Chapter Thirty-Eight: Words That Touch the Heart

Pan Wenhao’s voice remained as resounding as ever, but as his words spread, the reactions among the crowd were mixed.

Pan Shun, who had just been laughing, now wore a stiff expression, while Magistrate Zhou’s face betrayed his surprise. The guests below were even more astonished, whispering among themselves as they came to their own conclusions.

“Is it that Song Mu, who recently composed that celebrated poem of great literary talent?”

“That’s the one. Did you see the latest issue of ‘The Literary Review’? His poem was placed right at the beginning, and even the Grand Academician praised it highly.”

“Doesn’t that mean Song Mu’s poem today will surely be extraordinary?”

“It must be. On such an occasion, if he were to write a trite verse, it would be beneath his reputation as a man of letters.”

“How splendid! This event might well be retold in storybooks and become widely known.”

“Enough talk—let’s see what kind of poem Song Mu will compose.”

The murmurs continued below, and even those in the private rooms upstairs turned their attention to Song Mu. He, for his part, looked somewhat helpless, curling his lips as he caught sight of the rather pleased Pan Wenhao.

Pan Wenhao was confident that the poem he had crafted today was exceptional, the fruit of much labor and inspiration. Its literary spirit was apparent, and he was convinced it was a rare achievement. Even if Song Mu had composed works of extraordinary talent before, that did not guarantee he could excel at a birthday ode—only those who had tried knew the challenge it entailed. If Song Mu’s poem fell short of his reputation, even if it matched Pan Wenhao’s in talent, his name as a poet of great genius would suffer.

“Brother Song, it seems you’re in a tight spot again,” Kong Zong, beside him, said with a wry smile.

Now, everyone’s eyes were on Song Mu, all hoping he would produce a masterpiece.

Song Mu calmly surveyed his surroundings, then refocused on what lay before him.

Turning to Kong Zong, he said, “Brother Kong, why not add a touch of brilliance today and compose a poem together?”

“A joint composition?” Kong Zong was taken aback, but then saw Song Mu looking at the two lines of poetry before them, and realization dawned.

“Is that appropriate? My poem is really…”

Song Mu merely smiled, picked up the tray, and said softly, “Brother Kong, you’ve already gathered your inspiration. Allow me the honor of finishing it.”

With that, Song Mu took up the brush and dipped it in ink.

The other young scholars, seeing that Song Mu meant to continue Kong Zong’s half-completed poem, all gathered around, and even those in the adjacent private rooms turned to watch. Pan Wenhao’s expression also changed as he strode over to observe.

Song Mu gently dipped his brush, paused to ponder, and then began to write.

The entire room held its breath, eager to see how Song Mu would complete the poem.

Kong Zong’s poem had a fine theme, but its opening lines set the bar exceedingly high; to continue it, one had to blend and elevate the meaning of the first couplet—a true test of poetic skill.

All waited in anticipation.

Yet there were murmurs among the guests, some wondering if Song Mu was trying to take an easy way out, unable even to compose a poem on his own.

At that moment, Song Mu calmly penned the concluding couplet:

“From now on, let every spring breeze bring laughter.”
“Live long in this world, as an immortal among mortals.”

As the two seven-character lines were completed, the literary aura, which had just begun to dissipate, surged anew from the paper, growing in richness.

Someone nearby immediately relayed the contents of the poem, while Magistrate Zhou, reading it over twice, was suddenly radiant with delight.

“Wonderful! What a poem!”

The collaborative work of Song Mu and Kong Zong began with planting pines and cypresses before the door, leading to prosperity and fortune in the home. It implied the Zhou family’s deep scholarly tradition, nurturing future generations to rise step by step, bringing honor and wealth to the clan.

But though this praised the family’s literary heritage and the success of its descendants, it didn’t quite fit the festive atmosphere of a birthday celebration. That was why Kong Zong had stopped writing.

The two lines added by Song Mu, however, immediately elevated the poem. Because of the family’s devotion to nurturing scholars, the matriarch could now rest easy, enjoying her twilight years in peace—a veritable immortal of longevity among mortals.

In that instant, the poem was transformed from a tribute to family tradition to a direct celebration of the matriarch’s achievements, painting a picture of her serene and blessed future.

Thus, the poem touched the very hearts of both Magistrate Zhou and the old matron!

Magistrate Zhou burst out laughing, lavishing praise on the poem, while the guests on the second floor gasped in amazement.

For they saw that the poem was now crowned with a powerful literary spirit; Song Mu and Kong Zong exchanged a meaningful glance and together gave the poem its title:

“On the Fifth Day of the Eighth Month, in Celebration of the Matron’s Birthday”

As the title was inscribed, the swirling literary aura seemed at once to gain direction, piercing through the floorboards and rising upward.

In the matron’s private chamber above, exclamations of wonder sounded again as the literary spirit transformed into clusters of longevity peaches, settling before the old lady. The white mist then drifted into her mouth and nose, and within moments, her complexion became visibly more radiant.

The talent of scholars, it seemed, had its own power to strengthen the body.

“Four measures of literary spirit?!” someone cried out in astonishment, all eyes turning to Song Mu in disbelief. Even Kong Zong beside him nodded vigorously.

“Brother Song, your lines are brilliant! The entire poem is instantly uplifted!”

Song Mu set down the brush and modestly shook his head, while the other young scholars savored the poem.

Both Song Mu and Kong Zong rose, moving to the railing to bow to those around them.

“Young Master Song, Young Master Kong—your literary talent is unmatched!” Magistrate Zhou now declared, and the guests erupted in cheers, each convinced that this was the highest form of praise, for every word struck straight to the heart.

As Song Mu was about to respond, the matron’s private room on the third floor opened, and the old lady herself emerged, her voice trembling with excitement.

“May I see these talented young men who have brought forth such literary spirit?”

Song Mu and Kong Zong were momentarily taken aback, but made their way upstairs, accompanied by the other scholar whose poem had evoked literary spirit, as well as Pan Wenhao.

Upon entering the private room, they found the old matron seated with dignity. Seeing them, she asked, “Which of you is Young Master Song?”

Song Mu stepped forward and bowed. “May you enjoy blessings as boundless as the Eastern Sea, and a life as enduring as the Southern Mountains.”

Madam Zhou scrutinized Song Mu carefully, her smile growing ever broader as she repeated her praise several times.

“Yun’er, you must pay special attention to such a talented young man,” she reminded her son.

Magistrate Zhou nodded repeatedly, while Pan Wenhao, watching all this, looked as grim as still water.

…