RPAGF Chapter 358 This poem was definitely not written by you.
Chapter 358 This poem was definitely not written by you.
"Since you all want to see,"
Shi Wanxia raised her eyes, her gaze sweeping over Wang Shuyue's taut jawline, her voice clear and melodious like the clinking of jade stones.
"Then I shall make a fool of myself. If I were to compose a poem, and if anyone here could create one that surpasses it—"
She paused, catching a glimpse of the mocking curve of Wang Shuyue's lips out of the corner of her eye.
"This humble woman shall resign from my post under Your Majesty and forever renounce the court; if no one can match me..."
Before he could finish speaking, a thunderous sound seemed to rumble in the silence. Shen Yanzhou sat at the head of the table, his fingertips lightly tapping the sandalwood armrest.
With the movement, the moon-white sleeve slipped half an inch, revealing the warm luster of the jade thumb ring on her wrist: "Miss Shi, stop keeping me in suspense."
His smile deepened, and his gaze swept across the silent room.
"Everyone here is a learned man. If your poetic talent is truly admirable, I will certainly stand up for you."
Shi Wanxia sneered inwardly.
Wang Shuyue, a scion of a prominent family, probably never imagined that a woman could possess such talent, and only saw her as a parasitic vine clinging to power and wealth.
Very well, let this "first among seven-character quatrains" serve as a touchstone to shatter this outdated prejudice.
She took a deep breath, as if a long wind were rushing into her chest, and when she spoke, her voice suddenly became deeper and more resonant, carrying the force of a surging river:
"My poetry has gained renown; I humbly request your appreciation!"
"The wind is fierce, the sky is high, and the monkeys howl mournfully; the islet is clear, the sand is white, and the birds fly back."
The first two lines are like a sudden downpour, with the mournful cry of monkeys colliding with the serene tranquility of the sandbars.
Wang Shuyue was about to scoff, "It's nothing but sentimental lamentations in the boudoir," when the next two lines captivated her—
"The boundless forest sheds its leaves with a rustling sound, while the endless Yangtze River rolls on and on."
Just as the word "萧萧" was uttered, a night wind swept past outside the hall, and the iron eaves emitted a faint clanging sound, which subtly echoed the sound of falling leaves in the poem.
Cui Zhihao suddenly stood up, the hem of his robe sweeping across the table, causing a few drops of water to spill from the teacup: "These...these four words, 'boundless' and 'endless,' what a magnificent sight they are!"
Wang Shuyue's expression changed instantly.
He had been immersed in poetry since childhood and knew the difficulty of refining words. Yet, the "Xiao Xiao" in these two lines fully captured the desolation of falling leaves, and the "Gun Gun" revealed the magnificent expanse of the rushing river. The parallelism was so perfect that it was impeccable. What was even more terrifying was the overwhelming sense of desolation that came to mind, which was something that ordinary literati could not achieve.
Before he could react, Shi Wanxia's voice flowed like a river, spreading out with an even deeper and more resonant force:
"I often travel far from home in autumn, feeling sorrow; I am a sick man for a hundred years, and I climb the stage alone. Hardship and sorrow have turned my temples white; in my decline, I have stopped drinking wine."
As she concluded the poem, her voice softened slightly, yet it struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer blow.
"A thousand miles of sorrow in autumn" describes the vastness of space, while "a hundred years of illness" describes the desolation of time. The frost on the temples and the turbid wine in the cup fully express the struggle and resilience of life in the torrent of fate.
The crowd, who had just thought she was "long hair and short brains," now even held their breath, feeling the poetic charm in the hall surging like a river, making their eardrums vibrate.
"What a wonderful poem! What a beautiful 'Ascending the Heights'!"
Choi Ji-ho clapped his hands first, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Such a sorrowful yet not despondent, and heroic spirit, is something I have never seen before in my life!"
Wang Shiwan was already captivated by the poem, murmuring, "The atmosphere in this poem... is even more magnificent than what men write."
Although Cui Yashu remained silent, her gaze towards Shi Wanxia held a hint of awe.
Only Wang Shuyue's face was ashen. He stared intently at Shi Wanxia, as if trying to find a flaw in her delicate features: "Impossible!"
He suddenly stood up, the jade belt buckle striking the edge of the table with a crisp sound. "This poem is perfectly matched as if divinely inspired, and its artistic conception is as magnificent as if it were created by nature. How could a woman like you, confined to her chambers, write such a vitality that bursts forth in dire straits?"
He took half a step forward, his tone filled with undisguised suspicion: "Speak quickly! Where did you plagiarize this from? Did you hire a ghostwriter to deliberately deceive His Highness and us?"
The atmosphere in the hall suddenly became tense.
Shu Yun was so angry that she trembled all over. She was about to argue when Shi Wanxia stopped her with a look.
Meeting Wang Shuyue's sharp gaze, she suddenly smiled gently—a smile without anger, but rather with a knowing gentleness.
"Young Master Wang is indeed astute."
Shi Wanxia nodded slightly, her tone frank, "This poem was indeed not written by me."
As soon as these words came out, the whole hall was shocked.
A hint of surprise flashed in Shen Yanzhou's eyes, but he did not speak, only watching her quietly.
Shi Wanxia raised her hand and pointed to the deep night outside the window, her voice carrying a sense of timelessness: "The thousands upon thousands of good poems in this world are all the result of the painstaking efforts of our predecessors."
"The original author of this poem once climbed a high place and looked into the distance. In his impoverished and sick state, he wrote 'Hardship and sorrow have turned my temples white with frost.' It was a reflection of his life of wandering and a heartfelt expression after experiencing many vicissitudes."
She withdrew her gaze and landed on Wang Shuyue's astonished face: "I merely read it, memorized it, and am just using it today."
Her fingertips gently brushed against the cool celadon brush washer on the table, her tone calm yet powerful.
"Does Young Master Wang think that women can only write 'by the small window, she is dressing her hair'? Does he think that women should be deaf to matters of national importance and people's livelihood?"
"But the poem I recited today is about the flavors of life and the indifference of heaven and earth. What does it have to do with gender?"
She suddenly stepped forward, facing Wang Shuyue across the table, her eyes clear and sharp as swords.
"Although I cannot personally experience the vicissitudes of life like the poet saint, I can understand the blood and tears between the lines."
"Is this 'understanding' of your family background really inferior to that of the Wang family of Taiyuan?"
Shen Yanzhou suddenly chuckled, his laughter filled with admiration: "Shuyue, you're wrong."
He got up and walked to Shi Wanxia's side, the wind from the hem of his robe ruffling the poems on the table.
"To be able to truly understand the meaning of the poems of our predecessors, and to express one's aspirations through poetry in this time and place—this talent and courage cannot be described by the phrase 'ignorant of literature'."
His gaze toward Shi Wanxia remained gentle, but with a touch more solemnity: "Miss Shi not only possesses poetic talent, but also has keen insight into people and profound understanding."
"Just now you quoted Du Fu's poem to express your aspirations. Were you trying to say that governing a country is like climbing a high place, where one must see all the 'boundless falling leaves' before one can deal with the 'endless Yangtze River'?"
Shi Wanxia felt a chill run down her spine and looked up at Shen Yanzhou—he could actually discern her underlying philosophy of governance from a poem.
She curtsied and said, “Your Highness has keen insight. Reforming the imperial examination system is like climbing to a high place to see far; it requires breaking with old rules and embracing new ideas so that all talented people in the country can be used for the country, rather than being confined by family background.”
These words ostensibly refer to the imperial examination system, but subtly point to Wang Shuyue's theory of social origin.
Wang Shuyue's face turned pale and then red. He wanted to refute, but found that Shi Wanxia's words were all reasonable. The borrowed poem "Ascending the Heights" was like a mirror, reflecting the narrow-mindedness and rudeness of his previous remarks.
Seeing this, Cui Zhihao quickly tried to smooth things over: "Young Master Wang is only concerned about national affairs, but he made a mistake in his words."
"Miss Shi's poem has truly broadened our horizons!"
Wang Shiwan also seized the opportunity to say, "Cousin, Miss Shi's talent is evident to all. His Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince appreciate her, which is naturally reasonable."
Wang Shuyue's lips moved, but in the end he could only manage to utter, "Even if you can recite a few poems by predecessors, you may not understand how to govern a country..."
"Does he understand how to govern a country?"
Shi Wanxia interrupted him, her tone calm yet sharp, "Arguing verbally is useless. As I said before, if Young Master Wang can compose a poem superior to 'Ascending the Heights,' I will resign immediately."
“If not—” she looked at Shen Yanzhou, “then please, Your Highness, grant me permission to continue participating in the reform of the imperial examination system, what do you say?”
Shen Yanzhou clapped his hands and laughed, "Good! Shuyue, do you dare to accept this challenge?"
Looking into Shi Wanxia's clear yet scrutinizing eyes, and then at Shen Yanzhou's gentle yet unquestionable expression, Wang Shuyue felt a surge of blood rush to his head.
He had prided himself on his poetic talent since childhood. If he were to back down now, wouldn't that be admitting that he was not even as good as a poem "borrowed" from a woman?
"Why don't you dare!"
He gritted his teeth and agreed, but he felt a little uneasy—how could the grandeur of "Ascending the Heights" be easily surpassed?