Chapter 50: A Talent Blessed by the Heavens

On the third floor of the Watching Moon Pavilion.

Upon seeing the attendant walk in, Yan Shifan felt his heart tighten and instinctively furrowed his brow. A vague premonition already crossed his mind, though he still harbored a sliver of wishful thinking.

"Did that person downstairs fail to answer?"

The attendant hesitated, trembling as he replied, "He... he answered it!"

Yan Shifan leaned back in a tactical retreat, saying listlessly, "Bring the booklet up."

With that, his body shuddered. He simply had to see how the person downstairs had matched the couplet.

One must know that even his father, the Senior Grand Secretary, had pondered this fifth couplet for two or three days before barely managing to complete it.

Director Zhou had remained silent from beginning to end. He had always detested poetry and prose, believing from the bottom of his heart that such pursuits were a waste of study time and a sign of failing to forge ahead.

A scholar should regard the reading of the sages' books as his primary duty; how could he indulge in poetry and prose?

Had he not been wary of Yan Shifan’s father, Yan Song, whose power dominated the imperial court, and thus unable to refuse this gesture of goodwill, Zhou Jin would never have accepted the favor to come to the Watching Moon Pavilion and watch from the sidelines.

In his view, rather than having the leisure for such idle amusements, he would do better to stay home during his leave, seek tranquility, delve deeper into classical texts, and carefully savor the words of the sages.

Before long, the attendant fetched the thin booklet and presented it respectfully.

Yan Shifan took the booklet, and from his pouch took out another, noticeably thicker booklet. Spreading both open, he compared them and began to read.

The former was Fan Jin’s matching lower couplet, while the latter was the one composed by Senior Grand Secretary Yan Song.

However, the moment his eyes fell upon Fan Jin’s lower couplet, Yan Shifan froze in astonishment and involuntarily chanted it aloud:

"White Pagoda Street, yellow ironsmith, generating a red furnace, burning black charcoal, puffing blue smoke, flashing azure light, quenching purple iron, facing south from the north.

Zhoukou Town, Qin scholar, reciting Han fu, chanting Tang poetry, composing Song lyrics, singing Yuan zaju, observing Ming history, experiencing winter and summer through the passage of spring and autumn!"

Having finished reciting, he instinctively looked over at the lower couplet his father had composed:

"Ancient men of the past, later comers of the future, reading the Zuo Zhuan, practicing Wang Xizhi's calligraphy, receiving appointment as a senior minister, sitting in the central hall, directing subordinates, going forth as a general and entering as a minister to be enfeoffed as a king or marquis."

If judged purely by technique, the two were evenly matched, yet their artistic conceptions were worlds apart.

The lower couplet composed by Yan Song could be described as soaring with lofty ambitions and stirring passion, carrying strongly the sentiment of "accomplishing the sovereign's tasks across the realm, and winning renown both in life and after death."

In contrast, Fan Jin's continuation, though seemingly plain, exuded an overwhelming scholarly aura. A scholar of vast erudition and immense learning instantly came alive on the paper.

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Such confidence and detachment could not be feigned.

Hearing the recitation, Director Zhou could not help but tug at his graying beard, exclaiming with excitement, "A heaven-sent talent! A heaven-sent talent!"

He had originally assumed that the person composing the couplets downstairs was likely another mediocre and "unlearned" individual, never expecting him to possess such profound insight.

For a moment, he unconsciously regarded the man as a kindred spirit, waiting only for an opportunity to have a long, heart-to-heart talk with him.

At this thought, Zhou Jin could no longer sit still. He immediately prepared to call an elderly servant to invite the person upstairs so they could meet face-to-face.

He wanted to see precisely which figure in the scholarly circles possessed such extraordinary talent!

"Director Zhou, there is no need to rush," Yan Shifan caught Zhou Jin by the sleeve, persuading him, "There is still this final couplet. Let us wait a moment and see if that scholar downstairs can manage to match this sixth one as well."

By now, Yan Shifan was equally consumed by curiosity. Just what kind of person was this, whose literary talent was so extraordinary that it fell not a whit behind the Chief Grand Secretary of the Great Ming, and even faintly overshadowed Yan Song?

Though there were many rumors in the streets disparaging and slandering Yan Song as the Chief Grand Secretary—mostly accusing him of flattering the ruler, monopolizing the court, and appointing favorites, thereby plunging the imperial court into a foul miasma—no one had ever completely denied Yan Song's genuine talent.

For Yan Song to become the Emperor Jiajing's most favored official and wield power over the court, he relied on far more than merely catering to the Daoist Emperor; his true talent and learning were undeniable.

Hearing this, Zhou Jin paused to think and temporarily suppressed his urge, continuously pouring tea down his throat, clearly showing that his mind was far from calm.

In the inn's main hall.

Ever since Fan Jin matched several lower couplets in succession, the scholars' attitudes toward him had grown increasingly enthusiastic, and they awaited with bated breath to see whether he could conquer the sixth one.

Fan Jin, however, remained unhurried. After finishing the exquisite pastries and tea prepared by the inn, he slowly rose to his feet.

Had the occasion been different, he would have ordered the innkeeper to prepare a full banquet first, just to appease his stomach before anything else.

If the sixth couplet was already this complex, how could the seventh one possibly be easy?

Sure enough, as the innkeeper unfolded the booklet, everyone crowded around immediately.

Upon seeing the contents within, they decisively and uniformly stepped back.

Wisdom dictates self-awareness; an upper couplet like this was something they might not match even if they studied it for half a lifetime.

Even Fan Jin felt a splitting headache upon seeing it, silently cursing what kind of monster had devised such a prompt.

The unfolded booklet clearly read:

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"Five hundred miles of Dianchi Lake, rushing into the eyes with collar unbuttoned and turban pushed back.

Gazing at the vast, boundless expanse: the divine steed prancing in the east, the soaring spirit bird in the west, the winding dragon fleeing in the north, the flying white crane in the south—what refined scholars and men of high character.

Why not choose a fine spot to climb and look afar, taking advantage of the crab islets and snail-like sandbars, brushing against the wind, hair piled like mist clouds, while across the endless reeds and land, embellishing a few patches of kingfisher feathers and rosy clouds.

Do not disappoint: the fragrant rice all around, the ten thousand acres of sunny sand, the lotus blossoms of midsummer, the willows of early spring."

Fan Jin’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, almost fainting on the spot as he silently cursed that this was simply bullying an ordinary man like him!

Little did he know that the other scholars were already inwardly cursing, wondering just how wicked the creator of this couplet must be to come up with such a prompt.

Everyone said the threshold for the Watching Moon Pavilion's "literary gatherings" was extremely high, and the scholars who came here disdained the five hundred taels of silver prize; but this reward of five hundred taels from the Watching Moon Pavilion was simply too difficult to claim!

Let alone them, even if the grand ministers of the imperial court were here, they would have to kneel upon seeing this upper couplet.

Facing the angry glares of the crowd, the innkeeper felt equally uneasy and hastily changed the subject, saying, "My lords, let us rather see whether the old scholar can match this lower couplet."

By this point, the innkeeper was also finding it hard to maintain his composure. Yet, as a mere employee whose master insisted on this course of action, what could he do other than bow repeatedly and offer apologies?

Fan Jin's mind raced furiously, thinking that if not for the cyan-gray Qi that had previously entered his body and enhanced this vessel's innate intelligence, neither his predecessor nor he—an impostor—would have been able to conceive a single clue.

His predecessor excelled in eight-legged essays and rarely dabbled in poetry and prose. Whether he could have matched even the first couplet was questionable, let alone clearing all these hurdles in succession.

As for Fan Jin himself, although he enjoyed studying classical texts in his spare time during his past life, his reading was eclectic and lacked deep mastery in any single area.

After pondering the upper couplet for a long time, a flash of inspiration suddenly struck Fan Jin. He hurriedly ordered someone to bring out brush and paper, lest the inspiration slip away.

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(Tomorrow should be the debut premiere. I hope all my book friends will not let the book sit unread; when you see the latest chapter, please help click the reminder button.

Additionally, please write some book reviews and section comments, and give as high a rating as possible. But please, do not recommend the book on recommendation squares or similar places during the premiere week. Note, absolutely do not recommend it on public squares, as it will affect the algorithmic recommendations.

Everyone, I'm counting on you!)

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