A farewell poem

Outside the Capital, at Sheep Pavilion!

Several luxurious carriages stood beside the pavilion. The wind in the outskirts was bitterly cold, and the rolling mountains were a pale brown.

The sun hung mild and languid in the sky, offering a trace of warmth in those early winter days that rivaled a pair of boobs.

Layman Ziyang of Cloud Deer Academy was about to enter official service.

For Cloud Deer Academy, whose influence in officialdom was declining by the day, this was cause for great celebration.

The academy's teachers beat time and sang, while its students rejoiced. All felt they could finally hold their heads high, and that their day to rise was drawing near.

Inside the pavilion, three elderly men sat drinking tea together. One wore purple robes and had frost-white temples. He was the man they had gathered to see off.

Yang Gong, courtesy name Ziqian, sobriquet Layman Ziyang, had been the top imperial examination graduate in the fourteenth year of Yuanjing's reign. The following year, he had retired from office and returned to Cloud Deer Academy to pursue scholarship. Over twenty-two years, his students had spread throughout the land, and he had become a renowned great Confucian scholar.

He should have had a far brighter future; entering the Grand Secretariat and becoming chief minister would have been well within his reach. Yet at the height of his career, he had left officialdom under a cloud. Opinions among scholars varied wildly on the matter. Some said he had offended His Majesty and had been forced to retire.

Others said he had offended the current chief grand secretary and, outmatched in political maneuvering, had rolled up his bedding and slunk away.

But whatever the case, twenty-two years later, he had finally emerged from seclusion again. He was heading to Qingzhou to serve as provincial administration commissioner.

A true high official governing a territory.

The other two men were no less distinguished. Even leaving aside their standing within Cloud Deer Academy, their reputations outside it alone rivaled Layman Ziyang's.

The man in gray robes with a goatee was Li Mubai, a grandmaster of the board. Once hailed as the finest chess player under heaven, he had played three games against Wei Yuan, Duke Wei, five years earlier and lost them all. In a rage, he had smashed the board and never played again.

The man in blue robes was Zhang Shen, a master strategist. The Six Discourses on the Art of War, which he had written in his younger years, remained required reading for Great Feng's military officers and generals.

He was the only master strategist in Great Feng who could be mentioned in the same breath as Wei Yuan.

Outside the pavilion stood a group of students who had come to see him off, all promising pupils of Cloud Deer Academy.

Xu Xinnian was among them.

"Master Ziyang has finally emerged from seclusion. If we can win his appreciation, our future careers in officialdom are sure to sail smoothly." A classmate he knew well spoke in a low voice. "Cijiu, have you prepared a poem?"

My elder brother prepared one for me. Half a seven-character regulated poem, at that. Xu Xinnian looked into the pavilion and said indifferently, "I dashed off half a poem. Yongshu, you're far too calculating."

Seven-character regulated poetry followed strict metrical rules, requiring lines of uniform length. A poem consisted of eight lines, each containing seven characters, with every two lines forming a couplet, for four couplets in total.

The seven-character regulated poem Xu Qi'an had given him contained only two couplets. Xu Xinnian had pressed him after dinner, but his elder cousin had hemmed and hawed and changed the subject, refusing to provide the final two couplets.

"This isn't being calculating. The sea of learning is like the sea of officialdom: toil is your boat, and maneuvering your oar," his friend said. Apparently aware that Xu Xinnian was not good at poetry, he asked no further questions.

"Yongshu is right. Officialdom is corrupt these days. Clerks work with corrupt officials to prey on the common people, and natural disasters strike year after year. If we want to change things, we have to be a little more flexible in our thinking." Another student joined the conversation.

The student named Yongshu nodded and looked at Xu Xinnian. "You always say poetry is a minor pursuit, but no matter how good your essays are, who will remember you decades from now? Poetry, though, can be passed down through the ages."

Poetry is a minor pursuit. It can neither govern the country nor benefit the people. It's nothing but putting on scholarly airs. Xu Erlang had been about to say just that, but considering that he was currently preparing to please a senior with that very minor pursuit of putting on scholarly airs, he swallowed his words and gave a vague grunt of agreement.

Yongshu looked at him in surprise. He had actually refrained from arguing!

The chess grandmaster Li Mubai sighed. "Brother Yang, if you'd possessed even half their worldly finesse back then, you wouldn't have squandered more than twenty years."

Layman Ziyang smiled.

"That's not right." Zhang Shen, the master strategist, chuckled as he drank his tea. "Brother Yang harbors lofty ambitions. He was paving the way for the Establishing Destiny realm."

At this, Layman Ziyang sighed deeply. "In the end, I was still squeezed out of officialdom."

"That wasn't your fault. That lot from the Directorate of Education won't stand by and watch our Cloud Deer Academy rise again."

"Hmph. A pack of petty men who know nothing but flattering their superiors, bullying their inferiors, and playing political games. In less than two hundred years, they've brought the realm to this sorry state."

This involved a rather interesting piece of history.

The Confucian School originated with the Sage. Founded by the Sage's foremost disciple, White Deer Academy considered itself the orthodox heir to the Confucian School. And indeed, it was.

But two hundred years earlier, a dispute over the imperial succession had caused the emperor of the time to turn against it completely.

Just then, a traitor had emerged from White Deer Academy-or so White Deer Academy itself considered him.

That traitor had originally been a teacher at White Deer Academy. Seizing the opportunity, he had established his own school, winning the emperor's favor with the principle of "preserving heavenly principle and extinguishing human desires." With imperial support, he had founded the Directorate of Education and become a grandmaster of his age.

From then on, the Directorate of Education had replaced Cloud Deer Academy as the court's principal source of officials.

The struggle over the orthodox succession of the Confucian School had consequently continued for two hundred years.

Layman Ziyang said gravely, "On this journey, I will expand White Deer Academy's territory and establish its foundations in officialdom. But restoring the academy's former glory is beyond me alone. It will require all of us to work together, and, even more importantly, outstanding young people."

Li Mubai and Zhang Shen exchanged smiles. The latter turned toward the students outside the pavilion. "Would anyone care to compose a poem to see Layman Ziyang off?"

"Poetry needs a prize, or there's no fun in it." Layman Ziyang removed a piece of purple jade from his waist. "Whoever takes first place may have this jade pendant."

Purple light flowed across the pendant. It was wondrous and extraordinary.

The students' eyes lit up in unison. A jade pendant carried by a great Confucian scholar, bathed in scholarly Qi and imbued with wonders-obtaining it would undoubtedly benefit them greatly.

At the same time, Layman Ziyang's choice of the purple jade as a prize carried a deeper meaning.

An elder's personal possessions were given only to juniors and students. In other words, take this jade pendant, little brother, and you're one of mine-my student.

"This student would like to compose a poem to see Layman Ziyang off." A tall, straight-backed student in blue-green scholar's robes, a jade pendant hanging at his waist, stepped forward and cupped his hands toward the three great scholars in the pavilion.

Li Mubai smiled. "This is my student, Zhu Tuizhi. He has quite a talent for poetry."

Layman Ziyang smiled and nodded.

Once the student named Zhu Tuizhi finished reciting his farewell poem, Layman Ziyang's smile deepened, clearly very pleased.

"Not bad," praised Zhang Shen, the master strategist. He offered no further comments; both great scholars seated with him were more gifted at poetry than he was.

But a good beginning did not necessarily lead to a good ending. What followed could probably be described as tacking a dog's tail onto a sable.

The subsequent poems were barely satisfactory, only just passing muster.

Li Mubai said ruefully, "Ever since the Directorate of Education compiled new commentaries on the Sage's classics, preserving heavenly principle and extinguishing human desires, scholars throughout the realm have been confined to the classics, burying their heads in literary composition. Over time, they've become trapped in 'the shackles of ornate prose, fragmented and tediously intricate,' unable to free themselves. Their essays and poetry have lost all their spark."

By the end, he was speaking with bitter anguish.

This was also why the Confucian School had begun declining in recent times. Two hundred years earlier, its famous saying had been: the Buddhist Order is great, the Daoist Order is wonderful, and, ooh, the arcanists aren't bad either. Gu masters and shamans, who've blazed their own trails, are also quite inspired and deserve praise. Crude martial artists, please leave; this is a gathering of refined people. Take those Demon Race freaks with you while you're at it. As for everyone else present, forgive my bluntness, but you're all trash!

That was how badass the Confucian School had been back then.

And now?

The major cultivation systems: what's going on, little brother?

The Confucian School trembled: motherfucker.

Layman Ziyang sighed. "Enough. Let's not speak of this. Students, does anyone else wish to compose a poem?"

For a long while, no one answered.

Zhu Tuizhi stared at the purple jade with a burning gaze, feeling that it was already in the bag.

"Sir, I have a poem." Xu Xinnian stepped out of the crowd and approached the pavilion.

He had deliberately remained silent until now. Modest and unassuming as he was, he did not want to bring out a fine poem too early and embarrass his classmates. It had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he and Zhu Tuizhi had once traded fragrant words.

Thank you to the big boss "Gaoshan Yangzi" for the alliance leader donation. There will be extra updates when the novel goes premium.