Chapter 282: Unnamed Poem

The sun was setting, casting a gentle, warm glow. The young master, surnamed Luo, held a wine pot. His casual conversation was full of witty remarks, speaking of acting righteously without calculating personal gain or loss, judging people not by success or failure, and how common folk feel at ease when things appear calm, unaware that true effort is often found in unexpected circumstances. Even Xu Fengnian, an outsider, listened with great interest, feeling that his own worldly concerns immediately lessened.

Not to mention two young ladies from prominent families who already held a secret affection for Young Master Luo; they wished they could snuggle closer, or even just listen to his teachings from a bed. Several elderly scholars also nodded frequently. Clearly, their admiration for this Luo family scion wasn't solely due to his surname. Just as when they encountered bandits, he had drawn his sword and confronted the enemy before his attendants. What a dashing and scholarly swordsman, destined for greatness. With Young Master Luo setting the tone, the atmosphere was lively. A talented scholar spontaneously composed poetry, and a woman surnamed Su played a bamboo flute softly. The other young men and women either clapped in agreement or tapped dry branches like light drums, enjoying themselves immensely.

The old scholar Luo, wearing a scholar's headscarf, a green gown, and jade at his waist, glanced into the distance. He sighed, saying, "How broad can the mind of a frog in a well be, looking only at the sky above the well opening? Look far, and the world is vast; your horizons will expand accordingly. So, young people, you should take advantage of your good health to travel more. When I fled north with my family, the journey was full of war and chaos; I became displaced and realized the suffering and difficulties of ordinary people. Therefore, having arrived in Beiliang, I believe that we, this group of old scholars, compared to those literati who remained in the Central Plains, have much less romantic sentimentality and more human empathy. Our children, too, are less prone to the anachronistic aloofness of scholars."

Xu Fengnian twisted with two fingers and gently snapped a dry branch. He tossed it into the bonfire and nodded with a smile, saying, "Elder Luo, what you said makes a lot of sense."

The elderly scholar, whose family was considered top-tier in Beiliang's Southern Dynasty, withdrew his gaze. Looking at the good-tempered young man, he chuckled softly, "Young Brother Xu, these young scholars like Luo Changhe, though they speak impolitely and don't show a good face, actually don't bear you any ill will. It's just that with the ladies they admire present, and after encountering the bandits, you, an outsider, stole their thunder. They couldn't quite adjust and lost face. I, too, am an old man who has been through such things. In my youth, when vying for attention, I also neglected gentleness, kindness, courtesy, and humility, losing my composure. So, young brother, please be understanding. Meeting is fate. Later, if you return to Gushai Prefecture and encounter difficulties, this old man can guarantee that if they happen to see it, they will secretly put in a good word for you. However, they most likely won't show themselves and tell you directly that I helped."

Xu Fengnian nodded. The elderly scholar beside him, despite being a respected figure from a prominent family, was willing to converse intimately with him, a seemingly insignificant illegitimate son of a family, which spoke volumes. This sixty-year-old man was worldly-wise and understood human nature well; everything he said was well-reasoned truth. The old scholar chuckled, then rummaged through his travel bag until he finally found a clean porcelain bowl. He handed it to Xu Fengnian and asked, "Since we met by chance, would you care for a drink?"

Xu Fengnian squinted and smiled, "One cup is too little. As long as there's enough wine, any number of bowls will do."

The old scholar pretended to guard his deerskin wine pouch, which contained only a small amount of wine. He feigned anger, saying, "It can't stand several bowls of drinking!"

Xu Fengnian smiled helplessly, "Tomorrow, when we reach the city, I'll return a pouch of fine wine to you, Elder."

Two older men nearby, five or six years younger than Elder Luo, seized the opportunity. They laughed heartily and chimed in, "Young Brother, you can't favor one over another!" "That's a fair point."

Xu Fengnian promised to oblige. At some point, a rule had emerged: after draining a bowl of wine, one had to compose a poem. The turn went around, and even those around Xu Fengnian couldn't escape. Even the five or six attendants at their bonfire mostly awkwardly blurted out a few crude words and slang, not exactly five- or seven-character lines of poetry. But coming from these men, they carried a certain rugged frontier charm. It couldn't be said that it was deliberately meant to embarrass Xu Fengnian, the outsider. With everyone watching, it was Xu Fengnian's turn. The old scholar Luo helped pour a bowl of wine and smilingly reminded him, "You're not allowed to recite lamentations of palace intrigues and spoil the mood, nor are you allowed to recite poems from renowned poets. As long as it's your own, improvising is fine."

For some reason, Xu Fengnian recalled several waterfall viewings at Mount Wudang, Huishan, and Jiuhua, and watching the tide on the Guangling River. He thought of many old friends and stories. He downed an entire bowl of strong liquor in one gulp. He asked for a chopstick, gently tapped the rim of the bowl, producing a 'ding-dong' sound. Looking at the bonfire, he softly recited: "The Lotus Waterfall, a misty expanse; the Ox Waterfall, a thundering roar. Only the Jiuhua Waterfall's wonder lies not in the falls, but in its backbone, like a celestial being lying sideways, an arm outstretched. Its strength can prop open ninety-four thousand zhang, like the layered skirts of a Dunhuang flying apsara. Releasing nine white Milky Ways from the azure sky, precisely like the frosted temples of an old general."

The young men and women, who had expected him to make a fool of himself, were all momentarily stunned. Then they exchanged glances. Most of them were well-versed in poetry and knew that this was just the beginning of something significant. Luo Changhe and the woman surnamed Su, in particular, frowned slightly, carefully pondering the meaning. The several old scholars beside Xu Fengnian didn't overthink it. Elder Luo, however, started reciting along with the young man, lightly slapping his thigh, and took a sip of wine with narrowed eyes.

"I arrived amidst a 'splashed ink' rain, the two cliffs tightly bound, the wind raging. Clouds surged, rising in myriad waves, floods swept away the traveler's path... I once watched the tide, and even more, the waterfall; beneath the falls stood a white deer. Instantly, man and deer gazed at each other—was it Southern Tang, Eastern Yue, or Western Shu? Later, an old monk led the deer away, then turned his head with a smile... After the words, the moon set over the western mountains, the waters vast. Beneath the stone bridge, I felt the mist rise and the thunder roar, bringing with it the sorrowful winds and bitter rains of spring and autumn, grand and sweeping like a river."

This impromptu poem was perhaps too unrestrained by strict meter and rhyme, making it impossible for others to judge its quality. One could only feel a surge of emotion trapped in their chest, like a thousand-layered waterfall pouring straight down, reverberating as it accumulated in a deep pool.

Finally, one scholar couldn't help but whisper, "Is this a poem or a lyric? It's neither fish nor fowl, with no regard for proper form."

Another scholar cautiously asked, "It has no structure at all, but does it still have some meaning?"

Elder Luo perhaps held his bowl unsteadily, splashing some wine on his hand. He subconsciously stroked his beard, wetting his grizzled whiskers. He paid no mind to these details, exchanging smiles with the other two old scholars, their eyes filled with genuine appreciation.

Returning from three years of travel, he had asked for a bowl of wine at a tavern by the city gate, said "waiter, wine," and then fallen into a deep sleep. Later, he walked with a bowl in Handi City, and now, under the grassland night sky, he tapped a bowl and softly recited. Xu Fengnian felt as if a lifetime had passed, lost in a daze. He didn't hear the comments of the young masters and ladies. The short blade "Spring Thunder" lay quietly on his lap, trembling slightly. He also wondered if the "sheath must not sing to the highest heavens" that the old man in sheepskin once spoke of referred to this very sentiment.

The old scholar, as if making a final judgment, chuckled deeply, "My hand writes what my mouth speaks, and my mouth speaks what I think. How could it be constrained by the poetic forms of the ancients? Young brother, does this poem have a title?"

Xu Fengnian snapped out of his trance, feeling a little embarrassed, "It was improvised on the spur of the moment, so it doesn't have a title yet."

An old scholar took a sip of wine, savored it, and sighed, "Why not call it 'Song of Seeing the Waterfall and Giving Birth to Righteousness'? It could even inspire a few pounds of noble spirit in us literary drudges who merely chase trivial gains."

Xu Fengnian shook his head, "The name is too grand; I truly don't deserve it."

The other groups around their bonfires felt a bit awkward and gradually left. Some walked away for a moonlight stroll, others returned to their tents to rest. Only Luo Changhe and the woman surnamed Su got up and came to sit down. Luo Changhe chuckled softly, "Young Master Xu possesses profound insights; I, Luo, admit my inferiority."

Several old scholars also rose and dispersed. Whether it be the imperial court or the martial world, let alone the literary circles, ultimately, it is for the young to flourish among the old. However, Elder Luo thoughtfully and quietly left his wine pouch behind. Xu Fengnian shook his head, chuckling self-deprecatingly, "If it truly is a good poem, it's only because I accidentally used up the last bit of talent I have left in this lifetime."

Luo Changhe laughed heartily, "Young Master, your modesty makes me feel even more ashamed of myself. For instance, my title of 'scholarly swordsman' sounds quite impressive, but its origin is actually quite disreputable. It was merely paying literary hangers-on to promote me, accidentally blurting out a few lines of poetry while drinking with famous courtesans – spending a fortune on drink rather than flesh, which was deemed truly romantic. Then finding a few universally detested 'soft persimmons' among the common people to manipulate. And when I came of age, asking renowned literati to choose a profoundly meaningful and resonant courtesy name. My reputation and public image then snowballed. Tell me, how much weight can such a 'scholarly swordsman' carry, being neither genuine nor authentic? Young Master Xu's poem, on the other hand, is much more genuine."

Xu Fengnian's lips curved upwards, "Young Master Luo is truly a remarkably forthright person."

Luo Changhe asked, "Given such honesty between us, may we share a bowl of wine?"

The woman surnamed Su, her eyes full of smiles, helped pour the wine. Xu Fengnian and Luo Changhe raised their bowls and drained them.

Xu Fengnian chuckled softly, "Actually, when it comes to writing poetry, my second sister is truly talented. I used to be even worse than Young Master Luo, only knowing how to buy poems to maintain appearances. Looking back now, after realizing it later, it was quite foolish."

The woman surnamed Su sipped her wine slowly. Her smile became a little more genuine.

Luo Changhe raised his bowl and said, "Which young man isn't a bit wild? I, Luo, toast you on behalf of my friends, to thank you for your chivalrous help a few days ago. I'll drink this first as a sign of respect."

Each of them drank another bowl. Luo Changhe, affected by the alcohol, his face already flushed red, stood up and apologized, "I can't drink anymore."

Xu Fengnian and the woman surnamed Su stood up together. The latter gently said, "Young Master Luo, shall we take a walk together?"

Seeing Xu Fengnian discreetly wink at him, Luo Changhe, understanding implicitly, his face grew even redder, and he left to stroll with the beauty. His painstaking efforts had finally paid off, and Luo Changhe was in high spirits. All along, his scholarly charm hadn't managed to impress the pretty young lady by his side. It was only tonight, when the man surnamed Xu tapped his bowl and recited poetry, that Luo Changhe suddenly realized. He understood that this remarkable woman didn't appreciate his previous flamboyant demeanor. Luo Changhe, being a decisive person, immediately lowered his proud bearing completely. He used the opportunity of sharing his true feelings with Xu to indirectly win the lady's affection, which proved remarkably effective. Turning his head, he saw the young man surnamed Xu, who was still standing there, give him a thumbs-up. Luo Changhe returned a gesture, all unspoken.

Xu Fengnian chose a secluded direction and walked alone. He lay down by the bank of a river.

Of Beiliang's eight prefectures, Gushai and Longyao adjoin Youzhou and Fengzhou of Beiliang. The long, narrow Juzi Prefecture borders Liangliao in the northern part of the Liyang Dynasty. North of Juzi Prefecture is Jinxi. Without going into distant places, the upcoming Juzi Prefecture is home to Murong Baoding, a Marshal who ranks on the martial arts榜. Xu Fengnian certainly wasn't so full of himself as to challenge such a powerful figure. His journey through Beiliang still had a clear trajectory. Going to Liuxia City was to kill, specifically the young general Tao Qianzhi, as a small contribution to Beiliang. Going to Feihu City was to find someone, the masked man who had taught battle formation disciples like Chen Zhibao. However, his luck seemed poor. Next, he was supposed to go to Jinxi Prefecture to assassinate a descendant of the Yelu royal family, then temporarily flee south to Juzi Prefecture to find a blacksmith and sword-caster. Regardless of whether he found him, he would then rush to the northern ice plains. However, in the midst of this, the old abbot of Liangchan Temple had intentionally or unintentionally disrupted his plans. Xu Fengnian almost lost his life on the grasslands. He couldn't say he hated the abbot; he always held great respect for the old monk. Moreover, accepting a gift made one soft-handed; the living sarira golden pill in his sleeve wasn't taken for nothing. But to say he was overflowing with gratitude for the old monk would certainly be false. Provoking Tuoba Chunshun wasn't frightening; it was involving the Tuoba family that would lead to endless trouble.

Xu Fengnian took out a small, square wooden box and held it before his eyes. Then he spun it on his fingertips. Cao Changqing had said his whereabouts were leaked, and two individuals had sensed his presence and intended to kill him. One of them was the fifth of the Ten Great Demonic Masters, a blind female zither player, who specialized in using "Zhi Xuan" (Finger Profundity) to kill "Jingang" (Diamond) realm practitioners? Since Zhi Xuan was a realm above Jingang, why was there a mention of "specializing"? Did it mean that this woman was most efficient and skilled at killing Jingang realm experts?

Xu Fengnian tapped the small wooden box and shook his head. He chose not to dwell on these troublesome questions for which he had no answers. He was somewhat looking forward to meeting the Spring and Autumn Remnant sword-caster hiding in the urban areas of Juzi Prefecture. "Great recluses hide in the court"—this was a realm only attained by figures like the Old Grand Tutor Sun Xiji of Western Chu. "Lesser recluses hide in the wilderness," as seen with academy lectures or reclusive Zen masters in mountains and forests. To achieve success without seeking fame was already quite commendable. As for sword-casters, who are "medium recluses hiding in the city," they seemed to lack the inherent foundation and noble demeanor. However, considering the identity of the person this blacksmith was protecting, Xu Fengnian felt relieved. Merely surviving was an accomplishment in itself. The royal family of Western Shu had produced a Sword Emperor who fought to the death from exhaustion amidst Beiliang's iron cavalry. The monarch guarded the nation's gate, ending with martyrdom for his country.

But two loyal ministers still risked their lives to steal away the young crown prince, one civilian and one military. The civilian was Zhao Dingxiu, a renowned Spring and Autumn scholar. The military general's name was unknown; it was only known that he had forged and carried the Western Shu Sword Emperor's sword for over two decades. It was rumored that the group fled to a cliff in the South Sea and jumped to their deaths. Xu Fengnian only learned that this was not the case at all before leaving Beiliang. Last time he went to Feihu City to find someone, Xu Xiao had asked him to convey a message. This time, it was his master Li Yishan. The general gist was that Western Shu's four-hundred-year dynasty could continue, provided that the Crown Prince, who should now be in his twenties, went to Beiliang. Xu Fengnian was uncertain; Western Shu's palace had been trampled and its dynasty broken by Beiliang's cavalry. Could such a negotiation succeed? Wouldn't the sword-caster kill on sight, red-eyed with rage? But he presumed his master must have a strategy from the Tide-Listening Pavilion. Regarding these undercurrents of courtly affairs, Xu Fengnian, who had always relied on Xu Xiao to bear the brunt when the sky fell, had never paid much attention. However, having been immersed in this complex environment since childhood, calling Xu Fengnian a novice in officialdom would indeed be underestimating this outwardly notorious crown prince.

Xu Fengnian sat up and carefully put away the living sarira. He counted on his fingers.

Aside from the few remaining veteran generals in the Beiliang army, the largest core force was probably Xu Xiao's six adopted sons. Chen Zhibao needs no further mention. Yuan Zuozong's loyalty was beyond doubt. Ye Xizhen, known as "Little Zhao Changling," was skilled in overt strategies and had an upright character. However, his relationship with the Crown Prince was merely distant. Yao Jian, adept at geomancy, was the closest to him apart from Chu Lushan. In his youth, he would frequently follow Xu Fengnian around Beiliang to study geography and geomancy. As for "Luqiuer" (Chu Lushan), Xu Fengnian sighed. Perhaps only Xu Xiao truly understood the fat man's thoughts; Xu Fengnian himself was still far too lacking in insight. Next were military strategists like Ning Emei, Dian Xiongxu, and Wei Fucheng, all of whom were exceptional figures. They either established their own factions or attached themselves to one of the six adopted sons. These individuals naturally formed their own small cliques, intricately intertwined. However, compared to the court of the Liyang Dynasty, it was still cleaner in the end. The civilian official group, led by Li Hanlin's greedy old father Li Gongde, was generally far from being able to challenge the Beiliang army; they could only maintain political stability by observing expressions and acting accordingly.

Xu Fengnian counted, and among those he could call his direct subordinates, it seemed there was only Imperial Guardian Huangfu Cheng, who had offered his entire family's lives as a pledge of allegiance.