"Time's up, everyone please stop writing!" thundered Lei Dongyang.
Like a gentle breeze, maids floated in from the periphery, collecting the poems in front of the gathered individuals. When the maid reached Lin Su's table, she seemed a bit surprised. "He really wrote one," she thought. Of course, she had no understanding of the quality of the poem; that was for the master to decide.
Lei Dongyang picked up the gathered manuscripts and nodded in satisfaction. "Read!"
A person beside him stood up, took a poem, and began reciting, "Young Master Guiyang's poem: The tower stands a hundred feet tall, nothing extraordinary; looking up, the sky is filled with light..."
"Great poem!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, countless maids' eyes sparkled. In this idealistic kingdom of the Song Dynasty, even an unknown talent like the old P-client, Liu Yong, could conquer various literary circles with his poems. Here, scholars were not synonymous with fragility; they were all-around powerful.
"Young Master Duling's poem: The Yangtze River stretches straight for ten thousand miles..."
"Great poem!"
Cheers again.
"Young Master Qingyang's poem..."
"Young Master Loding of Luozhou's poem. Although not from Quzhou, his ancestral origin lies there..."
...
Dozens of poems were recited in the blink of an eye. Lin Su himself was not particularly skilled in classical poetry, but he had some understanding. He estimated that these poems were roughly at the same level as his own creations – not exceptionally good, but not bad either. The people here had reasons for their love of poetry, with a deep cultural heritage. Even an unknown scholar like Lin Su, who hadn't even entered the literary world, had a line in his poem that was quite innovative.
"Young Master Zhang Xiu's new work: The tide of the Yangtze River stands at its head, why bother to ask about coming and going; how does the tide know the ambition of the youth? Stepping through the sky, another autumn!"
"Excellent!" Everyone stood up and applauded.
Lei Dongyang stroked his beard and sighed, "What a line, 'Stepping through the sky, another autumn,' truly a stroke of genius! In this gathering, this poem should be considered the best... Anything else?"
"There is one more, a poem by Young Master Lin." The young reciter's face looked strange.
"Do we really need to read this?" Jin Young Master asked. "We don't want to spoil the enthusiasm."
"Read it!" Zhang Xiu laughed. "Let's see this poem, whether it has any limits."
Everyone laughed. Poetry limits? That's indeed an interesting topic.
Lei Dongyang smiled, "Literary arts are inclusive, with a broad mind. Joking about limits is a jest... Go on!"
The reciter cleared his throat and began, "A nobleman is not free to come..."
The crowd was slightly stunned. It's indeed a poem, and a remarkable opening!
"Dragons prance and phoenixes soar, difficult to restrain..."
Lei Dongyang's expression changed!
"Three thousand guests intoxicated in the hall, a sword frosty in forty provinces."
Everyone was bewildered; they had a feeling of being astonished. Did this poem come from the wastrel Third Young Master? Why am I finding it so hard to believe...
The zither-playing girl fixed her gaze on Lin Su. At this moment, her eyes sparkled infinitely...
"Excellent!" A loud shout came from the corner, a middle-aged man wearing ordinary clothes but exuding a unique charm as he stood up.
Someone boldly cheered, setting the rhythm. Numerous people echoed. Who in this gathering didn't have discerning eyes? This poem, with its majestic spirit and sharpness, was unmatched!
Although most of Quzhou's Nine Beauties were on the same side as Zhang Xiu, it was impossible for them to go against their basic knowledge and downgrade this poem.
"Young brother, this poem has an unparalleled spirit, but it seems the meaning is not fully expressed..." The old man raised his hand, interrupting the cheers.
Lin Su said, "Respected sir, this poem has eight lines. Please let me finish the last four!"
"Go on!" The reciter continued, "Drums and horns reveal the auspicious air, the wind and waves stir the earth, seas and mountains move in autumn. In the southeast, forever the Golden Pillar of the sky; who envies the former wealthy marquis?"
With the last four lines, the entire venue fell silent. If the first four lines were bold and heroic, why did the last four lines exude a sense of melancholy?
The old man sighed deeply, "In the southeast, forever the Golden Pillar of the sky; who envies the former wealthy marquis? The former Golden Pillar of the sky, but now a lost soul under the blade! Heaven, earth, time, and fate!"
With a lift of his hand, the word "wind" appeared out of thin air. A violent wind swept through the building, and the old man, riding the wind, disappeared into the sky in the blink of an eye.
"The pinnacle of literary arts? Which esteemed senior is this?" Lei Dongyang was shocked and pale. Writing a word in the air, summoning wind, and sending someone into the sky—what incredible power was this? The visitor must be a great scholar, and one who had reached the pinnacle of literary arts at that. Such a person was like a god in the entire Great Cang.
"It's Senior Deng Xianchu, Deng Daren!" someone exclaimed. "Look!"
Everyone followed his pointing finger, and at the end of the corridor hung the word "起" shining brightly, a unique response between the current host and the calligraphy left by the former owner.
Lin Su's heart was greatly moved. Staring at the direction Deng Xianchu disappeared, he couldn't help but be in awe of a true great scholar. To meet, to know each other, and in the blink of an eye, to soar into the sky—this was what a scholar should be! This was the direction he sought!
His gaze finally returned slowly, turning to Lei Dongyang. "Mr. Lei, can this impromptu poem catch your attention?"
Impromptu...
Cough... Lei Dongyang began to cough.
"Anti-poetry!" Zhang Xiu shouted, "Daring and arrogant, daring to title it anti-poetry. Are you trying to rebel? Based on your father guarding the southeast and you naming your father the Golden Pillar of the southeast, then, where do you place the Emperor? Overthrowing the tyrant of the court? Based on this, are you going to recruit troops and horses for your father, hosting a hall full of guests intoxicated, and a sword frosty in forty provinces!"
Lin Su's body hair stood on end. "Oh my God!
How could I forget that in a feudal society there is still the specter of literary inquisition?
The first appearance, and I've already played it too recklessly?
Once this poem reaches the capital, with the instigation of the Minister of War from the sidelines, the feeble-minded emperor will definitely resort to execution! The entire Lin family will be in great danger! With imperial power supreme, how do I resolve the death I have caused?
Lin Su's brain quickly revolved. A dangerous idea arose, but it was the only way.
"Originally, it was just a poem expressing aspirations, but it has been maliciously misinterpreted by villains. I, the author, cannot clear my name. I have only one solution, seek the judgment of the Holy Ones!"
He raised his hand, revealing half a stick of incense. This incense was extremely special, entirely golden as if it were a half-gold bar. This was the Holy Incense.
Igniting the Holy Incense, a direct link to the heavens!
The Holy Incense served as a channel for communication between scholars and the Holy Ones, extremely precious and one of the high-end Five Treasures sold exclusively at the Temple of Literature. Lin Su had taken this half stick from his second brother's study.
Originally, he had planned to set a trap, using this half stick of incense to lure Zhang Xiu into a situation (for example, quietly igniting the Holy Incense, using modern language and psychological techniques to induce Zhang Xiu to speak disrespectfully about the Holy Ones). But now, with his own life at stake, he had no choice but to use this half stick of incense to save himself. Before the imperial power, only the Holy Decree could save him.
The Holy Ones were truly supreme.
As long as he passed the judgment of the Holy Ones, no one in the world would dare to trouble him about this poem again.
If it weren't for the critical situation, he wouldn't have dared to present the copied poem to the Holy Ones, as he didn't know if they would see through it. If they discovered he was a plagiarist, he would be in real trouble.
But now, there was no second option; he had to take the gamble.
The incense was lit, and everyone in the hall stood up, applauding!
The incense had been lit, meaning that this restaurant was now under the gaze of the Holy Ones.
All were astonished, and Lin Su said, "I report to the Holy Ones, disciple Lin Su. A poem written by me has been maliciously misinterpreted, leading to severe consequences. The flourishing of literary arts should encompass a broad spectrum. If even a poem can be used as evidence of a crime, who would dare to compose poetry or write literature? How can literary arts flourish under such circumstances? I implore the Holy Ones to pass judgment for me!"
He raised his hand, revealing the incense, an exquisite half-golden stick. This was the Holy Incense.
The lit Holy Incense reached directly to the heavens!
The Holy Incense was a channel for communication with the Holy Ones, and Lin Su had used it to save his life. Before the critical gaze of the Holy Ones, only the Holy Decree could save him.
The voice of the Holy Ones echoed in the sky, "Present the poem!"
Zhang Xiu's back broke out in a cold sweat.
The Holy Decree now?
Although theoretically, any scholar could communicate directly with the Holy Ones, ninety-nine percent only submitted one-sided offerings. What did this mean? You could pray to the Holy Ones, but you couldn't guarantee receiving even a single word of the Holy Decree.
But today, the Holy Decree had come, as if the Holy Ones were speaking face to face.
How could this kid achieve that? How was it possible for the Holy Decree to be issued for him?
This was not a good sign.
However, Lin Su was greatly relieved. The Holy Incense was communicating, and he had used a psychological technique.
The Holy Ones were supreme beings, indifferent to the life and death of ordinary people, but they certainly cared about the flourishing or decline of literary arts and the smoothness or obstruction of the literary path.
If literary arts did not flourish, the sects established by the Holy Ones could not thrive, which was akin to digging up their ancestral graves.
By creating a literary inquisition, weren't they hindering cultural prosperity? In modern online literature, sensitive terms were blocked, and writers found it challenging to express themselves. What about in a feudal society? If everyone had to scrutinize taboo subjects before creating, how could literature thrive? This topic was indeed interesting.
Sure enough, Lin Su's somewhat provocative opening had a tremendous effect; the Holy Ones spoke!
"Poetry in seven colors is truly rare. I grant you the literary root; cultivate it well!"
The poem suddenly transformed into a seven-colored phoenix, descending from the sky and covering Lin Su's entire body. When the radiance faded, a new root appeared under the withered tree in Lin Su's mind. This root revived the dried-up tree, turning it into a vigorous one. The leaves on the tree swayed, full of vitality, as if it had suddenly come to life. Lin Su's understanding of the profound and obscure Holy Scriptures in his mind increased significantly. Even his memory seemed to defy normal limits, making every book he had ever read appear vividly in his mind.
Lin Su's heart pounded. With the literary root, his path of literature had been activated. The withered tree in his mind was closely related to the path of literature. Having the literary root was like bringing sunshine to a gloomy day. All abilities related to literature were rolling upward.
The entire crowd was petrified.
Bestowing the literary root? What kind of play was happening today?
The original intention was to crush the Lin family beyond recovery, but in the end, did the Lin family produce a genius?
"Thank you, Holy Teacher!" Lin Su said, "I am deeply grateful for the Holy Teacher's recognition of the disciple's poem and the bestowal of the literary root. I am willing to dedicate my life in gratitude, but the disciple still has one thing to say and dare not neglect it."
The sky remained silent, but there was still a hidden mystery.
Lin Su raised his head. "What the disciple wants to say concerns the flourishing of contemporary literature. Literature, like a road, can either be open or closed. Many literati have followed the aspirations of the Holy Ones, pioneering the way forward, leading to the prosperous era of literature we have today. However, some treacherous individuals fabricate nonexistent crimes, establishing a literary inquisition with the intention of cutting off the roots of literature. If this trend is not eliminated, there will be endless troubles in the future!"
Zhang Xiu's entire body shook!
He suddenly felt a great sense of crisis.
"Reasonable!" Two words came from the sky, and with a snap, Zhang Xiu screamed. His entire body curled up into a ball, a blood-red mark appearing on his forehead. The literary realm inside his mind had already begun to crack.
The clouds in the sky dispersed suddenly, and at the same time, the Holy Incense burned to its end.