Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 68 Am I not worthy of high expectations?

When Han Ziyu suddenly came to his senses, he found that there was a small bend in the road. His right foot was not in the middle of the stone steps, but below the moss on the edge of the steps, where it was all dirt.

He frantically swung his cane to steady himself, but the iron tip of the cane struck a clump of wet ferns.

He lost his balance and fell to the ground.

Fortunately, this wasn't a dangerous section of road like a suspended structure, and there were many trees on both sides, so Han Ziyu didn't roll down the hillside.

"what--!"

Han San Niang's scream startled a flock of sparrows.

Everyone quickly turned around to look, and saw Han Ziyu huddled on the stone steps, her clothes instantly soaked with cold sweat.

His trembling hand reached for his ankle, but froze halfway there. It was swollen, and a wave of excruciating pain washed over him. Blood seeped from his bitten lip.

The brown-robed monk who was leading the way soon brought the group here.

Climbing mountains is certainly dangerous, and Fawang Temple has long made thorough preparations for any possible accidents.

After examining Han Ziyu, the brown-robed monk said, "You twisted your ankle. It hurts now, but it's not extremely serious. There's a stretcher and medicine prepared on the platform ahead. Go up there first, apply the medicine, and fix it. After you carry it down the mountain and rest for a while, you'll recover."

Hearing this, Han San Niang breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, it was just a sprained ankle and not a broken leg.

In those days, if you fractured a bone and it didn't heal properly, you could easily end up with a disability, and a disability almost always meant it would be very difficult to enter officialdom. Although the Song Dynasty didn't have any explicit regulations, there were indeed implicit rules in practice.

A platform with stretchers and medicine was not far away, and a strong monk carried Han Ziyu on his back and continued to walk uphill.

When they arrived at the platform, everyone else was already there waiting for them.

Here, three sides are suspended in the air, with only a thousand-year-old cliff cypress growing horizontally from the crack in the rock. Its gnarled branches twist and turn like a dragon, and a few strands of pale yellow lichen hang down among the green needles, swaying gently in the wind.

Beneath the cypress tree, a monk stood quietly on the edge of the cliff.

The monk was in his forties, tall and slender, with a refined face and a scholarly air about him. Unlike the solemnity of ordinary monks, he resembled a reclusive scholar living in the mountains.

He wore a purple kasaya, the edges of which were embroidered with fine cloud patterns in silk thread, which was neither extravagant nor lacking in refined elegance.

"Master Baoyue." The brown-robed monk who led the way bowed with his palms together.

Bao Yue returned the greeting with her palms together, then glanced at everyone and noticed Han Ziyu's expression, so she didn't rush to speak.

Besides a small table and writing implements, there were other supplies stored nearby.

The brown-robed monk and his men cleaned, applied medicine, and bandaged Han Ziyu's ankle before lifting him onto a stretcher.

Xian Zhen's figure appeared against the light in front of Han Ziyu, his voice carrying a false concern: "Brother Han, you're already in such a state, you should just give up. You can't win anyway, so you might as well go down the mountain to recover from your injuries."

"You!" Han Ziyu struggled to say something, but a sharp pain made his vision go black.

He couldn't speak; he could only hear the sound of his teeth chattering, like icicles colliding with each other under the eaves in the dead of winter.

"Brother!"

Han San Niang knelt beside him, her slender fingers trembling as she dared not touch his already swollen and shiny ankle.
"Let's go down the mountain, let's stop competing."

Han Ziyu suddenly looked up, her eyes bloodshot, and gritted her teeth, saying, "No!"

But in his current condition, he is clearly in so much pain that he can hardly think straight. Even if he can't swallow this anger, how can he compare?
At this moment, He Cong, who was getting impatient, stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said, "Please give me a question, Master."

Bao Yue shook her head: "The question is right here, why should I come up with one? The fourth challenge, 'Composing a Poem on the Cliff Cypress,' simply requires composing a poem based on the scene before your eyes and the feelings in your heart. The best one wins."

He Cong's expression changed slightly. He had thought it would be a fixed topic, but he didn't expect to have to improvise. What surprised him even more was that Master Baoyue's two sentences just now clearly contained Zen wisdom, and there was no fixed standard for judging the so-called "best".

Fortunately, He Cong believes that his team now has no competitors, and as long as he plays his part properly, it is almost impossible for him to lose.

Moreover, even if he loses, Xianzhen will be there to cover for him, so for their team, first place is practically a sure thing!
Seeing the crowd hesitate, Baoyue raised her hand to catch a falling pine needle and gently twirled it between her fingertips: "Everyone, please choose someone."

Because Han Ziyu's team was the last team in terms of the mountain climbing progress, they needed to be the first to select members according to the reverse selection rule.

In the group, several people looked at Lu Beigu; he was the only one left.

Lu Beigu, however, lowered his head and fell into deep thought, remaining silent for a long time.

Han San Niang sighed inwardly. It seemed that her hopes for Lu Bei Gu had turned into disappointment.

Thinking about it, it makes sense. How could she possibly expect an ordinary county student to surpass the top student in the county school in composing poems?

If Lu Beigu had this ability, why wasn't he the top student in the county school before?

Han Ziyu, lying on the ground, was equally heartbroken. He didn't even blame Lu Beigu, because in his opinion, this was beyond the capabilities of an ordinary county student and was indeed too much to ask.

Moreover, even if Lu Beigu performs exceptionally well and defeats He Cong, it will be meaningless.

Because everyone thought that Lu Beigu had no chance of defeating Xianzhen.

Meanwhile, the other teams had already secretly selected their members, but due to the rules, Han Ziyu's team, which was the least advanced in the climb, had to select their members first before the others could announce their own team's selections.

Standing alone at the front, He Cong looked at the strange atmosphere in Han Ziyu's group and laughed loudly, "Are you all placing high hopes on someone who has never been number one in the county school?"

silence.

Still silent.

An uncontrollable thought arose in the minds of Han San Niang and the others.

"Perhaps the other party is right."

Just when everyone was feeling down, the scene was deathly silent, and many people were even watching the spectacle with amusement.

Lu Beigu raised his head.

Inspired by the sudden burst of inspiration, he had already sketched out the framework of a Song Dynasty poem in his mind, following the "three-times method" taught by Zhao Bian.

Lu Beigu looked at Han Ziyu, Han Sanniang, Ji Yun, and Lu Guangyu beside him, saying nothing, but it was as if he was asking a question.

Do you think I'm not worthy of your high expectations?

Han San Niang's eyes brightened slightly as she looked at Lu Bei Gu in surprise.

Just as Han Ziyu, lying on the stretcher, was about to say something, Lu Beigu leaned down and pressed down on his shoulder, his warm palm conveying strength: "I'll take care of it."

Seeing this, Ji Yun pounced on Lu Beigu and punched him twice.

Lu Guangyu, on the other hand, silently watched Lu Beigu.

To be honest, he had never realized that his classmate was so charming.

A mountain breeze swept across Han Ziyu's forehead, which was throbbing with pain and sweat, as he watched Lu Beigu's retreating figure as he walked towards Master Baoyue.

Against the backdrop of verdant cliffside cypresses, the green robe resembled a sword drawn from its sheath after a long period of concealment, exuding a chilling sharpness.

(End of this chapter)