Chapter 109: Truly Extraordinary

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As Zhao Hengyi wrote a line, someone nearby would loudly recite it. At first, the poetry gathering was filled with background noise, but as the first half of the “Shui Diao Ge Tou” fully unfolded before everyone’s eyes, only the sound of chanting remained.

Those who came to the Furong Garden for this early summer moon-viewing poetry gathering, even the most esteemed, inevitably possessed a grasp of poetry and prose.

They might not have composed masterpieces destined for posterity, but they were certainly capable of appreciation.

Among the scholars attending, most were individuals with considerable literary talent; just from the first half of this piece, they sensed a lofty and ethereal grandeur. Many quietly savored it, disheartened to realize that throughout their lives, they could not recall a single poem that could rival this “Shui Diao Ge Tou.”

There were even those deeply obsessed with this art, who, upon hearing the first half of the poem, either swayed their heads as if savoring fine wine or pushed through the crowd to stand beside Zhao Hengyi, eager to witness the second half firsthand.

At this time in the Great Yan Kingdom, the civil official faction held absolute dominance, yet the nation’s strength was lacking, suffering repeated defeats in foreign wars. Despite a flourishing literary atmosphere, no masterpieces heralding a golden age were produced; poetry inevitably veered towards an obsession with elaborate and intricate forms.

In plain terms, everyone pursued technique, but no one sought breakthroughs in artistic conception.

Some extremists even proposed that moon-viewing poems should never mention the moon; similarly, poems about flowers or snow should avoid direct references as well, endlessly refining their technical skills with painstaking effort.

Such poems, though dazzling and ornate, were hollow—like puppets dressed in splendid garments, beneath the luxurious attire lay empty shells without flesh or soul.

In another realm, Zhao Hengyi’s composition of “When Will the Bright Moon Appear?” was renowned for its ethereal grandeur and had been celebrated for a thousand years. Not only within the small city of Jiangling but even facing the entire literary world of Great Yan, it was utterly overwhelming.

The poem opens with the straightforward question, “When will the bright moon appear?”—a simplicity that seemed to reject Great Yan’s literary obsession with constant variation—but the next line unfolds the imagery, majestic and expansive with subtle grandeur.

By the time it reached “Palaces in the heavens,” the poem’s momentum and imagery inspired awe as if standing before towering mountains.

This was a complete and utter transcendence; Great Yan’s literary world was mercilessly crushed beneath it.

When the line “I wish to ride the wind and return” was finished, the momentum surged like great rivers rushing ceaselessly, imbued with ethereal spirit, as if truly gazing down from the celestial palaces upon mortal beings below. That detachment from cause and effect, that carefree liberty over heaven and earth—reading it stirred an almost intoxicating feeling of transcendence.

Those with profound literary foundations began searching their memories for historical masterpieces, only to be startled into realizing that, even at Great Yan’s literary zenith, even among poems celebrated through the ages—whether pursuing ornate complexity or simple purity—few could rival the artistic conception of this first half of “Shui Diao Ge Tou.”

This young man… he truly bore the aura of a master.

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Effortless strength… floating as if immortal… wildly imaginative… uninhibited and bold… yet perfectly aligned with the natural way—tonight, after this poetry gathering, the literary world of Great Yan would likely gain a new leader of unparalleled caliber!

“Turning past the vermilion pavilion, lowering the carved window, it shines upon the sleepless.”

“There should be no resentment; why must the moon be full only when we part?”

“People experience joy and sorrow, separation and reunion; the moon waxes and wanes—this has been difficult to perfect since ancient times.”

“May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though miles apart.”

It seemed as if these lines echoed Zhao Hengyi’s voice. When he finally set down his brush, the crowd uncontrollably exhaled in long relief.

Many had held their breath, as if afraid that even breathing would disturb this masterpiece destined for eternity. Now, with “Shui Diao Ge Tou” complete, they dared to breathe deeply.

“May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though miles apart… what a fine verse.”

Grand Eunuch Xi Ningxi, seated at the main seat, sighed deeply. For once, his eyes were free of calculation and contemplation, filled only with intoxication.

Even Su Shenchang, prefect of Jiangling, gently stroked his long beard, eyes narrowed in delight—a rare expression. Notably, before Grand Eunuch Xi, Su was careful never to touch his beard.

Prince Qi stared into his wine cup, his gaze flickering as he swiftly absorbed the expressions of those around him.

Though he recognized the quality of the poem, he could not fully grasp its literary significance. Yet, by reading the faces of others, he discerned something remarkable.

This seemingly ordinary Zhao Hengyi was, in fact, a prodigiously talented master of poetry!

Many at the gathering were truly skilled.

Among them were those who had studied poetry for decades—some deeply obsessed, others making a living from it—who experienced this “Shui Diao Ge Tou,” passed down a thousand years in another world, with feelings unlike anyone else.

“From tonight onward, no one will dare write moon-viewing poems again.”

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An elderly scholar with graying hair sighed profoundly among the crowd, evoking widespread resonance.

At the very least, for the near future, the literati of Jiangling would likely avoid moon-viewing poetry. Any rash attempt would inevitably be compared to this “Shui Diao Ge Tou,” an experience tantamount to public execution.

As the entire poem was completed, swift hands copied it and dispatched it throughout Jiangling.

The intrigues of the high and mighty were beyond common folk, difficult to comprehend—but this “Shui Diao Ge Tou,” composed at the Furong Garden’s early summer moon-viewing poetry gathering, whether fueled by simple competitiveness or a desire to bring fame to Furong Garden, would quickly spread to other poetry societies.

Nearby, in a backstage chamber, were the resting and makeup rooms for the girls performing at the gathering.

Among them was Hong Xiu, the famed courtesan of Jiangling. Such a renowned courtesan would certainly perform tonight, where all the influential figures gathered.

Whenever new verses appeared, messengers delivered them to the chambers for the girls to select, memorize, and then sing and dance at the poetry gathering—a rigorous test of their skills as famed courtesans.

Only the most famous courtesans of Jiangling were invited to Furong Garden tonight. Though they greeted each other as sisters warmly in public, subtle rivalries simmered underneath.

Hong Xiu, however, held the highest reputation and status, having arranged with the other girls beforehand that she would perform all of Zhao Hengyi’s poems tonight, regardless of their quality. Thus, when the sheet bearing “Shui Diao Ge Tou: When Will the Bright Moon Appear?” arrived in the chamber, it was first handed to Hong Xiu.

“When will the bright moon appear? I raise my cup to ask the azure sky…”

Word spread quietly that Zhao Hengyi had swept the entire poetry gathering with a single composition. Yet the contents of the poem remained unknown to the girls inside the chamber.

As Hong Xiu began to chant softly, the courtesans, trained in poetry from youth, each sparkled with admiration in their eyes… That Zhao Caidong was truly extraordinary!