When Fang Zhen thought back to last year, when the Duke of Dai had dared to pursue and kill the young lord of the Kingdom of Lin alone, fresh from the Court Examination, he still found that spirit incredible.
In fact, it was this very incident that had convinced Fang Zhen the Duke of Dai was no ordinary man. No matter how he looked, he could detect neither internal energy nor any trace of training in Daoist arts. Yet the duke had ultimately returned carrying Lin Yuqing's head. Even if he had merely seized a lucky opportunity, that courage alone was truly extraordinary.
Sure enough, just as Luo Jiang sheathed her sword, Su Ziji clapped his hands. "Absolutely magnificent!"
"To witness the Luo Water Sword today is a blessing earned over three lifetimes! Someone, come!"
"Master!" A servant attending him immediately stepped forward.
"Bring brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. I shall compose a poem!" Su Ziji instructed.
The servants immediately went to prepare them. Before long, several servants had everything ready. A young servant carefully ground the ink, and Su Ziji dipped his brush into it, then wrote a poem directly onto the sheet of rice paper laid out before him.
"Today there is a beauty, a daughter of Luo; one dance of her sword stirs all four quarters."
"The spectators stand like mountains, their faces drained; heaven and earth rise and fall with her long after."
"Brilliant as Yi shooting down nine suns, soaring as the assembled sovereigns riding dragons."
"She comes like thunder reining in its fury; she ends like rivers and seas holding their clear light still."
Once he finished, Fang Zhen, who had come over and read along, exclaimed, "Fine poetry, and fine calligraphy!"
Luo Jiang secretly wiped away her sweat. Beneath her seemingly calm expression,