To participate in the poetry event, one must cough up a silver or two as an entrance fee. Once the cash is handed over, a little servant arrives with brushes and ink. After our esteemed guests have done their scribbling, the poems are sent off to the Poetry Critique Tower for evaluation.
If you’re lucky enough to have your work selected, it gets posted for all to see.
The Poetry Critique Tower has a reputation for its high standards; despite the number of participants, only a handful of poems might make the cut.
With autumn evenings upon us, the prompt was clear:
“Moon.”
“Bring me the brush!”
Wu Chushu’s chest puffed up proudly as he confidently fished out some silver, strutting around like a peacock.
He had prepared thoroughly for this moment!
Little Wu believed he had some talent with verse, even though he hadn’t penned anything new lately.
But his master, Elder Zeng, was a true literary giant!
With Elder Zeng always buried in books, it was hard not to notice his scholarly prowess.
The poem he was about to present was a copy of one masterfully crafted by his mentor. The literary circles went wild when it was first revealed, praising it for being a celestial composition that was rarely heard by mortal ears!
That was the source of Little Wu’s confidence!
“Any wine?”
“Well, dear guest, with just a silver or two, the cheapest wine we have is three silvers a pot…”
“I’ll pay extra!”
So, Wu Chushu gulped down his drink until his face was redder than a ripe apple, letting the “inspiration” brew before letting his pen dance across the paper like it had wings.
With such a flamboyant display, one could expect a divine poem to emerge.
“I’ve heard Elder Zeng’s literary skills are fabulous and he’s known as a poetry fanatic.”
“Lucky for us there are multiple prizes; otherwise, I’d be sweating bullets!”
Little Ke stepped forward, taking the brush from the little servant’s hands, blushing slightly.
After all, it was plagiarism.
Having “borrowed” that poem, he was too embarrassed to shout it from the rooftops; if he could snag a prize through his ancestor’s brilliance, that would be delightful enough.
“In every field, there are specialists; Young Hero Ke cannot do it all.”
After indulging in the joy of being a mad poet, Wu Chushu returned to his usual charming self.
Ling Bing and Cao Mu exchanged silent glances, both reflecting the same unspoken thought.
Was Little Wu genuinely impressed with Elder Zeng’s literary flair… or had he forgotten he single-handedly took out a mountain of bandits and was bragged up as a hero of the entire valley?
At that moment,
Ke Mo also returned to the scene.
“What are you writing?”
Ling Bing watched as the little servant came in carrying a couple of pages and couldn’t help but feel curious.
He often threw out odd words and rhymes, yet nothing really struck her as literary brilliance.
“Don’t worry; bringing back a prize will be a piece of cake.”
Ke Mo raised an eyebrow.
Ling Bing vaguely remembered when Little Wu had to be sent back after only three days in private tutoring because the teacher said he couldn’t handle this kid.
The tutor looked like he pulled all-nighters with ink stains under his eyes and a bushy mustache, with his face littered with corrections…
“…I’ve been wrestling with this red thread for ages. Guess I’ve gotten used to it.”
…
Inside the Poetry Critique Tower.
Renowned scholars and poets had gathered, sharing and critiquing the poems delivered to them below.
Sitting at the head of the gathering was none other than Elder Zeng himself.
Honestly, Elder Zeng looked quite dapper in his scholarly robes, exuding an air of gravitas and wisdom.
He was busy reading a large blue-bound tome when someone asked him,
“Elder, what do you think of this one?”
“Leaves something to be desired.”
“And this one?”
“It fits the theme, at least.”
Elder Zeng tucked the tome away, his expression nonchalant.
Suddenly, a gasp echoed through the room:
“What level of poetry is this?”
“A masterwork?!”
“Tsk tsk, if it can make Song the Teacher react that way, it must be extraordinary!”
The crowd gathered around.
Song the Teacher, after his initial shock, wore a disgruntled expression:
“This poem is a jumbled mess; the rhythm is all wrong, and the imagery is completely off.”
“Isn’t sending this in just a waste of silver?!”
“Gasp…”
Everyone stared at the poem, their expressions turning comedic.
“Hmm?” Elder Zeng moved in closer, his face twitching as dark lines appeared on his forehead.
Wasn’t this his own masterpiece?!
Just then, someone asked:
“Elder, what do you think?”
“Just an amateur, but I will say… at least the courage is commendable. Their yearning for poetry is admirable…” Elder Zeng’s fists clenched quietly.
Everyone exchanged glances.
With Elder Zeng’s feisty nature, they expected a harsher critique…
Suddenly, they noticed the signature at the bottom:
“Wu Chushu.”
Ah, that explained everything.
“Ha ha ha, if this poem isn’t awful, it’s at least…”
“Courageous! Truly, quite courageous!”
“I think while it doesn’t capture the essence of poetry, they should still receive a consolation prize to encourage them.”
Glancing at Elder Zeng’s elder medallion, the scholars suddenly seemed a bit more respectful.
“Let’s first search for a poem that genuinely represents the literary spirit of the Poetry Critique Tower.”
“If nothing is found, we’ll have to put our heads together.”
Elder Zeng smiled amiably, pondering how to discipline Wu Chushu without finding any excuses.
Forget it; no need to make excuses. Just step in and roll with it.
Suddenly,
A startling exclamation rang out.
“Wait! This poem!”
Song the Teacher’s face lit up with surprise.
“What’s that?”
“Take a look, Elder!”
His colleague looked startled but quickly leaned in for a closer look, his expression immediately going blank.
Elder Zeng raised an eyebrow, feeling that these scholars lacked the grandeur expected of literati.
Once he held the poem, his expression turned to stone.
After glancing at the signature again, he began to tremble slightly.
He dashed to the edge of the tower, peering down with wide eyes.
“Hehe… as expected, it’s them…”
“Goodness, this is simply…”
Elder Zeng began to chuckle foolishly.
The crowd thought Elder Zeng was just being true to his personality, getting lost in the excitement of good poetry.
“Quick, frame this for me!”
“I’ll write it myself! Get me a bigger sheet! No, forget that; let’s use the cloud brocade instead!”
Though Elder Zeng had no poetic prowess, his calligraphy skills were top-notch.
…
Outside the Poetry Critique Tower.
A little servant delivered a jade hairpin to Wu Chushu.
Wu Chushu lifted his chin proudly and casually handed the hairpin to Miss She beside him.
“Wu Ge, you’re the best!” Miss She, sounding a bit congested, had a noticeably stuffy voice.
In front of everyone, Miss She planted a peck on Wu Chushu’s cheek with an exaggerated smack.
“Ha ha!”
Wu Chushu struggled not to burst out laughing, almost losing his cool literary aura, his chin bobbing like it might roll away.
Who knew if he’d still be able to keep it together at the Sword City afterwards.
Ling Bing’s eyes flickered.
She saw the pig running away, and out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but glance at Ke Mo’s face.
“This shouldn’t be happening.”
Ke Mo stroked his chin.
Is aesthetics in Nine Heavens and Ten Earths really that different from his previous life?
Just then, the little servant returned, this time carrying a delicate rosewood box.
“Miss, your prize.”
“Why is this different from Wu Chushu’s?”
Ke Mo opened it to find a lotus-shaped hairpin, but made from translucent jade that looked significantly more expensive.
“Congratulations! You hit the jackpot!”
Waves of exquisite cloud brocade swelled from the Poetry Critique Tower, providing ample opportunity for good writing.
“Under the moon by the Moonlight Tower, the moonlight flows like silver.
The clear moon was its previous incarnation. With a smile at the end, it illuminated the past few thousand springs.
The clarity washed over the vast world as it had over the tiniest specks.
Don’t let rosy cheeks exchange for frowns. For mortals, three or five nights could mean misunderstanding the reflections.”
A girl’s voice recited the poem, her enchanting lashes fluttering lightly, her gaze shifting through layers of memory, then clearing like clouds after rain—a moon breaking free from the shroud.
…
P.S.: The poem is inspired by “Linjiang Xian,” a piece from the late Qing and early modern era by Chen Zengshou.
Don’t worry, Ice Chunk and Little Ke won’t be apart for long; as we all know, the South Border has many monsters, and Little Ke has inherited the divine powers of transformation…
We humbly request the audience to charge the resources; it’s very important for this little adventure. Mwah!
