"Authentic book, good quality,
The lady's portrait is as beautiful as Diao Chan.
Pirated books are like pig spirits.
I had nightmares watching it at night!
This news spread throughout the capital like wings, and finally even the emperor in the palace knew about it. When summoned the next day, the emperor pointed at Shen Weiwan standing in the palace and laughed so hard that the dragon throne was shaking: "I heard that someone painted you as a pig spirit?"
Shen Weiwan bowed, her skirt spreading out like a blooming flower. "Your Majesty, thanks to your great blessing, the genuine poetry collection is now selling even better. The bookshop owner said he wants to carve a 'Lucky Pig' statue for me to worship."
"Hahaha!" The emperor laughed so hard he slapped his thigh. "Alright! How about I give you another title? I'll call you 'Poetry Landslide'!"
The entire court, civil and military officials, were so stifled they were livid, but the old butler, standing outside the palace, wept as he listened. He touched the volume of "Three Hundred Perverse Poems" hidden in his arms, his fingertips running over the page "Aunt's Abacus," and muttered to himself, "General, our eldest daughter... is a true mudslide in the poetry world... but this mudslide is so refreshing! So satisfying!"
After the court session, Xiao Yu held Shen Weiwan's hand and walked along the palace path. The setting sun stretched their shadows far and wide. "Weiwan," he looked down at her, his eyes filled with a glint of gold. "Are you satisfied with the title of 'Poetry Landslide' bestowed upon you by your father?"
Shen Weiwan raised her eyebrows and tapped the back of his hand with her folding fan: "Satisfied! Very satisfied! From now on, our Crooked Poetry Club will be renamed the 'Mudslide Branch'. I guarantee it will be packed with people!"
As the two were chatting and laughing, Chun Tao came up to them breathlessly: "Miss! His Highness the Seventh Prince! Master Wang said he had made up a new jingle and asked me to sing it to you quickly!"
Not far away, under the palace wall, Uncle Wang was holding a candied haws target and singing loudly at the top of his lungs:
"The mudslide, the crash,
The young lady has an excellent talent for poetry.
Pirated booksellers are terrified.
Who dares to mess with the prince's support?
Shen Weiwan laughed so hard that she fell backwards and leaned on Xiao Yu's shoulder, unable to straighten her back. "Your Highness, listen, this is what we call real folk art! It's much better than those sour poems from the Hanlin Academy!"
Xiao Yu rubbed her head helplessly, his tone full of pampering: "Yes, yes, whatever you say is right. From now on, our children will also have to learn to make jingles from Uncle Wang from a young age."
The setting sun sank completely into the western mountains, painting the sky a brilliant orange-red. The old butler stood at the gate of the general's mansion, watching the Seventh Prince's carriage carrying his eldest daughter gradually recede. Their laughter could be heard even through the curtains. He wiped his eyes with his hand, finally revealing a relieved smile. He knew that if the general in his grave saw the young lady now, he would stroke his beard and laugh heartily, perhaps even slap his thigh and say, "Excellent! As expected of my daughter, Shen, you are truly worthy of being called 'the mudslide of poetry'!"
The stories of the capital, like the doggerel written by Shen Weiwan, are always filled with unexpected twists and surprises. As the sun rose the next day, the fat man on Bookshop Street was drawing Shen Weiwan's portrait with a stern face, while the members of the Crooked Poetry Society had already composed new jingles, preparing for the next "spectacular performance" from their "poetry mudslide" president. This day was just like the young lady's poem—exciting! Absolutely!
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