"Good poem!"
Elder Zhao led the praise, but jealousy had already twisted his face beyond recognition.
He would not deny a good poem against his conscience, but neither could he conceal his jealousy of another's talent.
If someone surpassed him in alchemy, he would not mind in the slightest. If one of his juniors exceeded him in the Dao of Pills, he would only feel gratified.
But a junior several hundred years younger than him had a command of poetry far beyond his own. He simply could not accept it.
Although "Scholar Senior Brother" was clearly being praised, he could not feel happy at all. Meeting Elder Zhao's gaze, he only felt his whole body prickle with unease.
The wrinkles on Elder Zhao's face seemed to have formed the two words "jealousy." How could he still fail to see that something was wrong?
He had obtained this candidate disciple slot by trading a favor. It was just that the person who recommended him had never told him that Elder Zhao was this sort of person...
"Scholar Senior Brother" regretted it too late.
He finally understood why the poems composed by the two people before him had been so clumsy.
With the lesson of "Scholar Senior Brother" before them, the people who followed became even more cautious, not daring to show the slightest edge.
None of the candidate disciples after "Scholar Senior Brother" "performed abnormally" again. Everyone steadily competed to be the worst, and it was difficult to tell them apart.
The poems composed by the next few people were all doggerel such as, "The pines and cypresses blanketed the mountain, their heads turned white overnight," and, "A white carpet covers the ground, white cloth hangs from the trees."
They had neither talent nor charm.
By comparison, Li Xiuchang thought Red-Skirts Senior Sister's line—"You only see the children running, never see the children's feet"—had some flavor to it.
Toward these increasingly inferior, utterly unnutritious doggerel poems, Elder Zhao remained expressionless throughout, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking.
However, these doggerel poems gave Li Xiuchang some inspiration. They reminded him of a doggerel poem he had read in his childhood in his previous life, which seemed quite suitable to use now.
In order, Li Xiuchang was second from last.
By the time it was Li Xiuchang's turn, the disciple-recruitment trial was nearing its end.
Elder Zhao's gaze fell on Li Xiuchang, signaling him to recite the verses he had composed.
Li Xiuchang straightened his back, cleared his throat, and recited in a ringing voice:
"Above the river, a vast white shroud; above the well, a dark black hole."
"A yellow dog wears white upon its back; a white dog's body is swollen."
After hearing it, Elder Zhao's eyes lit up, and he chuckled. "Quite interesting."
The doggerel was simple and easy to understand, vivid and amusing, with an abundance of imagery.
Elder Zhao's reaction immediately made the other candidate disciples turn their gazes toward Li Xiuchang, viewing him as their number-one rival.
Seeing this, Li Xiuchang also felt that his chances were quite good, though he still felt somewhat regretful.
He was probably the most aggrieved of all the plagiarists. With so many famous lines from the sages available, he had ended up plagiarizing a doggerel poem.
He had also wanted to shake his mighty frame and deliver a line like, "It must be that the celestial immortal was wildly drunk, recklessly kneading the white clouds to pieces," but unfortunately, he could not.
After Li Xiuchang, only the final candidate disciple remained.
This person looked calm and unhurried, as though victory were already in his grasp. He opened his mouth and intoned:
"We two agreed to go relieve ourselves together."
"You pee one line, I pee one pit."
After reciting his own work, the final candidate disciple gazed eagerly at Elder Zhao, waiting for praise.
In this trial to see who could write the worst poem, he believed that no one could be worse than him.
He was bad without dispute, without peer. No one could question it.
"Oh no, none of us is as bad as him!"
"We were careless. We thought we'd already reached rock bottom, but we never expected someone could break through the bottom line."
The candidate disciples who had gone before him all felt their hearts jolt. They felt they had been utterly outdone. None of them had expected this final candidate disciple to have such a devastating weapon hidden in his hands.
Li Xiuchang, however, felt that there was still a turnabout to come.
After all, once Elder Zhao heard this thing that could barely be called a "poem," he fell silent.
The final trial disciple did not receive the praise he had expected. Instead, he saw Elder Zhao's face gradually flush red, while even his long beard began to bristle upward.
It was from anger!
Elder Zhao desperately tried to endure it, but in the end he could not. Blowing his beard and glaring, he shouted furiously, "That isn't a poem—it's crap!"
"I..." The candidate disciple opened and closed his mouth, but for a moment he did not know what to say.
This was not how he had imagined it!
"Vulgar beyond endurance! An insult to literature! Get lost!"
Elder Zhao swept out his sleeve, stirring up a strange wind that wrapped around the candidate disciple and blew him all the way down to the foot of the mountain.
This sudden turn of events left the other candidate disciples somewhat stunned.
Li Xiuchang, however, could understand it and did not find it strange.
Elder Zhao liked to affect the airs of a refined scholar. And what did "refined" mean? Urine and feces certainly were not refined!
Elder Zhao wanted to hear poetry, and you shoved feces into his mouth. How could he not get angry?
Although Elder Zhao's skill at composing poetry was somewhat lacking, he still possessed discernment. To write such a piece of "urine-and-feces poetry" and then beam with self-satisfaction, expecting praise from Elder Zhao—
Wasn't that purely insulting Elder Zhao's ability to appreciate poetry?
After Elder Zhao lost his temper, all the candidate disciples became as silent as cicadas in winter.
Elder Zhao prided himself on being a man of letters. A scholar ought to possess a tranquil heart, so he quickly composed himself as well, returning to calmness as his gaze swept over the remaining candidate disciples.
Everyone grew tense, knowing that the most crucial moment had arrived.
Elder Zhao's gaze lingered on each person for a while, but he directly skipped over "Scholar Senior Brother." Clearly, he had eliminated him from the very beginning.
In the end, Elder Zhao's gaze focused only on Li Xiuchang and Red-Skirts Senior Sister, as though he were hesitating between the two.
"You—are you willing to become my disciple and follow me in studying the Dao of Pills?"
Finally, Elder Zhao's gaze settled on Li Xiuchang as he asked.
Li Xiuchang's heart leaped with joy, and he hurriedly bowed. "This disciple is willing!"
"Congratulations to Elder Zhao on gaining a beloved disciple." The onlookers also hurried forward to offer their congratulations.
Elder Zhao exchanged a few polite pleasantries before taking Li Xiuchang away.
Standing aboard Elder Zhao Yuansi's flying vessel, Li Xiuchang felt that it was of a higher class than any flying vessel he had ridden before.
The space was more spacious, the decorations more exquisite, and, most importantly, it even had a wind-blocking formation that could keep out the cold breeze.
"What is your name?" Zhao Yuansi asked.
Although he had already accepted Li Xiuchang as his disciple, he still knew nothing about him.
"This disciple is Li Xiuchang. I only joined the sect recently. On my first day, I followed Senior Brother Song Yu to the mountain gate, where I met you. I was captivated by your calligraphy then, but I never dared imagine that one day I could become your disciple."
Li Xiuchang understood that flattery had to be aimed at the right place.
Thus, he praised Zhao Yuansi's calligraphy, the thing he took the greatest pride in.
Zhao Yuansi was old and crafty. How could he fail to see Li Xiuchang's little scheme? Still, he found it very pleasing and laughed heartily.
"Do you know why I chose you in the end?"
"This disciple does not know."
"Your poetic talents are all mediocre. You are only a little better than them. The main thing your master valued was your yearning for the Dao." As he spoke, his gaze fell on the traces of snow on Li Xiuchang's trouser legs.
Li Xiuchang lowered his head to look, and only then did he suddenly understand. He had never expected that poverty would actually bring him good fortune.
"This is your gift for becoming my disciple. Don't say your master is stingy." Zhao Yuansi tossed a Storage Bag toward Li Xiuchang.
Before you continue