At Xie Lin's prompting, Liu Zijin, flushed with wine, leaned across the table.
"Compose poems! Sing verses! Our third-place laureate is right!
Today is the Qionglin Banquet, and His Majesty is here in person. How could we offer him nothing?"
He suddenly turned toward Wei Nisheng, raising his voice.
"Brother Zi'an! Those lines you recited by the railing are still turning over in my mind!
'Think of those years-golden spears and iron steeds, devouring ten thousand miles like a tiger.'
What kind of lines are these? Lines bestowed upon the mortal world by Heaven itself!"
His voice carried; more than half the people in the open pavilion heard him.
[Devouring ten thousand miles like a tiger]
Those six words leaped like a flame from Liu Zijin's mouth.
They fell into the air of the open pavilion, and everyone savored them again and again.
Wang Kuan, a native of Taiyuan, was the first to rise, his voice booming like a great bell.
"Devouring ten thousand miles like a tiger! Splendid! Splendid! Splendid!"
He cried "splendid" three times in succession, each louder than the last, until the wine cups on the tables trembled.
Lu Wenzhao had risen at some point, swaying as he murmured, "Wei Zi... Wei Zi truly has talent..."
A stir swept through the open pavilion.
Behind the curtains, the musicians had no idea what had happened outside, and the music of strings and flutes still drifted gently through the air.
Upon the imperial seat, Emperor Jing of Zhou, a lover of verse, also looked visibly stirred.
"Wang Cheng." His voice was quiet.
"Did you hear those six words just now?"
"This servant heard them." Wang Cheng hastily bowed.
"Presented Scholar Liu was saying that Chief Laureate Wei... had recited a line of verse."
Emperor Jing of Zhou did not