Chapter 522: Poetry Composed in the Pavilion, Ink Falling Like Clouds and Smoke!

Su Yun's brows furrowed slightly; he knew that in a poetry gathering, while the brilliance of the verses mattered, the stature of the one who wrote them could not be ignored.

The poems composed today will all be hung on Xifeng Tower tomorrow, open for anyone to read and copy.

This is the first draft, imbued with the spiritual resonance of 'opening poetry'; even if later masters copy it, they may still fall short.

"Vivid and lifelike"—this 'vivid' is precisely what it means; tomorrow, when it's reflected on paper, the spiritual energy will likely be half depleted.

Poetry passed down through generations is not merely the poet's achievement—it requires the calligrapher to complement it perfectly. If today's three works are questioned and the answer is 'written by Xie Guan, an obscure junior of the Xie family,' wouldn't that invite ridicule?

Though it's hard to secure the hand of a master calligrapher like Second Master, whose strokes command a thousand taels of silver, even if their poems today are slightly 'muddled,' merely his calligraphy would make Bianjing erupt tomorrow.

Even if not a master, any slight reputation in this field would suffice. Su Yun usually keeps several such skilled guests on hand, but he didn't bring any today to the Xie Fu.

But Shu Wan and Hu Dajia are here!

A mere illegitimate son of the Xie family? Naturally unworthy.

Today marks the first gathering of core members of the Caotang Poetry Society; since Li Shuwan has repeatedly missed meetings due to trivial matters, this cannot be taken lightly.

Su Yun looked at you and said bluntly: "I don't think he's capable."

"I'll go fetch Master Liu from the household guests immediately—he writes with flowing grace, a top disciple of Left Master of the Academy."

Xie Xuan smiled faintly after hearing this; he'd only spoken casually, knowing full well that Su Yun, who took the poetry society so seriously, would refuse.

The reputation Xie Guan had amassed in the courtyard during this time was something he deeply disliked—praises like 'filial piety commendable,' 'listens to lectures without forgetting,' 'calligraphy outstanding.'

Especially in Xie Xuan's ears, the fact that Xie Guan was close to his sixth brother, Xie Yuan, was particularly grating.

None of them were legitimate sons of the Xie family, yet Xie Yuan received far more favor than they, the courtyard-born grandchildren.

Today, at Xie Guan's courtyard gathering, he didn't even have the right to enter, and even his mother wasn't invited. Meanwhile, Xie Yuan had already been respectfully ushered inside.

He had studied hard for years, yet couldn't match Xie Yuan's sudden change of heart—this so-called diligence and love of learning. Second Master Xie Hong even praised him for possessing the demeanor of an Academy master, causing Bianjing's public opinion to shift abruptly, and now everyone in the Xie Fu praised him.

Naturally, no one dared contradict Uncle Xie Hong's words.

Xie Xuan himself had studied diligently, yet never received such honors; he had long resented it.

His proposal was, in truth, something he'd already anticipated would be refused—and he delivered it with sharp, unyielding words, leaving no room for courtesy.

The calligrapher recording this poetry gathering must be highly skilled; the writing can't be crooked or sloppy. Xie Xuan prided himself on practicing calligraphy, yet his skill was still insufficient.

If this matter is merely whispered around—that Su family's young master, Su Yun, looked down on Xie Guan's calligraphy, deemed it unworthy—then Xie Guan's name will be ruined, reduced to nothing.

Those who once praised Xie Guan, upon hearing this, won't help him; they'll likely be the first to denounce him, claiming they'd been 'fooled by slander.'

People are like this—when the wall falls, everyone pushes!

Xie Xuan shook his head again, thinking inwardly: Is a Xie family orphan, mother dead, truly worth such elaborate scheming from me?

Thinking of this, he suddenly found it dull.

The words were spoken.

Among them carried a tone of humiliation; the atmosphere subtly shifted.

Li Shuwan's expression darkened slightly.

Hu Yunniang merely smiled faintly, her eyes gliding toward the young boy in the pavilion named Xie Guan.

She couldn't help but pause in surprise.

The boy's expression remained utterly unchanged, his gaze calm as still water—as if the words had nothing to do with him. It's said that youths are fiery and bold, yet he appeared unusually composed.

She had no reason to speak up for him; they'd only just met. Defying Su Yun for a stranger was not wise.

At that moment, faint footsteps echoed along the western path, as if sensed.

Before the person arrived, the voice came first.

"Xie Guan's calligraphy is truly excellent."

All turned to look; a woman of delicate beauty, with gentle eyes and a golden jade dangling hairpin, walked toward them, followed by a maid.

You were slightly startled—it was Zhang Yuzhi, who had helped you at the entrance of Daguan Garden.

Seeing her, Li Shuwan's eyes lit up; she hurried forward and whispered:

"Sister Yuzhi, I meant to find you, but saw you enter Xie Hong's courtyard and assumed you had urgent matters, so I didn't disturb you."

"I knew you had affairs today, so I didn't come looking. Forgive me."

Their bond ran deep; both came from the Nine Great Clans, their ties intricate, yet their temperaments aligned, making them intimate confidantes since girlhood.

Su Yun also smiled and said: "Miss Yunzhi, you've arrived at the perfect moment."

Zhang Yuzhi, like Li Shuwan, was a famed talent of Bianjing, overflowing with literary grace. Her father was a contemporary literary giant who had studied at the Academy—true scholarly lineage, where talent and family status were equally esteemed.

Zhang Yuzhi had been one of the earliest and most fervently courted members of the Caotang Poetry Society; with her joining, tomorrow's poetry gathering would surely cause a sensation.

Xie Xuan, however, felt a slight unease, especially recalling Zhang Yuzhi's words: "Xie Guan's calligraphy is excellent"—it made him frown.

Hu Yunniang also bowed and said: "Miss Zhi!"

Given her status, she had certainly met this Fourth Miss of the Zhang family.

For a lady like Zhang Yunzhi, born into nobility, Hu Yunniang felt nothing but envy. Especially Zhang Yunzhi, the sole daughter of the Zhang family, who had been doted upon since childhood—unlike Hu Yunniang, a drifting flower dependent on others' whims.

Zhang Yunzhi, however, avoided the crowd and came before you in the pavilion; she had just been worried you'd face trouble entering Xie Hong's courtyard.

She had refused to accompany Xie Qiyue into the main hall, instead wandering aimlessly along the lake until she found you.

Only when she heard the voice moments ago did she realize—her father had taught her spiritual soul techniques since childhood; though she was only at the Second Realm of Calming the Spirit, her hearing far surpassed ordinary people.

You smiled and greeted: "Miss Zhi."

"Lord Guan."

For some reason, seeing you so composed, Zhang Yunzhi felt a pang of sorrow.

Your mother had passed away when you were young; you'd always faced hardship from Xie family stewards, and you'd always worn this expression.

Unmoved by praise or blame, neither humble nor arrogant!

You're still underage, yet already forced to manage a household.

Even after entering Xie Hong's courtyard, you were unjustly scolded—only then did she feel compelled to speak up.

Zhang Yunzhi turned her head gently, fixing her gaze on Su Yun, and said solemnly: "Lord Guan's calligraphy is truly outstanding. I've had the honor of seeing it—it's truly breathtaking."

Su Yun, upon hearing this, felt some doubt. Calligraphy required not just talent and insight, but diligent practice. Second Master Xie Hong had practiced with clumsy strokes since childhood, only achieving fame at seventeen during the Metropolitan Exams. At Xie Guan's age, it was unlikely he could match that.

Li Shuwan smiled brightly and whispered: "If Sister Yuzhi says so, there must be merit. Lord Yun, why not give it a try? You might gain something."

Su Yun, hearing Li Shuwan's plea, didn't hesitate: "Fine. If Shuwan says so, how could I refuse?"

Xie Xuan was impatient, yet had no choice. In this moment, he couldn't openly defy Su Yun and Li Shuwan.

He was curious—how had you and Zhang Yunzhi met? And he recalled the connection between Xie's courtyard and Zhang Yunzhi; his irritation deepened.

Hu Yunniang smiled warmly: "Looks like we'll finally see Lord Guan's masterpiece today."

You stood aside without refusing—otherwise you'd have shamed Zhang Yunzhi.

Su Yun, meanwhile, appeared utterly unconcerned; he hadn't taken his earlier scolding of Xie Guan to heart.

A son of the Su family of Bianjing naturally acted without restraint.

Li Shuwan said: "Sister Yuzhi, why not compose a poem too? We're bored anyway. The four of us—no fixed rhyme, just write freely."

Zhang Yunzhi paused briefly, then nodded in agreement.

Su Yun's face brightened; with another red-sleeved talent joining the poetry gathering, tomorrow's freshly minted verses would be even more celebrated.

"Miss Zhi, why not join our Caotang Poetry Society? Together we can share in this grand endeavor. Remember how Uncle Xie Hong's Yanyun Poetry Society once stirred Bianjing?" Su Yun invited sincerely, his tone tinged with anticipation.

Zhang Yunzhi gently shook her head, declining the kind offer; her father was still in Jiannan, uncertain about demonic threats—she had no mind for poetry gatherings.

Su Yun, seeing this, didn't press; he immediately ordered servants to bring brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, placing them on the pavilion table.

Xie Xuan proposed: "Each of us writes one theme, no restrictions—roll them into paper balls and place them in the bowl. Whoever draws one must compose a poem or ci based on that theme. What do you say?"

Su Yun clapped his hands in delight: "Brilliant idea—fresh and fun."

Zhang Yunzhi asked: "Lord Guan, are you interested?"

Li Shuwan also looked over.

Su Yun frowned again—if Xie Guan joined, this would truly 'ruin the whole pot.'

You had already risen to fetch paper and brush, smiling as you shook your head.

"I have no ink in my chest—I won't join."

Su Yun's expression eased; good, you're sensible.

Xie Xuan's face lit up with joy; tomorrow, given Su Yun's nature, the poetry society's affair would be loudly publicized—and his own name would naturally rise.

The four quickly wrote their themes, rolled them into paper balls, and handed them to servants to place in the bowl.

At that moment, a maid had already finely ground the ink, everything prepared.

The fruit on the table was cleared away, replaced with clean paper; brush, ink, paper, and inkstone all present, exuding scholarly elegance.

Your gaze fell on the writing tools; you felt a quiet awe. Hu brush, Hui ink, Xuan paper, Duan inkstone—renowned as the Four Treasures of the Study, gathered here together, rare indeed.

Hu brushes, famed for their four qualities—pointed, even, round, and resilient—are divided into four types: goat hair, wolf hair, purple hair, and mixed hair. On the table now lay over a dozen Hu brushes, all types represented.

The brushes in your home were the ones discarded by Xie family students at the academy; practicing calligraphy consumed brushes rapidly. Your and Wutong's monthly stipend couldn't afford even one.

One brush cost over ten taels of silver—nearly half your annual expenses. You'd never seen so many high-quality brushes before.

Hui ink was made primarily from pine soot, tangerine soot, lacquer soot, and glue—the ideal consistency was thick yet easily dispersed.

The Xuan paper laid on the table came in two types: raw Xuan absorbed water and blurred, ideal for freehand painting; processed Xuan, strengthened with alum, did not bleed, suited for detailed brushwork.

On the table also rested a purple inkstone, carved with patterns from its natural stone eyes—its value was incalculable. As the saying goes: "One catty of Duan stone is worth a thousand taels."

The four now sat around the table, each drawing a paper ball from the bowl.

The writing table was placed beside the warming brazier.

Hu Yunniang extended her slender hand first, smiling brightly: "Allow this humble servant to cast a brick to draw out jade."

She thought inwardly: These were all well-read scholars; if she waited, the spotlight would be stolen. Better to compose first and claim the auspicious start.

Hu Yunniang gently unfolded her paper ball; clearly written was the character "Autumn." She smiled and showed it to the others.

Xie Xuan smiled and said, "Madam Hu, you've hit the nail on the head—this is precisely the character I wrote."

Su Yun, hearing this, chimed in, "It seems the challenges set by everyone aren't difficult at all—perhaps they're meant to revolve around the four seasons? That would be quite interesting."

With that said!

Li Shujun and Zhang Yunzhi exchanged a smile, their faces radiant as flowers and the moon, each gesture graceful.

The scene left Su Yun momentarily transfixed; he couldn't help but stare, spellbound.

Hu Yunniang paused to think, then softly recited: "Autumn always brings shadows of sorrow; I say the golden wind has yet to bloom. Gentle clouds and warm sun harmonize—does Bianjing's tenderness deepen the ache of peace?"

Her voice rang clear as pearls dropping on jade plates, crisp and melodious.

Su Yun clapped his hands in praise: "Madam Hu, your poem is exquisite—it captures the very spirit of my own view that autumn surpasses spring."

Li Shujun also agreed: "Madam Hu truly lives up to her reputation. The elegance of Bianjing's Eighteen Masters is evident—your poem paints autumn without sorrow, a truly fine autumn."

Hearing this, Hu Yunniang bowed gracefully, her face betraying quiet pride, though she swiftly tempered it and replied humbly:

"I humbly apologize for my poor offering—it's merely a clumsy attempt before such refined company."

Now it's time to record it.

Everyone gathered around the writing desk.

Xie Xuan snorted. He knew Su Yun was deeply devoted to poetry and calligraphy, well-traveled and well-read; ordinary brushwork would only embarrass itself and fail to rise to the level of true art.

Hu Yunniang also stretched her slender neck, her beautiful eyes fixed upon him.

Zhang Yunzhi's expression was expectant.

Watching the look on Yunzhi's face, Li Shujun wondered: Could Xie Guan truly possess real talent?

You stepped forward and took up the brush.

In an instant, the talent "Spirit in the Brush" and "Calm Qi in the Chest" activated; memories of the character from Second Master's courtyard by the lake came to him as if by intuitive resonance.

His demeanor grew even more extraordinary!

Merely holding the brush made Hu Yunniang's eyes brighten.

Ink stained the paper, black liquid soaking into the white surface.

Word by word, line by line, he wrote slowly—brush strokes like dragons and tigers in motion, dots and connections fluid, elegant and unrestrained.

Each character seemed to leap like a dragon, bound like a tiger.

His brush painted brocade; his ink fell like clouds and mist.

This Grand View Garden plot seems to have circled around—somewhat lengthy. I'll finish these two days with explosive updates.

It's mid-month—Uncles, please, I beg you for monthly votes!

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(End of Chapter)