Chapter 251: Disaster (8)

A buzzing sound, hundreds of people gathered, creating a strange atmosphere.

This autumn poetry gathering, in its initial hours, proved to be quite eventful and unpredictable.

From the moment Lu Tuizhi suggested writing poems, the somber atmosphere, initially caused by the brawl, had begun to dissipate. Those adept at navigating officialdom and the pursuit of fame, whether Lu Tuizhi or the elders guiding the event, were all skilled at enlivening the mood. When Lu Tuizhi proposed Hangzhou as the theme, it was foreseeable that everyone would produce excellent works, critique and appreciate each other's efforts, and enjoy a harmonious gathering. Originally, there should have been no surprises.

However, the atmosphere began to turn strange again, though this strangeness differed from the previous awkwardness and aloofness.

“The southeast’s beautiful landscapes, a metropolis of the Three Wus, Qiantang has been prosperous since ancient times... This *Wang Hai Chao* is truly magnificent, but…”

“I’ve seen this technique before…”

“The rhyme scheme is… unusual.”

Whispers buzzed through the crowd around the forty-two circular tables. Merchants, scholars, and women accompanying their husbands exchanged hushed comments. At the front of the main boat's hall, scholars gathered, discussing with furrowed brows. Some, who had been composing poetry, couldn't help but stop. What they were discussing was very peculiar.

Lou Shuwan and her husband, Song Zhiqian, moved closer to the front, quietly greeting several acquaintances and elders. Just moments before, Ning Yi had completed his *ci* poem amidst the crowd.

This was his first *ci* poem composed in Hangzhou, a straightforward piece that also served as a benchmark for everyone to scrutinize his reputation as Jiangning's foremost scholar. From the moment he began writing, the *ci* spread from those around him and then throughout the hall. Ordinarily, the quality of a *ci* poem should be quickly assessed by scholars of high literary caliber. However, the strange atmosphere emerged as the *ci* gradually took shape. By the time he finished half of it, the entire hall was enveloped in an indescribable murmur of whispers.

By then, his *ci* poem was complete, and the atmosphere persisted. Although Lou Shuwan and her husband had heard snippets of the full poem, they couldn't resist going to examine it closely. Surrounded by scholars, the rice paper on which Ning Yi had written his *ci* was now presented to Lu Tuizhi, who had eagerly come over. Lu Tuizhi read it, furrowed his brows in thought, occasionally glancing at Ning Yi or muttering, “This *ci* is magnificent… *Wang Hai Chao*…” Yet, he never offered a loud appraisal, which was quite contrary to his original intention of enlivening the atmosphere.

After finishing, Ning Yi said, “Please offer your corrections on this *Wang Hai Chao*.” This was originally a polite remark, but the current atmosphere indeed made it seem as if a group of people were genuinely trying to critique it.

Lou Shuwan leaned in to look. The rice paper remained on the table, the handwriting elegant and flowing. Lou Shuwan had never seen such a script before, but she didn't dwell on that, focusing instead on the content. The *ci* was clearly titled *Wang Hai Chao*. Only then did she see the full content and murmur it aloud:

“The southeast’s beautiful landscapes, a metropolis of the Three Wus, Qiantang has been prosperous since ancient times… Willow-lined bridges like paintings, verdant curtains swayed by the wind, homes scattered in tens of thousands. Clouds and trees encircle sandy dikes, roaring waves churn like frost and snow, a boundless chasm of the sky… Markets filled with pearls and jewels, houses overflowing with silk, vying in luxury.”

The grandeur and beauty of the *ci* were striking from the very first line. Subsequent verses sketched vivid imagery, creating a sensation like an unfolding scroll—magnificent yet utterly without frivolity. Just the first half had perfectly depicted the scenery of Hangzhou, making even Lou Shuwan, a lifelong resident of the city, momentarily lost in admiration.

She looked towards Ning Liheng, who was leading his wife away. Out of curiosity, she had repeatedly read his previous *ci* poems many times. Despite being deeply impressed by his magnificent poetic skill, she still felt a slight tremor upon reading this one. After all, she was witnessing the live creation of such a *ci*. She found the contemplative expressions of those around her somewhat odd, so she turned to the second half.

“Lakes layered, deeply refreshing and beautiful, with osmanthus blossoms of three autumns, and lotus flowers stretching ten *li*. Qiang flutes play in clear weather, water chestnut songs drift at night, joyous fishermen and lotus maidens. A thousand horsemen surround the high standard-bearer, listening to flutes and drums while inebriated, reciting verses and admiring the misty scenery. One day, when the beautiful scenes are painted, they will be boasted about upon returning to the Imperial Court…”

Still, the brushstrokes were exquisitely ornate, like fireworks or amber. She softly recited the *ci* and glanced at her frowning husband. Lu Tuizhi had already taken the rice paper towards Qian Xiwen and the others. Indeed, several elders were already muttering something to themselves, their gazes complex, even tapping on the table rhythmically with their fingers. On one side of the hall, several courtesans holding *pipas* and *guzhengs* were leaning in, some craning their necks eagerly like swans. As they were of a lower status, they dared not approach too closely and could only wait for someone to formally transcribe a copy of the *ci* for them.

“Husband, that *ci* is quite good. What’s wrong? Why is everyone reacting like this…?”

Amidst the crowd, Su Tan’er shared Lou Shuwan’s confusion. In truth, Ning Yi’s presentation of his *ci* didn't necessarily mean it would immediately receive excellent reviews; after all, he wasn't the only one at the poetry gathering, and others were also composing. Whether people chose to offer appraisals was their business.

Su Tan’er had a basic understanding of *ci*, and while she grasped the meaning, judging the subtleties of a top-tier *ci* was difficult for her. This was also her first time accompanying her husband to such a gathering, and the first time Ning Yi truly showcased his talent in front of her and everyone else. For her, who admired and yearned for the romantic flair of a scholar, it was a highly anticipated occasion. When Ning Yi finished the *ci*, she thought the verses were excellent, but the crowd's reaction was beyond her expectation.

Ning Yi then led her, head bowed in trepidation, to a nearby round table. Her hand was still held by Ning Yi. Only when she saw that the surrounding scholars hadn't approached much did she dare to softly ask, “What’s wrong with that *ci*…?” From behind her, Xiaochuan also asked curiously, “Yes, yes, what’s wrong? Wasn’t it well written?” Ning Yi glanced at both of them, then smiled without answering.

Su Tan’er frowned, pursing her lips, her face full of confusion. Su Wending, who had been following them, now leaned over from a nearby chair.

“Second Sister, have you ever heard of the *cipai* called *Wang Hai Chao*?”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. What about it…?”

Su Wending looked at Ning Yi with a complex expression, a mix of admiration and exclamation, and quietly asked, “Brother-in-law, did you create that *cipai* yourself?” Ning Yi glanced at him, then at Su Tan’er, and smiled, “Yes, there wasn’t a *cipai* by that name before…” “A new *cipai*?” On the other side, Lou Shuwan’s eyes widened, barely believing what Song Zhiqian had just said. Song Zhiqian frowned, “Yes, his *ci* is magnificently grand, and the rhymes are perfectly controlled. And to think he created the *cipai* himself—this move is meant to overwhelm everyone… Even if he had composed this *cipai* for Hangzhou beforehand, bringing it out now is still astonishing…”

At that moment, no one dared to judge whether the *ci* was good or bad, or rather, no one was willing to offer an immediate appraisal.

To create a new *cipai* on the spot—or even not on the spot—requires the poetic mastery of a true grandmaster. The phrase structures and rhythmic patterns of a *cipai* must withstand rigorous scrutiny. When recited in a fixed manner, they resemble songs—rhyming and pleasing to the ear. Even without a formal musical score, courtesans could sing these *ci* poems, as ancient poetry originally incorporated methods of recitation and singing. This was also why the courtesans were so sensitive to this *ci* poem. Initially, everyone thought that even top-tier poetry about Hangzhou wouldn't be unprecedented here. But with Ning Yi suddenly demonstrating such a skill, no one present believed they could achieve it.

They were unable, and unwilling, to immediately praise the *ci*'s merits. Yet, remarkably, they couldn't find a single flaw in this new *cipai*, which was the most perplexing aspect.

The manuscript was passed to Qian Xiwen, then to Mu Bochang and Tang Xiuxuan. The elders pondered the *cipai*'s length and rhyme scheme, while Lu Tuizhi and others also discussed it. In fact, Lu Tuizhi was quite fond of it. As the Prefect of Hangzhou, with Hangzhou as the theme and everyone praising it in writing, it reflected well on him. He couldn't help but sigh with emotion, shaking his head and murmuring, “A thousand horsemen surround the high standard-bearer, listening to flutes and drums while inebriated, reciting verses and admiring the misty scenery. One day, when the beautiful scenes are painted, they will be boasted about upon returning to the Imperial Court…” These lines captivated him most, though he then felt a touch of surprise. Beside him, Tang Xiuxuan chuckled softly.

“‘One day, when the beautiful scenes are painted, they will be boasted about upon returning to the Imperial Court’ – Master Qian, he just refused your proposal, yet who would have thought he harbors such ambitions within him?”

Qian Xiwen shook his head and chuckled, “From the perspective of *ci* composition, these lines are perfect. But for him to write them now, it seems a little contrived.”

Mu Bochang, whose face was usually stern, also smiled: “Everyone put in so much effort earlier; he’s deliberately making a concession, writing this for the scholars of Hangzhou to see. After this *ci*, a smile should be enough to bury all grudges, right…?” The lines about “A thousand horsemen...boasted about upon returning to the Imperial Court” naturally resonated as the highest aspiration for ambitious scholars and officials. However, in light of Ning Yi’s earlier rejection of Qian Xiwen’s proposal, these lines struck some as somewhat disingenuous. Of course, upon reflection, everyone understood that Ning Yi, unwilling to provoke widespread resentment, used these verses to flatter everyone and signal reconciliation.

Among the scholars, many now grasped this underlying meaning. They offered slight smiles, some approaching to greet him and offer compliments: “Brother Ning, your talent is superb, and your *ci* is excellent; it will surely be widely sung…” After all, with Ning Yi demonstrating such talent, befriending him and giving him a bit of a boost was ultimately harmless.

In that moment, Lu Tuizhi also emerged smiling, placing Ning Yi's *ci* alongside the poems of others. The superior quality was evident, with the rest serving largely as backdrop. But since the purpose was a literary gathering of friends, and the friendly atmosphere was now stronger, there was no pressing need to declare a hierarchy. Those who understood clearly kept their thoughts to themselves. Yet, in that same moment, another subtle, eerie current flowed among the attendees, imperceptible to most. It was as if someone had suddenly realized something, causing many to cast astonished glances at Ning Yi, then quickly look away.

This initial feeling first emerged among Hangzhou's most renowned scholars. In Hangzhou, scholars like He Qiming, Yu Lanzhi, and Geng Huoran were considered top talents, often referred to as "first scholars" in varying degrees by different people, with others holding titles like "second" or "third." These individuals, though perhaps prone to literary rivalries and occasional contests, maintained private friendships. Upon realizing the significance of this new *cipai*, several of them gathered to exchange views and critique it. They understood Ning Liheng's underlying intention of reconciliation with the crowd and, for a time, refrained from making any strange remarks. Some even conceded, “The *cipai*'s rhythm is harmonious and perfectly integrated, grand and magnificent, with a lasting resonance. My own poetic skill falls short.”

But amidst their mutual critiques, someone suddenly and vaguely realized something. It was hard to say who thought of it first, but in those silent glances, many who grasped this realization felt their scalps tingle. Many years later, when these individuals had become old men and recounted this day's events, some would describe the feeling as "scalp-tingling."

If that realization were to be summarized, it would be something like this: If this person had created this *cipai* a month or two ago, how could his *ci* poem contain lines expressing reconciliation with everyone present?

Most people present harbored desires for fame and fortune, aiming to study sagely texts and achieve great deeds. Frankly, they found it hard to believe that any young person would not hold such aspirations. However, Ning Yi’s recent refusal of Elder Qian’s proposal forced them to confront a different reality. Even the most eccentric person wouldn't use the status of a live-in son-in-law to cultivate a reputation; at most, one might adopt the persona of a recluse.

Ning Yi’s previous *ci* poems had already circulated throughout Hangzhou. Just moments ago, these top scholars had examined them repeatedly and generally understood his style. For such a person, if this *ci* was not composed on the spot but rather a month or a few days prior, how could he have written “One day, when the beautiful scenes are painted, they will be boasted about upon returning to the Imperial Court”? Everyone present could now see that he wouldn't write such fame-seeking lines for amusement in his leisure time.

He composed this on the spot…

While everyone else was recalling their meticulously crafted poems from the past, this person wrote such a *ci* on the spot, achieving such perfect integration. A new *cipai*, integrated to such an astonishing degree! Whether he created the *cipai* before or just now, this *ci* itself was composed in the moment.

He had nodded in agreement to compose the *ci* almost without thinking, not even taking seven steps. Realizing this, people were no longer willing to contemplate whether he had devised the *cipai* at that moment or earlier.

This was almost beyond the realm of genius; it had reached a level that sent shivers down one's spine.

Ning Yi sat there, tilting his head and scratching his face with a finger. The spot where he'd been hit had a small bruise, like a tiny patch on an umbrella.

No one voiced these thoughts or conjectures, but being intelligent people, some gradually perceived this incongruity. After a long moment, Song Zhiqian, sitting far off, suddenly looked up, staring wide-eyed at the couple on one side of the hall: “No, he… he wrote that *ci* on the spot…!” Lou Shuwan turned to look at him. Song Zhiqian’s face was filled with disbelief, his cheek twitching once, then again: “No wonder he never bothered writing poetry or attending poetry gatherings. It wasn’t because he was indifferent, it was simply—it was simply that no one else could possibly compete with him…” Song Zhiqian did not voice the rest of his thoughts. Lou Shuwan, looking at him with a puzzled expression for a few moments, grew bored and turned her gaze away.

Many present couldn't predict the extent of Ning Yi's fame once the news of this poetry gathering spread.

Ning Yi and Su Tan’er sat together, one of their hands clasped beneath the table, like an immortal couple. Occasionally, people came over to greet them, and even a few timid courtesans approached Ning Yi for advice, appearing utterly devout. Before long, music swelled, first the newly composed *Wang Hai Chao* by Ning Yi, then other songs.

“After today, business in Hangzhou might become difficult…”

Having experienced such a poetry gathering and received all sorts of praise, Su Tan’er was actually quite pleased. Naturally, her charming vanity was also well satisfied. She was experiencing, for the first time in her life, the true emotion of being a “great scholar’s wife,” her heart pounding, a gentle, quiet smile on her face. Yet, she also maintained a thread of composure, allowing her to speak on a different topic.

Ning Yi was also smiling, observing his surroundings: “You’ve suffered today; I apologize to you.” “I am your wife,” Su Tan’er replied with a smile, her gaze fixed on a woman playing the zither. “However, there’s no need to contend with the Lou family anymore. We won’t take advantage of their position. When we return today, after I finalize the business here in Hangzhou, we should go back to Jiangning… and then I will accompany my husband to the capital.”

“Hmm, then we’ll collude with officials and become a money-making couple. I’ll help you earn back all the losses from here.”

“Haha,” Su Tan’er laughed happily. “Actually, I had an idea earlier, but I figured you wouldn’t agree, so I gave up on it.” “Oh?” “I wanted to tell everyone that I was carrying your child.”

“Really?”

“No, it’s not true yet. My original plan was that when we returned home today, I’d arrange an accident, and then a few days later, we’d announce that I lost the child due to the distress from this event. That way, the Lou family would bear the infamy of having caused the death of a child, making it difficult for them to move against us.” As she spoke, the smile faded from Su Tan’er’s face, replaced by a cold, elegant expression like crisp frost. This was her ruthless mode as a decision-maker.

Ning Yi squeezed her palm. “There’s no need for such drastic measures that make everyone unhappy.” “Hmm, I thought about it later too, and I wasn’t happy doing it either. But at the time, it was simply because there were so many doctors nearby.” Su Tan’er smiled sweetly.

The gathering continued. At the main guest's position, Lu Tuizhi gradually realized the possibility that Ning Yi's *ci* was composed on the spot. He subtly hinted this to those around him, glancing at Ning Yi several times, then told Qian Xiwen, “With such talent and astuteness, it’s no wonder Prime Minister Qin invited him to the capital for assistance, and he is skilled in both literary and martial arts…” The talent referred to his *ci*, and the astuteness to the lines implying reconciliation with the Hangzhou scholars.

Qian Xiwen also chuckled, simply concurring, “I, this old man, don’t know whether his literary talent or martial skill is superior. I heard that not long ago in Jiangning, when a Liao assassin attempted to kill Prime Minister Qin, it was he who intervened and saved the Prime Minister.”

“That was… a life-saving act?”

“Yes, it was a life-saving act.”

Qian Xiwen finished calmly, saying no more. Lu Tuizhi glanced at him, and a chill ran down his spine. He had previously been prepared to abandon Ning Yi, knowing of Ning Yi's connection to Prime Minister Qin, but he had only considered it a simple relationship, allowing room for strategic maneuvering. Since Qian Xiwen knew Ning Yi had saved Qin Siyuan's life, he likely decided long ago to fully support him. This elder merely offered a subtle reminder without saying more. If Lu Tuizhi had indeed proceeded with the intention of incriminating Ning Yi, he would have truly offended someone terribly. Offending Qin Siyuan at this moment, no matter his future political achievements or contributions, would likely lead to severe repercussions. Although Lu Tuizhi was the prefect, this elder before him was clearly warning and admonishing him.

The harmonious atmosphere continued, though no one could sense the undercurrents stirring beneath the surface. Lou Jinlin had also arrived by this point, laughing and conversing with others.

Some continued to compose poetry, but for the moment, no one challenged Ning Yi. The sun gradually began to set, and lanterns were hung on the large boat, awaiting illumination. Soon after, dishes from Fuqing Tower were brought out, one after another.

Magnificent twilight hues painted the western sky, clouds, lake, and mountains in a glorious orange-red. A refreshing evening breeze blew across the lake into the open-sided hall. Some stood, gazing at the distant landscape amidst the warm wind and glow, while others recited poetry, elegant in their scholar's caps and white robes, their demeanor graceful. Near Ning Yi, a Hangzhou scholar approached to speak with him. Ning Yi stood to chat idly, as the banquet was about to formally begin. Some servants went to the boat's deck, preparing to light the lanterns.

In the magnificent, refreshing, pure, and harmonious evening, Ning Yi gazed towards the emerald sunset, momentarily captivated by the scene, growing slightly entranced by the wind.

A flock of geese flew across the sky in the sunset.

The person beside him said something, and Ning Yi slightly furrowed his brows. Though his attention wasn't fully on the conversation, responding was simple enough; the person was probably about to say something else. Ning Yi felt something, difficult to describe—perhaps an illusion. A slight tingling sensation scratched at his mind, like ants, a swarm of ants, then like mosquitoes. The sensation rose from the soles of his feet!

Under the setting sun, it was as if a moment of primordial silence had fallen, and then…

Suddenly, the ground shifted!

Countless table legs scraped with a frightened 'squeak.' Ning Yi grabbed a scholar who was about to fall. In that moment, he didn't know what was happening, but in the next breath, the large boat began to sway violently.

There was a loud crash.

The large boat on the lake first tilted sharply to the left, then crashed violently into a nearby pleasure boat. Wood splintered. A boatman, who was probably lighting lanterns above, saw a lantern instantly erupt into a fireball, and with a scream, the worker plunged out of sight to one side.

The violent shaking made tables and chairs sway. Su Tan’er grabbed him. Ning Yi released the scholar and grabbed Xiaochuan’s and Su Tan’er’s wrists. There were clanging sounds of bowls and chopsticks falling to the ground. In the sunset-lit hall, many people, caught off guard, stumbled and fell, chaos erupting. No one knew what was happening as the boat rocked. Some shouted, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” There were also strange noises, sudden screams from women, a *pipa*'s strings snapping, a woman cutting her finger. A thunderous roar surged in from both near and far.

“What’s happening?!”

“Hold steady!”

Someone outside shouted frantically. Someone else yelled something that sounded vaguely like “Brother,” but in the next moment, it became clear they were shouting, “Earth dragon…”

Then, like a blaring alarm, a terrified voice ripped through the setting sun.

“Earth dragon!”

“The earth dragon is turning over!”

“It’s turning over!”

The boat continued to sway. Ning Yi looked outwards, his vision blurred—not because the boat was rocking too quickly, but due to the visual discrepancy between the boat’s comparatively slower movement and the faster, more violent shaking outside. Rumbles, rumbles, rumbles. The lake water, in that moment, seemed to boil. Distant mountains, the city, and the nearby Xiaoyingzhou Island were all enveloped in violent tremors.

The sunset was blood-red. On this evening of a magnificent sunset, the immense power unleashed from deep within the earth transformed into a tangible nightmare, carrying violent seismic waves that engulfed the primordial landscape as far as the eye could see, and indeed, the entire, immeasurable continental plate…