Cultivating Immortality, Starting from Childhood Sweethearts

At the banquet, the literary contest between both sides was already leaning towards one-sided dominance. However, seated at the head of the table, Xiao Mochi still appeared calm and composed.

The old gentleman from Qi State, named Fang Jingchun, had the distinct feeling that he was being used. It seemed as though the other party had set up a trap, and he had unwittingly walked right into it. Yet what exactly this trap was, Fang Jingchun couldn't figure out, let alone discern its purpose.

"Matching verses using others' poetry will always lack originality and significance," Xiao Mochi said, just as the atmosphere at the banquet grew increasingly lively. "How about this instead? Today is an excellent occasion—why don't we create some poems of our own? If we produce a masterpiece worthy of being passed down through the ages, tonight's banquet will truly become a cherished story. But I do have one requirement."

As he spoke, Xiao Mochi clapped his hands. A few maids stepped forward, placing wooden plaques, brushes, and ink in front of each person.

"My requirement," Xiao Mochi continued with a smile, "is that the poem must include the name of someone from the opposing side." He gestured to the wooden plaques. "Please write your own names on these plaques so that everyone may compose accordingly."

"Interesting," Fang Jingchun said with a chuckle, stroking his beard. "If that's the case, I'll go first."

Fang Jingchun took the lead and wrote his name on the wooden plaque. Although he still didn't understand Xiao Mochi's intentions, he couldn't imagine that any real harm could come to them.

Qi State and Wu State didn't exactly have a close relationship, but for now, they were allies. Under such circumstances, it was Wu State that would be most worried about their safety, and it was Wu State that would want to ensure their protection the most.

He was determined to see what kind of trick Xiao Mochi could possibly play.

Seeing Fang Jingchun take the lead, the others naturally had no objections and followed suit, writing down their names.

"To create poetry using the names of others."

This rule was, in fact, very clever. By doing this, even if one side crafted something remarkable, since it featured the opponent's name, it would also, in a way, help elevate the opponent's reputation—a mutually beneficial outcome.

Thus, regardless of who performed better, there would be no awkwardness or risk of someone becoming too humiliated by an obvious disparity.

Though it was just a small rule, many people had already begun to look at this scholar named Xiao Mochi with newfound respect. A small detail revealed his brilliance—Xiao Mochi, a product of the prestigious White Deer Academy, was truly exceptional.

It was worth remembering that the Emperor himself had once tried to invite Xiao Mochi to Qi State.

On the other side of the banquet, Xu Xiaopang quietly wrote his name down, his hand still trembling.

During the earlier poetry relay, Xu Xiaopang had stumbled several times due to nerves, often failing to recall a line of poetry. Each time, it was Xu Ming who discreetly whispered reminders to him. Otherwise, Xiaopang would have been forced to drink on several occasions.

In truth, it was no small feat for Xu Ming either.

The poetry in this world was unfamiliar to him, and the verses he remembered from the "Blue Planet" couldn't be used in this setting. So Xu Ming had to search his mind for verses he had learned over the past few years in the academy.

Fortunately, over these years, Xu Ming had read extensively to improve various skills and attributes.

Once everyone had finished writing their names, they placed the wooden plaques upright in front of them.

"Who would like to begin?" Xiao Mochi swept his gaze across the room. "When I studied at the White Deer Academy, I was fortunate enough to receive three of my teacher's calligraphy paintings. If you don't mind, I would like to offer them as rewards."

Hearing Xiao Mochi's words, the already enthusiastic crowd became even more eager. Everyone knew who Xiao Mochi's teacher was during his time at the White Deer Academy—that master's calligraphy and paintings were famous across the world and priceless.

For other cultivators, such works were little more than collectibles. However, for scholars, the calligraphy and paintings of that master provided significant support in their studies, making them invaluable treasures for cultivation.

"In that case, I will humbly make the first attempt, though it may be unworthy," said a Qi envoy named Wang Huan, standing up and bowing respectfully to Xiao Mochi.

"Please," Xiao Mochi gestured politely.

Wang Huan stood, glanced at the names on the wooden plaques in front of the Wu delegation, and selected one. After a brief pause, he recited his poem:

"Past years' stories drift with the wind,

New lotuses at Southport bloom in sunlight.

Frost paints the forest, red leaves fall,

Moonlight on clear streams brings white dew tonight.

Where do wild geese above the clouds return?

Autumn's beauty at the horizon fills my sight.

A song of joy—who shares my drunken tune?

Endless longing carved into poems I write."

"Excellent!"

As Wang Huan finished, a wave of applause erupted across the banquet.

Many from the Wu delegation turned to look at a man named Chen Nanshuang, who smiled helplessly, stood up, and bowed toward Wang Huan. "Your talent is admirable, Brother Wang. I am in awe."

"You flatter me," Wang Huan replied humbly.

"Nanshuang, since Brother Wang has written a poem for you, shouldn't you return the favor?" Xiao Mochi said with a playful smile.

Chen Nanshuang closed his eyes for a moment in contemplation. After gathering his thoughts, he slowly began:

"The Wang family's grace flows from heaven's hand,

Songs and laughter fill the joyful halls.

Mountains and rivers stretch, woven grand,

Sun and moon shine bright across the vast skies' walls.

Jade trees and crystal towers—immortal land,

Golden goblets of fine wine, the heart enthralls.

Life's pleasures come; rejoice while you can,

Do not waste such moments when beauty calls."

"Wonderful!"

As Chen Nanshuang's words fell, cheers resounded from the Wu delegation.

Seated at the head, Fang Jingchun nodded in approval, already developing a measure of appreciation for the young man named Chen Nanshuang.

However, while Chen Nanshuang was clearly talented, Wang Huan's poem had the upper hand.

The first poem focused more on emotional expression and imagery, evoking a deep and tranquil atmosphere. In contrast, the second poem emphasized a clear theme and lively emotions, creating a grand and celebratory tone.

That said, the difficulty differed as well—"Chen Nanshuang" was certainly a more challenging name to work into a poem compared to "Wang Huan." Even so, the first poem excelled in structure, word choice, and phrasing. In particular, Wang Huan's closing couplet—"A song of joy—who shares my drunken tune? Endless longing carved into poems I write"—beautifully combined music and poetic sentiment. Who could join him in drunken joy? His unending longing could only be expressed through verse.

"Thank you, Brother Chen, for your poem," Wang Huan said with a bow.

Following this poetic exchange, the atmosphere between Qi and Wu improved noticeably, though it was clear that the Wu side still felt a little unsettled. After all, anyone could see that the Wu delegation had lost this round.

As the two sat down, conversation and laughter resumed, and several more people stood up to compose poems. However, the Wu delegation continued to fall slightly short each time.

"Strange, very strange," Fang Jingchun thought.

While the atmosphere at the banquet grew increasingly harmonious, Fang Jingchun felt a growing unease. The Wu literary scene might not be exceptional, but it was still one of the top ten human dynasties.

Moreover, several scholars from Wu had already made names for themselves in Qi. How could it be possible that not a single one could outperform someone from Qi State?

"You adults are certainly enjoying yourselves with poetry," Xiao Mochi said with a smile. "But aren't there a few younger participants here as well? What's the matter—are you going to let them sit there eating all evening?"

Fang Jingchun understood Xiao Mochi's intent and chuckled. It just so happened that he shared the same idea. "Since you've brought it up, Mochi, then Zhong He—why don't you give it a try? The bar isn't high. Just don't let others mock us."

The young man, exuding an aura of arrogance and disdain for all others—someone who seemed to shout, "I alone am worthy; everyone else is trash"—stood up and said, "Then allow me, Zhong He, to humbly present my work."

Zhong He glanced toward the son of the Minister of Rites and smirked slightly, the kind of smirk that immediately reminded Xu Ming of the phrase "crooked-mouth dragon king."

Zhong He stepped out of his seat, hands clasped behind his back, pacing through the center of the banquet hall as if every candlelight in the room was focused solely on him. Then he began his recitation:

"Through seas I wander, my spirit soars,

With streams and mountains, I roam far and wide.

Beneath the moon, clear breezes caress my face,

Among the blossoms, fine wine delights my pride.

Clouds curl around distant green peaks,

Mist lingers where the rivers stretch and glide.

Years may pass, but my heart holds no regret,

For only poetry can fill the world, far and wide."

As Zhong He concluded his poem, everyone paused to savor its meaning. Whether from Qi or Wu, the gathered crowd shared a look of admiration, their eyes saying the same thing—"This young man will undoubtedly leave his mark on the literary world."

Fang Jingchun, stroking his beard with satisfaction, felt deeply pleased. This visit to Wu was not simply a diplomatic mission. He had another goal: to take these young scholars and officials on a journey to "read ten thousand books and travel ten thousand miles." More importantly, he sought to build their reputations in other kingdoms.

That reputation, of course, had to be earned through their own talents. Today, Zhong He had not disappointed him.

"Zhou Liu," Xiao Mochi said with a smile, "since he has composed a poem for you, it's only fitting that you respond in kind."

Zhou Liu stood, bowed formally with flawless etiquette, and said, "Indeed, I should."

He glanced at Zhong He's name on the wooden plaque at the empty table, thought for a moment, and began his response:

"The temple bell echoes by ancient walls,

The river flows, reflecting azure skies.

Green trees shade the winding path,

Crimson blooms adorn the mountain rise.

Winds are light, clouds drift with ease,

The stars gleam bright in a moonlit night's guise.

In this tranquil place, I'd seek retreat—

Why wonder when I might return, or why?"

As Zhou Liu finished, the crowd regarded him with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Applause broke out first from the Wu delegation, followed quickly by others.

While Zhou Liu's poem fell slightly short of Zhong He's in terms of depth and imagery, it was nonetheless an impressive effort.

Zhou Liu was one of the leading figures among Wu's younger generation, the youngest juren (provincial scholar). And Zhong He? Wasn't he also a leading figure in Qi? Judging from this exchange, the literary talent of the two nations' rising stars wasn't as far apart as it initially seemed.

Could it be that Wu has produced another Xiao Mochi-like figure?

"Pang Da," Xiao Mochi suddenly called, his voice gentle.

Xu Pangda quickly stood, bowing respectfully. "Sir?"

"As the anshou (top scholar) of Wu's capital examinations, would you compose a poem for Miss Cici?" Xiao Mochi said with a smile.

At Xiao Mochi's words, the entire hall turned to look at Xu Pangda, their gazes filled with concern.

Writing a poem for Zhu Cici wasn't the issue. The problem lay in Zhu Cici herself—a natural "literary prodigy" whose talent might very well surpass even Zhong He's.

If Zhu Cici were to respond with her own poem, a comparison would be inevitable. Xu Pangda's effort, no matter how good, would risk becoming like a firefly's faint glow in the face of the blazing sun.

Once the event was recounted later, people would remember Zhu Cici's brilliance, while Xu Pangda would simply become a background figure—a fleeting mention at best.

Xu Pangda's face betrayed his unease.

It wasn't that he feared being overshadowed or relegated to a mere prop. The truth was, he simply couldn't write anything. For Xu Pangda, poetry had always been his weakest point.

What he excelled at was pianwen (parallel prose), but how could he write a prose piece using her name? Moreover, such a work couldn't possibly be finished in a short time.

Seeing Xu Pangda's obvious struggle, the crowd grew uncomfortable on his behalf.

Xu Ming, sitting to the side, sighed in exasperation. Why did you stand up so quickly the moment Mr. Xiao called your name?

How am I supposed to whisper hints to you now?

"Sir…" Xu Pangda began awkwardly.

At this moment, the scholar named Chen Nanshuang stood up.

"Previously, I visited Master Zhang from Qingshui Academy as a guest. He spoke highly of two promising young friends from the Xu family—one being young Pang Da here, renowned for his talent in pianwen, and the other exceptionally skilled in poetry. I wonder if we might invite this second young friend to join us?"

"Oh?" Fang Jingchun was taken aback. "It's rare for Zhang Lu, that old rascal, to praise anyone. Xiao Mochi, why didn't you invite this young talent to the banquet?"

Xiao Mochi offered a respectful bow and replied, "Sir Fang, due to certain circumstances, he is unable to attend."

"What circumstances? What is his status?" Fang Jingchun asked, puzzled.

Xiao Mochi's face showed a hint of reluctance as he answered, "He is the son of the Xu family's fifth concubine."

"..."

As soon as Xiao Mochi finished speaking, the entire hall fell into silence.

The son of the fifth concubine—a shuzi?

In Qi, a concubine's son might not match a legitimate heir's status but still enjoyed considerable recognition and even had certain inheritance rights.

However, the situation was vastly different in Wu. Here, the status of concubines' children was extremely low, often relegated to the shadows.

"No matter," Fang Jingchun said, shaking his head dismissively. "According to your country's rules, the Sifang Pavilion is considered guest land, and thus we follow the customs of the guest nation. Xiao Mochi, summon the young man here. It won't violate Wu's traditions, and truth be told, I am quite intrigued. If not, this curiosity of mine will leave me restless."

Fang Jingchun wasn't overwhelmingly curious about a mere concubine's son. However, since Xiao Mochi had brought him up, he had to see him.

Otherwise, word might spread that "At the banquet between the two nations, Qi did not secure a full victory because the child praised even by Master Zhang did not appear."

If that happened, the entire event would inadvertently elevate the young boy's reputation, turning Qi into little more than a backdrop for his fame.

"Wait a moment…"

Suddenly, Fang Jingchun's expression froze, his mind racing as if he had pieced something together.

Could it be…?

Surely not. This child—

"Since Master Fang has said as much, it would be impolite of me to refuse," Xiao Mochi said with a faint smile.

Just as Fang Jingchun felt he might have unraveled the underlying scheme, Xiao Mochi turned toward Xu Pangda's direction with a calm yet meaningful gaze.

"Young friend Xu Ming," Xiao Mochi said gently, "please rise."