Chapter 104

After the first exchange ended in a draw with Chan Gui Cang, Zhou Shuo sat back beside Princess Yin Sha, leaning in to whisper. His intimate manner made the Crown Prince Marquis, seated high beside Chan Gui Cang, inwardly displeased, yet he could find no words to refute, nor could he call for a duel in the hall; even if they dueled, victory was not assured.

"Marquis, the Premier earlier said your poetry is superb; I myself am fond of poetry—would you compose a line for us?" Chan Gui Cang praised Zhou Shuo, glanced at the Marquis beside him, and lifted his wine cup.

"Your Majesty has spoken; I cannot but obey. Yet this poetry is inspired, a flash of inspiration—Your Majesty, could we have some uplifting music and dance?" The Marquis, seeing Chan Gui Cang's careful smile, thought a moment, then spoke: He had indeed prepared a poem, but it didn't suit the scene, and after his earlier exchange with Zhou Shuo the mood had been spoiled, making another recital inappropriate.

"My palace boasts every sort of musician; what kind of stirring music does the Marquis wish for?" Chan Gui Cang asked with a hearty laugh, giving him full face.

"Do you have a pipa? Its resonant melody best captures the atmosphere of an ambush on all sides—it's what I love most." The Marquis gripped his wine cup.

"Yes." Chan Gui Cang nodded at once, signaled an attendant who slipped away; moments later a resonant string note rang through the palace music, the melody concealing a battlefield killing intent—ill‑suited to the feast, yet the Marquis gripped his wine cup and swayed his head.

"……" Zhou Shuo sat beside Princess Yin Sha, having long listened to Chan Gui Cang and the Marquis talk, hearing the pipa's resonant sound, then looking at the person above holding a night‑light cup full of grape wine, shaking his head and putting on airs, he curled the corner of his mouth; when this guy meets him, his IQ isn't that bad—he even knows to lay groundwork—but he doesn't know where the guy will plagiarize his poetry from.

"Today I hold grape wine, this music, and the peerless beauty of Princess Yin Sha—well, I have it all; now listen to me." The Marquis gathered his breath, drew the gaze of the Yun Wenwu, sprang up from behind the table, fixed his eyes on Princess Yin Sha, raised his wine cup high, and began his long recitation.

"Grape wine in a night‑light cup, I want to drink, the pipa urges me on. Drunk I lie on the battlefield—don't laugh, sir; since ancient times, how many who go to war return?"

"Good." At the Marquis's long chant, the civil and military officials instantly rose and clapped; the atmosphere was well set, the poetry had considerable ambience, and the reciter was of high stature, so they couldn't help but applaud.

"Today my inspiration is lacking; well, I recall another poem, though it's an old work—please, everyone, critique it for me." The Marquis glanced at Princess Yin Sha's unchanging expression and at Zhou Shuo sitting steadily beside him, who neither clapped nor praised, then spoke another poem.

"A man with a single Wu hook, his spirit towers above a hundred‑zhang hall. For ten thousand years who has forged history? Beyond three thousand li we seek a marquisate."

"Good, Marquis, this poem is well made; its conception is especially marvelous—surely you must have swept ten thousand li like a tiger, a man with a single Wu hook, spirit towering above a hundred‑zhang hall. For ten thousand years who has forged history? Beyond three thousand li we seek a marquisate. Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous—but, Marquis, what is a Wu hook?" Upon hearing the Marquis's lines, the Premier rose at once; he truly praised the poem sincerely, but had hit a snag.

"The Wu hook is a weapon used by a Wu‑surname tribe on the Yunmeng grasslands—like a sword yet like a hook. I once obtained one when I stormed Yunmeng; though it is not as straight and proper as a long sword, it has combat utility, and I earned this crown from that battle, so I regard it as a token of merit." The Marquis spoke at length, making the Premier nod in praise; this counts as a fine historical anecdote.

"Quite the boaster." Zhou Shuo looked at the man speaking earnestly with words at odds with the original, his eyebrows twitching slightly; this indeed sounds like a fine historical tale, but unfortunately it's all fabricated; yet this guy is terribly clever, knows how to set the mood, and even plagiarizes Liangzhou lyrics and Li Hongzhang's poems—he is a clone of some expert from another world beyond this universe, and that outer world seems to have some modern imagination!

"Master Zhou, what do you think of my poem?" The Marquis basked in the praise of the assembled civil and military, but seeing Princess Yin Sha's unchanging expression and the immovable Zhou Shuo beside him, he couldn't help but ask; as he spoke, the hall fell silent and all eyes turned to Zhou Shuo.

"Master Zhou, you jest—those outside the world only devote themselves to the Dao, they do not engage in poetry or literary composition." Zhou Shuo looked at the Marquis who had thrown the question at him, smiled and gave a polite reply; he had none of Hong Yi's nitpicking leisure, nor did he wish to plagiarize poetry, for to deceive others and heaven is hard to deceive one's heart.

"Master Zhou, which school of Dao do you study? What level of Daoist attainment have you reached?" A long‑bearded Daoist in silver robes and purple sash, who had been standing nearby, looked Zhou Shuo up and down, his expression somewhat incredulous: "Such an aura of a human immortal, and you tell me you cultivate the Dao?"

"I have received teachings from all quarters; just now I have barely managed to glimpse the barrier between life and death." Zhou Shuo looked at the silver‑robed, purple‑sashed Daoist, smiled and nodded; he had from afar seen this Zhengyi Dao ghost‑immortal expert.

"Barely, barely glimpse life and death?" Zhang Beren's lips twitched, he almost didn't speak; a human‑immortal body, ghost‑immortal realm—is this a challenge to the Yang God?

"I never expected Master Zhou's cultivation to be so high—he has already pierced the veil of life and death." The Marquis stared at Zhou Shuo, whose head radiated vital energy, his eyes narrowing; what kind of joke is this? Such martial cultivation, yet claimed to be a ghost immortal!

"Not at all—I've just seen more things and taken fewer detours." Zhou Shuo looked at the man with narrowed eyes and ill intent, smiled faintly; he never said he had cultivated for less than five years—hmph, Marquis, you lot are the ones who embarrass us transmigrators, a dead salted fish, taking over a decade to reach the Martial Saint realm.

"That makes me feel ashamed." The Marquis glanced askance at Zhang Beren and the Eagle King beside him, thinking how likely they could kill Zhou Shuo if they cooperated; regardless of whether Zhou Shuo is a ghost immortal, he has already marked him for death—such a human immortal cannot be allowed to live.

"Marquis, there's no need to feel ashamed; among peers, few can surpass you." Zhou Shuo keenly sensed the hostility aimed at him, smiled and said sharply, "Would I fear a salted fish?"

"Oh, then according to Master Zhou's words, there must still be someone who surpasses me." The Marquis relaxed his clenched fingers; though he'd put Zhou Shuo on the kill list, he absolutely could not act in the Yun Kingdom palace, lest it cause diplomatic strife; although Great Qian does not fear Yun and could even suppress it, he cannot ignore the maritime situation.

"Not bad, Marquis is a heaven‑favored talent, but I have seen someone far above you, also a young‑generation expert, a rising star of Great Qian, the offspring of Marquis Wuwen." Zhou Shuo readily portrayed himself as an extremely old Dao cultivator, critiquing the Marquis.

"Hong Xi?" The Marquis thought he had misheard—was the son of Marquis Wuwen, Hong Xuanji, surpassing him?

"Hong Xi, Hong Cheng—just the offspring of swine and dogs." Zhou Shuo kept smiling; "Hong Yi, you ought to thank me—I'm helping you gain fame!"

"Hmph!" Princess Yin Sha, sitting nearby, couldn't help but let a snort escape from the corner of her mouth, her lips twitching slightly; she had just called the eldest son of the Wuwen Marquis household a pig‑dog offspring, and she really wanted to see the expression of the Great Qian Grand Tutor upon hearing that evaluation.

"Please, Master Zhou, make it clear." Zhang Beren looked at Zhou Shuo, glanced at the Marquis above with his unpleasant expression, then asked cautiously.

"That person will appear before you soon, so I need say no more; among the young‑generation experts, aside from the Marquis and him, there are hardly any outstanding figures." Zhou Shuo feigned a sigh while shaking his head; nowadays few can follow his words—this is a matter of cultivation, and the Yun Wenwu can only listen.

"Master Zhou, your words are biased; the world's six great holy sites, aside from the Grand Zen Temple which was destroyed for rebellion, still have five remaining—how could there be no talent? Even if we discard the holy sites, the secular world has myriad clans; how could there be no talent?" Zhang Beren was somewhat dissatisfied; he too had a few talents in the Zhengyi Dao.

"Then speak!" Zhou Shuo shifted his gaze slightly.

"My humble Daoist's vision is limited; I do not know such talent, yet I also do not believe Master Zhou's words." Zhang Beren instinctively glanced at the Marquis above, shook his head repeatedly; how could he possibly know all the elites cultivated by each house?

"Then let me tell you! The Supreme Dao—only the sect leader and the holy maiden matter; the rest are negligible. The Profound Heaven Pavilion—under its four hall masters, there is not a single talent; the True Yang Gate is likewise. The Peach God Dao has exhausted its efforts, yet its achievements are limited. As for the Fire Net Essence Spirit Temple, it's just a bunch of dry bones in tombs—best not speak of it. The Hundred‑Eight Clans of Tianzhou, though they descend from the myriad schools, are all mediocre nobodies; even if talent exists, it cannot rise to prominence." Zhou Shuo enumerated on his fingers for Zhang Beren.

"This…" Zhang Beren, hearing Zhou Shuo's point‑by‑point critique, was dumbstruck; looking at the Eagle King beside him, who could hardly speak, and the Eagle King himself with bulging eyes silent—what audacity gives this person the nerve to judge the world?

"Good, good, Master Zhou, today your one word clearly distinguishes good from bad in the world; the Marquis is delighted hearing it." The Marquis watched Zhou Shuo pointing at the rivers and mountains; inside he nearly burst out laughing—if he spreads today's words, he basically won't need to personally deal with this immediate foe.

"Marquis, don't get too excited too soon; the great illness of life lies in arrogance alone." Zhou Shuo looked at the boy whose smile hid a killing intent, smiled faintly, letting the boy's smile retreat, his expression darkening again; whether to erupt or restrain, he only gave a cold chuckle there.

"Zhou Shuo looked at the fellow who seemed wildly domineering but in fact was harsh outside, weak within; his face bore an indifferent smile; 'Kid, I see how you got a swollen head from being hit by Hong Yi.'"