nashuaworldcup Chapter 512 Poetry Battle!
Chapter 512 Poetry Battle!
"What a beautiful poem! What a wonderful poem!"
"What kind of poem is this? I've never heard of it before!"
"Moonlight shines before my bed, I wonder if it's frost on the ground... Heavens, how can such a poem exist in this world?"
"Who is this young master? His talent is simply astonishing!"
Zhao Qingyun's face went from ashen to deathly pale, and then from deathly pale to ashen.
He gritted his teeth, his cheeks puffed out, and his teeth made a grinding sound.
He turned around abruptly to face Qin Mu, his voice hoarse and urgent.
"This poem...I have never heard of it before. May I ask where you obtained it, sir?"
Qin Mu looked at him, the smile on his lips deepening. "From the heart."
Zhao Qingyun's expression turned even uglier.
Of course he didn't believe it.
He had studied for twenty years and read extensively, but he had never seen this poem before.
If such a stunning masterpiece truly had a source, he couldn't possibly be unaware of it.
The only possibility is that the person in front of me spontaneously composed this poem in just a few breaths.
He didn't believe it.
He couldn't believe it.
He couldn't believe it.
"Young master, you possess remarkable talent." Zhao Qingyun's voice was hoarse, carrying an barely suppressed jealousy and resentment. "I have another request."
Qin Mu raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
Zhao Qingyun took a deep breath and gradually suppressed his surging anger.
A glint of light flashed in his eyes, and a cold smile slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.
"I would like to ask you to compose another poem, on the theme of 'wine'."
His voice was so loud that it could be heard throughout the entire hall.
His eyes were full of calculation—the poem "Quiet Night Thoughts" he had just heard was stunning, but it might not have been composed by the man in front of him on the spot; he might have heard it elsewhere.
If he were to compose another poem, even the slightest flaw would give him leverage to turn the tide.
The people in the audience started whispering again.
"Is Young Master Zhao testing me?"
"Write another one? That's way too difficult!"
"Exactly! That poem was already breathtaking; how could you possibly write another one?"
Qin Mu smiled slightly as he looked at Zhao Qingyun's calculating expression.
He leaned against the railing, one hand supporting his chin, his posture as languid as a satiated cat.
"Okay. Let's use wine as the theme."
His gaze fell on the pot of Shaoxing wine on the table, and the smile on his lips deepened.
His lips parted slightly, and his voice was very soft, as soft as a petal falling on the water, gently swirling in a circle.
"Have you not seen the Yellow River's waters come from the sky, rushing to the sea never to return? Have you not seen the bright mirror in the high hall reflecting white hair, like black silk in the morning turning to snow by evening? When life is good, enjoy it to the fullest; don't let the golden goblet stand empty before the moon. Heaven has endowed me with talents, which will surely be put to use; even if a thousand pieces of gold are spent, they will return."
The lobby fell into a deathly silence once again.
This silence was deeper, heavier, and more suffocating than before.
Like the sky before a storm, the dark clouds hung low, almost touching the ground.
The air seemed to freeze, making even breathing difficult.
Everyone was listening, digesting, and using all their strength to understand this poem that had fallen from the sky.
The waters of the Yellow River flow down from the sky, rushing to the sea, never to return.
That bright mirror in the high hall, its surface as black as silk in the morning, turns to white as snow by evening.
When life is good, enjoy it to the fullest; don't let the golden goblet stand empty before the moon.
I was born with talents that will surely be put to use; though I spend all my money, it will come back again.
Every word was like a hammer, striking hard into everyone's heart.
They were smashed until their souls were shattered, their livers and gallbladders were torn apart, and they were rendered speechless.
Some people shed tears, some slumped into their chairs, and some dropped their wine glasses with a crash, scattering shards of porcelain everywhere, completely unaware of what was happening.
Some covered their mouths, some stared wide-eyed, some knelt down, and some sighed to the heavens.
Zhao Qingyun's face was ashen, and his lips were completely bloodless.
His legs were going weak, his knees were trembling, and his hands were shaking violently.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but it felt like something was blocking his throat, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
He lost.
They lost completely, utterly and utterly, leaving no room for recovery.
He had studied for twenty years and thought himself exceptionally talented, believing himself to be unmatched in the world.
But at this moment, listening to this poem that seemed to have fallen from the sky, he suddenly felt that all the books he had read in the past twenty years had gone to waste.
His eyes reddened, and tears welled up in them, but he held them back tightly.
He couldn't cry. He couldn't cry in front of so many people. He couldn't let these people see him in this wretched, humble, and pitiful state.
He turned around abruptly and rushed downstairs without looking back.
His henchmen were stunned for a moment, then quickly followed.
The footsteps gradually faded away, disappearing into the night outside the door.
Nobody saw him, nobody cared about him.
All eyes were on Qin Mu, on that moon-white, languid, and composed figure.
The old woman's tears were streaming down her face. She had long since lost the fan in her hand. She just stood there, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
"Young master... young master... you... you..."
She couldn't continue, because she didn't know what to say.
She had lived for over fifty years, met countless literati and poets, and heard countless poems and songs, but she had never heard such a poem, nor had she ever met such a person.
The people below the stage finally realized what was happening, and like a flood bursting its banks, like an erupting volcano, like a powder keg being lit, the entire hall instantly erupted into chaos.
"My God! This poem...this poem..."
"The Yellow River's waters come from the sky! They rush to the sea, never to return! Is this a poem that a human could write?"
"Everyone has their own unique talents! Even if I spend all my money, it will come back again! Just who is this young master?"
"If this poem were to spread, the entire literary world would be shaken!"
Qin Mu leaned against the railing, a smile still playing on his lips, revealing no emotion.
He seemed to have done something completely ordinary, like drinking a cup of tea or eating a bowl of rice, nothing to make a fuss about.
Jiang Zhaoyue stood behind him, her eyes filled with shock and admiration.
She knew His Majesty was very strong, strong enough to overturn mountains and seas, strong enough to crush everything.
But she never knew that His Majesty could write poetry, and that he could write such shocking and unconventional poems.
Her eyes stung, and a complex mix of emotions welled up inside her.
Xu Fenghua stood in the corner, watching Qin Mu's back, her heart churning like a pot of boiling oil.
How much more does this man still know that she doesn't know?
He could kill, fight, govern, manipulate people, write poetry, and… She dared not think any further.
Yunluan placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, her gaze still sharp as a blade, sweeping across every corner.
But the corners of her mouth turned up slightly for a moment.
The upward curve was very light, very faint, as faint as frost on a knife's edge, but she did smile.
The old woman finally calmed down, wiped away her tears with her sleeve, and spoke in a hoarse but excited voice.
"Young master, you...you are tonight's courtesan! Miss Su...Miss Su will definitely see you!"
Qin Mu smiled but didn't say anything.
His gaze fell on the tightly closed screen, a hint of anticipation flashing in his eyes.
The screen was slowly moved aside.
A woman emerged from behind the screen.
She wore a moon-white dress with a few pale blue orchids embroidered on the hem, and a matching ribbon tied around her waist.
Her long hair was styled into a flying fairy bun, with a jade hairpin inserted in her hair, and the tassels hanging down gently swaying by her cheek.
Her face was lightly made up, her eyebrows were like distant mountains, her eyes were like autumn water, her nose was high and straight, her lips were light in color, and her cheeks were flushed with a light blush, like the morning glow falling on the snow.
She walked to the center of the platform, stopped, raised her head, and her gaze fell on the moon-white figure by the second-floor railing.
A hint of amazement flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper smile.
Her lips curled up slightly, revealing a faint smile, a smile that was neither too deep nor too shallow, just right.
"Young master, you are truly talented. I am Su Wan'er, and I greet you."
She gave a slight curtsy, her posture dignified, like a flower blooming in the dust, untouched by it.
Qin Mu looked at her, and the smile on his lips deepened.
He nodded.
"Miss Su, you're too kind."
Su Wan'er straightened up, her gaze falling on his face, her voice soft, like a petal falling on the water.
"I have never heard of those two poems you just recited, sir. May I ask if they have any titles?"
Qin Mu smiled. "The first poem is called 'Thoughts on a Quiet Night,' and the second is called 'Drinking Alone Under the Moon.'"
Su Wan'er's eyes flickered, like a stone hitting the surface of a lake in deep winter, creating a circle of tiny, fleeting ripples.
"Quiet Night Thoughts, Wine Cup Under the Moon. Good names, good poems."
She paused, her voice becoming even softer, almost as if she were talking to herself.
"Young master...would you be so kind as to compose another poem?"
The audience erupted in uproar.
"Still need to do it? Is Miss Su testing me?"
"This young master has already composed two astonishing poems; how could he possibly compose another?"
"Exactly, Miss Su, aren't you making things difficult for her?"
Qin Mu neither refused nor agreed.
He simply leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on Su Wan'er's face for a long time.
"What would you like to hear, Miss Su?"
Su Wan'er's lips curled up slightly, and a sly glint flashed in her eyes.
"I wish to hear... flowers."
Qin Mu smiled. "Flowers?"
Su Wan'er nodded. "Flowers. Spring flowers, summer flowers, autumn flowers, winter flowers. Any kind of flower will do."
Qin Mu remained silent for a moment.
His gaze fell on the deep night outside the window, and on the cold, bright moon.
Countless images flashed through his mind—peach blossoms in spring, lotus flowers in summer, chrysanthemums in autumn, and plum blossoms in winter.
Every flower blooms in his heart, and every flower blossoms under his pen.
His lips parted slightly, and his voice was very soft, as soft as a petal falling on the water, gently swirling in a circle.
"The clouds remind me of her clothes, the flowers of her face; the spring breeze caresses the balustrade, the dew is heavy. If not seen atop Mount Qunyu, she will be met beneath the moon on the Jade Terrace."
The lobby fell into a deathly silence once again.
This silence was deeper, heavier, and more suffocating than the previous two.
Everyone was stunned, as if they had been hit on the back of the head with a stick.
Yun Xiang's clothes are so beautiful.
The spring breeze is blowing on the threshold of Revlon.
If it weren't for Qunyu Shantou, we would meet at Yaotai.
Is this a poem about flowers?
This is a poem about fairies!
This is a poem about a celestial being!
Su Wan'er's eyes reddened.
She stood there, motionless, like a stone statue that had been immobilized.
Her lips trembled violently as she tried to say something, but something seemed to be blocking her throat, and she couldn't squeeze out a single word.
She remembered her own background.
She was sold into a brothel when she was young and has never seen her parents since she can remember.
She learned music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and how to please men, and how to survive in this cannibalistic world.
She thought that this was how her life would be, that no one would ever understand her, and that no one would ever describe her with such poetic verses.
Yun Xiang's clothes are so beautiful.
The spring breeze is blowing on the threshold of Revlon.
If it weren't for Qunyu Shantou, we would meet at Yaotai.
Her tears finally fell, silently streaming down her pale cheeks.
She didn't wipe it away; she just stood there, letting the tears flow.
The audience fell silent.
No one spoke, no one cheered, no one applauded.
They simply stood there quietly, watching the courtesan weeping and the young man leaning against the railing with a faint smile on his lips.
At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
All the noise stopped, all the hustle and bustle dissipated, leaving only that poem, lingering in the deep night.
Yun Xiang's clothes are so beautiful.
The spring breeze is blowing on the threshold of Revlon.
If it weren't for Qunyu Shantou, we would meet at Yaotai.
Qin Mu leaned against the railing, watching Su Wan'er's tears, a smile still lingering on his lips.
He didn't speak, offered no comfort, and didn't say "Don't cry."
He just stood there quietly, like a silent mountain, like a tree that wouldn't move.
A long time passed, so long that the candlelight dimmed and the moonlight outside the window shifted an inch, before Su Wan'er's tears finally stopped.
She looked up at Qin Mu, a slow smile creeping onto her lips.
The smile was light and faint, yet it carried an indescribable tenderness.
"Young master, please follow me."
She turned around and walked behind the screen.
The moon-white dress trailed on the ground, making a soft rustling sound, like a cloud being blown by the wind.
Qin Mu smiled, straightened up, adjusted his robes, and walked downstairs.
Jiang Zhaoyue followed behind him, and Xu Fenghua hesitated for a moment before following as well.
Yunluan walked at the very back, her hand on the hilt of her sword, her gaze sharp as a knife.
The old woman stood by the platform, watching Qin Mu's retreating figure, tears still streaming down her face.
She wiped her face with her sleeve, her voice hoarse.
"This young master...this young master...is truly...truly..."
She couldn't continue, because she didn't know what to say.
She had lived for over fifty years and had never seen such a person or heard such poetry.
Qin Mu followed Su Wan'er through the screen, along a quiet corridor, and arrived at an elegant side room.
Su Wan'er pushed open the door, stepped aside, lowered her head, and placed her hands folded in front of her, her posture respectful.
"Young master, please come in."
Qin Mu stepped inside.
The room was small, but it was decorated very elegantly.
The rosewood bed was covered with brocade bedding, and a half-read book of poems lay beside the pillow.
A bronze mirror and a dressing case were placed on the dressing table by the window, and the hair on the comb had not yet been cleaned.
Sandalwood incense burned in the incense burner in the corner, its smoke curling upwards, creating a serene atmosphere.
On the table sat a celadon vase, in which a few sprigs of wintersweet were inserted, their pink and white petals gleaming warmly in the candlelight.
Qin Mu looked around and nodded. "Not bad."
Su Wan'er closed the door, walked to him, and slowly knelt down.
Her knees touched the cold gold bricks, her forehead touched the ground, and her long hair slipped from her shoulders, spreading out on the ground like a blooming flower.
Her voice was very soft, as soft as a withered leaf falling from a branch, without even making a sound when it hit the ground.
"Young master, you are very talented, and I admire you greatly. Tonight, I wish to serve you by your side, asking for no title or reward, only that you... remember me."
Qin Mu looked down at her, at the kneeling figure, at the long, black hair spread out on the ground, and at the slightly trembling shoulders.
He didn't speak, didn't help her up, and didn't say anything unnecessary.
He simply reached out and gently patted her head.
The movement was very light and gentle, like soothing a frightened cat.
Get up.
Su Wan'er raised her head, her eyes filled with confusion and bewilderment.
She didn't know what Qin Mu meant, whether he was unwilling or disgusted by her.
Qin Mu looked at her, and the smile on his lips deepened.
"I don't lack women. What I lack are people who can drink, chat, and watch the moon with me."
He paused, walked to the window, and opened it.
A night breeze swept in, carrying the chill of early winter, and ruffled the stray hairs at his temples.
"Get up and have a drink with me."
Su Wan'er's tears welled up again.
She stood up, walked to the table, picked up the wine jug, and poured two glasses of wine.
She held the wine glass in both hands and handed it to Qin Mu.
Qin Mu took the wine glass, took a small sip, and gazed at the deep night outside the window.