Chapter Twenty-Two: The Gathering Storm

As soon as the literary aura entered his body, Song Mu felt a surge of joy within. The aura was richer, and exceedingly pure. Though this poem possessed only a measure more talent than his previous work "Moss," it could not alone account for such refined literary energy. There could be but one explanation: it was the result of Ouyang Hong's recent intervention.

Eyes closed, Song Mu accepted the literary aura, sensing the ancient book in his mind tremble, its pages now inscribed with this new poem. "Auxiliary Battle Poem, Talent: Five Measures." The annotation appeared on the page, and Song Mu secretly breathed a sigh of relief. This Qingming poem was indeed excellent; he believed it would prove a valuable asset in time.

When the aura was fully absorbed by the ancient book, Song Mu slowly opened his eyes, finding Jin Changwu and Ouyang Hong discussing his poem before him. Nearby, Lu Jue had been transformed into a stone statue, utterly lifeless.

"Not bad," Ouyang Hong remarked upon seeing Song Mu awaken. "You absorb literary aura faster than most. I refined Lu Jue's last trace of pure literary power for you. How do you feel now?"

Song Mu smiled and nodded, "I feel as though my whole being is brimming with literary force."

"Haha, no need to worry. In the coming days, read the classics and compose essays diligently. Let your mind settle. When the academy exam arrives, I trust you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised!" Jin Changwu nodded as well, gesturing to the poem before them.

"This verse carries a hint of Zen, somewhat connected to Buddhism. Song Mu, your range of study is quite broad."

Song Mu hurried to respond with humility. "I dare not claim much. Merely, my elders once practiced vegetarianism and recited Buddhist texts, so I composed this from childhood memories."

It was true that the Song family had once observed Buddhist customs; Song Mu embellished the fact to craft a suitable excuse. Moreover, he had noticed that Buddhism was greatly diminished in this world, its traditions lingering with the flavor of the Wei and Jin dynasties, the original masters Shenxiu and Huineng nowhere to be found. Thus, Song Mu had written this Zen-inspired poem.

Jin Changwu and Ouyang Hong nodded, evidently without objection. This Qingming poem, with its talent measured at five, was also added to the Ascendant Literary Pavilion and would henceforth be shared with all its branches. In less than half a month since arriving in this world, Song Mu had composed two poems worthy of nationwide acclaim, achieving in days what others might never accomplish in a lifetime.

With the matter of the dungeon settled, Song Mu was escorted out. Returning to the outside, Jin Changwu watched as Song Mu departed, his expression suddenly turning grave.

Meanwhile, several county officials summoned by Jin Changwu arrived, and he revealed an astonishing matter: Demons were attempting to subvert Shiyang County, corrupting the populace and using this as a foothold to sweep through the entire Jizhou Prefecture. This shocking news had been gleaned by Ouyang Hong from Lu Jue's mind, though he could not probe further, only learning a specific timeframe: August.

August was fast approaching.

A tremendous conspiracy had emerged, brought to light by the effect of Song Mu's poem. Unaware, Song Mu had once again stirred the winds and clouds of Shiyang County.

...

As Song Mu descended from the northern city wall, dusk had already settled. Two officers escorted him to the mouth of an alley, where he entered alone and returned to the ancestral home.

His second uncle had already come back and was helping his aunt stoke the kitchen fire. Hearing Song Mu push open the gate, he rose and came out to greet him.

"Mu, you're back. Where have you been?" Song Liangda inquired softly. His nephew had truly brought honor to the family these past days; even his own work on the city wall, once mere labor, had become easier, with better tasks assigned to him. Since returning from Yanggang, Song Mu seemed thoroughly transformed—not only were his essays and poems improved, but he navigated social situations with newfound ease. Song Liangda viewed his nephew with boundless satisfaction.

Song Mu briefly explained his summons by the county magistrate, omitting the details of his time in the dungeon. Song Liangda’s expression grew faintly uneasy; yesterday, he had drunk too much in celebration and remembered nothing after getting into the carriage. Only today, at the work site, did he hear others discussing the movement of troops in the city last night—some disturbance had occurred, and he realized it was all connected to him.

"So long as all is well, all is well. We must be cautious now, and avoid any further mishaps." Song Liangda sighed, drawing Song Mu inside. In the main hall, Zhu and Yaya had already set the table and dishes, waiting for the meal to begin.

This was the Song family's most cherished moment; no matter how late it was, unless notified in advance, they always waited for everyone to arrive before dining together.

Song Mu sat, picked up bowl and chopsticks, and filled his bowl with the hearty fare before him. Song Liangda and Zhu’s affection for Song Mu was evident.

"No need, Aunt. Let's all eat together; give some to Yaya." Touched, Song Mu quickly stopped them from serving him, instead using his chopsticks to place food in each of their bowls.

"Very good, very good, Xiao Mu. Don't worry. Now that your uncle has secured a decent job and some silver, we won't expect riches, but filling our bellies won't be a problem." Song Liangda wiped his eyes as he spoke, looking at his sensible nephew.

Yaya, swinging her legs as she ate, looked at her father and laughed, "Papa's embarrassed, he's crying!"

Zhu was moved as well; Song Mu comforted her and urged everyone to eat, presenting a harmonious family scene.

After dinner, Song Mu fetched a bucket of water to wash in his room as was his custom. Though autumn had not yet arrived, the weather remained hot, and Song Mu, clad in a thin robe, was still drenched in sweat each day, with the inevitable odor. Now recovered, he insisted on bathing daily and washing his own clothes.

His uncle always suggested that Zhu do these chores, but Song Mu politely refused. Having grown independent since childhood, he was accustomed to such tasks. Once his clothes were hung to dry, Song Mu returned to his room, lit an oil lamp, took out his books, arranged his writing tools, and pondered the topic Scholar Sun had set for him that day.

The ability to compose essays was ultimately the key to success. Only by mastering the craft could he handle the academy exam with ease, and gather literary force as naturally as breathing.

Burning the midnight oil, Song Mu reluctantly wasted several sheets of bamboo paper before producing an answer he found satisfactory.

Getting up to use the latrine, Song Mu glanced at the sky—a bright moon, few stars, deep into the night. He hadn't felt this way about study in years; now, he was unexpectedly moved.

"Endure hardship and you will rise above others," he murmured, draining the water and returning inside.

Song Mu did not truly sleep, but opened the ancient book in his mind and began another kind of cultivation.

...