Chapter 17: River of Heaven Water [Requesting Monthly Tickets!]

Did Ji Yun admit defeat directly? Could it be that this scholar's talent far surpasses Ji Yun's?

"Young Master Ji has not even finished reading the whole thing, yet rushes to a conclusion; that is far too rash."

Ji Yun carefully unfolded the rice paper, offered no argument, and simply began reading aloud before everyone.

"Let all listen—since the Jianyan era, the dust of the Hu has blocked the sky, the Central Plains have been in chaos; I led my family south across the river."

The flower hall gradually fell silent.

Ji Yun's clear voice echoed among the carved beams and painted pillars; when he read "Winter of the ninth year of Shaoxing, a snowy night in Qiantang," an elderly man in a brocade robe from the inner circle suddenly let out an "Eh!"

"Strange!" the old man stroked his beard and said, "Jianyan and Shaoxing are both reign titles, yet I have never heard of them; could this be fabricated?"

Ji Yun simply explained: "This is the speech of a novelist, a technique of feigning the future."

Indeed, it merely borrows the voice of a person from the future to write of that catastrophe which has not yet occurred.

"Now, let us see the main text."

Ji Yun turned past the preface, revealing dense small regular script behind it.

He cleared his throat and continued reading.

"Floating Life in Jiang Left · Part One · River of Heaven Water"

I first saw Ah Si in the first month of spring of the fifth year of Zhenghe.

That year, following my strict father, I first entered the capital region; the official boat was late in the day, temporarily moored beneath the Water Gate Bridge; floating ice gnawed at the gunwale, like broken jade tapping green porcelain.

Suddenly hearing the bow dip slightly, a barefoot youth leaped up, a ragged jacket wrapped around a coarse earthenware jar; in the season where breath congeals into frost, beads of sweat actually seeped from his temple.

'Lord Wenqu Star, please taste this new brew!'

'Could this be a seller of private liquor?' I found it quite novel.

The state implements the monopoly on liquor laws, forbidding the people from making fermentation starters; yet official brewery wines are weak and bland, and only licensed households may sell, so the markets and streets are full of secretly sold home brews.

My strict father, who has always loved wine, actually nodded and agreed, only instructing: 'The wine must not fail to wet the fingernail; do not deceive with muddy liquor.'

The youth slapped off the sealing mud; the wine aroma startled the night crows roosting in the reed thickets; moonlight leaked into the jar's mouth, actually weaving the Silver River upon the wine's surface.

My strict father wet his fingernail to test it, clapped his hands and called it superb: 'Does this brew have a name?'

'It is called River of Heaven Water.' The youth's ear tips turned crimson, 'It requires gathering the morning dew of the Tiger hour on the Clear and Bright day, and must be cellared in a lotus-leaf wrapper for three years.'

At that time, I was still in the years of hanging hair; my strict father drained the cup, and I too was allowed to play with peers of my age.

I still remember curling up with Ah Si in the stern cabin; he broke a reed tube and handed it to me to play "Fisherman's Pride"; the copper gourd at his waist swayed with the waves; the melody's sound melted the river ice.

At the parting, I gave him half a sesame cake; he stuffed a lump of wine starter into my palm: 'Bury it under the peach root; after ten years, let it ferment; it can intoxicate even immortals.'"

Having finished reading the first page of the main text aloud, Ji Yun stopped.

Before anyone else could speak, the brocade-robed old man from just now could not help but clap his hands in praise.

"The four characters 'floating ice gnawing at the gunwale' at the opening of this text still show the spirit of the *Records of the World*; the episode of the barefoot youth leaping onto the boat, with its plain-sketch technique, possesses a natural charm; what a fine piece of writing! Truly a fine piece of writing!"

"Indeed." Ji's father, being a major book merchant, also possessed some culture, "The most exquisite part lies especially in the stroke of the wine aroma startling the crows; it truly captures the Zen state of Wei Zuosi's 'pine nuts falling in the empty mountain'; the writing is elegant and refined, the composition exquisite; it can be called a masterpiece!"

"Wetting the fingernail to test the wine makes one imagine the manner of Ji Kang forging iron; as for the line 'weaving the Silver River upon the wine's surface,' is it not a reversal of Taibai's 'suspecting the Silver River has fallen from the nine heavens'? Yet it adds three parts of the smoke and fire of the human world."

Zhou Squire thought for a moment and also followed with a comment, though the metaphor he used was slightly inappropriate.

Actually, everyone present was a scholar who knew quality; even if they could not write literary masterpieces themselves, they still possessed basic literary appreciation abilities.

—The story titled "River of Heaven Water" at the opening of *Floating Life in Jiang Left*, from the angles of writing style, description, and layout, is truly strong to the naked eye!

It can be said that with just the details of this opening, as long as the subsequent story development is not particularly outrageous, winning first place at this literary banquet would leave no one able to say anything against it.

Afterwards, Ji Yun turned the page and continued reading aloud.

And the very first sentence of the second page of the main text made everyone, upon hearing it, involuntarily freeze in surprise.

"Ten years of spring and autumn, all given over to the scriptures."

I had not long entered the fermentation starter courtyard when spring snow broke and ruined the courtyard peach; the starter buried back then had long since eroded with the rain; only the official tribute wine under the corridor glowed with the cold light of corpse wax.

Just then, a noisy crowd of laborers dragged a wine thief into the hall; beneath his ragged jacket, his spine curved like a bent shrimp.

'Do you have any words to say?'

The thief-prisoner raised his head; his left eye was clouded as if blind, while his right pupil still lived and shimmered; he did not look at me, but turned to glance sideways at the wine jars under the corridor, only sneering.

After laughing, he murmured: 'The minister drinks wine; does no one allow me to eat earth?'

Who would wish to hear the words of such a lowly wretch?

At that time, I had just reached the age of twenty; my spirit was vigorous and arrogant; I hastily pronounced judgment, ordering him transferred to the prefectural yamen for tattooing and conscription into the army.

Later, I saw laborers smash a coarse earthenware jar on the road; the crack in the jar exactly resembled the shadow of the Hongqiao from that year; only then did I suddenly realize and be startled."

The sound of the shattered pottery in the article seemed to turn into substance within the flower hall; everyone's breaths all paused for a moment.

The ten-year promise passed in the blink of an eye.

The wine starter, which was like a childhood memento, had already been corroded by the rain of time; what remained was nothing but a shell.

And the identities of the two had changed from childhood playmates to judge and accused.

For the protagonist of the article *River of Heaven Water*, this disposal was merely a small whim of the power in his hand, yet it directly caused a huge turning point in the fate of his childhood playmate Ah Si.

When the article's protagonist realized what he had done, it was already too late.

Just as when Ji Yun read the three characters "shadow of the Hongqiao," everyone also, almost in an instant, thought of the innocent childhood scene of the protagonist and Ah Si meeting for the first time in their youth on the first page.

But wanting to subconsciously avoid the pain brought by this rupture between before and after was also too late.

Indeed, the cruelty and the beauty were torn apart so severely that Ji Yun's voice involuntarily trembled.

Lu Beigu's writing style is truly too sharp!

To the extent that they, as readers, felt that at the point where the pen's edge turned sharply, it was as if a cold blade had broken the air, causing goosebumps to rise.

"This..."

Zhou Mingyuan was also stunned; he had seen people write novels, but he had truly never seen someone improvise on the spot and write a novel to this degree.

Using merely a few dozen sentences, he outlined two scenes: childhood and adulthood.

could weave the fates of two people from utterly different backgrounds together, carving them deeply into the readers' hearts.

And Ji Yun continued reading the third page of the main text.

"In the years that followed, time passed like a drunken stupor; the scent of wine in the Qu Yuan gradually rotted, lulling people into a daze day after day.

Suddenly one day, war drums shook the earth.

The Jin people besieged the city; over a hundred thousand elite troops formed ranks, their nobility and commonality indistinguishable beneath their helmets.

All the silks and jade within the city were transported to the Jin camp; even the fine wine of the Qu Yuan was no exception.

After the plundering of wealth and women, the enemy troops temporarily withdrew, yet the Qu Yuan had already fallen into ruin.

Before long, autumn cooled; the iron cavalry knocked again, and the city fell.

I fled in panic to my residence; the streets were filled with pedestrians like headless flies, when suddenly I saw a column of soldiers and horses flowing against the current toward the ruined walls.

I heard a northern voice singing 'Fisherman's Pride': 'Border sounds rise with the horns on all sides; within a thousand peaks, a lone city closes against the long smoke and setting sun; a cup of muddy wine, home ten thousand li away—'

A one-eyed man in the column hooked a wine jar with his knife tip and drank like a whale, speaking incoherently: 'Ten years of water from the Milky Way should be mixed with blood to taste right.'"

Hearing this, the maid beside him could not help but twitch her nose.

Suddenly her hand went soft; with a "Crash!", the wine pot she held shattered into pieces on the ground.

The sound of broken porcelain echoed for a long time in the flower hall; the maid hurriedly knelt to gather the shards, yet no one spoke to scold her.

Before Ji Yun had turned to the final page of the main text, all the guests present were already as if lost in a dream, stepping into that chaotic era of a broken Shanhe along with the words.

They seemed to see the lone, desolate back of the one-eyed soldier hooking wine with his knife tip amidst the bloody setting sun on the city wall.

"That one-eyed soldier is clearly..."

"Ah Si."

——————

① Zhou: strong wine brewed repeatedly.

② Que Gu Fa, also written as "Que Gu Fa": the government monopoly system on wine implemented by the authorities.

③ Zhan Jia: a drinking etiquette from the Tang to Song dynasties; originally, dipping a finger into the cup when toasting and flicking out the wine drops to show respect, later evolving to mean dipping the fingernail after the cup is full to indicate hearty drinking.

④ Chan Guang: moonlight, as the toad was commonly used in ancient Chinese culture to refer to the moon.

⑤ Tong Ti: a copper wine ladle, a common ancient tool for drawing wine.

⑥ Qu Yuan: a double meaning; here it specifically refers to the Song dynasty institution managing wine brewing and yeast production, not a place of pleasure.

⑦ Gu: meaning blind.

⑧ Ding Yan: to finalize a case or pronounce a verdict.

(End of this chapter)