Since Mid-Autumn night when Xiao Chan revealed Water Melody Prelude, Ning Yi had been holed up at home these past few days reading books and pretending to be sick, playing Five-in-a-Row with Xiao Chan when bored—today was his first day out. In the morning he taught at the academy, in the afternoon picked up the whiteboard he'd had painted white, then bought some charcoal sticks, and coming this way, both Old Qin and Kang Xian happened to be here.

Regarding poetry and such things, if they could be used then use them—Ning Yi had no psychological barriers about it, as these poems he knew were quite good strategic resources in the present. If he ever got restless and wanted to do something in the future, bringing them out for publicity and adding some fame would be very useful, but bringing them out now just to satisfy some vanity truly had no meaning.

Talented scholars of this era spoke and acted citing classics, and if one truly wanted to gain fame, they'd inevitably be tested by others. For such quick wit, even memorizing all Tang and Song poetry would be useless—now if works like the Analects or The Great Learning were placed before him, he could explain them in vernacular and even offer many new insights, but he certainly lacked talent in other areas. Throwing out poems was perhaps too early, but since it had already happened, given his personality, he'd just accept it indifferently—to him, this wasn't a big problem. Taking unconventional or conventional paths—solutions varied infinitely, and two days ago Old Master Su and Su Boyong had called him and Su Tan'er over for questioning. He casually made up some nonsense, saying the poem wasn't written by him, who knew by some twist of fate... and Old Master Su looked at him for a long time, then just smiled: "Since it's come to this, we must keep it secret to outsiders..." The old man was very shrewd—whether he believed it or not was another matter. But if he truly were some great talent, the Su family's position would actually be awkward, and everyone was currently guessing back and forth.

Being a talented scholar wasn't as comfortable as being a live-in son-in-law now—no need to do much, no responsibilities, people had no great expectations of you, therefore no pressure, and Old Master Su still looked after him. Only an idiot would want to escape this life—after finally relaxing for several months, before any major events, he was determined to stubbornly maintain this live-in son-in-law identity. Thinking this in his heart, he found it amusing himself, though if he told others, probably even Xiao Chan wouldn't believe him.

Within these few days, there were certainly rumors outside, and he could roughly guess what they were like. But when Xiao Chan told him about the Zhishui Poetry Gathering, he was startled by Kang Xian's name, ultimately laughing despite himself—he'd known before that this old man wasn't simple, just hadn't expected such a big reputation.

After resting the days he should rest, he temporarily put the matter behind him, returning to normal life, but this morning while teaching, someone found him at Yushan Academy—it was that Yu Zixing who'd been lectured by Old Kang, along with several other scholars, actually coming to apologize.

In a sense, being lectured like that by Kang Xian at the poetry gathering had actually damaged seventy to eighty percent of Yu Zixing's scholarly reputation—truly an undeserved catastrophe, but Kang Xian still cherished his talent. When leaving, he'd spoken with him alone, earnestly teaching him, and now he came to apologize. Once word spread, it could somewhat achieve him a good reputation, as bearing thorns to apologize¹and correcting mistakes when aware—these could count as types of good reputation.

Since the other side came with purpose, Ning Yi cooperated slightly, performing a scene of mutual appreciation. As for invitations to attend scholar gatherings at some boat pavilion tonight, he naturally declined offhand, then bid farewell to those talented scholars and went to get the painted whiteboard.

"Zixing's character is actually quite good—though his talent isn't top tier, it's still excellent," Kang Xian said smiling. "It's just that your Water Melody Prelude was written too well. Once this poem emerged, I fear for the next few years at Qinhuai Mid-Autumn, no one will dare compose moon-praising poems again. Truly unexpected that you, an unlearned boy, actually have such poetic talent."

"I've said I don't understand poetry," Ning Yi said, sipping his tea. "When young, a wandering Taoist in tattered clothes passed by my door and recited this poem, so I remembered it—that's all..."

He'd told Old Master Su the same thing, and at this moment Old Qin laughed heartily: "This explanation—I fear even a three-year-old wouldn't believe it."

Kang Xian also said: "This person is just too lazy, needs beating into shape... But a talented scholar's reputation seems quite useful. That woman just now had excellent appearance and bearing, yet walked with you all the way, chatting happily. If you could achieve a marriage, haha, boy, you should properly thank this old man..."

With Ning Yi's live-in son-in-law status, wanting to pursue another woman really wasn't simple—Kang Xian was just teasing and joking. When Ning Yi explained about saving someone before Mid-Autumn Festival, they finally understood the whole story, and by now the two had finished a game. The three sat aside resting as Old Qin picked up his teacup, nodding, but became interested in other matters: "Writing? So you want to use charcoal sticks to write on this whiteboard for the academy?"

"Mm, sand tables can write too few characters at once and are really troublesome to use. Ultimately not as convenient and direct as writing like this."

Regarding teaching, classes now all used sand tables for writing, and often after writing one character, the sand table had to be smoothed. Teachers merely demonstrated character writing methods to students, and with most knowledge taught orally, students had to concentrate when teachers spoke. After teachers finished, they still had to work hard to record lectures based on their own understanding. If students weren't particularly smart or particularly conscientious, keeping up with teaching progress was actually quite difficult.

Of course, to people like Old Qin and Old Kang, this teaching method had continued for over a thousand years, so naturally they felt nothing improper—learning was for superior people. To become superior, how could one not endure hardship—this itself was a kind of test. Old Qin picked up a charcoal stick and drew on the whiteboard, then frowned.

"Sand tables are soft—writing on them with twigs uses the same techniques as brushes. But charcoal is very difficult to write with, and this change, I fear, is improper."

Just now Nie Yunzhu only noticed how the characters looked, but naturally Old Qin saw things from a different angle. After just two strokes, he raised objections. A teacher not using brush techniques to write in class—this matter could be big or small, and then Old Kang also came to try, frowning: "This matter requires caution." If Ning Yi were his disciple, he might have already scolded him, sternly pointing out this matter's seriousness with a wake-up call.

Ning Yi naturally understood their concerns and at this moment smiled, squatting down to take a charcoal stick: "The problem isn't big. Writing cultivates temperament, and besides, these character forms actually share some commonalities with brush characters. If used merely for recording, there's no harm being more relaxed—consider it... another angle."

After saying this, he reached out to write on it: "Red crisp hands, yellow vine wine, two orioles sing in green willows." This line was in regular script style, then changed to clerical script: "Beyond the long pavilion, by the ancient road, a line of white egrets rises to blue sky."

After writing these two lines, the script changed to Song typeface²: "The three peaks half below the blue sky seem to fall."

Song typeface hadn't appeared yet, and Old Qin and Old Kang exchanged glances, but to explain this kind of problem, methods with more impact were better—when Ning Yi previously talked business and promoted products, he always liked methods hiding sufficient impact within plainness. The next line turned to beautiful, elegant slender gold style³: "Like a white egret, in two divided, mid-stream sprawls⁴."

Next came cursive script: "Northwest has a beauty, hanging from the southeast branch."

Then italic bold: "Wanting to exhaust thousand-li views, hanging from the southeast branch⁵."

The whiteboard was only so big, and after writing this, he put away the charcoal stick: "How is it?" Old Qin and Old Kang had already started laughing and scolding.

"The characters are passable, but the poetry is truly nonsense..."

"Insulting culture, how vexing..."

"Your personality is truly too lazy. Hehe, what kind of poems are these..."

Though saying such words, their gazes never left that white board, occasionally reciting aloud and commenting.

"Northwest has a beauty... truly unlearned—it's clearly 'North has a beauty, peerless and independent.' This song comes from the Book of Han⁶, then connecting 'hanging from the southeast branch'—hehe, do you think northwest rhymes with southeast?"

"Old Kang is truly wise."

"If you were my disciple, I'd have someone beat you with sticks. Even casual doodling affects ancient masterworks. 'Wanting to exhaust thousand-li views,' still 'hanging from the southeast branch'—aren't you afraid Wang Zhihuan⁷will become a vengeful ghost to settle accounts with you! Every line 'hanging from the southeast branch'—that 'Southeast the Peacock Flies'⁸is also unlucky—what did that southeast branch ever do to you?"

"Haha, I just suddenly felt one day that piecing together poems like this might have a different flavor. Doesn't Old Kang think so? Northwest has a beauty, hanging from the southeast branch. Raising head to gaze at bright moon, hanging from the southeast branch. Empty mountain sees no people, hanging from the southeast branch. Ancient sages all were lonely, only hanging from the southeast branch. Since ancient times who hasn't died, better to hang from the southeast branch..."

Old Kang shook his head: "Matters involving ancient sages must be rigorous." In his words were some amusement but also some warning, while on the other side, Old Qin was looking at other things, saying at this moment: "When will the moon be round..." and Old Kang continued: "Probably also must hang from the southeast branch..." He laughed as he said it, then Old Qin took a charcoal stick pointing at the first few lines: "Also pieced together, but I don't know the sources—must be Liheng's old works. Hehe, red crisp hands, yellow vine wine... the continuation isn't good. These 'two orioles sing in green willows,' 'a line of white egrets rises to blue sky' should be one line... And 'The three peaks half below the blue sky seem to fall,' 'Like a white egret, in two divided, mid-stream sprawls'... such good imagery. Should be another poem..."

He circled these lines with the charcoal stick, isolating "Red crisp hands, yellow vine wine" and "Beyond the long pavilion, by the ancient road." Looking briefly, he drew a line in the middle, probably feeling these two lines shouldn't be from one poem either, and Kang Xian also nodded: "Should be two poems." Then looked at Ning Yi, who was somewhat impressed. If it were him seeing these twelve characters in this situation, he might think they were lines from one poem. After all, they were quite orderly, and poems were generally long, enough for such transitions. These twelve characters weren't easy to separate, but these two before him, relying merely on intuition, had divided them.

"So these should be four poems—I wonder if there are complete poems, or just occasionally obtained fragments?" Old Qin looked toward Ning Yi, asking.

(End of Chapter)