Within the Clear Breeze Residence,
the phenomenon in the corner of the first floor gradually attracted more and more people's attention.
No one knows who led the way first, but some with keen perceptions began to converge towards that writing desk.
"These are graded verses, Ascending Grade!"
Another cry of astonishment erupted, causing an immediate uproar in the hall. Those queued up for tickets no longer cared about their lines, each one surging towards the source of commotion, while people from the second and third floors continually came down to join the crowd. Even the stewards and shopkeepers behind the counters, including a beautiful matron, were drawn over…
The number of people was significantly more than those who had gathered earlier to watch the excitement.
This time, not only guests from within the Clear Breeze Residence but also many pedestrians from the street outside were lured in by the extraordinary occurrence.
At this moment, the green-clothed girl who had arrived first at the writing desk stared blankly at the dazzling verse on the table, her eyes as if nailed to it, unable to move away.
"Nanke's Dream."
"Ten miles of Qingshan lie distant; the tide ebbs, leaving a sandy path. The plaintive calls of the birds bemoan fleeting time, yet again it's a desolate season, at the ends of the earth."
She took a deep breath before looking down at the following verse.
"White dew gathers the waning moon; the gentle breeze scatters the dawn's rosy clouds. By the willow-lined dyke, I ask the lotus flower: Remember the time we bought wine there, that humble home?"
"How beautiful,"
the girl murmured.
Confucian poetry was quite popular in the mountains, but in reality, most cultivators only valued it for how it benefitted their own cultivation, not truly appreciating or analyzing its aesthetics. They would at best only vaguely understand its taste, yet this did not prevent them from recognizing the merits of a poem, for the Great Dao of heaven and earth itself would judge.
A good poem might not necessarily be graded, but a graded poem was definitely good!
Moreover, a graded poem would naturally produce a phenomenon upon its creation, hence cultivators pursued only the original manuscripts of graded verses.
However, the green-clothed girl was different; she had extensively studied poetry, having read many hand-copied graded poems passed around the mountain. She did so not just for her cultivation, but also out of fond interest.
She knew that each graded poem was a beautiful "accident," and how difficult it was for those emotion-filled lines to be recognized by heaven and earth. And the poets who wrote those lines were brimming with talent!
The Ascending Grade poem before her had an innovative structure; its imagery was tranquil and clear, with harmonious contrast and vibrant colors, exuding intense aesthetic appeal.
Upon this thought, she couldn't help looking up at the scholar before her.
So, he truly was a scholar from Linlu Academy...
At this moment, Zhao Rong was wearing a smile.
The surrounding crowd merely felt his composure was as smooth as the serene Ping Lake, but in truth... he was quite baffled.
Why did writing a verse cause such a big commotion? It surely wasn't like this the previous time he wrote for Qian'er!
He glanced at the slowly quieting crowd around him, most of whom were intensely focused on the verse he'd written. Occasionally, a few would look up at him, their eyes filled with shock.
After all, it was extremely rare for someone outside the Academy to produce graded poetry, and if such a scholar emerged, the Academy would almost invariably extend an invitation to join its ranks.
By now, nearly everyone was convinced that Zhao Rong was indeed from Linlu Academy, of course, with one exception—who still held onto a sliver of hope...
Zhao Rong casually glanced at Lin Qingxuan, who stood outside the crowd, his expression a mixture of doubt and surprise, but said nothing.
He then turned his gaze to the beautiful matron amidst the crowd.
The matron, seeing his attention turn to her, trembled slightly inside and hurriedly flashed a smile, unnatural and somewhat obsequious.
Zhao Rong simply found this routine of looking down upon him, stepping on him, and then having his revenge quite boring.
He didn't know why Lin Qingxuan would try to trample him. Was it just personal distaste? That might be an external factor, but what about the internal one?
Initially, he wanted to just walk away, unwilling to entertain their games. But Liu Sanbian, in that situation, stood up to help him.
He felt compelled to repay this favor, so he picked a quiet corner, intending to write a few poems like the ones he did for Qian'er and gift them to Liu Sanbian—who might find some use for them.
But he hadn't anticipated the huge fuss his writing would cause!
Zhao Rong, seeing the old Brother Liu and others still immersed in the poem "Nanke's Dream · Ten Miles of Qingshan Lie Distant," silently called out to Gui in his heart a few times.
Ever since yesterday, when Gui learned that he still had to "freeload," it had been ignoring him.
Zhao Rong couldn't grasp why it despised freeloading so much. What's wrong with freeloading? Did he consume its rice?
Moreover, I might not, well… maybe I won't be able to freeload after all.
"What is it?"
To Zhao Rong's surprise, Gui actually responded, perhaps aware of his unique situation at the moment.
"Not angry anymore?"
"Oh, I'm not angry, why should your lack of ambition concern me?"
"I really wasn't going there to be a kept man, I just wanted to return the jade to her and take the opportunity to deliver a letter."
"Heh."
"..."
"That, what the heck is Poetry Grading? And what's this Ascending Grade?"
Gui pondered for a moment.
"Poetry Grading means that the poem has been recognized by heaven and earth, and can gather spiritual energy to become a treasured ink creation. I've mentioned this to you before. As for the Ascending Grade... During my era in the Xuanhuang Realm, poems were only categorized as graded or not graded. Later, I'd heard that the Confucian Saints planned to differentiate graded poems further, though until I left, I never saw them take any action."
"The person who revealed this secret to me said that the Confucian Saints were preparing to divide graded poems into three grades and two realms."
"Ascending Grade, Falling Flower Grade, Nanshan Grade."
"State of Self, State of No Self."
"The order of the three grades indicates their levels, with the Ascending Grade able to gather spiritual energy once for use by cultivators of the Vast Realm and above; the Falling Flower Grade can gather even more spiritual energy and help those at the Fu Yao Realm bottleneck to grasp a realm breakthrough; whereas the Nanshan Grade is even more exceptional, capable of gathering a vast sea of spiritual energy, and can also aid cultivators at the Vast Realm bottleneck to breakthrough!"
"As for the State of Self and State of No Self, only Falling Flower Grade and Nanshan Grade poems are differentiated into these two states, or rather, Ascending Grade poems can only ascend to the latter two grades if they contain a state."
"In reality, the two states don't have an absolute hierarchy, but a poem in the State of Self can only be comprehended and absorbed once by a cultivator; afterward, the treasured ink will lose its spiritual energy and become a mundane object."
"Whereas, a poem in the State of No Self can be repeatedly comprehended by cultivators, gathering spiritual energy anew, which is quite remarkable. Indeed, they are creations of the natural way of heaven and earth."
Gui had to admit that Confucian poetry was truly mystical, especially the State of No Self poems, which almost approached the Dao, something that in his view should only be explored by cultivators after reaching much higher realms of cultivation.
Zhao Rong seemed to have an epiphany.
Three Grades, Two Realms? How interesting.
Zhao Rong recalled in his own time and space, there once was a literary master who proposed a similar theory of three realms of human life for poets:
"Those who have accomplished great deeds and profound knowledge through the ages must have passed through three stages: 'The west wind withered the green trees last night, as I ascended the high building alone and watched the end of the road'—this is the First Realm. 'Though the belt gradually widens, I have no regret, wasting away for her'—this is the Second Realm. 'In the crowd I searched for her in vain, but suddenly, when I turned around, there she was in the dim light'—this is the Third Realm."
And the poems produced by poets in these three stages likely correspond to the Ascending, Falling Flower, and Nanshan Grades designated by the Confucian Saints of this world.
As for the State of Self and State of No Self,
The State of Self views the world through one's perspective, hence, everything bears the tint of self.
The State of No Self perceives the world as it is, hence, one cannot distinguish what is self and what is the world.
Actually, it's quite straightforward to understand.
In the State of Self, emotions surpass the scenery; in the State of No Self, the scenery conceals the emotions. It's just a matter of different focuses.
Having thought this through, some of Zhao Rong's questions were readily resolved.
"So, the poem I wrote for Qian'er that day, which helped her break through, was a Falling Flower Grade in the State of Self?"
"It should be."
No wonder that after finishing that poem, there were no extraordinary emanations of radiance from the paper. It turned out Qian'er had comprehended and absorbed it on the spot.
Speaking of Qian'er, Zhao Rong found himself suddenly missing her. He wondered what the girl was up to now...
"Confucians do indeed have an advantage in the Vast Realm, I have seen all manner of peculiar Vast Realm cultivation techniques, yet in the end, I still feel that the Confucian's technique is the closest to the fundamental Dao of the Vast Realm."
"Eh, did you follow the Confucian path in the Vast Realm?"
"No,"
"The Vast Realm is too simple; I just picked any cultivation technique and breezed through it."
"..."
I shouldn't have asked!
Zhao Rong came back to his senses, not paying attention to the audience around him, but instead turned to look at Liu Sanbian, who was fond of "Qingshan", his thoughts stirring. He casually moved the Xuan paper with the Ascending Grade poem to one side and spread out a new sheet before him.
The surrounding people watched with trepidation.
Be careful, that's an Ascending Grade poem!
Yet the scholar in front of the table was indifferent, still going about his business.
They watched as he rolled up one sleeve with one hand and dipped his brush in ink with the other.
Slowly, he wrote down a line.
"To Liu Sanbian"