Chapter 633: The Jade Capital Above, Twelve Towers, Five Cities!

Yu Ke sat quietly in the room, his gaze fixed on the back of the crippled old man at the door, a subtle thought stirring in his heart.

A poem on the theme of "Immortals"?

Today, this building happens to be named "Inviting Immortals Tower."

All of this is too coincidental, leaving him with a faint sense of unease.

Just as he sank into thought, the great cauldron in his heart suddenly trembled, spilling forth ten thousand rays of rosy light.

【Facing this, you choose…】

1. Refuse to write a poem, not a single character. (Hint: May be unfavorable to the future.)

2. Agree to write a poem, but wait until after the Gathering of Beauties. (Hint: May be unfavorable to the future.)

3. Agree to write a poem, and compose it before the Gathering of Beauties. (Hint: May be favorable to the future.)

4. End direct participation. (1/3)

Yu Ke looked at the options; it seemed the poem could not be avoided.

Without hesitation, he made his choice.

3. Agree to write a poem, and compose it before the Gathering of Beauties. (Hint: May be favorable to the future.)

Yu Ke slowly lifted his brush, his thoughts wandering between past and present.

Of all poems on immortals, whether from this age or bygone eras, only that one man's verses came to mind.

If he were to write that man's poem, how could he put brush to paper without a surge of boldness in his chest?

He said, "Someone, grind my ink."

The crippled old man froze, his brow furrowing as he glanced around—the quiet chamber held only the two of them.

"Xie Guan, you're not asking me to grind your ink, are you?"

There was a note of displeasure in the old man's voice.

Yu Ke smiled faintly. "Then I'm in your debt."

After a pause, he added, "And bring me a flask of wine."

The crippled old man's brow tightened further as he studied Yu Ke's calm composure, his tone a mix of coldness and heat.

"Xie Guan, think carefully—if you fail to produce a poem, death is your only path."

Yu Ke's smile did not fade. "There's no help for it—without wine, how can there be poetry? A golden goblet of clear wine costs ten thousand taels, and only then come a hundred poems."

Though the old man resented it, he remembered this was Master Su Jing's order and dared not delay.

The old man snorted, turned, and left.

"Xie Guan, wait!"

Moments later!

The crippled old man carried a flask of wine to the table and set it down.

The wine rippled faintly within the flask, reflecting a clear, crisp gleam.

"The wine's here. Write quickly."

The old man's tone was cold, his eyes betraying impatience.

Yu Ke smiled slightly, his gaze sweeping over the wine flask and the untouched inkstone, speaking calmly:

"The wine isn't warmed yet, the ink isn't ground—why the rush?"

At these words, the old man's face darkened, his eyes growing colder as he snapped:

"If you dare mock me, I'll break your limbs and leave you immobile—forget writing."

Yu Ke paid no mind, merely smiling lightly as he selected a brush from the rack, his movements unhurried and composed.

The crippled old man snorted and turned to warm the wine.

Soon after!

He returned with the warmed wine and began grinding the ink.

The inkstone rubbed slowly beneath his hand, emitting a faint scraping sound, yet his gaze never left Yu Ke, sharp as blades.

Yu Ke remained utterly composed, as if the old man did not exist.

He closed his eyes and pondered.

Outside, the eunuch in the crimson robe, holding the imperial seal, noticed the crippled old man coming and going from the quiet chamber and grew suspicious, stepping inside to investigate.

He froze in astonishment.

Was this an illusion?

A ninth-rank martial cultivator, serving beside Master Su Xiang, was grinding ink for Xie Guan?

The scene before him was simply unbelievable.

That crippled old man was Chang Lao of the Su family—a ninth-rank martial cultivator who had long served beside Master Su Xiang, and now he was grinding ink for Xie Guan!

Know this!

Chang Lao was ruthless, his hands stained with countless lives, his aura brimming with murderous intent—ordinary people fled at his mere presence.

A ninth-rank martial cultivator was rare in Bianjing City, and in the Thirteen Provinces, he was a force capable of dominating regions and scoffing at princes.

As the eunuch stood stunned, the handsome youth lifted his brush and moved—his tip touched the paper with fluid, composed grace.

The eunuch could not help but step forward, his eyes fixed on the paper.

The brushwork was powerful, like a black dragon dancing, a phoenix of ink circling.

The eunuch held his breath.

Such brushwork and calligraphy was exceedingly rare.

The crippled old man, too, felt surprised.

This level of calligraphic mastery confirmed that Xie Guan's reputation was no empty boast.

His performance earlier at the carriage pavilion had also been astonishing.

Could Xie Guan truly be no ordinary man?

According to the Divine Concealment and Demon-Slaying Office, he was linked to the Three True Sect.

At this moment!

Xie Guan shifted his brushstroke, and a line appeared on the paper.

The eunuch held his breath, his eyes following the brush's every movement.

The brush danced like a dragon, and slowly, the characters emerged:

"Above, the jade capital of heaven, twelve towers, five cities."

The characters seemed like a dragon soaring through the gates of heaven, a tiger resting upon a phoenix pavilion.

Ethereal, yet carrying an ineffable aura of immortality, as if an ancient dragon beneath a deep pool had stirred from slumber.

Most astonishing was the opening couplet.

Though plainly stated, it stirred boundless imagination.

Celestial palaces, a jade capital city, twelve towers towering, five cities arranged in orderly splendor.

The Jade Capital was the legendary immortal city, the dwelling of immortals.

Could it be that, layered above the clouds, truly stood twelve towers and five cities?

Yu Ke continued writing:

"An immortal strokes my crown, ties my hair, grants me immortality."

The eunuch's eyes gleamed as he savored the line—its meaning profound, its imagery enchanting.

An immortal gently touching the head, awakening the mortal form, tying the hair to receive eternal life—its depth was intoxicating.

Yu Ke shifted his brush again, writing anew:

"I chased worldly pleasures, lost myself in chaos and reason."

"Ninety-six holy kings, empty names hung like floating clouds."

"I dabbled in the art of kingship, hoping for glory and rank."

…

"My sword is not fit to defeat ten thousand, yet my writings steal the voice of the four seas."

…

"Child's play, unworthy of note—five sighs left Bianjing."

"I sigh for your noble talent, unmatched among heroes."

…

"Who now sweeps the golden terrace? The road is hard—return home!"

Yu Ke set down his brush on the rack.

The ink was still wet.

The eunuch hurriedly blew on the ink, afraid his breath might disturb its fragrance.

Truly, brushstroke born of mist and smoke, the entire paper brimmed with brilliance!

Even if the poem were forgotten, this calligraphy alone deserved careful preservation.

Not to mention the poem—this handwriting alone demanded reverence.

The eunuch said, voice trembling with excitement, "Chang Lao, Young Master Xie has finished his poem. It may be presented to Master Su Xiang and the Third Master."

The crippled old man asked, "How is the poem?"

Though a martial cultivator with no understanding of poetry, the old man sensed the eunuch's sudden reverence.

He could not help but ask: "Just how good is this poem?"

The eunuch studied poetry and books within the palace, even learning under great Confucian scholars.

After hearing this, he paused briefly, gazed at the poem on the paper, and sighed slowly.

"Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought the lines were written by the Poet Immortal."

Upon hearing this, the lame old man's gaze sharpened instantly.

He was just about to take the paper and deliver it to the fourth floor for Su Xiang.

But Yu Ke gently pressed his hand against the rice paper and smiled.

"Is the warmed wine not yet cold?"

The lame old man frowned, his expression darkening: "Xie Guan, don't push your luck."

Yu Ke merely smiled faintly. "Kindly pour me a cup of wine."

(End of Chapter)