Chapter Forty-Nine: Composing Poetry (Asking for Three Rivers Votes!)

(Today, for some inexplicable reason, thirty thousand clicks were suddenly deducted. What a rip-off! Others have hundreds of thousands of clicks without any issues, but with just a few tens of thousands on Sanjiang, it becomes problematic? I can't take it anymore. I beg for comfort—this is so unfair!)

Strangely enough, the moment Old Huang cast his gaze, the unsettling anxiety that had welled up in Chen Jianchen’s heart quickly subsided. Yet, instead of relaxing, Chen Jianchen became even more alert. Since he had cultivated a righteous spirit, his sensitivity to sinister influences had grown keener, far surpassing ordinary people. In that brief moment, he measured the situation carefully.

He lowered his head slightly and walked off to the side, pretending to admire the distant view from the cool pavilion, watching the white rapids leap along the Jian River.

Not long after, the students and teachers from the two academies were carried up in sedan chairs. For many, it was their first time on Brushstand Mountain, and they eagerly entered the sightseeing pavilion, marveling at the grand scenery all around.

After a stick of incense’s time had passed and everyone had caught their breath, the two academies divided into teams and began their formal social exchange. Both sides took turns proposing questions, but instead of focusing on contemporary essays or classical exegesis, the challenges centered on improvised poetry, composing lyrics, creating couplets, and riddles.

These subjects were the "signature dishes" of literary gentlemen and poets.

At first, Chen Jianchen was quite interested, wanting to hear the level of their impromptu verses. But as he listened, it became increasingly disappointing. When Young Master Wu took his turn at poetry, he swung his folding fan, walked with feline grace up to the pavilion, and adopted an air of deep contemplation. After a moment, he snapped his fan shut with flair and recited aloud, "At the foot of the mountain, a river flows..."

Pfft!

Chen Jianchen nearly lost his composure and quickly turned away, barely suppressing his laughter.

"Excellent poem! Excellent!"

After Young Master Wu finished his five-character quatrain, the crowd immediately applauded wildly, showering him with praise. It was unclear whether they genuinely admired the poem or simply regarded Young Master Wu as "excellent."

One round of exchanges passed, and many had shown their talents, but Chen Jianchen remained silent, sitting quietly without participating.

Wu Wencai, who had noticed him for a long while, suddenly spoke, "Liuxian, you placed first in the three rounds of the children's examination, your talents are evident, and your reputation precedes you. Why not let your elder brother test you now?"

Hearing this, the students from both academies clamored eagerly, wanting to witness Chen Jianchen’s abilities firsthand.

What was bound to happen had finally arrived...

Chen Jianchen asked, "Wencai, what sort of test do you propose?"

Wu Wencai laughed heartily, lightly shaking his folding fan as he strode a few steps, then clapped his hands, "I've got it."

He walked over to the tea shop, pointed at a pillar, and said, "Liuxian, you are a young talent. If I test you with something too simple, you’ll surely look down on it. So let’s make it more challenging. I’ll set the topic, you take seven steps, compose a poem on the spot, and write it on this pillar—let us all enjoy your calligraphy as well."

He spoke lightly, but anyone with a bit of sense could tell this was an overt attempt to embarrass him. Who could guess what topic he might choose? If he picked something obscure or arcane, composing a poem on the spot would be immensely difficult, not to mention the seven-step time limit. Even simple, conventional verses could hardly be completed in such a rush.

But to accept and fail to write a poem would mean losing face entirely.

Wu Wencai, however, paid no mind to Chen Jianchen’s concerns. He called out, "Wangcai, prepare the ink and brush!"

His servant immediately produced an exquisite set of writing tools.

The brush was of fine wolf hair, the ink of top-grade Huizhou manufacture, and the seven-star inkstone was of the finest Duan stone from the old quarry. This set alone was worth a gold ingot in the market.

"Master, please!"

Wangcai had ground the ink and presented it to Chen Jianchen. It seemed polite, but in truth, it was a form of coercion.

Chen Jianchen did not immediately take up the brush.

Wu Wencai sneered, "Could it be that Liuxian is afraid? Or perhaps your first-place finish was merely luck, and you dare not accept my challenge?"

Chen Jianchen replied in a deep voice, "Please set the topic, Wencai."

Seeing him take the bait, Wu Wencai was delighted. "Rest assured, I won’t choose an obscure topic to make things difficult for you... Hm, let’s use 'Twilight' as the theme. Compose a five-character quatrain."

He played his hand cleverly—choosing a relatively simple poetic form and a theme, "Twilight," that was neither obscure nor difficult to understand.

This way, no one could accuse him of being unfair.

Yet, with "Twilight" as the subject, its vagueness and breadth made it hard to grasp. Even if Chen Jianchen managed to write a poem in seven steps, it would likely be a poor effort at best...

Wu Wencai was not worried that Chen Jianchen would succeed. On the contrary, he hoped Chen Jianchen would, in his haste, produce a mediocre poem, and inscribe it on the tea shop pillar for all visitors to "admire."

A bad poem boldly written on a pillar would become an indelible stain on Chen Jianchen’s life—he would be mocked as overconfident, a laughingstock, and judged lacking in personal virtue.

Brushstand Mountain was no ordinary place; among its visitors were many officials and literati whose keen eyes could instantly discern the quality of any poem.

If Chen Jianchen wrote a poor poem and inscribed it on the pillar, it would be as if he had left a foul mark at the mountain’s summit, naturally provoking disgust, aversion, and even scorn.

Wu Wencai’s intentions were thus truly malicious.

Though he was arrogant, vindictive, and ignorant, he possessed some self-awareness. Normally, even if one composed a poor poem for an occasion, others would not take it seriously—it would be quickly forgotten. But what was written in ink and displayed at a famous site was entirely different. Thus, unless confident in their abilities, few would leave poetry at notable locations; most would simply write on paper.

Many present failed to grasp the intricacies, and instead clamored excitedly, especially some female students who cheered Chen Jianchen on.

A few teachers, sensing the scheme, frowned, but none chose to intervene.

Who would dare spoil Young Master Wu’s mood now?

Nie Xiaoqian’s eyes sparkled—she seemed to disapprove, but likewise did not intervene. She simply fixed her gaze on Chen Jianchen, as if waiting to see his skill and whether he could see through Wu Wencai’s plot.

With all eyes upon him, Chen Jianchen suddenly smiled, took up the brush, and walked lightly forward.

He didn’t bother with seven steps, but went straight to the pillar in just three.

The pillar, made of sturdy fir, was as thick as a sea bowl and polished smooth as a mirror—no splinters could be found.

Without hesitation, Chen Jianchen began to write, swift and confident.

For some reason, seeing his calm composure, Wu Wencai felt a sudden unease, as though his scheme had gone awry.

In moments, Chen Jianchen finished his poem, the ink standing out boldly upon the pillar, visible from afar.

Wu Wencai stepped forward and recited in a loud voice:
"As evening draws near, the mood grows mellow,
Ascending the heights as the winds blow low;
The sunset is infinitely beautiful,
But it is close to twilight!"

Below were six smaller characters: Inscribed by Chen Jianchen of Jiangzhou.