Great Zhou Wensheng

Chapter 126 [Moonlit Night at the Twenty-Four Bridges]! Suzhou wept, then Yangzhou wept!
Jiang Xingzhou waved his hand, and his sleeves rolled up.

The brilliant and vibrant "A Night Mooring at Maple Bridge," the premier literary treasure of Mingzhou, which seemed poised to burst forth and soar into the sky, suddenly dimmed, disappearing into his sleeve like a weary bird returning to its nest.

The scholars around the painted boats on the Qinhuai River all looked on with envy, while ordinary people stood on tiptoe to look around curiously, eager to catch a glimpse of the real thing—that scroll of Xuan paper with a bluish glow was a treasure that could establish a family's literary lineage!

"A single masterpiece from [Mingzhou] is enough to elevate a scholar from a humble background to a new prefecture-level aristocratic family!"

"If the Jiang family uses this first literary treasure to establish their family, they will surely become a powerful clan within three generations!"

Whispers spread like ripples through the crowd, and many people were amazed, their gazes burning with a intensity that could ignite rice paper.

All newly created poems and articles of the [Chuxian] level or above in the Great Zhou Holy Dynasty will be automatically recorded in the Confucian Temple. They are personal and can only be used by the individual or the recipient of the poem.

Even if others could recite it perfectly, they would still be unable to activate this literary technique.

However, there is another method: the descendants of the family can also use this unique "First Treasure of Literature" to perform this technique, thus becoming the foundation upon which the entire family relies.

This is why the "First Book Treasure" is so rare and valuable.

In addition, unless the article is conferred the title of "Holy Canon" by the Holy Temple, it will become a public classic and a true transmission of literary arts for all scholars to study. Only then can all scholars in the world practice this literary art.

Inside the painted boat, Jiang Xingzhou stood with his hands behind his back, and from his sleeves came the faint, clear sound of a bell—the night bell of Hanshan Temple, which would forever echo in this first volume of the precious book [Mingzhou].

Tang Yanqing stood alone on the painted boat on the Qinhuai River, her face frozen like withered wood.

Two extreme impulses surged within his chest—

I want to laugh wildly to the sky,

I felt like crying at my desk again.

That smile was a result of witnessing firsthand how Jiang Xingzhou's poem "A Night Mooring at Maple Bridge" transformed the topic of Hanshan Temple into a timeless masterpiece.

Before the ink was even dry, it stirred a resonance of literary spirit, and the poem "Mingzhou" was completed, spreading throughout Nanjing overnight.

That weeping, however, foresaw the rest of his life. Whenever he thought of the lines, "The moon sets, crows cry, frost fills the sky; river maples and fishing lights reflect my sorrowful sleep," he felt as if he had thorns in his back, and was ashamed of himself.

The four characters "Mooring at Maple Bridge at Night" became a thorn in his heart that he could not remove—even if he exhausted all his talent and wrote poems about Hanshan Temple, it would be difficult to surpass even a fraction of this poem!

From then on, I never dared to write about Hanshan Temple again!
"My fellow students from Suzhou Prefecture! I, Tang Yanqing, have failed you all!"

Tang Yanqing's voice was hoarse. Suddenly, he bowed deeply to the scholars of Suzhou Prefecture, his forehead almost touching his knees. "From now on, this Hanshan Temple will never again be a place where I can pick up a pen!"

The Suzhou scholars rushed forward to help him up; some had tears in their eyes, while others let out a long sigh.

"Brother Tang, what makes you say that!"

"This is beyond human capability. Who could have imagined that Brother Jiang's poem 'A Night Mooring at Maple Bridge' could capture the essence of Hanshan Temple's natural wonders!"

The group looked at each other in silence, wiping away tears with their sleeves.

On the banks of the Qinhuai River, the river wind howled, as if lamenting for them—the poems of Hanshan Temple in Suzhou have ultimately been exhausted by Jiang Xingzhou!

Xie Yunmiao, the host of the poetry gathering, was also unsure of what to do next.

Why is this happening?
His gaze frantically drifted towards Xie Qihe.

On the painted boats of Qinhuai, hundreds of handsome young men from ten prefectures in Jiangnan, their eloquent writings now serving as a backdrop to Jiang Xingzhou's poem "A Night Mooring at Maple Bridge."

This poetry gathering of "Twelve Masters of Jinling" has become Jiang Xingzhou's main event.

"Ugh!"

Xie Qihe's face was pale. He closed his eyes and sighed helplessly. The teacup in his hand reflected his tightly furrowed brows.

He was also racking his brains for a solution!
According to the original plan of the Twelve Families of Jinling, this poetry gathering was supposed to force Jiang Xingzhou to expose his true colors and reveal his secrets.

But the situation at the poetry gathering is now completely out of control.

The tea had gone cold, just like the cool mood of the disciples of the Twelve Families of Jinling.

Is this how it ends?

The "Twelve Masters of Jinling" poetry gathering will probably become a laughing stock from now on, and there's no hope of it ever being held again!
Shall we continue the contest?

It's just to add some casual comparisons to Jiang Xingzhou's poem "Mingzhou"—after a poetry gathering, most of the poems below "Kouzhen" and several "Chuxian" poems couldn't surpass this "Mingzhou" piece!

Caught between a rock and a hard place, we have no choice but to grit our teeth and continue!

"Please move on to the second question—!"

Xie Yunmiao raised her voice, but her voice trembled slightly.

Before he finished speaking, an eerie and awkward silence fell over the pleasure boat. The scholars from the manor looked around, but none of them met his gaze.

"Next question, I wonder which prefecture would be willing to set the question?"

Xie Yunmiao could only ask again.

"Hangzhou Prefecture, please go first! Since ancient times, Suzhou and Hangzhou have been inseparable! Suzhou has set a question, so it's naturally Hangzhou's turn!"

The scholar from Changzhou suddenly interrupted, snapping his folding fan shut.

"How dare you!"

The scholars from Hangzhou waved their hands repeatedly, saying, "Changzhou Prefecture, you go first! Or Yangzhou Prefecture will do too!"

The scholars in the manor hurriedly offered their seats in deference.

For a time, the sounds of polite refusals rose and fell on the pleasure boat.

Some people feigned coughing, covered their faces with their sleeves, and stepped back; others pretended to grind ink and kept their heads down in silence.

That poem, "A Night Mooring by Maple Bridge," seemed to transform into an invisible pressure, suddenly teaching these talented men, who used to compete fiercely, to be humble.

"Please hear me out!"

Tang Yanqing, a talented scholar from Suzhou, suddenly said, "In terms of seniority, Yangzhou came first, then Suzhou and Hangzhou?! Yangzhou came first?!"

They hesitated for a while.

Finally, when the scholars from Yangzhou Prefecture were pushed to the table by the scholars from the ten prefectures of Jiangnan, they accepted the topic for the second round of the poetry gathering.

Their forced smiles were more like cries—this wasn't setting a question; it was practically roasting them over a fire!

"Brother Zhu, this question should be decided by you!"

The gazes of the scholars in Yangzhou felt like thorns in their backs, and they couldn't help but look towards the top scholar in their prefecture to offer their congratulations.

Zhu Hezhi unconsciously caressed the celadon teacup with his fingertips, shattering the reflection of the moon over the Slender West Lake in the cup.

He was quickly calculating in his mind.

Jiang Xingzhou's poem "A Night Mooring at Maple Bridge" still echoed in his ears, and the sound of the bell from Hanshan Temple seemed to pierce through time and space, making his temples throb.

A poem about Mingzhou has captured the essence of Hanshan Temple in Suzhou over a thousand years; it is unlikely that anyone will ever surpass it!

What kind of questions should Yangzhou set?
The Twenty-Four Bridges of Slender West Lake?
He didn't believe that there were truly scholars in this world who could seize the wonders of heaven and earth.

"The most famous scenic spot in Yangzhou is the Slender West Lake, whose gardens are the most magnificent in the world. And the scenery of the Slender West Lake is most notably represented by the 'Twenty-Four Bridges'?"
Our Yangzhou Prefecture will use the 'Twenty-Four Bridges' as the theme for our poems!

Zhu He slammed his hand on the table, a resolute glint in his eyes. "I refuse to believe that Jiang Xingzhou, who can write about the Desolate Cold Mountain Temple, can also write about the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou, leaving future generations with nothing to write about!"

"Not bad!"

The scholars echoed, their eyes blazing with a defiant spirit, "A Night Mooring by Maple Bridge was merely a flash of inspiration, a stroke of genius!"
Could he possibly write another piece, exhausting the description of the Twenty-Four Bridges as well?

"How can the Twenty-Four Bridges be easily written about?" someone sneered. "I want to see if he can come up with another masterpiece!"

The possibility is extremely low, negligible, and absolutely impossible!

"The poem topic for Yangzhou Prefecture has been set; talented scholars from each prefecture are invited to contribute their works!"

Xie Yunmiao waved her hand, and the servant beside her immediately lit a stick of sandalwood incense in the gilded incense burner.

Wisps of smoke rose, filling the hall of the painted boat with a faint fragrance of agarwood.

The scholars from the ten prefectures of Jiangnan couldn't help but glance at Jiang Xingzhou in unison.

But he remained calm, his slender fingers lightly tapping the teacup as he leisurely sipped his fragrant tea, showing no intention whatsoever of picking up a brush.

This posture clearly says—

Gentlemen, please try your brushes first. He will begin writing only after you have all enjoyed yourselves.

Xie Qihe gazed intently at Jiang Xingzhou, yet he still couldn't discern a single clue from Jiang's calm expression—was he confident or simply hadn't yet found the right words?
Never mind, let's not worry about that.

He pondered for a moment, his brush hovering over the Xuan paper, but he hesitated to put pen to paper.

The question about the "Twenty-Four Bridges" actually contains a hidden mystery—

The banks of the Slender West Lake were once the most romantic spot in Yangzhou. Painted boats and revelry lasted all night, and the air was filled with the hues of rouge and crimson between beaded curtains and embroidered doors.

Courtesans traveled back and forth across the Twenty-Four Bridges.

If one's writing is tainted with vulgarity, it falls into a low category, making the article utterly tasteless.

This is why, although countless literati and scholars have visited the "Twenty-Four Bridges of Slender West Lake," the number of outstanding articles they left behind is actually less than that of the "Hanshan Temple" in Suzhou.

This is all because they are too prone to using erotic language, thus falling into low quality and lacking sophistication.

Xie Qihe thought for a long time before finally picking up his brush, dipping it in ink, and slowly writing on the Xuan paper:

[Slender West Lake]

The rainbow's reflection divides the waves, the crescent moon hangs low.
The night is late in the Slender West Lake.

Who remembers the dream of Yangzhou more?
The waters around the Twenty-Four Bridges are cold and clear.
"Write quickly!"

"We, the scholars of Yangzhou, must never repeat the mistakes of Suzhou!"

Sweat beaded on the foreheads of the scholars as they racked their brains and strained with all their might, nearly snapping their writing brushes in their hands.

Having learned from the painful lesson of the Suzhou literati losing Hanshan Temple, how could they dare to be even slightly negligent at this moment?
If even the millennia-old creation of the "Twenty-Four Bridges" is stolen by Jiang Xingzhou!
How will the talented scholars of Yangzhou be able to pick up their pens again to describe the most magnificent scenery in Yangzhou Prefecture?

"If I am defeated by Brother Jiang this time, I congratulate you and vow never to write another poem about 'Twenty-Four Bridges' again in this lifetime!"

Zhu He suddenly rolled up his sleeves, revealing his arm with prominent veins.

As the top scholar in Yangzhou Prefecture, how could he tolerate being inferior to the top scholar in Jiangzhou? The competition between the two prefectures' leaders must be decided today!
He wielded his brush like a sword, the ink staining the Xuan paper like spilled blood. In the blink of an eye, a wild cursive script piece leaped onto the page: [Ode to the Twenty-Four Bridges]

The Twenty-Four Bridges Swallow the Great River
The blue sky presses down on the water, and the moon shines like frost.

A long howl ripped through the clouds.

The random throwing of the poetry scroll startled the Dragon King.
With a flourish of the brush, the ink flowed like crashing waves. The untamed, wild spirit between the lines seemed to burst forth from the paper!

The moment the poem was completed, a burst of rosy light suddenly appeared on the Xuan paper. As the ink flowed, a dragon about an inch long appeared to swim and play among the lines, its scales and claws faintly visible.

"Excellent!"

"What a magnificent and awe-inspiring sight!"

"Congratulations, Brother Zhi! Your poem has been published beyond the county! Truly, your poem has been published beyond the county!"

Amidst the uproar, referee Gu Yong couldn't help but clap his hands in admiration.

The moment this poem was written, it stirred up a surge of literary energy, truly befitting the pinnacle of a scholar's work.

In such poetry gatherings, it is already quite rare to reach the point where "the poem is so well-written that it can be recited throughout the county."

As for those world-shaking works that "achieve fame in Dafu" and "achieve fame in Mingzhou," they are extremely rare, almost like monsters, and cannot be forced by human effort.

On the painted boats of Qinhuai, most of the scholars from the city and ten prefectures of Jiangnan had finished their essays and handed them over to Gu Yong for evaluation.

A scholar from Yangzhou congratulated the candidate on writing a poem [about leaving the county], which was judged to be of the highest caliber.

Seeing that the incense had burned for more than half the time, Jiang Xingzhou spread out a roll of Xuan paper, picked up a brush, and dipped it in ink.

This was not an overconfident statement on his part. He knew very well that once Du Mu wrote his seven-character quatrain "To Han Chuo, Judge of Yangzhou," all the talented scholars present would be unable to write anything more.

[A letter sent to the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou]

The green hills are faintly covered with water, and the grasses in the south of the Yangtze River are not withered in autumn.

On a moonlit night over the Twenty-Four Bridges, where is the beautiful maiden teaching the flute?
Two moments!

Jiang Xingzhou's writing is soaring with literary brilliance!

The poem was completed amidst extraordinary phenomena in Dafu!

The article written by Dafu did not trigger the sound of the Confucian temple bell in Jinling City.

However, strange phenomena still occur.

Suddenly, a bright moon appeared in the sky, its clear light spilling across the Twenty-Four Bridges in the void. In the shimmering water, a peerless beauty stood barefoot by the water, her slender fingers playing the flute.

The sound of the flute was mournful, like a lament, like a yearning, like weeping and a complaint.

On the Qinhuai River, more than ten painted boats and pavilions on both banks, along with thousands of people, all held their breath and watched the peerless beauty play the flute, completely mesmerized.

The sound of the flute pierced through the clouds and water, causing the city lights to pale in comparison.

On the painted boat, Han Yugui, Cao An, and others stared at the verses written by Jiang Xingzhou, lost in thought.

"On the night of the bright moon over the Twenty-Four Bridges, where is the beautiful maiden teaching the flute?"

The ink was still wet, yet it had already evoked memories of their moonlit stroll together.

That night, they traveled by boat from Jiangzhou Prefecture to take the imperial examination, and stopped by the Slender West Lake in Yangzhou on the way.

Under the bright moonlight, after crossing the Twenty-Four Bridges, Han Yugui lay drunk on the bow of the boat, playing his flute haphazardly.

Cao An, embracing his ruan Xian (a type of lute), sang aloud with a singing girl from a neighboring boat across the water. As the song ended, the charming woman tossed a jade flower to him, eliciting laughter from the entire boat.

How carefree and romantic!

But they only wanted to enjoy the scenery.

Ultimately, only Jiang Xingzhou could capture this scene and sentiment in a poem by Da Fu, "Sent to the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou," where every word shines brightly.

"The scholars of Jiangzhou Prefecture are no match for Brother Jiang's talent!"

Lu Ming sighed.

Upstairs in Mingyue Tower, in a private room, the old scholar Zhou Dunshi suddenly stood up, tilting his teacup slightly, unaware that tea had splashed onto his sleeves.

"[On the night of the bright moon over the Twenty-Four Bridges, where does the beautiful maiden teach the flute to play?]"

Zhou Dunshi recited in a low voice, his aged fingers trembling slightly.

"What a poem!"

"Jiang Lang's line is elegant without being gaudy, beautiful without being frivolous. It captures the charm of Southern Dynasties folk songs, but surpasses them in spirit."

"The beauty of this line is similar to that of the line in 'Bodhisattva's Charm: Ode to the Feet': '[Delicate and subtle descriptions are hard to put into words, one must see them on the palm of one's hand]'!"

The old scholar's voice was slightly hoarse, and his eyes were filled with emotion.

After all these years, such elegant and refined, almost aesthetically pleasing verses are truly rare.

The imagery of "Where does the beautiful maiden teach the flute?"

It seems to be a description of eroticism,

In reality, it is ethereal.

Corresponding to the previous line "The moon shines on the Twenty-Four Bridges," it is like a traditional Chinese ink painting, where the blank spaces are filled with the elegance of scholars throughout the ages.

Inside the elegant pavilion, five or six scholars, all of whom had passed the imperial examinations, sat around the old Hanlin scholar Zhou Dunshi, appreciating poetry, the room filled with the aroma of tea.

"Excellent! The old man's assessment is indeed correct!"

A scholar in a blue robe exclaimed in admiration, “The scenery of the Twenty-Four Bridges, with the bright moon as a backdrop and the beautiful woman as its soul, is naturally elegant without the need for makeup, which perfectly matches the wonderful realm of Sikong Tu’s ‘not a word is written, yet the elegance is fully expressed’.”

“What’s even more wonderful is the phrase ‘a beautiful woman playing the flute’.”

Another scholar in purple robes gently stroked his teacup, his gaze intense. "The writing is both sensual and ethereal, blending reality and illusion. Such skill should be a timeless masterpiece!"

The eldest scholar present dipped his fingertip in tea, and on the table lay the following words: "There are no fewer than a hundred poems about the Twenty-Four Bridges. But once this poem, 'Sent to the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou,' is published, I fear no one can surpass it!"

He looked around at everyone and said in a deep voice, "The poem, which is the most outstanding one on the Twenty-Four Bridges, will be delivered to the government office on the day it is completed."

It probably won't be long before the news spreads throughout the ten prefectures of Jiangnan, and it will become famous throughout the prefecture!

Inside the painted boats of Qinhuai, the scholars from the ten prefectures of Jiangnan were all speechless.

The ink on Jiang Xingzhou's poem "Sent to the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou" was still wet, yet the assembled scholars were already deeply moved, their souls seemingly wandering to another world.

"[On the night of the bright moon over the Twenty-Four Bridges, where does the beautiful maiden teach the flute?"
This single line of poetry manages to blend 'sensuality, ethereal beauty, otherworldly grace, and earthy charm' all at once—how did he manage to do that?! Such a stroke of genius!

Someone murmured the words aloud, their voice trembling.

"You must know that once poetry becomes erotic, it will inevitably become vulgar and unbearable to look at!"

Once poetry becomes ethereal and otherworldly, it inevitably transcends the mundane world, giving rise to a sense of the elusive and unreal!
Brother Jiang, you've perfectly blended the idyllic beauty of a fairyland with the everyday realities of life by using "The Moon Shines Over the Twenty-Four Bridges" and "Where Does the Jade Maiden Teach the Flute?" This line is truly unprecedented and unparalleled!

"Dafu!"

"Another work by a wealthy man!"

Inside the painted boat, the scholars present were in an uproar.

"Although it cannot compare to the previous poem 'Mooring at Maple Bridge at Night' which was completed in Mingzhou, this poem, completed in Dazhou, still makes him the most outstanding scholar among the ten prefectures of Jiangnan!"

The scholars of Yangzhou Prefecture looked at each other in dismay.

Among the three hundred scholars on the painted boat, only Zhu Hezhi's "Leaving the County" could be considered outstanding. However, it was still far inferior to Jiang Xingzhou's "Sending to the Twenty-Four Bridges of Yangzhou".

The sound of the bells at Hanshan Temple still echoes in our ears, and the moonlight over the Twenty-Four Bridges has become a thing of the past. The literary world of Jiangnan has lost two scenic spots worthy of poetry and prose.

"Brother Jiang, you have finished writing about the natural wonders of the 'Twenty-Four Bridges' of Slender West Lake in Yangzhou. Now, how should we begin our writing?"

Zhu Hezhi was overcome with grief and broke down in tears. The poem paper in his hand rustled as he suddenly crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the river.

The ink on the still-wet manuscript gradually seeped into the shimmering waters of the Qinhuai River, much like his shattered literary heart at that moment.

"If I had known this would happen, why would I have chosen the Twenty-Four Bridges as the title of my poem!"

He staggered back to the ship's side, his jade crown falling askew, "From now on, it will be difficult for the talented scholars of Yangzhou to write on this subject again!"

Congratulations! Zhi's eyes welled up with tears; he was filled with regret.

The voice has not fallen,

Suddenly, a "plop" was heard, and he jumped from the painted boat into the Qinhuai River, disappearing into the rippling water, and drowned himself to atone for his sins to the scholars of Yangzhou Prefecture.

The lights on both banks flickered, making the river surface shimmer like scattered gold, but they could not illuminate the gloomy faces of the scholars.

Alas!

"I am heartbroken to have lost the Twenty-Four Bridges of the Slender West Lake in Yangzhou!"

But the scholars of Yangzhou beat their chests and stamped their feet, each one as if they had lost their parents: "The beauty of the Twenty-Four Bridges is now a thing of the past!"

At a poetry gathering, scholars from Suzhou Prefecture had just finished weeping at Hanshan Temple in Gusu.

In this battle, the scholars of Yangzhou Prefecture, due to their carelessness, lost the Twenty-Four Bridges of Slender West Lake again, and wept bitterly!
For a moment, the entire room fell silent, with only the mournful sound of the river.

The remaining talented scholars from the ten prefectures of Jiangnan looked at each other, all feeling a sense of unease, as if the lips were gone and the teeth were cold, or the rabbit was dying and the fox was grieving.

Zhu Hezhi was submerged in the water for a while, and everyone thought someone would come to rescue him. However, they saw that the scholars of Yangzhou Prefecture were still wailing and beating their chests in the direction of the Twenty-Four Bridges, and not a single person checked on him after he fell into the water.

"Wow--"

A soaking wet figure suddenly leaped out of the river.
Amidst the splashing water,
Congratulations to my dear friend on your safe return to the pleasure boat.

Upon seeing this, Tang Yanqing from Suzhou Prefecture, holding a fan, laughed and said, "Brother Zhu, didn't you just throw yourself into the river to prove your loyalty? Why are you back now?"

Zhu Hezhi wrung out his dripping sleeves, a puddle of water already accumulated at his feet.

His face turned pale and then flushed, gleaming awkwardly in the moonlight: "My heart is filled with unbearable grief!"

However, I suddenly remembered that the poetry gathering was not over yet, and Brother Jiang would surely have more amazing poems to come. It would be a pity that I haven't had a chance to appreciate them yet!

Leaving now would be a pity! I'll return to the inn after the poetry gathering to apologize on behalf of the scholars of Yangzhou!
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(End of this chapter)