Joy of Life: Born to Ye Qingmei, raised by Li Yunrui

I'm currently reading Chapter 97 of the novel "The Threat" on Cola Novel, completely engrossed and unable to tear myself away.

just.

He didn't expect Zhuang Mohan to suddenly recite the first half of the poem.

He remained expressionless and smiled faintly, saying, "Master Zhuang, you flatter me. These four lines are indeed expansive in their imagery and perfectly matched in their parallelism; they are truly a masterpiece."

Upon hearing this, many of the court officials who were well-versed in poetry nodded in agreement.

"The wind is fierce, the sky is high, the monkeys howl mournfully; the islet is clear, the sand is white, the birds fly back." What a beautiful line! What a beautiful imagery!

"The boundless autumn leaves fall rustling down, the endless Yangtze River rolls on and on," this couplet perfectly captures the desolation of autumn and the vastness of the Yangtze River, its grand scale and magnificence only a master could achieve!

Everyone was startled, thinking that this was yet another of His Highness the King of Qin's "masterpieces" about to be released.

They all knew that in this kind of seven-character regulated verse, the last four lines were often the finishing touch, elevating the artistic conception even further. For a moment, everyone held their breath, hoping that Zhuang Mohan or Ye Tian would recite the last four lines as well.

Just as everyone was filled with astonishment and anticipation, Zhuang Mohan's tone shifted, carrying a hint of cold scrutiny, as he slowly said, "The reason I say the first four sentences are good..."

He deliberately dragged out his words, whetting everyone's appetite, before continuing, word by word, "It's not because the last four lines are bad, but because, I'm afraid, those last four lines weren't written by His Highness the Prince of Qin!"

"boom--!"

Upon hearing this, the entire hall erupted in uproar, like a pot of boiling oil!

"What?! The last four lines weren't written by His Highness the King of Qin?"

"What does Master Zhuang mean by this? Could it be... could it be that this poem..."

"This...this is impossible! His Highness the King of Qin is so talented, how could he..."

A cacophony of exclamations, whispers, and doubts erupted. However, this uproar was quickly replaced by a deeper, suffocating silence. Everyone stared wide-eyed at Zhuang Mohan, then at Ye Tian, ​​not daring to breathe.

They all realized that a huge upheaval was about to befall them!

Upon hearing this, Ye Tian's heart sank. His hand holding the wine glass paused slightly, and the wine almost spilled. He instantly sobered up considerably, his first thought being: "Could it be that Zhuang Mohan also knows Du Fu? Knows that I plagiarized 'Ascending the Heights' from another world?"

The thought sent a chill down his spine. If that were true, his secret would be completely exposed!

However, after hearing Zhuang Mohan's next words, Ye Tian's heart, which had been hanging in suspense, finally eased slightly. Immediately, a knowing sneer flashed in his eyes. He instantly understood that this great Confucian scholar from Northern Qi had probably been "sold out" by that old fox, Emperor Qing, and used as a pawn to deal with him.

Zhuang Mohan slowly raised his head, and in his eyes, which were usually full of wisdom and spirit,

At this moment, however, a very complex emotion drifted out, including heartache, regret, and a sense of helplessness that was beyond one's control.

He said in a somber voice, "The last four lines of this poem are, 'Ten thousand miles away, I often feel sorrow in autumn; a hundred years old, I am often ill, and I climb the stage alone.'"

"Hardship and sorrow have turned my temples gray; in my decline, I've stopped drinking wine." — This is a poem written by my teacher, the late Confucian scholar Wen Siyuan of the Northern Qi Dynasty, when he traveled to Tingzhou in Qingguo, moved by the times and gazing into the distance from a high place.

"Because it is my master's posthumous work, very few people know of it, and the manuscript has been treasured by me in Northern Qi for decades, rarely shown to others. I never expected that I would hear the second half of the poem here today in the Golden Palace of Qing Kingdom!" Zhuang Mohan looked directly at Ye Tian, ​​with a hint of questioning, "But I wonder, Your Highness, how did you obtain these last four lines by chance?"

He spoke with such sincerity and emotion, his voice trembling with tears, as if his mentor's posthumous work had truly been stolen.

Emperor Qing sat on his dragon throne, a barely perceptible, cold smile playing on his lips. Success!

The atmosphere inside the hall instantly froze. Everyone's gaze, sharp as swords, was fixed on Ye Tian!

Zhuang Mohan sighed and continued, "Originally, I was gratified that the buried pearl could see the light of day again, preventing my master's heart-wrenching work from being lost. However, His Highness Prince Qin used this to seek fame and appropriate the work of another's labor of love. Such behavior is truly unacceptable to me. For a scholar, the most important thing is to cultivate his mind and virtue, and to hone his character. As for literature and rhetoric, they are merely the least important means of expressing one's thoughts and feelings."

His face showed an expression of heartache and disappointment:

"I have always cherished talent as if it were my own life, and I cannot bear to see a gem go to waste. This mission to the Qing Kingdom..."

I had also intended to see firsthand the character and integrity of His Highness the Prince of Qin, this young prodigy. If he truly was a gem in the rough...

I would be so kind as to offer some pointers.

Unexpectedly, His Highness was so unrepentant, and instead became even more outrageous.

On this grand occasion of diplomatic relations between the two countries, to openly steal the works of our predecessors and seek fame and fortune!

Zhuang Mohan's words were righteous and resounding.

It was as if Ye Tian was already a shameless literary thief, a fact that was already confirmed.

He himself transformed into a moral exemplar, deeply saddened and dedicated to upholding the literary world's reputation.

Emperor Qing sat on his dragon throne, a faint smile playing on his lips, but his eyes flashed with icy coldness. This was exactly the effect he wanted! He wanted Ye Tian to fall from grace and be utterly disgraced!

After the initial shock and realization, Ye Tian's face returned to calm, even carrying a hint of amusement. He wanted to see what kind of act Zhuang Mohan could put on.

Zhuang Mohan continued, in his aged yet captivating voice, to the guests in the hall, meticulously "interpreting" the last four lines of the poem, as if trying to transport them into the mindset of his "former teacher":

"Please listen, everyone. 'A thousand miles away, I often wander as a guest in autumn'; a hundred years of illness, I climb the stage alone.' 'A thousand miles away, I often wander as a guest'—how lonely, how desolate! The three words 'often wander as a guest' fully express the bitterness of a life of wandering and rootlessness. And 'a hundred years of illness,' do you all know the meaning of this?"

He looked around and, seeing the blank stares of everyone, continued with a pained expression, "This is a true depiction of my master in his twilight years, plagued by illness! Years ago, to escape the war, or perhaps to search for ancient texts, my master once climbed alone in late autumn to the high platform of Tingzhou in the south of Qing Kingdom. At that time, the view was of the endless flowing river and the desolate fallen leaves. Moved by the scene, reflecting on the past and present, he uttered this lament of autumn's melancholy and his sorrow at his illness!"

Zhuang Mohan paused, his tone becoming even more sorrowful: "Your Highness, you are only fourteen years old this year, in the prime of your life. How could you have ever felt the frequent sorrow of 'autumn's desolation'? And how could you have such a personal experience of 'being ill for a hundred years'? I dare to ask, Your Highness, what is your interpretation of these four words, 'being ill for a hundred years'?"

His words, seemingly a request for advice, were in fact a veiled attack on the heart! A fourteen-year-old boy, no matter how precocious, could not possibly possess the life experience of hardship and suffering described in the poem. This undoubtedly implied that Ye Tian was completely incapable of understanding the true meaning of the poem, and therefore could not possibly be the original author.

Before Ye Tian could speak, Zhuang Mohan had already moved on to the next sentence, seemingly completely immersed in the memories and grief of his "mentor":

"Furthermore, there's the line, 'Hardship and sorrow have turned my temples gray, and in my decline, I've stopped drinking wine.' 'Hardship and sorrow' fully expresses the vicissitudes of life and the impermanence of the world; 'turned my temples gray' further illustrates the ruthlessness of time and its urgency to grow old. These things are probably still too far away for His Highness, who has achieved early success and is now a noble prince."

He shook his head slightly, a look of "unbearable" on his face, as if what he was about to say would bring an even greater blow to Ye Tian: "As for the last line, 'In my decline, I have stopped drinking wine,' I am completely baffled."

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Regardless of Your Highness's royal lineage, illustrious family background, and numerous servants, how could you possibly be "impoverished"? Just consider these five characters, "Newly Stopped Drinking Wine," I fear even Your Highness doesn't understand why my master wrote them in such a way back then.

Zhuang Mohan looked at Ye Tian, ​​the "unbearable" look in his eyes growing stronger. He sighed softly and revealed the "mystery": "In his later years, my master, due to years of hard work and excessive worry, unfortunately contracted a serious lung disease. The imperial physician strictly ordered him to abstain from alcohol, otherwise his life would be in danger. Therefore, when my master wrote this poem, he had just stopped drinking as advised by the doctor. He was feeling depressed and frustrated, yet he had to face reality. All sorts of feelings are contained in these two words, 'newly stopped'!"

This explanation is meticulous, reasonable, and perfectly connects the poem with the image of an old scholar who has endured many hardships, is plagued by illness, and is ultimately forced to give up drinking.