He Tuyuan greeted politely, "Hello, Miss Qin. I'm He Tuyuan."
"Hello, Mr. He, you look unfamiliar. Are you a recent candidate who came to Beijing to take the imperial examination?" Qin Yangyang asked in confusion.
"That's right, I just finished my exams yesterday, so when I heard the fifth prince say there was a poetry gathering here today, I came here to take a look." He Tuyuan explained.
"Okay, okay, stop talking and start writing. Others will finish writing soon, but you haven't yet!" Qi Beiting didn't like He Tuyuan talking to Qin Yangyang all the time.
Qin Yangyang looked at him with a smile. "Isn't the Fifth Prince afraid of losing? That's why he's urging Master He like this, right?"
Qi Beiting turned his head away and said, "I'm not! It's just that we have to seize the initiative in everything we do, right?"
Qin Yangyang was about to say something when she saw someone waving her over. She said to He Tuyuan, "Mr. He, please write slowly. I'll go over first."
He Tuyuan nodded and began to compose poetry.
Xiaozhuang Siyuan
After finishing her morning makeup, she lowered her eyebrows and leaned against the red building alone, gazing at the distant stream.
The wind gently sways the green shadows of the willows, and the rain from peach blossoms wets the red mud.
It is hard to express my sorrow for you who are not around, and it is easy to get lost in dreams when I revisit the old days.
I wish to have two wild geese to deliver a letter to me, so that we can be united in heart no matter how far apart we are.
Mo Wen, a great scholar, lived up to his name. He was known for his erudition and careful thinking. His expression was often calm and serious. Looking at the people writing, he suggested, "Instead of sitting here doing nothing, why don't we go down and see who's writing well?"
The other great scholars nodded and said, "That's exactly what we were thinking. Sitting here is so uncomfortable that we're almost falling asleep."
"Hahahahahaha, let's go and take a look together." Mo Wen's hearty laughter rang out in the yard.
They walked down the stage together and approached the talented men who were writing. There were also many beautiful women, but because of the difference between men and women, the beautiful women were asked to write inside, and after they were done, they had someone send their works out. This was good for their reputation.
Mo Wen's arrival was like the prelude to a rainstorm, silent but making people feel extremely pressured and depressed.
Don't ask, their eyes are like the edge of a sharp sword, sharp and deep, examining the poems that are about to be presented before them.
Mo Wen read several articles and they were not very good. Either the handwriting was too ugly or the content was not good.
Among them, there was one that was particularly bad. His name was Kedenko and he left a particularly deep impression on Mo Wen. His handwriting was as ugly as an eight-legged spider. To say it was like a dog's crawl was a compliment.
The handwriting is ugly, but the content is just a bunch of shit, with some beautiful woman climbing a high building and roaring softly. I ask the marquis of the county, when will you return home?
Mo Wen looked at the name of this person called Kodenko and compared his face with it.
There were many candidates from other places in this poetry competition, so he got to know them in advance.
Don't ask them as they walk slowly through the corridors. Each poem is like a piece of petition, waiting to be judged.
However, as their eyes scanned the poems one by one, they noticed the clumsy handwriting of many, the immaturity and rawness of the brushwork making them frown. Those verses, like unpolished jade, had a flash of inspiration but failed to form complete chapters, lacking depth and charm.
Mo Wen's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of disappointment welling up in his heart. He knew these young candidates still needed time to hone their skills and accumulate knowledge before they could truly shine.
But as a strict teacher, he is more looking forward to discovering the shining pearl in this immature work.
Amidst this complex and contradictory mood of expectation and disappointment, disappointment and expectation, they stopped in front of a poem.
The handwriting of this poem is neat yet powerful. Each word is like a carefully crafted work of art, with both ancient charm and overall fluency.
The poem vividly depicts a wealthy woman who wakes up one morning, puts on her makeup, then, feeling down, climbs a tall building and gazes blankly at the distant stream. Willows sway in the wind, rain falls, and peach blossoms fall in the red mud. I miss the departed, but I can't see them. I don't know where to send my letter. Recalling the past, I revisit my old place, only to find I've lost myself in a dream. I hope two wild geese can deliver my letter to you, so that no matter where we are, our hearts can still connect.
The author of the poem is He Tuyuan.
It was the first time that everyone saw Mo Wen and other great scholars linger in front of a poem for so long, and everyone looked over.
He Tuyuan, that name, at that moment, resounded throughout the courtyard like spring thunder, becoming the focal point of everyone's attention. Mo Wen's gaze lingered on the poem for a long time, a gleam of admiration gradually filling his eyes. He recited the verses softly, taking in the stories and beauty contained within, his heart filled with joy beyond words.
"What a good poem, what a good poem!" Mo Wen finally spoke, his voice full of affirmation and encouragement.
His words were like a spring breeze, bringing a little comfort to He Luyuan's heart. However, He Luyuan still said modestly, "Sir, you are too kind!"
Several other great scholars also nodded in praise, their eyes revealing their recognition and expectations for this young student.
The others were a little envious and jealous. This was Mo Wen, the chief examiner and chief judge this time. If he could please him, maybe the paper would also please Mo Wen.
It's time for the talented men and beautiful women to make their own judgment.
Before submitting their poems, the ladies would vote for each other.
Since He Luyuan's poem had just won Mo Wen's favor, most people were indignant and therefore did not vote for him. However, some people voted for He Luyuan. One reason was that they appreciated his work, and another was that they thought that doing so would flatter Mo Wen.
Qin Yangyang watched as the incense stick burned out and struck the gong. "Alright, everyone, the voting is over. Now please count the votes one by one."
The guys counted them carefully one by one.
In the end, the top three were He Tuyuan, Qin Yangyang, and another candidate.
Mo Wen and others looked at it again and decided that He Tuyuan was first, Qin Yangyang was second, and another candidate was third.
Qi Beiting patted He Tuyuan on the shoulder and said, "Brother, you are amazing. I knew you could do it, but this is too good!"
He Tuyuan smiled shyly and said, "As long as I didn't embarrass you."
Qin Yangyang smiled and handed the reward to He Tuyuan, "The helpers that the Fifth Prince found this time really impressed me."
"That's it!" Qi Beiting said proudly.
Qin Yangyang waved his hand and said, "Send these rewards back to Master He."
The servants nodded.
…………
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