Lu Qian stood before a sheet of pure white paper, untouched by any brushstroke, his voice loud and clear as he slowly began:
“Lu Qian, a youth from a branch of the Jingyang Lu clan, without illustrious heritage or famous name. My wish in life is humble and simple—just a farmer’s wife, mountain spring water, a little farmland, a jar stocked with rice, clothes on my back, three meals a day, no sickness or disaster, and that would be enough for me.”
The twelve sages sneered in unison.
The young man dressed in splendid robes, who had just been spoken over, grew furious.
Seeing Lu Qian ignore him and keep to himself, he snapped sharply, “Lu Qian! Is there even room for you to speak here?”
“How dare you!” Yu Dianhu pulled out his sword with a clang, the blade pointing at the youth as he bellowed, “With the emperor’s seal baton here, who dares to disrespect the lord? Is this rebellion? Do you want your entire family wiped out?”
The richly dressed youth and the twelve sages immediately fell silent, lips tightly sealed.
Yu Dianhu sneered coldly, twirling his wrist, driving the sword blade deep—about a foot—into the floorboards.
Bai Lu’s expression twisted further into stiffness, her face paling, shivering slightly as her eyes reddened with fury—‘Lord’?
The damnable Lu Qian!
How did he become a lord?
If he really became a lord, then what had the Bai family been scheming all these years? Smearing his reputation, breaking off the engagement, pulling all sorts of petty tricks… what was the point?
Just because Lu Qian was a fallen noble and Zhu Yu was a descendant of the sage, right?
Though Zhu Yu was indeed of that saintly lineage, the current rank within the Zhu family was only that of a ‘duke’!
This ‘duke’ title could only pass to the direct legitimate descendants of Zhu Chong’s household; under no circumstances would it come to Zhu Yu.
It was clear that although Zhu Yu could reach a high position at court by leaning on the Zhu family’s influence, it was nearly impossible for him to attain the rank of ‘duke’.
If Bai Lu and the Bai family chose to honor the engagement and seriously marry Bai Lu to Lu Qian, wouldn’t she, Bai Lu herself, be able to parade through the streets wearing the ceremonial garb of a supreme duchess, making all her so-called ‘girlfriends’ green with envy?
Bai Lu’s body trembled back and forth.
Sitting beside her, a long-legged young woman narrowed her eyes, grabbed Bai Lu’s waistband, and pushed her back into her seat.
“Cousin, what are you spacing out for? Sit down and watch our newly minted ‘lord’, honored with the ceremonial escorts befitting a royal relative, show us what kind of poetry he can produce.”
The long-legged girl’s smile bloomed like a flower.
She even threw Lu Qian a flirtatious wink.
Bai Lu shivered again.
Lu Qian truly was a lord now, and not just any—he was blessed with the ceremonious honor usually reserved for royal princes.
This proved Lu Qian had captured the emperor’s heart; only through the sovereign’s immense favor could he have such an absurdly elevated status!
Lu Qian smiled and nodded toward the long-legged girl.
Isn’t she the one who was sitting on the Bai family’s wall, cracking sunflower seeds and watching the chaos unfold when Xiong Dingtian tried to assassinate him just a few days ago?
This girl was interesting.
And she was Bai Lu’s cousin?
Holding a brush, Lu Qian said in a smooth voice, “Alas, misfortune arrives from the sky while one sits at home. Life’s hardships are no more than this. As for the details, which relate to a person’s honor, I shall not elaborate here.”
“Relate to a person’s honor!”
The moment he said this, Bai Lu suddenly felt as if struck by lightning.
She stared fixedly at Lu Qian, her woman’s intuition telling her—‘Lu Qian knows everything now!’
The next moment, she clenched her fists tightly within her sleeves, telling herself coldly: “Lu Qian must die.”
Lu Qian continued:
“In less than a month, my experiences could be described as stormy seas. The dangers of life, the warmth and chill of human kindness, the unpredictability of human nature—all have left my heart full of scars.”
“So, you all sing praises of the plum blossom, admiring its noble purity, but I choose to speak only of its ‘lonely pride’!”
Turning to the paper, Lu Qian dipped his brush into the inkstone beside him.
Using an unprecedented style never before seen in the Great Yin dynasty—the slender gold script—he began to write a poem on the paper.
“This calligraphy!” an esteemed scholar gasped hoarsely.
“This poem!” several scholars suddenly stepped forward toward Lu Qian, but then, seeming to realize their own position, stopped awkwardly, though their eyes shone fiercely, fixated on the tip of Lu Qian’s brush.
“Beside the broken bridge outside the station, loneliness blooms without an owner. Already dusk, sorrow alone, worsened by wind and rain. Unwilling to bitterly vie for spring, letting others envy as they please. Fallen to mud, crushed to dust, only fragrance remains the same as before.”
“One line—‘Unwilling to bitterly vie for spring, letting others envy as they please’!” a youth among the twelve sages, dressed somewhat shabbily, laughed loudly.
“Lu Qian, you take yourself way too seriously. Even if you fought for spring, who could you really compete with?”
This youth’s eyes were bloodshot, gritting his teeth, his hatred and jealousy of Lu Qian etched deep in his bones.
This poem…
It utterly crushed the twelve gathered here today.
They all knew deep down they couldn’t write poetry like this themselves.
So they could only nitpick, magnify every tiny flaw they found in Lu Qian’s work.
“You see, you’re just a fool!” the youth roared arrogantly.
The other eleven sages nodded in agreement.
“Indeed, so arrogant, unfilial and unworthy!”
Lu Qian turned back, smiling gently at the group of sages.
“I just turned sixteen this year.”
“I serve the Great Yin, the empress dowager, and the emperor. I just turned sixteen, and I’ve already earned merits and been granted titles!”
“I just turned sixteen, and my martial cultivation in the Meridian Realm is fully complete. I could beat all twelve of you into minced meat with one hand!”
“I just turned sixteen, but in my belly I already carry countless fine poems and books. With a single brush, I doubt any of you can surpass my calligraphy.”
“I just turned sixteen, yet by my own merits, I’ve been granted millions of acres of good land, thirty thousand households for tax revenues, and territories spanning thousands of miles!”
The group of sages glared red-faced, unable to utter a word.
Lu Qian calmly said, “I don’t compete because I want a peaceful life. But if I had the will to fight… heh heh, take a look! If I just strive a little, I become a duke of the realm. And you lot? The money you make running little ventures probably still comes from your parents, doesn’t it?”
The twelve sages shut their mouths tight, pale and speechless.
Lu Qian’s words were harsh but hit the mark.
They had no retort.
Lu Qian chuckled again, pointing with his brush toward the scholars, ladies, and sages gathered atop the Moyun Pavilion.
“I see you all now and suddenly understand what the word ‘faction’ really means.”
“I won’t say anything harsher; if I go on, I’d offend too many people.”
“But think honestly—today you came here to Moyun Pavilion, creating such a scene, even blocking streets and bridges so the common folk have to detour and lose business… Did you come here out of genuine intent?”
“The affair of Bai Lu’s marriage, and you!” Lu Qian pointed at the group of judging scholars.
“And you!” He gestured toward the group of young ladies, the ‘girlfriends’.
“And you!” He finally pointed directly at the twelve sages.
“What kind of connection could there be? You’re all here because of one thing… status. And one thing… profit. You just can’t see through it.”
“So today, while you all sing praises of the plum blossom, I will choose to sing of something else.”
Lu Qian smiled and with a hand flowing wildly, even arrogantly, he began to stroke ink boldly on the paper in wild cursive.
“Of all the flowers on land and water, the ones I most love are the lotus, emerging pure from the muck but unstained, washed in clear water yet not seductive, hollow inside and straight outside, neither sprawling nor twining, its fragrance spreading far and clear, standing tall and pure—a sight to admire from afar but not to be toyed with.”
After finishing, a scholar judging the contest frowned sharply.
“This poem isn’t complete, its meaning is lacking. Lu Qian, why don’t you write the whole piece?”
Tilting his head, Lu Qian looked with great pleasure at his wild cursive on the paper and said softly,
“Incomplete on purpose. This poem—I copied it. Do you believe me?”
All the scholars shook their heads.
“Copied? From whom?”
That one line alone—‘emerging pure from the muck but unstained, washed in clear water yet not seductive’—was famous across the land.
You say this is copied?
Lu Qian smiled and glanced at Bai Lu sitting over there, her complexion as pale as a corpse, shaking his head lightly.
“After today, I’m sure I’ll be a thorn in many people’s eyes, a splinter in their flesh, hated so much they’d love to feast on me.” Lu Qian said, “But even if I bend and yield, will they ever let me be?”
“So today, caught in such a grand event, I’ll be as audacious as I like.”
“Young people must be wild, or what’s the point of youth?”
“As for the consequences—my backing is the emperor himself. In Haojing city, who dares disrespect the emperor?” Lu Qian laughed oddly.
“So then, everyone, the last poem today… hmm, is also copied!”
Serious as ever, Lu Qian picked up his brush and began writing in the powerful Wei stele script, one bold stroke after another on the large sheet.
“Don’t heed the sound of wind through the forest and leaves, why not hum and stroll along? With a bamboo staff and straw sandals lighter than horses, who’s afraid? A single cloak of misty rain to endure life at will. The chilly spring breeze wakes me from drunkenness, slightly cold. The slanting sun on the hill welcomes me back. Looking back to the place always desolate, I return; neither wind nor rain, neither clear nor overcast.”
The calligraphy was perfect.
The poem was pure excellence.
The gathered scholars looked like frogs struck by thunder, stunned into silence.
Such unrestrained boldness, such… such…
None dared judge Lu Qian’s poem.
Lu Qian dropped his brush, hands on hips, seriously admiring his work on the paper.
“These three handwriting styles, I call ‘Lu’s Slender Gold Script,’ ‘Lu’s Wild Cursive,’ and ‘Lu’s Golden Stele Script.’ If any of you imitate them, remember: these styles were created by me. If you use them, you’ll have to call me ‘sir’ one day.”
“As for these three poems, well, I copied them, ha ha, ha ha ha!”
Lu Qian took a long look at the three poems on the white paper, flicked his sleeve, and turned to leave.
“Bai family girl, you’re welcome to visit my home, heh heh.”
Lu Qian held his head high, striding down from the Moyun Pavilion, loudly chanting the poem Ding Feng Bo, “I return; neither wind nor rain, neither clear nor overcast.”
His voice soared like clouds, shattering stone and metal alike.
Everyone in Moyun Pavilion who heard Lu Qian chanting felt their hair stand on end, mouths falling open in shock.
Gradually, even the scholars on the frozen riverbank joined in, chanting in unison:
“Who’s afraid? A single cloak of misty rain to endure life at will!”
That day, Lu Qian’s literary display shook Haojing.
For days, the shouting of so-called ‘national traitors’ grew louder, but the overwhelming skill of Lu Qian’s three handwriting styles and three poems drove their arrogance down to nothingness, and no one dared speak of them again in public.
(End of chapter)