"Humph, what challenging questions? Just some clever tricks, showing off one's eloquence." Jì Cháng angrily remarked, evidently harboring great resentment towards these brain-teasers.
Qín Guān chuckled twice and said, "Let's not dwell on that. Jì Cháng, you, who usually boasts an extensive knowledge, couldn't even compose a simple poem today?"
"I, I," Jì Cháng's face turned crimson as he stammered, "I just wasn't accustomed to it for a moment, a bit nervous, and besides, Qín Xiōng, your drawn topic was simple, mine was more difficult—"
Observing his expression, Lín Wǎn Róng understood. Jì Cháng was undoubtedly a product of rote memorization education from his previous world. In those words, he was a rigid, inflexible individual who, when stressed, became utterly befuddled.
Qín Guān, on the other hand, seemed no better. Hearing him boast about the simplicity of his topic in front of others, his face soured a bit. He sneered, saying, "Jì Cháng, this is absurd. Four topics, including 'Wind, Flowers, Snow, and Moon,' any of which could be chosen for poetry. I drew 'Wind,' you drew 'Snow,' both are widely observed and straightforward. How can you say mine was simple and yours was difficult?"
As Qín Guān spoke, he shook his head, swaying his folding fan gracefully, and began to recite, "Last year, a gust of wind, hidden deep in the lane. Calls unheard, coming and going, leaving no trace." His face was full of self-satisfaction, evidently pleased with his "performance" in the examination hall.
Lín Wǎn Róng wanted to laugh but held back. Was this considered poetry? Even a mediocre wordsmith could produce three such poems with a single fart.
Smirking, Qín Guān said, "Jì Cháng, you claimed to be temporarily out of form in the examination hall. Have you thought of a poem now, based on the topic of 'Snow'?"
Qín Guān's face carried a hint of disdain, as literati tend to look down on others. He knew that Jì Cháng was a product of rigid education, and although he might cobble together something in a day or two, he likely lacked the quick wit for this moment.
Jì Cháng's face alternated between red and white, indicating that he still hadn't composed the poem on the theme of snow.
Lín Wǎn Róng, initially interested in learning about the candidates' experiences, now found the situation quite amusing. Qín Guān was a braggart, and Jì Cháng, despite being knowledgeable, couldn't adapt under pressure, turning flustered.
Lín Wǎn Róng, who enjoyed teasing straightforward people, couldn't resist the urge. Suppressing his laughter, he said, "Such an easy poem, even a rustic like me could come up with it. I think Young Master Jì must be too modest. How about this, I'll recite a poem, and Young Master Jì can critique it."
Seeing Qín Guān's surprised expression, Lín Wǎn Róng found great joy. This young man was far from understanding the depths of a true literatus.
Lín Wǎn Róng took a few steps, then read aloud with a mischievous grin, "On the river, a lump of mud; above the well, a dark hole. A yellow dog with white spots; a white dog with a swelling."
This was a straightforward satire. Lín Wǎn Róng was initially hesitant to display such a crude poem, but given Qín Guān's audacity in calling his own work poetry, he now proclaimed himself a poet.
"What a poem, what a poem!" Jì Cháng exclaimed, clapping his hands with a small fan, " 'On the river, a lump of mud' describes the scene of snowflakes fluttering over the river—a panoramic view, a distant perspective. Then, the pen turns to the well in the courtyard, where the snow is pure white, only the well's opening deep and secluded—a grand hole. As for the last line, it's truly a stroke of genius—'white dog with a swelling'—the word 'swelling' transforms the static snow scene into a living creature. This poem, aptly compared, has a profound and distant artistic conception. The entire poem doesn't mention snow directly, yet vividly depicts the grandeur of the snowfall. Truly a rare masterpiece. People are indeed not to be judged by their appearance, and the sea cannot be measured by pints. Brother, your depths are truly unfathomable, profoundly unfathomable."
Although Jì Cháng couldn't compose poetry, he demonstrated a set of skills in analysis. Concepts like distant and near perspectives, static representation transformed into dynamic, and comparisons in artistic conception were neatly arranged in the explanation. If placed in Lín Wǎn Róng's time, he would undoubtedly be an excellent critic.
Lín Wǎn Róng, holding back a smile, modestly said, "Please forgive my humble skills."
A soft laughter interrupted them. Lín Wǎn Róng turned to see a lovely young lady standing nearby, covering her mouth as she laughed. Evidently, she overheard Lín Wǎn Róng's crude poem and found it amusing.
"So, it's you," Lín Wǎn Róng smiled and said, recognizing the young lady who bought his booklet the previous day.
Jì Cháng and Qín Guān, upon seeing the charming young lady, immediately lit up, their eyes revealing a trace of infatuation. They approached her politely, saying, "Excuse us, Miss. I am Jì Cháng (Qín Guān). May I inquire about your celestial abode? How old are you, and have you been married?"
Lín Wǎn Róng, taken aback, couldn't believe these two were so audacious, asking such direct questions. Were they courting death?
The young lady blushed, scolding, "You, what nonsense are you spouting?"
Lín Wǎn Róng burst into laughter, saying, "Young lady, they are trying to court you. Don't you understand?"
The young lady's face turned crimson, pointing at Lín Wǎn Róng, "You, you shameless charlatan, I won't let you off." She turned around, lifted her small feet, and swiftly ran away.
"Why am I again branded as a shameless charlatan?" Lín Wǎn Róng felt depressed.
Last time, when Xiāo Qīng Xuān scolded him, it was somewhat justifiable, given that he took advantage of her. This time, he merely spoke a sentence and became a charlatan. Why didn't this young lady scold those two shameless guys with thick-skinned faces? Instead, she came to scold him? What kind of world was this?
Actually,
Lín Wǎn Róng misunderstood. Although it's a strict rule not to be physically intimate without a relationship, in this era where male and female interactions were limited, the opportunity for a man to encounter a woman of interest was scarce. Therefore, when those flirtatious literati met a woman they liked, they would usually approach and strike up a conversation. For women, the chance of finding a suitable husband was even slimmer. Once someone inquires and, if the person seems agreeable, anything could happen. However, this young lady was still quite young, unfamiliar with such situations, hence her abrupt departure in anger.
Lín Wǎn Róng, unaware of these customs, saw Jì Cháng and Qín Guān gazing in the direction the young lady had left with a touch of reluctance. He had no favorable impression of these two true "charlatans." Seeing that it was getting late, he snorted and, paying no attention to them, left on his own.
Tomorrow, the selected household servants from the Xiāo family would enter, and today was the time Xiāo Jiā gave them to prepare their belongings. Most of them were excited, considering their entry into the Xiāo family as a solid foundation in the servant world. With effort, there might be even greater opportunities for development.
The only exception was Lín Wǎn Róng. Thinking about serving the old lady of the Xiāo family starting tomorrow, he felt extremely downcast and just wanted to find a place to vent. If he knew the way to the kiln, he would already be lying down with more than three little ladies, swearing by the name of God.