The ginkgo leaves in the Imperial Garden were just beginning to take on a golden glow. Sunlight filtered through the interlaced leaves, casting dappled shadows on the railings of the white marble pavilion. Liu sat in the front row of the VIP seats, her gold-woven brocade dress accentuating her sallow complexion. Her jade armor repeatedly stroked the brocade handkerchief at her knees, her fingertips practically tearing holes into the fine Hangzhou silk. Amidst the swirling smoke of expensive ambergris burning in a gilded incense burner on the table, she stared at the plain-clothed figure beneath the stage, a grim smile etched on her lips. The "power struggle" question, exchanged for three thousand taels of silver, was like a reassurance, certain that from this day on, Shen Weiwan would be doomed.
Beside her, Shen Ruoruo's fingertips were white as she pinched the embroidered handkerchief, and even her delicate makeup couldn't hide the jealous fire in her eyes. She looked at the Seventh Prince Xiao Yu, who occasionally glanced at Shen Weiwan from a distance, and dug her nails deep into her palm: as long as Shen Weiwan made a fool of herself in the finals, the Seventh Prince's gaze would sooner or later return to her.
The chief examiner, Lord Zhang, adjusted the crane patch on his official robe. The clusters of silver-embroidered feathers swayed slightly in the sunlight. He cleared his throat, and his deliberately high-pitched voice pierced the pavilion: "The final question for this poetry competition is: compose a five-character regulated verse on the theme of 'Power and Intrigue.' The time limit is one stick of incense!"
As soon as the question came out, Liu nudged Shen Ruorou with her elbow, and the mother and daughter exchanged a knowing, smug look. This question specifically exploited women's weaknesses, requiring them to discuss court politics while adhering to the strict rules of five-character regulated verse. Given Shen Weiwan's limited ability to write doggerel, she must have been scratching her head in the audience, anxious as an ant on a hot pan.
However, Shen Weiwan, sitting in the audience, was unusually calm. She took the wolf-hair brush from Chuntao, gently stroking the purple brush with her fingertips. Suddenly, she looked up at Liu, a sly smile on her lips, like a fox that had stolen a chicken. Liu's heart skipped a beat, and she inexplicably felt that there was some trick hidden in that look.
"Miss, do you really want to write like this?" Chun Tao lowered her voice, her palms sweating with nervousness, and even the hand holding the inkstone trembled slightly. Chen Weiwan flattened the snow-white rice paper on the table, the ink shimmering faintly in the delicate inkstone. She raised her wrist lightly, and the tip of the pen drew a smooth arc in the air, and suddenly fell down -
Liu stared at the speed of her brushstrokes. Seeing her writing so quickly, she sneered even more: She must be scribbling on the paper to make up the numbers! Shen Ruorou stretched her neck even further, eager to see the hilarious joke appear on the rice paper immediately.
An incense stick of time passed quietly in the silence of the entire room. Lord Zhang collected the poems one by one, first unfolding Shen Ruorou's scroll and reading aloud: "Power and scheming hidden within one's sleeve, calculating the glorious years. White dew falls on the jade steps, smoke rises from the golden palace..." Though the words were ornate, they were filled with the vain fantasies of a woman in seclusion about the court. The emperor only nodded slightly, his eyes already fixed on Shen Weiwan's poem.
Master Zhang took a deep breath and tremblingly unfolded the page of rice paper. When his eyes fell on the words on the paper, his face instantly turned as pale as the paper. He stared at the ink words that penetrated the paper, his Adam's apple rolling heavily for a long time, and suddenly raised his voice, almost shouting:
"The late emperor died before his work was even halfway completed. Today, the world is divided into three parts, and Yizhou is exhausted. This is truly a critical moment for survival..."
The pavilion was suddenly so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The old scholar in the head seat leaped to his feet, his beard trembling like dry grass in the autumn wind. The jade Buddhist beads in the Grand Tutor's wife's hands clattered to the floor, their round beads rolling on the blue bricks. Even the guards at the corners of the hall forgot to maintain their stance and couldn't help but peek in. How could this be poetry? It was clearly Zhuge Liang's famous "Chu Shi Biao" (The Memorial to the Emperor on Leaving the Capital)!
"How dare you!" Lord Zhang slammed the manuscript onto the table, making a loud thud. "Chen Weiwan, this is Prime Minister Zhuge's famous poem, and you dare to impersonate him and present it as your own?"
Liu stood up screaming like a cat whose tail was stepped on, pointing her jade armor directly at Shen Weiwan: "Your Majesty! Look at her behavior, it is clearly deceiving the emperor and she deserves death!"
Shen Ruorou followed closely behind, her voice sharp: "Sister! Even if you can't write poetry, you shouldn't plagiarize ancient articles to fool the emperor!"
Facing the uproar, Chen Weiwan calmly bowed, her clear voice like pearls falling on a jade plate, piercing the clamor: "Master Zhang, you are wrong." She raised her eyes to the emperor on the dragon throne, her eyes as cunning as a fox's, "I have heard that poetry expresses aspirations, and literature conveys truth. Every word and sentence of Prime Minister Zhuge's "The Memorial to the Emperor on Leaving the Capital" is filled with the political and strategic principles of loyalty to the emperor and patriotism, and of embracing the virtuous and avoiding flatterers. I have the audacity to borrow this to 'use the past to satirize the present.'"
"Using the past to satirize the present?" The emperor twirled his graying beard, his eyes flashing with deep interest. "Tell me now, how do you satirize the present?"
Chen Weiwan slowly turned around, her gaze like a knife darting towards the sullen-faced Liu, a hint of "asking for a beating" curling up her lips: "Prime Minister Zhuge said, 'Be close to virtuous ministers and stay away from villains. This is why the early Han Dynasty prospered.' But now, some people are 'close to villains and stay away from virtuous people.' To pursue their own power, they even spent three thousand taels of silver to bribe the examiner, setting a difficult question to embarrass me. Isn't this a living lesson for 'the decline of the later Han Dynasty'?"
"You're slandering me!" Liu's whole body trembled violently, and her jade bracelet hit the edge of the table hard, making a sharp and crisp sound. "When did I ever spend three thousand taels..."
"Oh?" Chen Weiwan raised an eyebrow, her tone full of teasing, "Didn't my aunt ask the housekeeper to give Master Zhang a thick stack of banknotes?" She turned to Master Zhang, who was already frightened out of his wits, and pressed him, "Master Zhang, what do you think? Is that three thousand taels of silver just enough to buy a 'good question' that will embarrass this servant?"
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