The Most Humiliated Literary Plagiarist

"Excellent poetry!"

Elder Zhao led the praise, though jealousy had contorted his face.

He wouldn't deny a good poem against his conscience, but he also couldn't hide his envy of the talent.

If others were better at alchemy than him, he wouldn't care. Or if a junior surpassed him in alchemy, he'd only be pleased.

But for a junior hundreds of years younger than him to far exceed his poetic skill was unacceptable.

The Scholar Senior Brother, despite being praised, couldn't bring himself to be happy. Meeting Elder Zhao's gaze, he felt a chill run down his spine.

The wrinkles on Elder Zhao's face seemed to form the word "jealousy." How could he not see something was wrong now!

He had used a favor to secure this candidate disciple spot. If only the person who recommended him hadn't failed to mention that Elder Zhao was this kind of person...

The Scholar Senior Brother regretted it too late.

He finally understood why the poems of the first two candidates were so terrible.

With the Scholar Senior Brother's lesson learned, the subsequent candidates became even more cautious, daring not to show off.

After the Scholar Senior Brother, none of the other candidate disciples "performed poorly." They all competed to be the worst, their mediocrity indistinguishable.

The poems that followed were doggerel like "The mountain pines and cypresses, turned white overnight" and "A white blanket on the ground, white cloth draped on trees."

They lacked both talent and wit.

In comparison, Li Xiuchang found the Red-Skirts Senior Sister's line, "Only seeing children run, not their feet," somewhat interesting.

Elder Zhao remained expressionless towards the increasingly low-quality, uninspired doggerel that followed, making it impossible to guess his thoughts.

However, these doggerels gave Li Xiuchang some inspiration, reminding him of a doggerel he had read in his childhood in his previous life. It seemed fitting to use now.

In order of turn, Li Xiuchang was second to last.

By the time it was his turn, the disciple selection test was nearing its end.

Elder Zhao's gaze fell upon Li Xiuchang, signaling him to recite his poem.

Li Xiuchang straightened his back, cleared his throat, and recited loudly:

"A blur on the river, a black hole on the well."

"The yellow dog is white, the white dog is swollen."

After listening, Elder Zhao's eyes lit up, and he chuckled, "Quite amusing."

This doggerel was simple, vivid, and full of imagery.

Elder Zhao's reaction immediately drew the attention of the other candidate disciples towards Li Xiuchang, whom they now regarded as their primary opponent.

Seeing this, Li Xiuchang felt his hopes were high, yet he couldn't help but feel a touch of regret.

He was probably the most frustrated plagiarist among them all. He couldn't use the famous lines of past sages and had to resort to doggerel.

He wished he could have a dramatic moment and recite, "It must have been a heavenly immortal drunk, carelessly tearing apart the white clouds," but he couldn't.

After Li Xiuchang, only the last candidate disciple remained.

This person appeared calm and composed, with an air of confidence. He opened his mouth and chanted:

"We two agreed, to pee together."

"You pee a line, I pee a puddle."

After reciting his work, the last candidate disciple looked expectantly at Elder Zhao, awaiting praise.

In this competition of mediocrity, he was confident no one could be worse than him.

His awfulness was undisputed, without rivals, and beyond question.

"It's over, none of us are as bad as him!"

"We were careless. We thought we had reached rock bottom, but we never expected someone to break through the floor."

The candidate disciples who went before him felt a jolt in their hearts, realizing they had been utterly outdone. They hadn't expected this last candidate disciple to hold such a trump card.

Li Xiuchang, however, felt there might still be a turn of events.

This was because after listening to this thing, which could barely be called "poetry," Elder Zhao fell silent.

The last trial disciple didn't receive the expected praise. Instead, he saw Elder Zhao's face gradually turn red, his long beard bristling.

It was anger!

Elder Zhao struggled to contain himself, but he couldn't hold back any longer. He huffed and glared, roaring, "This isn't poetry, it's crap!"

"I..." The candidate disciple opened his mouth, but for a moment, he didn't know what to say.

This wasn't what he had expected!

"Vulgar! Disgraceful! Scram!"

Elder Zhao waved his sleeve, stirring up a strange wind that swept the candidate disciple all the way down the mountain.

This sudden turn of events left the other candidate disciples stunned.

Li Xiuchang, however, understood and didn't find it strange.

Elder Zhao enjoyed pretending to be refined. What is "refined"? Bodily functions and crude humor are not refined!

If Elder Zhao wanted to hear poetry, and you shoved excrement into his mouth, wouldn't he be angry?

Although Elder Zhao's poetry writing skills were lacking, he still had some appreciation for it. Yet, this person wrote such a "poop and pee" poem and was still pleased with himself, expecting Elder Zhao's praise.

Wasn't that purely insulting Elder Zhao's discerning taste!

When Elder Zhao threw a fit, all the candidate disciples were struck dumb with fear.

Elder Zhao considered himself a scholar and believed he should possess inner tranquility. Therefore, he quickly adjusted his emotions, regained his composure, and his gaze swept over the remaining candidate disciples.

Everyone grew tense, knowing they had reached the most critical juncture.

Elder Zhao's gaze lingered on each person for a moment, but he directly skipped over the Scholar Senior Brother, clearly having eliminated him from his mind from the start.

In the end, Elder Zhao's gaze focused solely on Li Xiuchang and the Red-Skirts Senior Sister, as if he were hesitating between the two.

"You, are you willing to join my tutelage and learn the Way of Alchemy from me?"

Finally, Elder Zhao's gaze settled on Li Xiuchang, and he asked.

Li Xiuchang's heart leaped with joy, and he quickly bowed: "This disciple is willing!"

"Congratulations, Elder Zhao, on gaining a beloved disciple." The onlookers also quickly stepped forward to offer their congratulations.

After some pleasantries, Elder Zhao took Li Xiuchang and left.

Li Xiuchang stood on Elder Zhao Yuansi's Flying Boat, feeling that this Flying Boat was more high-class than any he had ever ridden before.

The space was more spacious, the decorations more exquisite, and most importantly, there was a wind-sheltering formation that could block the cold wind.

"What is your name?" Elder Zhao Yuansi asked.

Although he had accepted Li Xiuchang as his disciple, he knew nothing about him yet.

"This disciple is Li Xiuchang. I only recently joined the sect. On my first day, I met you with Senior Brother Song Yu at the mountain gate. I was immediately captivated by your calligraphy, Master, but I never dared to imagine that I would one day be able to join your tutelage."

Li Xiuchang understood that flattery had to be directed appropriately.

Therefore, he praised Elder Zhao Yuansi's most prized skill: calligraphy.

Elder Zhao Yuansi, being as shrewd as an old fox, couldn't he see Li Xiuchang's little scheme? However, he still found it very pleasing and laughed heartily:

"Do you know why I finally chose you?"

"This disciple does not know."

"Your poetic talent and that of the others were all mediocre. You were only slightly better than them. I mainly valued your resolve to seek the Way." As he spoke, his gaze fell on the snow stains on Li Xiuchang's trouser leg.

Li Xiuchang looked down and only then realized that he had unexpectedly benefited from his poverty.

"This is a disciple-accepting gift for you. Don't say that I, your master, am stingy." Elder Zhao Yuansi tossed a Storage Bag towards Li Xiuchang.