Chapter 540 [Craftsmanship] Sword Technique, Legendary Sword Master! (Seeking monthly votes!)
Xunyangfang and Xingzifang, as the two largest neighborhoods in Xunyang City, are located on the east and west sides of Xunyang City respectively, echoing each other.
Xunyang Ancient Ferry is located in the middle of two neighborhoods.
Xunyang Tower is located on the easternmost side of Xunyangfang, near the Xunyang River and a bustling street that stretches for miles.
A cold, palace-dressed girl silently passed by Xunyang Ferry, leaving Xingzifang and entering Xunyangfang.
Along the way, the black-armored soldiers and white-clad female officials in Xingzifang, who were under martial law and had their streets blocked off, all showed respect and automatically made way for her when they saw her.
For a time, it became the focus of attention on the quiet street, watched cautiously by pairs of eyes behind doors.
The entire Xingzifang district has been placed under complete control. Except in special circumstances, all residents are ordered to stay at home and accept random checks by female officials and soldiers.
Although all the unofficial Qi cultivators who emitted blue and red "qi pillars" were slaughtered by the Qi cultivators of the Imperial Observatory and the black-armored soldiers.
But the lingering melody of the zither still echoes inside and outside Xingzifang.
Meanwhile, at the construction site near Xingzi Lake, Lin Cheng, Wang Lengran, Yuan Huaimin, and others were installing the Buddha head back into place.
Wei Shaoqi, Qin Changshi, and others were also leading people to clean up the corpses and search for the legendary mythical cauldron sword.
The entire Xingzifang area has been declared safe in a practical sense by the sound of the zither, but because the Buddha head is still being installed, it is still in a state of tight security both inside and out.
In particular, the Xingzi Lake construction site in the very center of the neighborhood is now completely off-limits to all unauthorized personnel.
In this situation, the lady historian neither went to the Xingzifang construction site to ensure the Donglin Buddha's head and body were reunited on time, nor did she join Wei Shaoqi and others in searching for the mythical sword.
Instead, they focused intently on walking out of Xingzifang.
This truly puzzled the female officials and the generals in charge, who all assumed she had something important to attend to, and no one dared to ask.
Rongzhen walked silently toward Xunyang Tower. Along the way, the streets of Xunyangfang became much more lively.
The martial law lockdown in Xingzifang did not significantly affect the living atmosphere of Xunyangfang. The main populations living in the two neighborhoods still had a large gap between the rich and poor.
Xingzifang was mostly inhabited by lower-class people and impoverished scholars, resembling a slum.
Xunyangfang was home to high-ranking officials, relatively wealthy citizens, and literati seeking pleasure; Xunyang Tower was a representative venue for this.
In truth, Rongzhen didn't know why her feet had unconsciously wandered out of the search party and away from Xingzifang.
Mingming had long dreamed of this day, to capture all the traitors, including the owner of the Butterfly Love Flower, and expose their true colors.
But when the time actually came, she felt utterly bored... or rather, she suddenly realized that this matter was no longer the most important thing to her.
A new, intense impulse welled up from the bottom of my heart for no apparent reason.
Something I'd rather do, or someone I'd rather see...
Rongzhen quickened her pace and walked without looking back all the way to the riverside street on the east side of Xunyangfang.
Looking out, at the end of the long street stands a magnificent Xunyang Tower.
At this moment, many figures were coming and going; they were all famous scholars, talented men, officials, wealthy merchants, and sons of noble families from Xunyang City.
Outside the building, many literary figures and artists gathered to watch, and passersby stopped to see what was happening.
These are some of the traditions of poetry gatherings in Xunyang City. Once there is a brilliant poem at the gathering, it will be spread immediately. Among the audience, it will be copied by hand and passed on orally, and it will spread throughout Xunyang City within half a day, making them famous.
Just as people in Luoyang and Chang'an, the capital cities, enjoy discussing imperial family affairs and political gossip, perhaps due to the influence of the Kuanglu culture, the people of Xunyang are particularly tolerant of the unconventional style and romantic deeds of talented scholars and celebrities.
Today's poetry gathering at Xunyang Tower is not only about "singing chrysanthemums instead of snow,"
It was also because the event was spearheaded by the legendary princess, renowned for both her talent and beauty, and the Juhua Poetry Society, and the Xunyang Prince and his family personally attended to share the joy with the people.
This matter has become the hottest topic in the literary circles of Xunyang City recently.
Many talented scholars were eager to showcase their skills, and the common people who had come from afar were naturally also looking forward to it, gathering around to inquire about the gossip surrounding the poetry gathering. In this era, literary banquets and poetry gatherings, featuring talented men and beautiful women, were akin to the film and television stars of Ouyang Rong's previous life—a form of mass entertainment. The top poets of the Great Zhou literary world were considered the pinnacle of this era.
The light drizzle falling from the overcast sky did not dampen the enthusiasm of the crowds along the entire street.
Perhaps due to the lockdown, or perhaps because of the distance, the turmoil in Xingzifang has not yet fully reached us.
Rongzhen stopped on the street, looked down at the bloodstains left on her palace dress, and then raised her hand to gently sniff her sleeve.
The west wind, blowing a light drizzle, slightly dispersed the smell of blood from her clothes. Although she had just washed them, her palms still felt sticky.
Rong Zhen paused for a long time.
This female historian, who was seen by others as decisive and impartial, surprisingly showed a hint of hesitation on her pale and coldly beautiful face.
In front of them stood a high-end restaurant, a place exclusively for talented men and beautiful women, where elegant scholars would gather and exchange toasts.
In the past, she wouldn't have cared about such trivial matters of image, nor would she have cared about other people's opinions.
But right now... Rong Zhen's mind flashed back to Xie Lingjiang's tall figure in a ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) when they parted at the West Gate.
Beneath the hem of her skirt, a pair of embroidered shoes remained unmoved.
...
"The first poem about chrysanthemums, which is recognized by the literary world throughout history, comes from Tao Yuanming, a famous scholar of the Eastern Jin Dynasty. He served as the magistrate of Longcheng County, which was under the jurisdiction of this prefecture, for eighty-one days before resigning and going into seclusion... This poem was also written after he went into seclusion and is called 'Drinking Wine'."
I built my hut in the midst of human habitation, yet there is no noise of carriages and horses. You ask me how this can be? When the heart is far away, the place naturally becomes secluded. I pick chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, and leisurely gaze at the Southern Mountains…
"Among them, the famous lines, 'Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, I leisurely gaze at the southern mountains,' have been widely recited for hundreds of years."
"As we all know, Tao Yuanming loved chrysanthemums, and it was because of him that chrysanthemums were elevated to a very high status in the literary world. Also because such a brilliant scholar was born here, Xunyang City is known as the Chrysanthemum Capital."
"Looking at the literary scene of this dynasty, among all the poetry gatherings since the founding of the nation, the most celebrated and hailed poem about chrysanthemums is the one from the eighth year of the Zhenyuan era, 'Chrysanthemums'... Autumn clusters surround the house like those of Tao Yuanming, encircling the fence as the sun gradually sets. It's not that I particularly love chrysanthemums among flowers, but that after this flower blooms, there are no more flowers..."
"This poem was written by Yuan Dajia, who was hailed as the master of literature at the time. The last two lines remain unsurpassed in the literary world of the Great Zhou Dynasty to this day. In my humble opinion, this is the second poem about chrysanthemums after 'Drinking Wine'..."
Inside the main hall of Xunyang Tower, Li Guo'er, her face veiled by a light purple gauze, pointed to a plate of chrysanthemums on the table in front of her, which still stood proudly unfaded in early winter, and commented in a clear voice.
Li Xian, Li Dalang, and the surrounding scholars and literati all held their breath to listen to the little princess's nightingale-like voice.
Many talented young men were still secretly eager to try their hand at poetry, their eyes filled with longing and anticipation as they looked at the wall of poems with white paper pasted on it behind Li Guo'er.
This is the most important part and the climax of today's chrysanthemum poetry gathering—only the top three poems about chrysanthemums will be inscribed on the wall and guaranteed by the owner of Xunyang Tower to be preserved in this famous Jiangnan tower.
Li Guo'er finished her comments clearly, and the group of famous people who served as judges around her talked for a while, well, it was nothing more than some meaningless mutual praise.
Finally, the poetry writing session began, and the talented scholars picked up their brushes to compose poems, creating a lively atmosphere. Occasionally, some slightly better poems were circulated and read.
However, some observant people noticed that when the little princess on the high platform was browsing through the poems, although she nodded from time to time and seemed to be smiling under the hazy purple veil, the depths of her clear eyes were as still as a deep well.
Meanwhile, Prince Xunyang, Li Xian, and his heir, Li Dalang, seemed to be distracted by the poetry gathering, absentmindedly drinking their tea and frequently glancing back at a corner of the building...
Half an hour later, Li Guo'er and the renowned judges had roughly selected three decent poems about chrysanthemums. She turned and whispered to someone to copy them down and post them on the white paper wall. The scholars whose poems were selected were either pleased or proud, or they restrained themselves with humility.
Just then, a tall, slender figure staggered out from the corner and appeared not far behind the group.
"Tanlang?"
Li Xian and Li Dalang put down their teacups and stood up.
Even Li Guo'er, who was surrounded by famous scholars and gentlemen, couldn't help but glance at them.
There stood a handsome young man with a face like jade, eyebrows like eight colors, eyes like bright stars, and a nose like a hanging gall bladder. He was extremely handsome. Someone immediately recognized him as Ouyang Lianghan, the current Sima of Jiangzhou.
Ouyang Rong ignored him, reeking of alcohol as he walked through the crowd, occasionally pushing aside chairs blocking his way. He stumbled and staggered to the table, bent down, and squinted with drunken eyes as he examined the chrysanthemum that had not faded in winter before him, then looked around.
“You guys are so noisy, really so noisy, so noisy,” he suddenly said.
Inside the hall, arrogant scholars immediately showed anger, while renowned monks and eminent figures exchanged displeased glances. Someone promptly spoke up, displeased: "I used to respect Ouyang Sima so much, but I never expected him to be such a..."
But the scholar paused in the next instant, because Ouyang Rong had already walked to the table without paying any attention, pulled out a writing brush, and walked towards the white paper wall that everyone was watching while checking the brush.
Just as everyone was wondering about this strange behavior, Ouyang Rong suddenly shook out a heavy ink stick from his sleeve and casually tossed it onto a soft chair to the side.
Immediately, he focused intently, laid the paper flat, and dipped the brush to its fullest extent.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone, the handsome young man took a brush in his left hand, wielded the ink brush, and wrote a seven-character quatrain in one go on the white paper on the wall:
A brisk west wind blows through the courtyard, the flowers are cold and fragrant, and butterflies dare not come.
If I become the Green Emperor in the future, I will make the peach blossoms bloom together!
Silence. There was only silence in the entire room.
The crowd looked at each other, their faces momentarily stunned, before bursting into a series of wonderful expressions, like fireworks during the Spring Festival.
Li Guo'er had stood up at some point, her eyes filled with amazement as she looked at the still-wet ink of the seven-character quatrain on the wall.
Xie Lingjiang, who followed closely behind, first quickly bent down to pick up the small inkstone that vibrated more quietly than a certain "vibrating egg clock"... She ignored the little girl's strong protests and dissatisfaction, and together with Li Xian and his son, stared blankly at the poem.
At this moment, everyone's attention was drawn to the poem "On Chrysanthemums" on the wall.
"Finally... it's quiet."
Ouyang Rong suddenly put down his brush, his drunken eyes drooping, and chuckled softly.
It's unclear what this murmur is saying.
A moment later, the smiling young man, drunk as a mountain about to collapse, slumped over the table in front of a pot of autumn chrysanthemums, and in front of everyone... drifted off to sleep.
The entire room fell silent for a moment, then a commotion erupted. But as Xie Lingjiang gestured with his index finger and snorted, the room fell silent again. Everyone covered their mouths and tacitly lowered their voices, as if afraid of waking someone.
A moment later, the crowd, some with respect, some with admiration, and some with shame, stepped forward to admire the chrysanthemum poems on the white wall; Xie Lingjiang, Li Xian, and others rushed over to inquire about Ouyang Rong's health.
Being closest to Guo'er, she was the first to reach out and support Ouyang Rong's limp body after he collapsed from drunkenness, momentarily forgetting the proper boundaries between men and women... As she helped him up, the little princess with plum blossom makeup lowered her head to gaze at the poems, softly savoring them:
"If I become the Green Emperor in the future, I will make the peach blossoms bloom together... What a poem, so good that... it's a bit outrageous... This poem should be the first poem about chrysanthemums for the next five hundred years. Ouyang Lianghan, you can be compared to Tao Yuanming."
Xie Lingjiang, who had just arrived at the table, suddenly widened his eyes. It turned out that the little princess in front of him had suddenly and playfully patted his head, which was buried in his elbow.
"color!"
...
Xingzi Lake construction site.
The lingering piano music had barely faded away.
In the water room, a simple cubicle, a bearded man wearing a felt hat sat on the floor and finally finished drinking the human blood wine in the gourd, which was faintly soaked with the ashes of red and black talismans.
He had eaten a hearty meal of braised meat before leaving home that morning, muttering to himself. A moment later, he poured out a dark green round pill from the bottom of the gourd that he had used to soak in alcohol, tilted his head back, and swallowed it.
It is called the Ink Dragon, and it is even spicier than a snake's gall. In the blink of an eye, it transforms into a dragon-shaped raging fire from its throat to its chest.
In the humble room, Huang Feihong's muttered words still faintly echoed.
“The young master said… I can now also carry firewood for the people.”
A moment later, the bearded man suddenly opened his eyes and stood up. He, who was originally an excellent drinker and could drink a thousand cups without getting drunk, was now swaying drunkenly. As if waking from a dream, he looked around and faintly heard the sounds of laborers and animals pulling the Buddha head outside the water room... His eyes were blurry with drunkenness, and he raised his hand to press down his felt hat.
...
At the end of the long street outside Xunyang Tower, Rongzhen stood under the eaves, her face showing hesitation. At this moment, a commotion suddenly came from the crowd in front of her, like water boiling.
She saw many people rushing around copying poems, passing around a newly printed manuscript, talking about it with great interest, and some even squeezing into Xunyang Tower with excited expressions...
Rong Zhen frowned, listened carefully, and her expression changed slightly...
It turns out that Ouyang Sima, who was known among the literati of Xunyang for his line "A fine brush is also a bed," actually composed a poem today. Moreover, he was chosen as the champion by the little princess and all the famous scholars present, and no one in the audience objected.
“Didn’t you hurt your hand…” Rong Zhen remembered something, bit her lower lip lightly, and narrowed her eyes slightly.
A moment later, Rongzhen took out an orange-red sachet, from which she took out a small IOU for "a poem owed," clenched it in her palm, and strode towards Xunyang Tower without hesitation.
You can do this to your junior sister, but you can't do it to me?
Furthermore, I'd like to see what kind of poem you just wrote.
"Hmm, it wasn't my idea to come, it's just that you owe me, it's all in black and white..."
Muttering to herself, she took a dozen steps forward, and then suddenly slammed on the brakes.
She suddenly turned around, her pupils contracting slightly.
The sight of the palace-dressed girl frozen in place drew curious glances from passersby.
But just three breaths after the cold, palace-dressed girl turned around and glared, everyone suddenly heard a faint rumbling sound coming from the direction of Xingzifang behind them.
No, it wasn't thunder; it was the initial ripples of something enormous collapsing...
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(P.S.: Please vote with monthly tickets! I'll finish writing this part tomorrow, or I'll add an extra chapter if I can't finish!)
(End of this chapter)
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