wind from the perimeter, collecting the poems before everyone. When one reached Lin Su's table, she was visibly startled. He had really written something? Of course, she could not tell whether it was good or bad. She would hand it to Mister...
Lei Dongyang picked up the collected manuscripts and nodded in satisfaction. "Read them!"
A man beside him rose, picked up a manuscript, and began to recite...
"Young Master Guiyang's poem: 'The tower rises a hundred fathoms, yet seems but commonplace; lifting my head, I see the sky filled with light once more...'"
"Fine poem!"
Cheers thundered through the crowd. Countless maidservants had stars in their eyes. It seemed they had no resistance whatsoever to true literary talents and outstanding young men.
Lin Su did not find this strange. In Great Song, that ideal kingdom of literati, an old whoremonger named Liu Yong had slept with courtesans of every rank on the strength of his ci poetry alone. How much more so here? Literati here were not synonymous with frailty; they were formidable in every respect.
"Young Master Duling's poem: 'The Yangtze stretches ten thousand miles, straight through to heaven...'"
"Fine poem!"
More cheers rang out.
"Young Master Qingyang's poem..."
"Young Master Li Ding of Luozhou's poem. Although Young Master Li Ding is not from Quzhou, his ancestral home is Quzhou. The poem goes..."
In the blink of an eye, dozens of poems had been read. Lin Su himself was not particularly skilled in classical poetry, but he understood a little. He estimated that these poems were roughly on par with those he had composed himself—not especially good, but not bad either. The people here had reason to love poetry. Their cultural foundations ran deep. Even an unknown scholar who had not yet formed a Literary Altar could produce a line of considerable novelty in a poem.
"Young Master Zhang Xiu's new poem: 'Yangtze tides rise atop the tide's crest; why anxiously ask what stays and what goes? How could the tides know lofty azure-cloud ambitions? Trampling through cloud and sky, another autumn passes!'"
"Fine!" Everyone stood at once and applauded!
Lei Dongyang stroked his beard and sighed. "What a line—'Trampling through cloud and sky, another autumn passes.' Truly a stroke from the gods, a stroke from the gods! At this gathering, this poem should be the finest... Are there any more?"
"There is one more, a poem by Third Young Master Lin..." The young reader's expression was strange.
"Why bother reading that?" Young Master Jin said. "No need to spoil everyone's mood."
"Read it!" Zhang Xiu smiled. "Let us see whether his poem has any lower limit at all."
Everyone laughed. The lower limit of a poem? That really was an interesting topic...
Mr. Lei smiled faintly. "The Literary Path embraces all and accommodates all, for tolerance makes greatness. This talk of lower limits is merely a joke... Read it!"
The reader cleared his throat and began. "'Rank presses upon men, leaving no freedom...'"
Everyone paused slightly. It really was a poem, and the opening line was extraordinary!
"'Dragon rears and phoenix soars, its momentum hard to contain...'"
Lei Dongyang was moved!
"'Flowers intoxicate the hall's three thousand guests,
A sword's frost chills forty prefectures.'"
Everyone was dumbfounded, as though they had seen a ghost. Had this poem really been written by the useless Third Young Master before them? Why could they not believe it...
The Zither-Holding Woman fixed her gaze firmly on Lin Su. At this moment, boundless radiance filled her eyes...
"Fine!" A shout rose from a corner. It came from a middle-aged man dressed in ordinary cloth, but as soon as he stood, he carried an air of natural elegance.
"Fine!"
Once someone openly cried approval, the rhythm was immediately set. Countless people joined in. Who present lacked an eye for quality? Once this poem emerged, its grandeur was unmatched, its edge peerless!
Although most of the Nine Talents of Quzhou wore the same pair of trousers as Zhang Xiu and could not conveniently cheer, they ultimately could not go against their basic judgment and belittle the poem.
"Young brother, this poem possesses unparalleled grandeur, but its meaning seems unfinished..." The old man raised a hand, cutting off the cheers.
Lin Su said, "Old sir, you are remarkable... This poem has eight lines. Please finish reading the remaining four!"
The reader continued. "'War drums and horns split heaven, auspicious air turns cold,
Wind and waves shake earth, sea and mountains enter autumn.
May the southeast forever stand as the Golden Pillar of Heaven;
Who envies the Marquis of Ten Thousand Households of those days?'"
As the final four lines emerged, the entire hall fell silent. If the first four lines had been lofty spirit soaring to the clouds, why did the latter four carry such a bleak desolation?
The old man let out a long sigh. "'May the southeast forever stand as the Golden Pillar of Heaven; who envies the Marquis of Ten Thousand Households of those days?' The Golden Pillar of Heaven of old has today become a soul beneath the executioner's blade! Heaven, earth, time, fate!"
He raised his hand, and a thin "wind" character appeared from nothing. Wild winds suddenly swept through the tavern. Borrowing the wind, the old man departed, piercing the vault of heaven in the blink of an eye.
"Ultimate Literary Heart? Which senior Great Confucian was that?" Lei Dongyang was utterly shocked. Writing in the air with bare hands, sending someone into the heavens with a single wind character—what kind of power was that? The visitor had to be a Great Confucian, and one who had cultivated to the Ultimate Literary Heart. In all of Great Cang, such people were godlike beings.
"It was Great Confucian Deng Xianchu!" someone shouted. "Look!"
Everyone followed his pointing finger. The "Rise" character hanging at the end of the corridor blazed with golden light. This was the unique resonance between the original owner and the calligraphic treasure he had left behind.
Lin Su's heart stirred violently. He stared for a long time in the direction Deng Xianchu had vanished. A Great Confucian of a generation—meeting and knowing him, only for him to fly off between heaven and earth in an instant. This was a true literatus! This was the path Lin Su had been seeking!
At last, his gaze slowly returned and turned toward Lei Dongyang. "Mr. Lei, can this poem composed on a whim still enter your discerning eye?"
Composed on a whim...
Cough... Lei Dongyang began coughing.
"A treasonous poem!" Zhang Xiu bellowed. "You audacious cur, how dare you inscribe a treasonous poem? Are you plotting rebellion?"
Everyone was shocked.
"Your father once guarded the southeast. You call your father the Golden Pillar of Heaven in the southeast—then what position do you leave His Majesty? A foolish ruler who overthrows the pillars of the Imperial Court? Based on that, you wish to recruit troops for your father, making 'flowers intoxicate the hall's three thousand guests, a sword's frost chills forty prefectures'!"
Every hair on Lin Su's body stood on end. Fuck!
How had he forgotten that Feudal Society had literary inquisitions?
Had he blown it on his very first appearance?
Once this poem reached the capital, with the Minister of War stirring trouble from the side, that muddleheaded emperor would kill people without question! The entire Lin Family would face a great calamity!
Imperial power stood supreme. How could he resolve the death he had brought upon himself?
Lin Su's mind whirled at high speed. An idea rose in his heart. It was dangerous, but it was the only way.
"It was originally only a poem expressing ambition, yet villains have maliciously interpreted it. I cannot wash myself clean. There is only one way: I request sacred words!"
He raised his hand, and half a stick of incense appeared in his palm. The incense was exceptionally unusual, golden throughout like half a gold bar. This was Sage Incense.
Light the Sage Incense, and it reached straight to the heavens!
Sage Incense was a channel through which scholars communicated with the sages. It was exceedingly precious, one of the five high-end treasures exclusively managed by the literary temples, worth its weight in gold. Ordinary people had no qualification to use it. Even legitimate scholars could only purchase one stick in limited quantities upon advancement. The half-stick in Lin Su's hand had been taken from his second brother's study.
He had originally intended to set a trap, using this half-stick of incense to lead Zhang Xiu into a ditch—for instance, secretly lighting the Sage Incense and using modern rhetoric and psychology to lure Zhang Xiu into saying something disrespectful toward the sages. But now that he had courted death himself, only this half-stick of incense could save his life. Before imperial authority, only a sage's decree could save him.
The sages were the true supreme beings.
As long as he passed the sages' judgment, no one in the world would dare trouble him over this poem again.
If the situation had not been so urgent, he would not have dared present a copied poem before the sages. He did not know whether they could see through it. If they discovered he was a literary plagiarist, he would truly be finished.
But now there was no second option. He had to gamble.
The incense was lit. Everyone in the hall was shocked. They immediately left their seats and knelt!
Once the incense was lit, it meant the sages now had this tavern beneath their gaze.
Everyone's hearts pounded wildly...
Lin Su said, "I report to the sages above. This disciple, Lin Su, has had a poem maliciously interpreted, and the consequences are extremely grave. The flourishing of the Literary Path should have embraced all and accommodated all. If poems can become evidence of crimes, who would still dare compose poetry and write prose? How could the Literary Path flourish? I beg the sages to uphold justice for me!"
The clouds in the sky suddenly parted, and a desolate voice rang out. "Present the poem!"
Cold sweat broke out across Zhang Xiu's back.
Sacred words had appeared?
Though every scholar could theoretically communicate directly with the sages, ninety-nine percent of them merely submitted one-way petitions. What did that mean? They could pray to the sages all they wanted, but would never receive even half a sentence of sacred words in return.
Today, sacred words had emerged, as though a sage stood before them in person.
What virtue or ability did this brat possess? How could sacred words possibly be spoken for him?
This was not a good sign.
But Lin Su felt immense relief. Sage Incense could reach the sages, and he had used psychology.
The sages stood high above. They would not care about an ordinary person's life or death, but they would certainly care whether the Literary Path flourished and whether the literary road remained open.
If the Literary Path did not flourish, the schools founded by the sages could not be carried forward. To a sage, that was no different from digging up his ancestral grave.
Was establishing literary inquisitions not an obstruction to cultural prosperity? Even when sensitive terms in modern webnovels were censored, authors found writing difficult. How much worse was Feudal Society? If everyone had to search through every taboo before creating, then what the hell could they write? How could the Literary Path flourish?
Sure enough, his itch-scratching opening had produced a tremendous effect. The sage spoke!
Present the poem?
How was he supposed to present it?
Lin Su froze for a moment, then remembered. Miscellaneous Talks on the Literary Path recorded that poems submitted to the sages could not be recited aloud, nor could they be written with ordinary brush and ink. They required Precious Ink and Paper, neither of which he possessed.
"Who has Precious Ink and Paper? Lend them to me!" Lin Su turned his gaze toward the proprietor of Haining Tower.
"Bring the Precious Ink and Paper at once!" Though a great wind also blew through the proprietor's heart, he was seven parts excited. His Precious Ink and Paper would serve as the vessel conveying information face-to-face with a sage. What glory was this?
A sheet of golden paper and a Golden Brush—these were Precious Ink and Paper. Ordinarily, ink was also needed, but a high-end Golden Brush combined the two. There were mysteries within the Golden Brush itself; the blood of strange beasts was stored inside, inexhaustible in use.
With a sage before them, Haining Tower naturally brought out its finest.
Lin Su held the Golden Brush and began to write...
"Rank presses upon men, leaving no freedom..."
White light suddenly rippled across the paper, three strands appearing at once.
When poems were written on ordinary paper, no mysteries appeared. But when written with Precious Ink and Paper, they received judgment immediately.
Poems were divided into seven ranks. From lowest to highest, they were:
Grass Poem, meaning it was no different from common weeds. It did not enter anyone's eye and had neither light nor color.
Floating Light Poem, meaning it had some bright point for that day, bestowed with one strand of floating light.
White Light Poem, meaning it led the fashion for that month, bestowed with three strands of white light.
Silver Light Poem, meaning it had considerable brilliance within a year, bestowed with one strand of silver light.
Golden Light Poem, a rare masterpiece within ten years, bestowed with golden light.
Five-Colored Poem, an outstanding work within a century, marked by five-colored rosy clouds.
Seven-Colored Poem, sufficient to be passed down for a thousand years, marked by Seven-colored Rosy Clouds.
Eternal Blue Sky Poem, a poem immortal for ten thousand years, regarded as a legend.
The moment Lin Su put brush to paper, three strands of white light appeared. This was the mark of a White Light Poem. His first stroke was truly extraordinary. Everyone's eyes widened, utterly unable to believe it. How could he possibly write a White Light Poem? Could Lin Jialiang have prepared in advance, having this third brother bring along his proudest work? But Lin Jialiang himself had written only one White Light Poem, the poem born from a sudden burst of inspiration that had earned him a place among the Ten Beauties of Qu Prefecture.
After that, no matter what he did, he could not write another.
The Lin Family had suffered a massive upheaval, yet you, Lin Jialiang, had suddenly found your literary road wide open?
Was there any justice left in the world?
As Lin Su wrote the second line, a startled cry suddenly sounded. The white light on the page became a faint glimmer of silver!
When the third line appeared, silver light blazed brilliantly. The entire hall turned to stone. A masterpiece of the year had appeared in Haining Tower just like that?
The fourth line appeared—"A sword's frost chills forty prefectures." With a soft hiss, golden light spread across the ground!
Before anyone could cry out in shock, the golden light suddenly changed into five-colored rosy clouds!
The entire hall turned to stone!
The poem had become five-colored, a legend of a century!
The final four lines were written swiftly. As the last stroke fell, the rosy clouds changed again, seven colors spreading through the entire tavern.
An unparalleled poem fit to be passed down for a thousand years!
With a hiss, as though a steel seal had descended from heaven, six words appeared above the poem: Haining's Declaration of Ambition, Lin Su!
The poem rose with the wind, shooting straight into the clouds.
Lin Su was stunned.
The poem becoming seven-colored was within his expectations. This poem had originally been passed down for a thousand years!
There was only one thing that surprised him. He had not written a title, nor had he written his own name as the author. Yet his name had appeared on the manuscript, along with a title—personally inscribed by the sage!
He had not written the author's name because he had a small concern. He feared that the sages' divine powers were vast enough to know the poem had been copied, so he had not dared sign it.
But the sage had directly supplied a title and directly identified him as the author.
Now this was interesting.
I never said this poem was written by me. It was the sage grandpa's judgment. If it gets exposed and something happens, the sage can take the blame...
Even more interestingly, this meant the sages did not know where the poem came from either. They could not cross the divide between two realms of spacetime!
His road of literary plagiarism had instantly become limitless and lofty. He could copy until heaven grew dim and earth turned dark, until sun and moon lost their light...
A desolate voice came from the sky. "For one poem to become seven-colored is truly not easy. I bestow upon you a Literary Root. Cultivate diligently!"
The poem in the air suddenly transformed into a seven-colored phoenix and descended from the sky, covering Lin Su's entire body. The colored light withdrew, and beneath the dead branch in Lin Su's mind, a root suddenly appeared. Once this root emerged, the dead tree came alive. It was no longer withered, but a tree brimming with vitality. The leaves across its branches swayed with lively grace, radiating boundless spiritual light as though they had suddenly gained life. Lin Su's ability to comprehend the profound and obscure sacred classics in his mind increased enormously. Even his memory became monstrous; every book he had ever read, every word and fragment, appeared with perfect clarity...
Lin Su's heart pounded. He had gained a Literary Root. His Literary Path had begun. The dead tree in his mind was indeed deeply connected to the Literary Path. Possessing a Literary Root was like painting in a dragon's eyes, allowing it to soar through the nine heavens beyond imitation. Every ability related to literature rolled upward in leaps and bounds...
Everyone in the hall was even more petrified.
A Sacred Bestowal of a Literary Root? What the hell had happened today?
They had intended to crush the Lin Family beyond recovery, only for the Lin Family to produce a genius in the end?...
"Thank you, Sage Master!" Lin Su said. "This disciple is deeply honored that Sage Master has regarded this disciple highly, acknowledged this disciple's poem, and bestowed a Literary Root. This disciple would shatter liver and spill brains in gratitude, yet have no means to repay such grace. However, this disciple has something to say and dare not remain silent."
The sky was silent, but its mysteries had not dispersed.
Lin Su raised his head. "What this disciple wishes to say concerns the flourishing of the Literary Path in this age. The Literary Path is like the road of speech: open it, and it prospers; close it, and it declines. So many literati have upheld the great aspirations of the sages and forged ahead all the way, creating today's flourishing age of the Literary Path. Yet certain sinister villains create something from nothing, establish literary inquisitions, and seek to sever the root of the Literary Path. If this trend is not removed, future troubles will be endless!"
Zhang Xiu shuddered from head to toe!
A tremendous sense of crisis suddenly seized him...
"Reasonable!" Two words came from the sky. With a hiss, Zhang Xiu screamed and curled into a ball. A spot of blood-red appeared between his brows, and the Literary Altar within his forehead had already shattered into pieces.
The floating clouds in the sky drew back, and the Sage Incense burned out at that very moment.
Before you continue