Chapter Seventy-Eight: One Day, I Shall Found a School of Poetry! (Third Update—Subscribe Requested)

Duke Qin's words were nothing short of devastating.

The Li-Du Poetry Sect is the fiercest and most powerful literary faction in the world. Its poetry has helped the human race flourish and ensured the stability of the realm. When the founder of the Literary Dynasty established the nation, he personally composed an edict for these two poetic sages, commanding all scholars to revere Li Bai and Du Fu, the Immortal and Saint of Poetry. Not only did he bestow endless wealth and honor upon their sect, he even extracted fragments of the celestial stars to nourish the Li-Du literary lineage directly.

Such divine favor, combined with the countless scholars and academicians the Li-Du Poetry Sect has produced over centuries, makes everyone keenly aware of what Duke Qin's words signify.

Given Song Mu's current achievements, should he enter the Du Fu Poetry Sect, then with time, he might well become an Academician—a status countless scholars dream of attaining.

As Duke Qin finished speaking, the surrounding scholars' eyes blazed with intense desire; they stared at Song Mu, who stood before Duke Qin without uttering a word. Seeing Song Mu hesitate, they longed to take his place, ready to kneel and accept such fortune without a second thought.

Even Qiu Bu Chu's eyes flashed with fervor; he too hoped Song Mu would join the Poetry Sect, for this opportunity was exceedingly rare. After all, the invitation came from the leader of the Du Poetry Sect—a half-saint!

There was a stir in the crowd, but Duke Qin simply smiled, patiently awaiting Song Mu's reply. He truly favored Song Mu. When he first arrived, Duke Qin felt a duty to nurture the descendant of an old friend. But now, he saw in Song Mu a rare, unpolished gem.

He couldn't say whether Song Mu's poetic talent surpassed all before or after, but his style was unique, his literary intent free and unrestrained, and Duke Qin could faintly perceive the potential simmering within this young man.

Thus, Duke Qin spoke sincerely, hoping Song Mu would join the Du Poetry Sect and achieve fame throughout the land.

Yet Song Mu exhaled deeply, then looked up and asked, "Half-Saint, you were friends with my ancestor, weren't you?"

Duke Qin's brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded.

"Then what do you think I should do now?" Song Mu's tone grew steadier as he met Duke Qin's gaze.

Those nearby held their breath, unable to fathom Song Mu's actions. Why not seize such a golden opportunity?

But Duke Qin, after a moment's contemplation, showed a rare seriousness on his usually serene face.

"You do not wish to join my Poetry Sect?" he asked.

Song Mu's face was impassive, but he slowly nodded.

Standing behind Qiu Bu Chu, Fan Ti Xue slapped his forehead, full of regret. Duke Qin, however, appeared relieved, stroking his beard and nodding.

"I was indeed rash. You are a descendant of Song Wen Rong. He came so close to founding a Poetry Sect himself, but..."

Duke Qin paused, encouraging, "Young man, you must be prepared to study diligently for a hundred years. Your ancestor's dream is not easily fulfilled."

His words were filled with emotion. Song Wen Rong once burst onto the literary scene, a rising star of the Literary Dynasty, only to be swept away by fate, gone in an instant. At that time, the Song family was but a step away from founding their own sect, securing blessings for generations.

Now, Song Mu's response made Duke Qin immediately understand his intent, and he looked at him with renewed respect. This youth, like his ancestor, was passionate to the core—such a person is no mere fish in a pond.

Song Mu's face was solemn. When Duke Qin had first made his invitation, Song Mu had nearly lost himself, tempted to agree. But then, he remembered the ancient book in his mind, the method his ancestor had left within it.

He was the seventeenth generation descendant of the Song family, with such a secret manual at his disposal. Song Mu recalled that night on the city wall, his ancestor's shadow casting a meaningful glance.

Yesterday, he had become a scholar, his heart turbulent and unsettled. But Duke Qin's words now gave him a clear, resolute goal: to carry on his ancestor's wishes, to rebuild the Song family, to one day announce his name before the hall, ride through the streets in glory, to come like a half-saint on a rainbow, shining bright!

In the future, all under heaven would remember the Song family!

Song Mu was determined; Duke Qin nodded repeatedly.

"Such ambition honors your ancestor's legacy. If you someday found a Poetry Sect, it will be a tale for the ages!"

Duke Qin said this, and Song Mu looked up, his gaze lingering on him.

"Is this not enough?" Duke Qin saw a hint of lingering discontent in Song Mu's eyes and asked, but Song Mu shook his head.

"No, Half-Saint. In today's world, the Poetry Sects have reached their peak. I am but a seeker, daring not to covet such heights."

"But you..." Duke Qin paused, then suddenly understood, his expression turning playful.

"Do you wish to establish yourself through verse? Your verses are indeed remarkable!"

Though Song Mu remained silent, his eyes betrayed his aspirations.

Duke Qin laughed again, more heartily than before, his face alight with unprecedented excitement.

"You intend to found an unprecedented Verse Sect? Though verse has begun to shine in the world, do you realize how difficult that would be?"

As he spoke, Duke Qin's heart, still after a hundred years, stirred anew with expectation. He wanted to see if this young scholar could truly one day establish a Verse Sect—a feat that would be the founding of a new literary lineage!

"Well said! My journey here was not in vain. If you succeed in founding the foremost Verse Sect, the Song family will be celebrated throughout the Nine Provinces!"

Saying this, Duke Qin seemed to make up his mind. He stepped back, and the golden light around him faded.

His spectral face grew sharper, the dignity of a half-saint radiating unmistakably.

"Song Mu, since you have such ambition and have composed such resonant poetry today, I shall grant you a gift of destiny. When you transform from a carp to a golden dragon, do not forget to offer me a cup of wine first!"

With these words, the golden light vanished, replaced by a subtle surge that spread across the academy courtyard. Next, countless verses emerged from Duke Qin's body, each glowing with golden radiance and circling around him.

At the same time, a misty chant rose from nowhere, every resounding note containing verses of Du Fu.

Qiu Bu Chu had already swept away the idle crowd, leaving only Duke Qin and Song Mu in the courtyard.

Song Mu was shaken, gazing at Duke Qin's display of power, his face full of astonishment.

"Song Mu, today I grant you a rainbow of literary light. In days to come, righteousness will prevail within you, and evil spirits will flee!"

As Duke Qin spoke, he extended his hand, touching several of the golden characters swirling before him. They gathered into a phrase before Song Mu:

"Speak not of monsters, violence, or spirits."

The seven golden characters shone brilliantly. Song Mu, solemn, bowed deeply to Duke Qin and said in a low voice,

"I shall not fail the Half-Saint's expectations. When I achieve fame, I will kneel in gratitude before the Poetry Sect!"

Duke Qin laughed, the golden characters flowing into Song Mu and merging with his flesh and blood.

The radiance vanished in an instant. Song Mu stood still, eyes closed, feeling the mighty power of the literary rainbow, while Duke Qin's spectral form soared skyward.

In the distance, Qiu Bu Chu and the others bowed in respectful farewell. In that fleeting moment, Master Feng Ming's gaze met Duke Qin's from afar, and Duke Qin's face revealed a look of approval.

...

(End)