Inside the lecture hall, the students racked their brains and used every ounce of their skill to write poems.
Most of these students came from wealthy families. Asking them to write poems for a touch of refinement was no problem, but asking them to write about ordinary life was genuinely difficult. When they forced themselves to write about sorrow, their poems came out awkward and out of place.
Wang Wenxu knew this, so he had left half the class period for them to work.
Soon, he noticed that the three troublemakers in the back row were writing as if inspired, finishing their poems in no time.
Wang Wenxu frowned slightly and walked toward the back row. Before he could even look at Xiang Yuan's masterpiece, Xiao He boldly offered himself up for execution. "Esteemed teacher, look at mine first. It's full of heartfelt emotion. I guarantee you'll never forget it."
Wang Wenxu took a deep breath, steadied his trembling brows, and cautiously leaned over to look.
The Leisurely Farmer
The hoe strikes earth, and golden eggs appear; the plow cuts through the fields, and treasures emerge.
Life in the fields is truly wonderful; it's more carefree than studying.
What kind of nonsense is this? And you even made it rhyme!
Even though Wang Wenxu had prepared himself, he was still furious enough to nearly curse. So he'd spent half the class talking about the hardships of farmers, and Xiao He hadn't listened to a single word.
If all the royal descendants were like Xiao He—ignorant of the farmers' hardships, sick of studying and unwilling to learn—could Western Chu possibly prosper?
"Esteemed teacher, please give me your critique." Xiao He looked proud as he waited for Wang Wenxu's praise.
Critique my foot!
Wang Wenxu tremblingly raised his ruler and gave Xiao He a good beating. "I'll show you carefree! I'll show you wonderful... Golden eggs, huh? Treasures, huh?"
"Esteemed teacher, don't hit me yet! What did I get wrong? Every word came from my heart, and I wrote with such feeling! It's a wonderful poem! I even made it rhyme!"
"I'll show you rhyme! I'll show you!"
"Heh, you missed!"
After taking a few strokes and dodging two more, Xiao He scrambled out of the lecture hall and stood three paces beyond the back door. His face was aggrieved, but there was a trace of smugness in it, like a husky in a crowd. He wasn't afraid Wang Wenxu would chase him. He wouldn't catch up anyway, and Wang Wenxu would be the one embarrassed.
A few mocking laughs came from inside the lecture hall. Since Xiao He was a good-for-nothing who never studied, everyone thought it was only natural.
Some students were unfazed and continued writing, like Sima Qingyan, who kept her eyes closed against the commotion and pondered where to begin.
"Hmph, disgraceful!"
Xu Jixian snorted in disdain, then stood up straight and presented his "masterpiece" like a treasure. "Please don't be angry, sir. Take a look at my fine work. It'll dispel the bad luck and bring good fortune."
Wang Wenxu's hand holding the ruler gave a sudden tremble. In Xiang Yuan's eyes, he looked ready to face death without flinching as he resolutely turned to the so-called masterpiece.
Night Farming
The old ox goes to plow the fields at midnight; the old tree's gnarled roots make the road hard to pass.
Exhausted and spent, the ox pants for breath; its roots run deep, its leaves flourish, and the tree welcomes spring.
Wang Wenxu: (灬)
In an instant, the old teacher's body trembled. He abruptly pressed a hand to his chest, his face pale as he staggered backward.
As it turned out, Xu Jixian deserved his place at the very bottom of the class. His poem was far more lethal than Xiao He's. Wang Wenxu was so furious that he forgot the ruler in his hand could be used to hit people.
After a long while, Wang Wenxu muttered that it was a disgrace to literature, then turned around and stopped paying Xu Jixian any attention.
"Sir, how is this poem a disgrace to literature? It's clearly a good poem. Look again—it's the Great Way of the world." Xu Jixian snorted and muttered that the teacher had actually understood it. Perhaps he'd had his own good fortune of an old tree welcoming spring.
Wang Wenxu pretended not to hear. Trembling all over, he came to Xiang Yuan. "Y-your... poem?"
His teeth chattered, his brows twisted, and his whole bearing brimmed with murderous intent and ferocity. There was none of his earlier scholarly composure left.
Oh no, I've made him build up his rage.
Xiang Yuan's heart gave a jolt. Not daring to provoke him, he respectfully presented his "work" and began with a disclaimer. "This student, Xiang Yuan, lost his parents young and comes from a poor family. I haven't read many books, and I know even less about writing poetry. I wouldn't dare force it. I heard this poem from an elder and borrowed it for the occasion."
Toiling Farmers
Weeding grain at noon beneath the scorching sun, sweat drips into the soil.
Who knows that every grain in the bowl is the fruit of toil?
"The handwriting is quite neat. This poem is simple and unpretentious, and easy to recite. It urges people to cherish food. It's neither good nor bad—acceptable." Wang Wenxu nodded, a gratified smile appearing on his face. Half the class hadn't been wasted, at least Xiang Yuan had taken his words to heart.
Sir, take another look. This poem is no ordinary work. It's not like those two turds; it's a jewel in the crown of poetry, the kind that will be recited for generations.
Xiang Yuan blinked. He didn't doubt Wang Wenxu's literary talent; he just figured the other man had been driven out of his mind by Xiao He and Xu Jixian, and had failed to see what made the poem so good.
"Tell me, what was the elder's name?"
"Uh, I can't remember clearly. I think he called himself Li Shen, but it might have been something else." Xiang Yuan didn't dare commit himself.
"So you're modest enough to write poetry under someone else's name." Wang Wenxu glanced at Xiang Yuan, collected his paper, and walked toward the lectern.
I really wasn't being modest. It really was Li Shen.
Xiang Yuan breathed a sigh of relief. From Wang Wenxu's words, it seemed no one in this world had ever come up with this poem. His disclaimer had been taken as a humble remark.
His cheeks flushed, and he felt ashamed.
At the same time, he secretly rejoiced that he'd come up with it himself.
He silently warned himself that this would be the only time. Never again. He couldn't take advantage of the great poets of the past and pull this kind of scam. He wouldn't "write poetry" again.
Xiang Yuan slowly sat down. He'd made it through this ordeal.
Meanwhile, Wang Wenxu moved between the desks, critiquing the students' poems. For some reason, he felt they were far below their usual standard, nowhere near as clever as they normally were.
Even forced sorrow shouldn't have turned out this badly!
"How strange..."
As he wondered, the lines of Toiling Farmers came to mind. Just twenty characters. The more closely he savored them, the harder it was to say what made them good, yet they were good—exceptionally good.
The more he pondered, the more flavor they revealed; the more he pondered, the greater their depth. They were vivid and lifelike, sincere and profound, with both compassion and anger in them. How could they be called merely a fine poem?
A few simple strokes, enough to be passed down for generations!
With a jewel before them, everything else was mere gravel and fish-eye stones. Naturally, the students' work today seemed far below its usual standard.
Wang Wenxu stared at Xiang Yuan in disbelief. How could a young boy have such profound literary foundations? Had he really copied it?
But who was Li Shen? Wang Wenxu had never heard that name, never seen a collection of his poems, and never even heard of his life.
Given the boy's humble background, it was no surprise that he understood farming. It made sense that he'd written from personal experience, inspired by what he'd witnessed. But the writing was so mature and so artless—it didn't seem like something someone his age could produce...
Wang Wenxu had seen a lot. He knew that students this age—unless they were complete blockheads—loved piling up ornate phrases when they wrote. Very few could simply and plainly recount events.
They lacked both sound judgment and skill.
Could he really be a genius?
"Sir, this is my work. I hope you'll correct it." Sima Qingyan handed over her paper with a faint smile, composed and confident.
Wang Wenxu glanced over it and nodded. "Not bad. Keep working hard."
Then he paid her no more attention. Still savoring the twenty characters of Toiling Farmers, he walked away, shaking his head with satisfaction.
Sima Qingyan's smile stiffened. The teacher was so cold today. He'd never been like this before. What happened to his usual habit of analyzing every word, and the student answering fluently?
And, sir, you forgot to collect my paper.
She stood there holding her paper, unsure whether to sit or stay standing.
The class's top student had taken a heavy blow!
When class ended, Wang Wenxu collected only one paper. He told the students to post their poems on the corridor noticeboard, like the posting of exam results, so everyone could compare them and judge their merits.
He put the only paper at the very top, making his feelings clear: today, only one person had passed.
The students gathered around the noticeboard, all looking at the paper at the top.
"Toiling Farmers..."
"It seems ordinary. My poem has more flowery language. Why would the teacher think this one is the best?"
"I think so too. It's all plain language. You could find anyone on the street who could write something like this."
"But it's catchy. I remembered it after hearing it once."
"I get it. It's precisely because it's so plain that ordinary people can recite it, making it easy to spread and serve as a warning. That must be why the teacher thinks it's good."
The students were talking when the air suddenly fell silent.
You couldn't say what made it good, but it was good. The more you looked at it, the better it seemed.
What kind of poem was this? It was uncanny!
"Whose fine work is it?" Sima Qingyan asked.
"No idea..."
"I think it was that new student. He's with Xiao He and Xu Jixian. They dragged him off as soon as class ended."
"..." xN
What a pity. He'd surely become mediocre in the future. xN
Sima Qingyan furrowed her brows, thinking that Xiao He was involved. She felt quite sorry for Xiang Yuan.
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