Chapter 46: Fu De Mei

In the following days, Lu Beigu arrived punctually at the Transport Office each morning.

Because he left early and returned late, he rarely saw Li Pan, who shared the Qingyang Palace with him; Li Pan was busy cultivating connections and likely had no time to care for him.

When Zhao Bian was occupied with official duties, he let Lu Beigu study alone beneath the plum tree in the courtyard, and whenever free, he personally guided him, explaining in detail every aspect—from prosody and meter to classical allusions and their sources.

Lu Beigu’s skill in poetry and fu rapidly advanced from “completely clueless” to “gaining some insight.”

Seeing his swift progress, Zhao Bian increased the workload: daily, Lu Beigu was required not only to study exemplary works from the Wen Yuan Ying Hua, but also to compose a short fu under time limit, which Zhao Bian then corrected word by word.

Though Lu Beigu still found it difficult, he was no longer as lost and helpless as at first; at least he could now Mianqiang adhere to meter, and his use of allusions gradually became accurate.

Zhao Bian’s “Three-Step Method” — particularly the “Threefold Refinement of Words” — proved highly effective; once Lu Beigu grasped the basic sounds and tones, he became sensitive to word choices and could easily judge whether a character’s level tone or oblique tone was clearly wrong.

Zhao Bian then began teaching him how to execute the steps of “First Establish Meaning, Second Refine Diction.”

It sounded mystical, but it simply meant memorizing templates, then selecting the appropriate template format for each fu topic and filling it with content.

Of course, saying it was one thing; mastering the actual practice required relentless repetition.

After Zhao Bian’s rigorous training, Lu Beigu still could not produce dazzling fu, but at least he rarely made obvious errors in basic allusions or meter.

Don’t think his progress is small—exams are sometimes not about being good, but about being less bad; when everyone is terrible, just being less terrible makes you outstanding.

The typical trait of county school students is this: rote memorization of classic texts, painstakingly polished exegesis, improvised policy essays, and nonsense poetry.

And this trait was equally common among prefectural school students.

For example, Zhou Mingyuan.

Though he failed to secure a quota last year, he still passed the provincial examination; whether or not he had an exceptional performance, his score was certainly among the top in the prefectural school.

But no matter how perfect his classic-text memorization or how profound his exegesis, his poetry and fu remained terrible.

Why?

Zhao Bian had a saying that wasn’t merely comforting Lu Beigu: “Literary momentum flows through.” In common terms, it means “having literary flair.”

Someone with literary flair, when in decent form during an exam, produces words and phrases far superior to others.

To put it to an extreme: a common man might strain for a year and still fail to match Li Bai’s casual verse after a drink.

What can you do? Nothing.

This ability belongs to talent, not to postnatal effort.

You either have it, or you don’t.

Precisely because Lu Beigu possessed talent, insight, and comprehension, Zhao Bian was willing to nurture him; for a genius, technique is easiest to master—the real fear isn’t having technique, but lacking it entirely.

Of course, finding a good teacher willing to teach you the correct methods is also a necessary condition.

If the teacher is inadequate, unwilling to teach, or teaches something fundamentally wrong, it’s better not to learn at all.

After extensive training in fu topics, Zhao Bian gradually began teaching Lu Beigu poetry composition.

One afternoon, Zhao Bian seemed unusually idle; he took out a scroll of the Zhao Ming Wen Xuan: “Today, we will not discuss fu, but the origin of poetry.”

“Liu Xie once said, ‘Poetry is holding—holding human emotion; the Three Hundred Odes, though brief, all point to sincerity.’ Tell me, what is the ‘eye’ of poetry?”

Lu Beigu paused, then replied: “The line that brings the poem to life?”

“Wrong,” Zhao Bian shook his head. “The poetic eye is not in the line, but in the meaning. For instance, Wang Wei’s ‘Solitary smoke rises straight in the vast desert; the setting sun rounds the long river’—the eye lies in the words ‘straight’ and ‘round.’ Not only do they depict the scene precisely, but they also convey the desolation of the frontier.”

“Let us practice the ‘test poetry’ commonly seen in prefectural exams. I will give the topic; you compose on the spot, and consider how to apply the ‘poetic eye’ technique.”

Zhao Bian paused briefly, then pointed to the old plum tree in the courtyard: “Take ‘plum’ as the subject. Five-character verse, limit to the ‘xian’ rhyme.”

Lu Beigu sat upright, thought for a moment, then began writing.

“Fu De Mei”

Frozen buds break winter’s first chill, jade branches mirror dawn’s sky.

Scent floats through a thousand snow-laden trees, shadows fall across a stream of mist.

Jade bones, ice as soul; lonely mountain, moon as parchment.

Do not say spring’s message comes late—pure fragrance fills the world.

To be honest, not boasting—he himself was stunned by this poem.

Compared to his earlier, poorly rhymed “Shuilongyin,” he had finally mastered meter without error.

The significance was like learning to sing and instantly moving from off-key noise to staying in tune.

“So progress is still possible through study!”

Lu Beigu felt delighted inside: mistakes were natural when he didn’t understand meter; now that he understood, why should he make them?

Still, he carefully reviewed it again.

First, tone pattern: opening with “ Zezezepingping ， Pingpingzezeping ” fully complied with the “oblique-start, level-end” rule; the first character of the final line, “ Mo ,” was slightly oblique but fell within the “first, third, fifth tones may vary” allowance—no flaw.

Next, rhyme: the rhyming characters “ Tian 、 Yan 、 Jian 、 Jian ”—the first three were perfect; “ Jian ” had a minor flaw, but as a neighboring rhyme, it followed the same principle as “ Renshengbuxiangjian ， Dongrucanyushang ”—no serious issue. The main reason he kept it was his fondness for the phrase “ Renjian ”; he couldn’t think of a better substitute.

Overall, the poem’s tone pattern fully conformed to five-character regulated verse standards, except for the slightly lax first character of the final couplet; the parallelism was especially refined. The line “Scent floats through a thousand snow-laden trees, shadows fall across a stream of mist” even carried the spirit of Tang poetry.

“The way of poetry and fu is like carving and polishing. Your progress is unmistakable.”

Zhao Bian’s eyes flickered with surprise as he read.

Lu Beigu’s advancement was simply too fast!

This learning talent was visibly extraordinary!

Just days ago, Lu Beigu was utterly confused about tone and rhyme, constantly making mistakes; now, after only a few days of intensive training, he had already become competent.

Ordinary students would take months—minimum—to reach this level!

Thus, Zhao Bian genuinely grew fond of this student he had taken on.

“In olden days, Ouyang Yongshu revised the four characters ‘ Baizhuanqiansheng ’ dozens of times before settling on the latter half, ‘ Suiyiyi .’ Your use of ‘ Po ’ and ‘ Fu ’ today already captures the true essence of test poetry—but the ‘poetic eye’ still needs further refinement.”

Then Zhao Bian picked up his brush and made slight revisions, changing the third line to: “Jade bones, ice-frozen soul; lonely mountain, moon cradled in sleep.”

“Do you understand why I made this change?”

Lu Beigu thought a moment, then said: “The change to ‘ Ning ’ corrects the tone and transforms stillness into dynamic stillness, echoing Liu Xie’s ‘Wen Xin Diao Long’ principle: ‘Thought reveals subtle meaning; writing conveys hidden depth.’”

“Good. You have insight.”

Zhao Bian continued: “As for changing ‘ Yuezuojian ’ to ‘ Baoyuemian ’—first, it personifies the plum; second, it alludes to Lin Bu’s ‘slanting shadows’ imagery, endowing the plum with solitary nobility, avoiding the blunt ‘ Jian ’ for greater subtlety and reserve.”

This is what a master teacher is!

Not only does he possess high literary skill, but his casual revisions elevate the entire poem’s spirit—and he explains his intent clearly, so you understand and learn.

“Your student has learned,” said Lu Beigu.

“Enough for today.”

Zhao Bian’s expression softened; he was no longer in teaching mode, but chatting casually.

“I hear your family is from Gulin—were your ancestors long-time residents there? Did your father or grandfather ever serve in office?”

——————

① The Zhao Ming Wen Xuan, also called the Wen Xuan, is China’s oldest surviving anthology of poetry and prose, compiled under the direction of Xiao Tong, eldest son of Emperor Wu of Liang. It includes over 700 works by more than 130 authors from the Zhou to Liang dynasties. Due to its rigorous selection, emphasis on diction, and strict separation of literary works from historical texts, it has long been regarded as the canonical textbook for classical Chinese literati.

② Test poetry, originating in the Tang dynasty, was a poetic form commonly used in imperial examinations, also called “Fu De” style, named for the prefix “Fu De” in its titles. Bai Juyi’s famous “Fu De Gu Yuan Cao Song Bie” was composed by him at sixteen as practice for such exams. Test poems were typically five-character regulated verses with six or eight rhymed couplets and formed part of the Jinshi examination content from Tang to early Song, until abolished under Emperor Shenzong of Song—the period of this story.

(End of chapter)