Chapter 332: The Seventh of the Top Ten Poets in History — Tao Yuanming

Tang Dynasty, the tenth year of Zhenguan.

Late spring, early summer, the blossoms of Chang'an City were about to fade, and the air carried the last wisp of floral fragrance.

In the pavilion of Li Shimin's rear garden, an unprecedented marvel was unfolding at this moment.

A rosewood square table stood in the pavilion's center, covered with a gold‑thread embroidered tablecloth, and a set of fine ivory mahjong tiles were neatly arranged at the four cardinal positions.

The four players, respectively—

Tang Taizong Li Shimin, seated at the east, wore a smile and a look of confident composure.

Qin Shi Huang Ying Zheng, seated at the south, wore a blank expression, his cards clenched tightly in his hand.

Han Gaozu Liu Bang, seated at the west, cracked sunflower seeds in his mouth, his legs propped high, exuding a seasoned swagger.

And — Gu Shanhe, seated at the north, looked relaxed, a faint, half‑present smile tugging at his mouth.

At one side of the pavilion, Han Wudi Liu Che and Han Guangwu Emperor Liu Xiu stood side by side, each positioned behind Liu Bang and Ying Zheng to watch the game.

Liu Che occasionally offered Liu Bang advice; Liu Bang either ignored it or, after taking it, regretted his move, prompting Liu Che to stamp his foot in irritation.

Liu Xiu was honest, standing behind Ying Zheng without a word, because he realized that when the First Emperor played mahjong, he grew impatient with anyone who spoke.

"Nine Bamboo."

Li Shimin played a tile, smiling as he looked at Gu Shanhe.

"Gu Xianshi, when is the next celestial curtain inventory? I have been idle these days and am just waiting for the fun," the emperor said.

Gu Shanhe drew a tile, glanced at it, and placed it down without a hint of reaction.

"It should be soon. Your Majesty, do not rush; what is meant to come will come."

"Pong!"

Liu Bang snatched the Nine Bamboo that Li Shimin had played, chuckling.

"Your Majesty Taizong, you play so generously that I feel embarrassed not to Pong."

Li Shimin's eye twitched: "Old Liu, this is already the third tile you've Ponged from me."

"Fate, I suppose."

Liu Bang, confident, played a tile while saying, "Five Dots."

Ying Zheng, expressionless, drew, examined, and played tiles in complete silence.

His playing style mirrored his governing style—

steady, precise, ruthless; if he held back, he did nothing, but once he acted, it was lethal.

In the previous round he won with a pure hand, leaving Liu Bang pale as earth.

Liu Che, standing behind Liu Bang, stared at his own ancestor's tiles, hesitated, then spoke, finally unable to hold back.

"Your Highness Gaozu, if you play that tile, the First Emperor might win."

Liu Bang froze, glanced down at his tiles, then looked up at Ying Zheng's eternally cold face, hesitating.

"Impossible? I think it's quite safe," he said.

"Play," Ying Zheng uttered.

Liu Bang gritted his teeth and played the tile.

Ying Zheng reached out, slowly tipped his tile: "Win. Thirteen Orphans."

A deathly silence fell over the pavilion.

The sunflower seeds in Liu Bang's hand scattered on the floor; he opened his mouth wide, staring at Ying Zheng's tile, unable to speak for a while.

Li Shimin placed a hand on his forehead and sighed, Liu Che looked to the heavens and let out a long sigh, while Liu Xiu silently stepped back—

He had foreseen this outcome long ago, so he said nothing.

Gu Shanhe suppressed a laugh, pushing the chips to Ying Zheng: "Your Majesty the First Emperor, what good luck."

Ying Zheng, expressionless, accepted the chips and said calmly, "Playing cards is like governing; one must calculate without omission."

Liu Bang muttered, "It's just a game of mahjong; does it really have to be this serious…"

Before the words finished, the celestial curtain suddenly lit up.

Golden light poured from the dome, enveloping the entire pavilion in a dazzling brilliance.

The garden's flora and trees were coated in gold; even the koi in the pond halted, looking up at the sky.

"It's here!"

Li Shimin set his tile down, sprang to his feet, eyes full of anticipation.

Gu Shanhe also rose, smiling at the celestial curtain: "Speak of Cao Cao, and Cao Cao appears."

On the celestial curtain, golden light flowed as a pastoral scroll slowly unfurled—

Distant mountains were like ink wash, nearby waters held mist, a few thatched huts nestled among green trees, and beyond the fence lay a golden field of chrysanthemums.

An elderly man in coarse cloth was picking chrysanthemums in the field, his demeanor leisurely content.

In the pavilion, the five emperors looked up together, their gazes firmly fixed on the celestial curtain.

Three Kingdoms plane.

Cao Cao was in Xuchang's council hall discussing military matters with his strategists when the celestial curtain suddenly lit, and everyone halted their tasks, looking up.

Zhuge Liang was in Chengdu's Prime Minister's residence reviewing documents; the curtain's light streamed through the window lattice, he set down his brush, walked to the window, and watched quietly.

In Jianye, Eastern Wu, Sun Quan was playing chess with Zhou Yu in the rear garden; the celestial anomaly made both raise their heads, and the outcome on the board became irrelevant.

At that moment, all times and spaces, all people, looked in the same direction.

On the celestial curtain, lines of ancient, simple characters slowly emerged, bearing a back‑to‑roots power—

【Celestial Curtain Inventory·The Seventh of the Top Ten Poets in History — Tao Yuanming】

【Title: Pastoral Poetry Patriarch, Founder of Recluse Tradition, Sir Jingjie, The First Recluse Poet of All Ages】

"Tao Yuanming?"

In the pavilion, Li Shimin read out this name, lost in thought.

"I feel like I've heard this name somewhere before."

Gu Shanhe explained: "Your Majesty, Tao Yuanming was a poet of the Eastern Jin period, living over two hundred years before you."

"He is the founder of China's pastoral poetry; all later poets who wrote about pastoral life or recluses are his disciples."

Liu Bang scratched his head: "Pastoral poetry? You mean poems about farming?"

Gu Shanhe laughed: "You can understand it that way, but it's not entirely accurate."

"Tao Yuanming indeed wrote about everyday matters like farming, picking chrysanthemums, and drinking wine, but he turned these ordinary lives into poetry, into timeless masterpieces."

"His poems contain no warfare or scheming, only the simplest life and the truest heart."

Liu Che frowned: "Not writing about warfare or scheming, just about farming and picking chrysanthemums? Could that still make him one of the top ten poets?"

Gu Shanhe nodded: "Your Majesty Emperor Wu, this is where Tao Yuanming's greatness lies."

"Others conquer the world with swords; he heals hearts with words."

"His poetry is a spiritual remedy for countless disheartened literati of later ages."

Liu Xiu pondered: "In a chaotic age, to hold fast to one's true heart, unmoved by fame and profit, and write such words—indeed not easy."

……

Basic information about the person being reviewed appeared on the heavenly canopy:

【Person: Tao Yuanming】

【Lifespan: 352–427 CE】

【Native place: Xunyang Chaisang of Eastern Jin (today's Jiujiang, Jiangxi)】

【Core tags: Founder of China's pastoral poetry, culmination of Wei-Jin literary spirit, creator of the spiritual haven for later literati】

【Nature: upright and unyielding, despising scheming, pure-hearted, preferring poverty to compromising principles】

The barrage comments sprang to life——

【Barrage·Tang netizen】: Tao Yuanming! The grandmaster of pastoral poetry!

【Barrage·Song netizen】: "Not bending the waist for five pecks of rice"—I've heard this saying since childhood.

【Barrage·Modern netizen】: China's first healing poet, second to none.

【Barrage·Workplace netizen】: The ancient pioneer of resisting overwork, our role model!