[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-28":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Rising Force in the Red Chamber",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2310826,4515,"Chapter 28: Ode to the Plum Stuns the Assembly","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-28",28,"\u003Cp>Jia Cong’s words left everyone present puzzled—had he been pressured too hard by Wu Jinrong, causing him to panic and speak nonsense?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In ancient times, Cao Zijian composed a poem in seven steps; Wu Jinrong has barely finished posing the topic, and you haven’t even taken half a step—how could you already have a poem?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ignoring everyone’s thoughts, Jia Cong picked up his brush and began writing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those seated were deeply disgusted by Qiu Xuanfu’s despicable provocation, and each felt profound sympathy for Jia Cong’s public admission that he had never been taught by his birth mother and bore the regret of failing to show filial devotion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If one’s birth mother were noble, filial respect from children would be ordinary; but for Jia Cong, whose birth mother was lowly, to still openly embrace his filial feelings with such sincerity—that was true purity and great righteousness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The state has stood for seventy years, promoting filial piety as the foundation of governance; such a youth ought to be the model of filial virtue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Wu Jinrong was not as base as Qiu Xuanfu and appeared properly courteous, he too was deliberately challenging this youth; moreover, his alliance with Zhou Jun had already tainted his reputation among scholars, making him even less favored.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Jia Cong pick up his brush to write, many felt a shared sense of righteous indignation; several rose from their seats and gathered near Jia Cong’s desk to see what he would write.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Bi also came to Jia Cong’s side, helping him flatten the paper; though he had never seen Jia Cong compose poetry, he sensed the boy’s confidence and knew he had already planned it out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Earlier, when Jia Cong had handled Qiu Xuanfu’s interrogation with such brilliance, Liu Bi had been utterly astonished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beneath the lyric title, he wrote: Composed in the tenth year of Jiazhao, at the Shuyun Villa in Shenjing, upon seeing ice frozen on a cliff, utterly isolated from the world, a wild plum tree had split the rock to grow upon it, its color vivid yet its aura stern—moved by this sight, he composed it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The crowd had already marveled at Jia Cong’s bearing when they saw him before the archway at the mountain’s base; then, in the hall, they had watched him effortlessly dispel others’ provocations and humiliations with just a few words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If this had been me, I could never have achieved such brilliance—I’d likely have fought Qiu Xuanfu to the point of losing all dignity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he first met Jia Cong at Chunhua Pavilion, he knew the boy had exceptional calligraphy and assumed it was mere talent; moreover, the boy was so young, he had not truly taken him seriously.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The crowd murmured the lines—though these two opening lines were ordinary, they described today’s scene adequately, if somewhat plain in diction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, seeing this ancient, elegant, and uniquely magnificent calligraphy, they realized this youth deserved his position as recorder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jia Cong dipped his brush and wrote the lyric title: Bu Suan Zi, Ode to the Plum.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The saying that one can transform the rotten into the miraculous holds true here—when the next two astonishing, sublime lines appeared, the plainness of the opening lines suddenly gained depth and resonance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Upon hearing these two lines, the onlookers involuntarily drew in a sharp breath; these were seasoned scholars with extraordinary insight—they could not fail to recognize the brilliance of these lines.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What amazed them most, however, was the calligraphy itself—truly outstanding; how could such a young boy have trained to this level?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clearly, his encounter and conduct today had won this young friend their sincere admiration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even Liu Bi could not help exclaiming: “Brilliant! The turn is fresh and startling, the spirit instantly alive—Jia Cong, how could you have written this?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The plum blossom grows in bitter cold, its nature pure and lofty, refusing to compete with the showy, romantic spring flowers; it blooms silently in the biting chill before any other blossom dares—this youth is using the plum to express his own heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jia Cong continued writing: Already a hundred-zhang cliff of ice, yet a branch of flower stands proud…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first two lines were as plain as water; these next two rose like storm clouds from flat ground—cliff towering, ice crystalline, the cold plum standing proud—mere handfuls of characters, yet a striking, extraordinary image leapt onto the paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The final two opening lines were: Wind and rain send spring away, flying snow welcomes spring’s return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jia Cong now seemed deaf to his surroundings, continuing to write: Proud, yet refuses to vie for spring, only announces spring’s arrival…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jia Cong had been invited by Prince Jia Shun and knew no one else; though they saw him seated as recorder, the distance prevented them from seeing his writing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As if a splash of magical color had been blended into a dull black-and-white ink painting, the entire scene instantly came alive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those around him clapped and cheered again—the first two lines plain and direct, the next two suddenly transformed with vivid charm, and these next few lines went beyond charm to directly express aspiration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet considering this youth’s age and limited study, it would be unrealistic to expect him to match seasoned scholars with ornate, flowery diction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, seeing these few simple lines, seemingly tossed off at random, yet with a rising rhythm and tone, from shallow to profound—only one deeply versed in poetry could achieve this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such youthful mastery of poetic craft—how could it possibly have been acquired? It was utterly inconceivable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each heart was filled with awe—this self-possessed youth, with such exceptional talent and character, was indeed a plum blossom elevated above all others.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jia Cong dipped his brush again and wrote the final line: When the mountains bloom in riotous color, he smiles among them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As soon as this final line was written, the murmurs among the crowd erupted like boiling water.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An old scholar, his beard and hair white, overcome with emotion, let out a boyish cry, clapping his hands: “Brilliant! Young man, what a masterful poem!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though the poem was only a few lines, it built layer upon layer, its rhythm rising steadily until the final line: When the mountains bloom in riotous color, he smiles among them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It unleashed all the accumulated emotion and spirit of the poem, evoking the grandeur of standing atop the peak, witnessing the transformation of mountains and rivers, the bloom and wither of flowers, understanding honor and disgrace—and remaining undefeated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Bi gazed at Jia Cong, his expression dazed; he had always prided himself on his talent and written poems he considered masterpieces, yet now he understood what true poetry was—this little brother of his was extraordinary.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not only was his calligraphy astonishing, he had also composed such a sublime poem—Heaven’s favor in granting rare talent was one thing, but was this not excessive favoritism?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the stone pavilion, Liu Yanxiu, Prince Jia Shun, Zhang Yu, and others saw a few people gather near Jia Cong’s desk as he composed his new lyric; soon, exclamations of praise arose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then more and more people left their seats and converged toward the desk, until someone shouted loudly in admiration—their chanting and murmurs surged like a tidal wave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These three were puzzled; they knew Jia Cong’s calligraphy was excellent, so praise for his brushwork was unsurprising.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he have written an exceptional poem that caused such a commotion?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They found it hard to believe—after all, he was barely a child; one outstanding talent was already rare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Wu Jinrong had just finished posing the topic, Jia Cong had picked up his brush without hesitation; men like Liu Yanxiu, who valued literary restraint, thought the boy was rash.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Could he possibly have written something truly good? Though skeptical, those gathered around the desk were the elite of Shenjing’s scholarly circles—their discernment was far from ordinary.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Prince Jia Shun called over Wang Dong and ordered him to go see what was happening; if Jia Cong had written a lyric, bring it quickly—he too felt a flicker of anticipation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, Wang Dong returned with a broad smile, holding a sheet of ink-drenched paper, carefully spreading it on the table.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The eyes of the three men in the stone pavilion fixed on the lyric draft.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With each line read, their emotions grew more stirred—they finally understood why the commotion had erupted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Prince Jia Shun slammed his hand on the table and laughed: “How old is this Jia Cong? His calligraphy is excellent, yet he also writes such a marvelous lyric—has he claimed all the blessings of heaven?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Yanxiu, as a master of letters, deeply immersed in poetry, felt its resonance more profoundly than most; he was utterly moved by the poem’s imagery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He picked up the lyric draft, murmuring softly, his eyes gleaming, his white beard trembling faintly—his inner turmoil was unmistakable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brilliant! What a magnificent Ode to the Plum! The language is pure, yet the imagery is vivid, the spirit overflowing; in just a few lines, the rhythm and aspiration layer threefold. There is a stern, unyielding spirit within.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such talent and vision in one so young—calling him a prodigy is no exaggeration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In my lifetime, I’ve read countless Odes to the Plum; perhaps some surpass it in musicality or ornate diction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But none match the bold, resolute spirit radiating from this poem—this Ode to the Plum will be recited for a hundred generations!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhang Yu, beside him, gazed at the lyric in Liu Yanxiu’s hand; known as a Daoist scholar, he knew Liu Yanxiu’s praise was measured and true.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Liu Yanxiu’s words were heard not only by Prince Jia Shun and Zhang Tianshi in the pavilion, but also by many scholars outside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had they not seen it with their own eyes and heard it with their own ears, they could never have believed Liu Yanxiu would bestow such lofty praise upon a child barely past childhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This youth’s deeds today, his poem, and Liu Yanxiu’s words—his fame in Shenjing is imminent!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The gazes turned toward him now carried complex emotions: admiration, praise, and no small measure of burning envy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nearby, Wang Dong stepped forward and said to Prince Jia Shun: “Old servant congratulates Your Highness; today’s incident and this marvelous lyric will surely be recited throughout Shenjing tomorrow.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Your Highness’s Nanxi Literary Gathering may well be recorded in history—what great honor this is.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Prince Jia Shun laughed heartily and pointed at Wang Dong: “You old rascal, always good at flattery.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1747,"2026-06-20T12:19:54.434Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","3d9258f7e30fe8dbed7de1116c9e85648de10120e49ca8f4262844a8567d4bfc","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-29","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-27",920,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-cover.jpg"]