Volume 1, Chapter 30: The Great Zhou Version of Nian Nu Jiao

The night breeze swept across thousands of lanterns on Vermilion Bird Street, casting a shimmering, dreamlike radiance. Yet, in this moment, all that brilliance seemed to converge upon the figure standing before the painting desk.

The Crown Prince, Li Xuan.

He had become the focal point of the entire gathering. There was sympathy, pity, schadenfreude, and the anticipation of a spectacle. The poem by the Second Prince, Li Zhan, stood like an insurmountable mountain before them all. No one could imagine how this Crown Prince, notorious for his dissolute ways, could possibly surpass it.

"It's over, it's over. The Crown Prince is going to make a fool of himself now."
"Indeed, the Second Prince's poem is a masterpiece. How could the Crown Prince ever compare?"
"Sigh, why insist on showing off? If he had just conceded earlier, a little laughter would have let it pass."

Though the murmurs of the crowd were soft, they reached Xiao Ningshuang’s ears clearly. Her heart tightened; beneath her wide sleeves, her delicate hands were clenched into fists, her knuckles white. She even felt a pang of regret—regret that she had been too prominent tonight, which had prompted Li Zhan to turn his hostility toward Li Xuan.

Yet, Li Xuan, standing at the eye of the storm, remained as calm as a deep, motionless pool. He did not affect a pose by looking at the heavens or the earth like Li Zhan, nor did he furrow his brow in deep contemplation like the others. He simply stood there, his gaze sweeping across the bustling human world, across the faces filled with expectation or worry, and finally, it settled on the beautiful, anxious face of Xiao Ningshuang not far away.

He offered her a faint smile. That smile seemed to possess a power that could soothe the soul. Xiao Ningshuang’s heart suddenly loosened.

Then, Li Xuan moved. He picked up a brush but did not reach for the ink immediately. Instead, he lifted a cup of wine from the table, walked to the front of the dais, and slowly poured it onto the ground.

"This cup is for the heroic souls of our Great Zhou who braved the frontiers and perished in battle, their bodies wrapped in horse hides."

His voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly across the entire venue. The assembly fell silent. The generals and nobles stood with renewed solemnity. He then poured another cup.

"This second cup is for the sages of our Great Zhou who exhausted their hearts and strength to ensure the stability of the realm."

Among the seats of the civil officials, many old ministers were moved. Finally, he raised the third cup, his gaze sweeping over the audience as he declared, "This third cup is for the millions of subjects of our Great Zhou! May everyone in our Great Zhou be like a dragon, and may our nation endure for ten thousand years!"

With that, he drained the cup, tossed it onto the ground, and it shattered with a crisp, clear sound!

"Well done!"

Someone led the way, and a thunderous roar of applause erupted from the commoners! These three cups and these three sentences alone revealed a breadth of spirit and grandeur far exceeding anyone who had come before him.

Li Zhan’s expression shifted slightly. Only after completing these actions did Li Xuan turn back to the desk, pick up his wolf-hair brush, and saturate it with thick ink.

He held the brush with a suspended wrist, and an invisible, majestic aura emanated from him. He was no longer the dissolute Crown Prince; he was like a peerless master about to command the world.

He did not write a poem. He wrote a *ci* (lyric). As he wrote, he chanted in a low voice that gradually grew resonant and high, carrying a unique rhythm, as if he were not merely composing, but chronicling a grand, sweeping epic of heaven and earth.

"The Great River flows east, waves wash away the heroes of eternity."

The moment the first line fell, the entire crowd was stunned! What kind of verse was this? The opening established such a vast, desolate mood, pulling the long river of history right before their eyes! The learned scholars widened their eyes, for they realized this form—a combination of varying line lengths—was something they had never heard of before!

Li Xuan’s brush danced like a dragon or a snake, his chanting growing increasingly impassioned.

"West of the ancient ramparts, it is said, is where the Martial Emperor crushed the barbarians."

He utilized an allusion to the dynasty's founding emperor, drawing it forth with effortless ease.

"Jagged rocks pierce the sky, startled waves beat the shore, rolling up a thousand mounds of snow. The landscape is like a painting; how many heroes there were in that era!"

As he reached this point, his brush paused, and an heroic spirit surged to the heavens! The very breath of everyone present seemed to be stolen by these lines. The imagery, the sheer presence—it was as if they were witnessing it themselves, their blood boiling!

Beads of cold sweat appeared on Li Zhan’s forehead. The poem he had been so proud of now seemed like a child’s doodle in comparison—stiff, artificial, and devoid of soul.

Li Xuan did not stop. He looked toward the distant Imperial City, a complex light flashing in his eyes, his tone turning distant and ethereal.

"Thinking back to the Martial Emperor in those days, when the Holy Empress was first wed, he was heroic and vibrant. With a feather fan and silk kerchief, in the midst of conversation and laughter, the enemy fleet was turned to ashes and smoke!"

He invoked another allusion, painting the image of the ancestors—who excelled in both letters and arms—with vivid detail. That ease and power, "turning the enemy fleet to ashes in the midst of laughter," was something countless people yearned for!

Xiao Ningshuang stared at him, her beautiful eyes shimmering with brilliance. It felt as if she were not looking at Li Xuan, but at a great man who had traversed time to hold a dialogue with the heroes of old.

As the second half of the lyrics began, Li Xuan’s tone shifted again, carrying a trace of self-mockery and detachment.

"Traveling through the ancient realm in my mind, the sentimental should laugh at me for having gray hair so early. Life is but a dream; let me offer this cup to the moon on the river."

"Life is but a dream!"

These four words struck every heart like the tolling of a great bell! Especially for the Emperor, Li Chengye, who sat on the Dragon Throne. He looked at his son, his eyes filled with unprecedented shock and suspicion. How could such world-weary detachment and broad-mindedness come from the lips of a youth not yet twenty? What kind of experience, what kind of heart did it require?

Li Xuan wrote the final character and gave his brush a heavy, decisive flick! The entire piece was completed in one breath!

*Nian Nu Jiao: Reflections on the Past*

*The Great River flows east, waves wash away the heroes of eternity.*
*West of the ancient ramparts, it is said, is where the Martial Emperor crushed the barbarians.*
*Jagged rocks pierce the sky, startled waves beat the shore, rolling up a thousand mounds of snow.*
*The landscape is like a painting; how many heroes there were in that era.*
*Thinking back to the Martial Emperor in those days, when the Holy Empress was first wed, he was heroic and vibrant.*
*With a feather fan and silk kerchief, in the midst of conversation and laughter, the enemy fleet was turned to ashes and smoke.*
*Traveling through the ancient realm in my mind, the sentimental should laugh at me for having gray hair so early.*
*Life is but a dream; let me offer this cup to the moon on the river.*

The entire venue was deathly silent. One could hear a pin drop. Everyone was so shaken by this lyric that their souls seemed to have flown away and their hearts shattered. They felt as if they had seen a surging river of history, seen countless heroes shining and then fading within it, seen the magnificence of the mountains and rivers and the brevity of human life. The artistic conception of this work had completely transcended the scope of "family and state" or "the world," reaching a philosophical height that overlooked the past and present, engaging with the very spirit of heaven and earth!

"This... is this a *ci*?" An elderly Hanlin scholar with white hair stood up, his voice trembling. "I have exhausted my life in study, yet I have never seen such a literary form! It is the start of a new era! This is the start of a new era!"

"A divine work! This is a divine work!" Another grand scholar wept with excitement. "'The landscape is like a painting; how many heroes there were in that era'—what spirit! 'Life is but a dream; let me offer this cup to the moon on the river'—what breadth of mind! I... I bow in admiration!" As he spoke, he actually made a deep, respectful bow toward Li Xuan.

Li Zhan’s face was pale as paper, his body swaying. He had lost. He had lost even more miserably than Shangguan Wan'er. He had not only lost a contest; his title as the "First Talent of the Capital" and the "gentle, refined" image he had painstakingly cultivated were ground into dust before Li Xuan’s earth-shattering work. He felt like a joke—a gargantuan joke.

"Pfft—"

A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips, staining the front of his robes. He had been so enraged that he vomited blood on the spot, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.

"The Second Prince!"
"Call the imperial physician, quickly!"

A chaotic commotion broke out.

Xiao Ningshuang, however, only stared blankly at the man standing with brush in hand, as steady as a mountain. Her heart was in turmoil; the iceberg named "hatred" had been shattered, melted, and evaporated into nothingness by those impassioned tones, that radiant smile, and this earth-shaking lyric. What remained was only awe, shock, and a seed of something she had yet to recognize—a sentiment called "falling in love"—sprouting wildly within her.

On the Dragon Throne, Li Chengye slowly rose from his seat. He stepped down the stairs, passed through the crowd, and personally picked up the piece of paper with the ink still wet. He looked at the calligraphy and felt the ancient, heroic passion emanating from the lines. After a long time, he turned around and looked at Li Xuan with an incredibly complex gaze.

"Did you compose this?"

His voice carried a trace of imperial authority, and a hint of a father’s... exploration.