"Why did it turn out like this..." The Qing Lord was like a wounded little beast licking his wounds. His body trembled slightly, and his face was deathly pale, as though he had yet to recover from a grave illness.
"Your Majesty!"
"Qing Lord!"
The many Qing Officials saw his condition and fretted inwardly, terrified that the Qing Lord would lose his nerve, disgrace himself, and become the laughingstock of the human race.
But the Qing Lord merely waved a hand gently and kept his head lowered.
The Qing Officials breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that although the Qing Lord was distressed, his resolve had not collapsed. There would be no serious consequences for him or the Qing Kingdom.
The Qing Lord was one of the highest-ranking people at the literary assembly, and many people saw him in this state.
Suddenly, someone shouted, "That's not right! If Fang Yun is Zhang Longxiang, why would he write 'Viewing Dongting Lake, Presented to Qing Lord'? That's a poem seeking an audience to obtain office and attach himself to someone powerful!"
Many people recalled the earlier poem. At a table beside Yan Yukong and the others, someone wielded his brush, splashed ink across the page, and wrote it out on the spot.
In the eighth month, the lake's waters rose level with its shores; embracing the void, they blended with the clear heavens.
Its vapors steamed over Cloud-Dream Marsh; its waves shook Yueyang City.
I wished to cross, but had no boat or oars; to sit idle shamed me in this sage and enlightened reign.
I sat watching those who fished, with nothing but longing for their catch.
"Everyone, I haven't misremembered a single word of this poem. The first four lines merely describe Dongting Lake's scenery and contain no hidden