Chapter 82: Of All the Talent in the World, Jade Lad Possesses Eight-Tenths (Part Seven)

“This poem is exquisite.” All the praise Cai Yong had prepared was shattered by the weight of that final line, leaving him only these three words to utter.

He let out a long sigh, then slowly said, “Especially those words ‘for no reason’ and the last two lines… I never thought a poem could bring back so many old memories for me. Today, I must thank you, Master Zhang…”

As he spoke, Cai Yong started to rise from his seat, but then a woman stepped directly from the adjoining room, separated by a curtain.

She wore a robe of plain brocade in orange and yellow, her hair styled in the graceful cloud bun of a married woman. Her face was elegant and lovely, yet streaked with tears.

“Father.”

“Zhaoji? Why have you come out?”

Clearly, this was not a scene meant for the eyes of the assembled scholars and gentlemen. In unison, the guests greeted her with a respectful “Madam Cai” and bowed their heads.

“Yan’er thought you had already forgotten mother,” Cai Yan said, her tone gentle and seemingly calm, but Zhang Yu sensed a storm of emotion beneath the surface.

Cai Yong said nothing, but in his eyes was a profound affection as vast as mountains.

“Thank you, Master Zhang.” As soon as Cai Yan’s gaze found Zhang Yu among the crowd, she bowed to him from the platform.

“There is no need for thanks,” he replied.

“Your poem ‘The Brocade Zither’ moved not only my father but myself as well. ‘Such feelings could only be recalled in memory, though at the time they left me lost…’” Cai Yan’s eyes were red, yet her beautiful face remained composed, graced with a faint smile.

“If you are willing, Master Zhang, I would like to compose music for your poem, so it may be sung throughout the land.”

Cai Yan composing a melody!

At this, Wang Can and Xu Gan could not hide their delight, while Ruan Yu and the others wore complicated expressions, each with their own thoughts.

In terms of skill with the qin, perhaps Cai Yan still lagged behind her father, Cai Yong, but in terms of reputation, the learned daughter of a great scholar, famed for both talent and beauty, had already surpassed him.

It was easy to imagine: with a seven-character poem of such quality as “The Brocade Zither,” the literary world would be shaken after this banquet. And with Cai Yan setting it to music… The realm of letters might just be upended by this audacious Zhang Yu!

“As your father, I support you,” Cai Yong said with a smile. Aside from a trace of hoarseness in his voice, there was no sign of the sorrow that had moved him to tears moments before.

“I have a question for you, Master Zhang,” he continued. “When you composed your poem just now, your expression was not one of pondering, but rather of searching. Why is that?”

As expected of Cai Bojie—he even noticed my expression, Zhang Yu thought, his heart skipping a beat. He paused briefly and then replied with his answer ready.

“Literature is born of nature, and true beauty is found by a gifted hand. When pure and flawless, what need is there for human artifice?

If one merely piles up ornate words, the result is always gilded on the outside but rotten within—a hollow show. Rather than praise my supposed genius in poetry, it’s better to say I am a porter of fine lines that already exist in my mind. I merely bring them forth at the right time and place.”

“A beautiful line! ‘Literature is born of nature, and true beauty is found by a gifted hand!’”

Ruan Yu, who no longer held any prejudice against Zhang Yu’s seven-character verse, found himself moved to praise his classic five-character poem as well.

“Humble and courteous when modest, yet invincible in arrogance—my friend, you truly are remarkable,” Wang Can laughed.

“I had prepared many words of praise after hearing the first six lines of ‘The Brocade Zither,’” Cai Yong resumed his role as host. “But after hearing the entire poem, I find one sentence is enough.

Of all the poets of seven-character verse today, none surpass Zhang Yu.”

“What!?”

The effect of these words was like a thunderclap to all present. Even those who had thought it reasonable before, hearing it from Cai Yong’s lips made it a matter of record.

“Ding! Congratulations, host! You have received the highest praise from Cai Yong—one of the most influential elders in the literary world—activating the Literary Achievement Badge: ‘Master of Seven-Character Verse’ (from now on, your seven-character poems will be the standard, and countless scholars will strive to imitate you. Ensure quality and maintain quantity, and you may become the very founder of the form). Gained 1,000 reputation points, 500 experience points. Current reputation: 5,800 (out of 13,600), experience: 3,200.”

“This is practically a festival of reputation gains…” Zhang Yu marveled. “Master of Seven-Character Verse, with a chance to found a school… This is the life I want!”

“In this world, I am fated never to ride to war on the battlefield, never to fight and bleed to pacify the realm or expand its borders for Han. But with my mind, and this system in hand—

I can become a great literary master, whose words make paper scarce throughout the land.

Poet-sage, poet-immortal, founder of a school—these titles will all be mine.

With my own strength, I will set an age in motion. First, I will seek ways to bring peace to the world; then I will spread the brilliance of literature far and wide.

I will become the brightest star of the late Han, so that there will be no Three Kingdoms, and this era will shine for a thousand years!”

Zhang Yu’s chest swelled with pride, while those poets and scholars who had earlier resented him now had nothing left to say, scratching their heads in frustration.

They had sneered at seven-character verse, calling it crude and worthless, but now, before this poem, they seemed no more than jesters.

Not only did their faces burn with shame, but whenever they looked at the dazzling, brilliant Zhang Yu, their hearts were stifled and uneasy.

“With fear and trembling, I thank you for your praise, Master Cai,” Zhang Yu replied. “But I must decline Madam Cai’s kind offer.”

His words caused another stir.

“Decline?”

“Is he mad, or am I?”

“Zhang Yu is so arrogant—surely he is courting ruin!”

A few in the corners continued to grumble, but Wang Can and Xu Gan hurriedly called out, “Master Zhang—”

“You are unwilling?” Cai Yan’s surprise was rare, though it vanished quickly.

“Not so. Though ‘The Brocade Zither’ may be spread far and wide through your skillful hands, Madam Cai, it would be but a further adornment.”

“Then what do you wish?”

“I wish to ask Madam Cai if you would be willing to give help where it is most needed.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Though seven-character verse is in decline, it still has its precedents.”

“Do you mean to set a new precedent?”

“You are perceptive, Madam Cai. That is exactly my intent.”

“Are you confident? And what is this form?”

“In Chu there was the ‘song,’ in Han the ‘rhapsody,’ and now we have five- and seven-character poems. But I have composed some humble works which are neither rhapsody, nor song, nor poem. For now, I call them ‘lyrics.’”

“May I have the privilege of hearing them?”

“Whether you do or not depends on everyone here.”

The two exchanged words, each turn sharp as blades and yet, in their eyes, the beginnings of a gentle smile. Their conversation was as intricate and entwined as silk around a finger.

Among the assembly were those who watched with envy, those who looked on with goodwill, but none were more delighted than Cai Yong.

“In talent and appearance, he is the finest young man I have ever met. Now, with his newfound status as the emperor’s brother and the wealth of a great merchant, he brings no shame to my family. If only I could see Yan’er and him together, I would have no further regrets in this life. I just wonder if Zhang Yu is already betrothed. Though Yan’er is a widow, the position of principal wife cannot simply be forsaken…”

When it came to his precious daughter, even a learned, venerable scholar like Cai Yong was no different from any ordinary father.

Zhang Yu smiled, not answering Cai Yan directly, but instead walked to the vermilion doors.

By now, the moon was high overhead, its light casting a beam into the hall.

Zhang Yu stepped into the moonlight.

Turning back, he gave a lingering glance—so full of feeling that, for the first time, Cai Yan dropped her gaze.

“When did the bright moon first appear? Lifting my cup, I ask the clear sky. I do not know, in the palaces above, what year it is tonight…”