Chapter 18: In the End, No One Answered

Only three scenes!

Only a few hundred characters!

They carved onto the paper the feeling of half a lifetime's vicissitudes, spanning from childhood first meeting to adult reunion, then to middle-aged parting, making it leap off the page.

Lu Beigu's literary power is simply breathtaking!

Those five characters "Ten Years of River Water" on the paper were pinched and twisted by Ji Yun's thumb, like the promise crushed by fate in the story.

"The young man who gave the song back then, now brews wine with his own blood when the city falls."

Zhou Mingyuan lost his composure for a moment.

He had read the orthodox lineage of the *Wen Xuan* since childhood; how had he ever seen such words of national blood and tears written in common street language?

On the day the city fell, those who were originally high above judging others' fates fled in panic like headless flies, not knowing where to go.

Those who had always been despised and judged at the bottom, however, displayed courage completely mismatched with the circumstances they suffered.

And the line describing the enemy army outside the city, "Under the helmets, noble and common are hard to distinguish," took this sense of irony to the extreme.

Yet hidden within this rough, unadorned story, like a coarse earthen jar, was a sharp edge that made his spine chill; the posture of the one-eyed soldier spearing wine with his blade tip was clearly questioning whether a single stroke in his embroidered essays had ever been written for the common people?

A drop of sweat fell from Zhou Mingyuan's forehead, splashing onto the floor tiles.

And just then, the literary banquet scene first fell silent, then a cheer rang out.

"What a fine 'A cup of turbid wine, home ten thousand li away'!"

They saw that old man in the brocade robe actually slam his wine cup heavily onto the table, the jade liquid inside splashing and wetting half a sleeve.

"This line was originally Fan Zhongyan's words while guarding the border; used in the mouth of a soldier licking blood off a blade, it is a hundred times stronger than those pedantic scholars chanting about wind and moon!"

Someone suddenly led the way, clapping the rhythm and singing: "Autumn comes to the frontier, the scenery is different—"

Half the guests actually joined in singing along; for a moment, the desolate melody of *Fisherman's Pride* shook the swallows and sparrows outside the window into flight.

When the song ended.

Ji Yun's Adam's apple rolled; after taking a deep breath to slightly calm his emotions, he finally turned to the last page.

"I am greedy for life, fortunate to have survived by scraping by.

Following others across the river, the golden cavalry still chased relentlessly, I spent the whole day in panic like a fish that slipped through the net.

Walking where the purple and red fill the road, who cares for a petty clerk like me?

Yet not long after the barbarians retreated, I unexpectedly received a new post—my superior heard I knew the art of brewing, so he made me manage the newly established fermentation bureau.

In Lin'an for less than two years, the flying snow was all dyed with the scent of rouge.

'In the past, I did not love wine.'

'How is it now?'

The poor scholar opposite me grabbed his brush and asked; this gentleman was usually taciturn, yet he loved to investigate people's past affairs.

I said: 'Now, if I do not drink, I cannot sleep.'

A small boat drifted with the waves; my drunken eyes held onto the gunwale, about to vomit, when suddenly I saw the starry river in the water, and the moon of the fifth year of Zhenghe.

I vaguely heard the sound of ice cracking on the Bian River, and the tinkle of a copper ladle.

In the end, no one answered."

The subtle call-and-response of several small details, and the clever shift in perspective between the protagonist in the text and the author of the preface, made the artistic conception of this *River Water* echo endlessly.

So that in the end, when the drunken protagonist in the text saw the Milky Way in the water again, and the same moon as in the fifth year of Zhenghe, as if hearing the ice cracking on the Bian River and the tinkle of the copper ladle, that sense of fate directly reached its peak.

And the new post the protagonist unexpectedly obtained, along with the line "In Lin'an for less than two years, the flying snow was all dyed with the scent of rouge," which had a similar effect to "The singing girl knows not the hatred of a fallen nation," when other storybooks were still narrating flatly, transformed Du Fu's five characters "The nation is broken, Shanhe remains" into a dull pain spanning decades within the novel!

The final line, "In the end, no one answered," pierced through all of this!

"In the end, no one answered."

Zhou Mingyuan muttered to himself, his face pale.

He originally thought this was just an ordinary novel showing off literary talent; who could have thought that behind the words lay such heart-stirring national vicissitudes?

Moreover, although the theme was wine, the protagonist in the text was clearly reflecting and mocking them, these prodigal sons lost in drunken dreams!

Those who are greedy for life obtain life; those who go to die obtain death; but those who can live do not necessarily live, and those who die do not necessarily die.

Such a work can only be described in four characters.

That is "shocking to the soul"!

Inside the flower hall, agarwood incense was thick, yet the green smoke in the Boshan burner seemed to have solidified.

Lu Beigu set down the empty wine cup, which still held residual warmth in his hand.

He raised his head and looked around; he saw the guests all had different expressions—some covered their faces to wipe away tears, some were stunned and lost in thought, and some, like Zhou Mingyuan, had faces the color of earth.

"This text..." Master Zhou's throat rolled; after a long while he said, "It indeed deserves to be the champion."

Before he finished speaking, the old man in the brocade robe in the inner circle had already risen unsteadily; the fish bag at the old man's waist swayed slightly with the movement, shimmering with fine light in the sunlight.

"This old man has been collating books in the Academy for thirty years and has never seen such a strange text."

The old man pointed to the Xuan paper on the table: "These three characters 'River Water', at first glance seem to write about wine, but upon careful thought, they use wine to metaphor life. The ice cracking on the Bian River is wine; the blood on the blade tip is also wine; the sigh of the rise and fall of the nation within this, and the personal pain of the characters, adds three parts more of heart-piercing pain than Du Gongbu's 'The nation is broken, Shanhe remains'!"

Ji's father clapped his hands and sighed: "My son's *Record of the Wine Demon* just now was merely a work of showing off talent and venting spirit; this text, however, is like old cellar-aged wine; clear and cool at first sip, the aftertaste rushes straight to the crown of the head."

As he spoke, he turned to Lu Beigu: "Young Master Lu, would you be willing to hand this text over to the Ji Family Bookstore for printing? According to the previous agreement, fifty guan."

A chorus of gasps immediately rang out in the flower hall.

Seeing Lu Beigu's indifferent expression, and before Ji's father could react, Ji Yun snatched the words: "Such a strange text, it would be a real pity not to print it to warn the world; our Ji family does not intend to insult you with money and silk; only for this text... I earnestly beg you to agree."

Having said this, Ji Yun bowed deeply to the ground.

Seeing this scene, Lu Beigu's expression loosened slightly.

It was not that he was deliberately cold; rather, just now he had been fully immersed in body and mind, having entered the story he wrote, and had not yet completely detached, which is why there was a feeling of desolation.

Now that this story has already awakened everyone from their luxurious indulgence, even if only temporarily, that counts as his "shouting a sentence" having an effect.

If through this opportunity, by publishing and printing, more people can see this article and influence more people, that would naturally be even better.

Thus, Lu Beigu nodded slightly and said, "This piece is not yet finished; 'Jiangzuo Fusheng' is planned for Twelve Chapters, and what I have written today is merely the preface and the first chapter."

"No matter!"

Ji's father hurriedly said, "Aside from the first chapter, the rest can be settled according to the actual work upon completion. If the other chapters are all of this quality, the Ji Bookstore can open a dedicated series for the Young Master."

These words caused even more uproar among the crowd.

Opening a dedicated series means classifying and publishing a person's works separately, a privilege not attainable by anyone but the great masters of the age.

Seeing the situation, Zhou Squire quickly interjected, "Since Young Master Lu has won first place, according to our earlier agreement, this She inkstone should be the prize."

Zhou Mingyuan, standing nearby, heard this and hurriedly brought the inkstone forward with his own hands.

Yet Lu Beigu's gaze remained fixed on the leftover wine on the table.

The cup of "Fengqu Fajiu" reflected the daylight filtering through the window lattice; within the amber liquid lay a few specks of shattered gold. Unknowingly, the afternoon sun had already begun to slant westward.

Afterwards, Lu Beigu did not take the inkstone but instead picked up the wine cup.

"Fan Wenzheng once said: 'A gentleman would rather sound his voice and die than remain silent and live.'"

"Today, my spirit surged, giving rise to this piece. This cup of wine is a toast to 'Tianhe Shui' and to all of you."

Having spoken, Lu Beigu tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.

(End of this chapter)