Can't Say Where It's Good, But It's Good

In the lecture hall, students were racking their brains, using all their might to compose poems.

Most of these scholars came from wealthy families, so writing poetry to appear refined was no problem. However, forcing them to write about relatable, down-to-earth topics was a real challenge, and their attempts at expressing sorrow felt awkward and out of place.

Wang Wenxu knew this was the case, which was why he had saved half the class time.

Soon, he noticed the three troublemakers in the back row, whose pens moved as if guided by divine inspiration, completing their poems in an instant.

Wang Wenxu frowned slightly and slowly walked to the back. Before he could even look at Xiang Yuan's masterpiece, Xiao He generously offered himself up for punishment: "Esteemed Teacher, look at the student's first. It's a genuine expression, guaranteed to leave a lasting impression."

Wang Wenxu took a deep breath, steadied his trembling eyebrows, and cautiously leaned in to take a look.

Idle Farmer

A hoe strikes the ground, birthing golden eggs, A plow turns the fields, revealing treasures. Farm life is truly wonderful, More carefree than my studies.

What kind of nonsensical garbage is this? And you even rhymed it!

Even though Wang Wenxu had prepared himself mentally, he was still angered to the point of near death, almost cursing. He had spent half the class talking about the hardships of farmers, and Xiao He hadn't absorbed a single word.

If all the royal children were like Xiao He, ignorant of farmers' hardships and disinclined to study, could Western Chu still prosper!

"Esteemed Teacher, please offer your critique," Xiao He said proudly, awaiting Wang Wenxu's praise.

Critique my foot!

Wang Wenxu tremblingly took out his ruler and began to beat Xiao He indiscriminately: "I'll let you be carefree! I'll let you be wonderful... Golden eggs, huh! Treasures, huh!"

"Teacher, don't hit me yet! Where did I go wrong? The student's words are heartfelt, delivered with emotion and sound! I wrote it very well! And it rhymes!"

"I'll make you rhyme! I'll make you rhyme!"

"Heh, you missed..."

Xiao He took a few blows from the ruler and dodged two more, scrambling out of the lecture hall. Standing three steps away from the back door, his wronged face held a hint of smugness, like a husky in a crowd. He wasn't afraid of Wang Wenxu chasing him; he couldn't catch him anyway, and Wang Wenxu would be the one to lose face.

A few contemptuous laughs echoed from within the lecture hall. Since it was the good-for-nothing Xiao He, everyone took it for granted.

Some remained unfazed, focusing on their poetry, like Sima Qingyan, who closed his eyes, ignoring the commotion outside, pondering where to begin his writing.

"Hmph, degenerate!"

Xu Jixian sneered, then bowed and stood properly, presenting his 'masterpiece.' He said as if offering a treasure, "Teacher, do not be angry. Please look at this student's excellent work to dispel bad luck and bring good fortune."

Wang Wenxu's hand, gripping the ruler, trembled violently. In Xiang Yuan's eyes, he looked as if he were facing death, resolutely turning towards the so-called excellent work.

Night Farming

The old ox goes to plow at midnight, The old tree's roots twist, making the path difficult. Exhausted, the ox pants, With deep roots and lush leaves, the tree welcomes spring.

Wang Wenxu: (T_T)

In an instant, the old gentleman's body trembled. He suddenly raised a hand to his chest, his face pale, and retreated several steps.

The facts proved that Xu Jixian was indeed worthy of the last place; his poem's destructive power far surpassed Xiao He's, angering Wang Wenxu to the point that he forgot the ruler in his hand could be used to strike someone.

After a long while, Wang Wenxu muttered about disgracing scholarly ways and turned away, no longer bothering with Xu Jixian.

"Teacher, how is this poem a disgrace to scholarly ways? It's clearly a good poem. Look again, this is the great path of humanity." Xu Jixian snorted a couple of times, muttering that the teacher actually understood it, perhaps he already had good fortune like the old tree welcoming spring.

Wang Wenxu acted as if he hadn't heard. Trembling, he approached Xiang Yuan: "You, you... where is your poem?"

His teeth chattered, his brows contorted, radiating murderous intent and malevolence, completely devoid of his former scholarly demeanor.

Oh no, he's accumulated rage points.

Xiang Yuan's heart skipped a beat. Daring not to provoke him, he respectfully presented his 'work,' starting with a disclaimer: "Student Xiang Yuan, my parents passed away early, my family is poor, I haven't read much, and I don't understand poetry. I dare not force it. This poem was composed by an elder, and I borrowed it to fit the occasion."

Sympathy for the Farmers

Hoeing weeds at high noon, Sweat drips onto the soil. Who knows the food on their plate, Every grain is the result of hard work.

"The handwriting is neat. This poem is simple and unpretentious, catchy, and advises people to cherish food. It's not bad, not good, acceptable." Wang Wenxu nodded, a look of relief on his face. Half a class wasn't wasted; at least Xiang Yuan had listened.

Teacher, look again. This poem is extraordinary, unlike those two kidney stones. It's a pearl on the crown of poetry, worthy of being passed down through the ages.

Xiang Yuan blinked. He didn't doubt Wang Wenxu's literary skills, merely thinking that the elder was so angered by Xiao and Xu that he had lost his senses and couldn't recognize the brilliance of this poem.

"I ask you, what is the name of the elder who composed this poem?"

"Uh, the student can't quite remember. He seemed to call himself Li Shen, or perhaps another name." Xiang Yuan didn't dare to be too definitive.

"You are quite humble, borrowing another's name to write poetry." Wang Wenxu glanced at Xiang Yuan, collected the papers, and walked towards the podium.

It's not humility, it really is Li Shen.

Xiang Yuan breathed a sigh of relief. Judging by Wang Wenxu's words, no master in this world had obtained this poem, and his disclaimer had been taken as self-deprecation.

His face flushed red, feeling ashamed.

While feeling ashamed, he secretly rejoiced that it was his original creation.

He silently admonished himself, This is the only time, no more next time. I absolutely cannot take advantage of past sages and engage in such speculative dealings. I will never 'write poetry' again.

Xiang Yuan slowly sat down. This round was considered passed.

On the other side, Wang Wenxu weaved through the desks, critiquing the poems of the students. For some reason, he felt the students were performing far below their usual standard, not nearly as sharp as before.

Even if they were forced to write about sorrow, it shouldn't be like this!

"Strange..."

As he pondered, the poem "Min Nong" flashed through his mind. Those short twenty characters—the more he savored them, the more he couldn't pinpoint what was good about them, yet they were good, exceptionally good.

The more he pondered, the more flavor and depth they revealed. They were vivid, sincere, and profound, with undertones of both sympathy and anger. How could they be considered merely "good works"?

With just a few strokes, they could be passed down through the ages!

With such jade before them, the rest were merely common stones and fish eyes. It was natural that the students' performance today was far below par.

Wang Wenxu looked at Xiang Yuan in disbelief. Where did this young boy get such profound depth? Could he have really plagiarized?

But who was Li Shen? He had never heard of this name, never seen this person's poetry collection, and hadn't even heard of his deeds.

This child came from humble beginnings; it wasn't strange that he understood farming. If he wrote about his own life, inspired by his experiences, it would make sense. However, his writing style was so mature, so unadorned, unlike someone his age...

Wang Wenxu, with his extensive knowledge, knew that students his age, apart from dunces, loved to pile on flowery language when writing. Very few could narrate plainly.

They lacked character and strength.

Could he truly be a genius?

"Teacher, this is my work. Please correct it." Sima Qingyan handed over her test paper, a faint smile on her face, her demeanor confident and open.

Wang Wenxu glanced at it and nodded, "Not bad, keep up the effort."

He then paid her no further attention, lost in thought about the twenty characters of "Min Nong," humming to himself as he left contentedly.

Sima Qingyan's smile froze. The teacher was so indifferent today; he wasn't like this before. What happened to the teacher meticulously analyzing each word and the student responding fluently?

Also, the teacher forgot to collect her test paper.

Holding the paper, she didn't know whether to stand or sit.

The top student of the class was utterly dejected!

After class, Wang Wenxu only collected one test paper. He instructed the students to post their poems on the corridor bulletin board, like a posted announcement, for everyone to compare and judge their merits.

He placed the sole collected test paper at the very top, signifying his intent: only one person had passed today.

The students gathered before the bulletin board, their gazes uniformly fixed on the paper at the top.

"Min Nong..."

"It feels ordinary, not as ornate as my poem. Why would the teacher think this poem is the best?"

"I think so too. It's all colloquial language; anyone on the street could write it."

"But it's catchy. I remembered it instantly."

"I understand now. Precisely because it's common, ordinary people can recite it, making it easy to spread and serve as a warning. That's why the teacher thought it was good."

As the students spoke, the air suddenly fell silent.

They couldn't say what was good about it, but it was good. The more they looked, the better it seemed.

What kind of poem is this? It's uncanny!

"Whose masterpiece is it?" Sima Qingyan asked.

"I don't know..."

"It seems to be that new student, the one with Xiao He and Xu Jixian. He was pulled away by them right after class."

"... " xN

"What a shame; he'll surely be mediocre in the future." xN

Sima Qingyan frowned deeply. Thinking of Xiao He, she felt a sense of pity for Xiang Yuan.