Chapter 28: A Literary Plagiarist Like Me Should Fear You?
Inside the Golden Throne Hall, the face of Ye Qingliu shifted between shades of green and white, as if he were a walking dye works.
He flicked his sleeves violently, desperate to save face.
"Matching couplets are nothing but word games—mere trifles!"
"True erudition is found in poetry and prose, in the breadth of mind required to govern the world and save the people!"
His words were an open admission that he had been bested; he had essentially flipped the table, demanding to change the rules of the game.
Shameless.
Absolutely fucking shameless.
The officials of the Great Zhou cursed him inwardly, though they maintained stoic expressions on the surface.
Seeing no one dispute him, Ye Qingliu grew bolder. He turned to the side and beckoned to a young man standing behind him.
"Chen En, step forward."
A young man in his early twenties emerged. He was dressed in a moon-white robe and possessed handsome features, though he held his chin so high it bordered on arrogance.
"This is the pride of our Southern Yue, Chen En."
Ye Qingliu’s tone was brimming with self-satisfaction.
"The name of Chen En is heard even here in the Great Zhou. His frontier poetry is truly soul-stirring."
A few civil officials in the court began whispering to one another.
They had indeed heard of him. He was a prodigy who had emerged in Southern Yue over the past few years, rumored to have been writing poetry at three and prose at five, hailed as a "Qilin" of a generation—a once-in-a-century talent.
These bastards had come prepared!
Without waiting for the Empress to speak, Zhao Yi took a step forward, his posture impossibly cocky.
"Alright, alright, enough with the bragging."
"You want to compete in poetry? Fine! Let's do it!"
"Give me whatever topic you like, I’ll take them all! One by one, I’ll stomp every single one of you into the dirt!"
His tone was exactly like that of a street hoodlum who had lost his mind gambling on cricket fights.
"You!"
Ye Qingliu, the envoy from Southern Yue, was so furious that the roots of his whiskers stood on end. He pointed at Zhao Yi, his hand trembling violently.
How could such a vulgar and boorish person exist in the court of the Great Zhou!
Zhao Yi’s father, Zhao Zhao, rolled his eyes back, swayed, and nearly collapsed on the spot.
It’s over!
This rebellious son!
He’s going to punch a hole through the sky today!
Ye Qingliu suppressed his rage. Since this brat was courting death, he would not be polite!
He let out a cold snort.
"Good! What courage!"
"Since Minister Zhao is so confident, then this old man will not hold back!"
"Let the topic be: 'The Frontier'!"
The topic he chose was diabolical.
Frontier poetry was the ultimate test of skill and spirit; if poorly written, it was nothing but empty moaning. More importantly, this was precisely the field where Chen En excelled! He was going to crush his opponent using his own strongest weapon!
Chen En stepped forward, bowing first to the Empress and then to Ye Qingliu, his face filled with irrepressible pride. He cleared his throat and began to recite in a sonorous, modulated voice.
"Ten thousand miles of yellow sand meet the clouds and sky, a solitary fortress locks away the wolf-smoke."
"The garrison soldier’s heart turns to the bright moon, with a long tassel in hand, I guard the realm of heaven and earth!"
When the poem finished, the hall fell silent.
In all fairness, it was a fine poem.
The imagery was vast, the parallel structure was precise, and the final line—"With a long tassel in hand, I guard the realm of heaven and earth"—captured the heroic spirit of the frontier guards.
Xiao Guan, the Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, couldn't help but stroke his beard and nod.
"This poem has character and spirit; it is indeed a superior work. It will be hard to match."
On the dragon throne, a flicker of undetectable worry crossed the beautiful face of the Empress, Wu Mingkong.
*This rascal is good at couplets, but poetry... can he handle this?*
Zhao Yi listened and curled his lip.
"Is that it?"
His disdainful expression stung Chen En deeply.
"You... if you think it's not good enough, then you write one!" Chen En shouted, his face reddening with indignation.
Zhao Yi picked at his ear, raised his head slowly, and swept his gaze across the room, finally locking onto the dragon throne.
He saw that fleeting shadow of worry on the Empress’s face.
*Heh.*
*This woman actually cares about me.*
*Fine, I’ll show you a trick! I’ll show you exactly how strong I am!*
With his hands behind his back, he paced twice, stopped abruptly, and recited in a loud voice.
"The moon of the Qin, the passes of the Han, the ten-thousand-mile march, and the men have yet to return!"
"If only the Flying General of Long City were here, not a single Hu horse would cross the Yin Mountains!"
*Boom!*
These four lines were like a thunderbolt from the heavens, striking the heart of everyone in the hall!
Especially the military generals!
They were trembling with excitement, fists clenched, eyes rimmed with red!
*The moon of the Qin! The passes of the Han!*
What a grand and majestic spirit!
*If only the Flying General of Long City were here, not a single Hu horse would cross the Yin Mountains!*
What a soaring, heroic ambition!
This poem contained the clash of iron and gold, the vast yellow sands, the loyal souls of warriors, and the glory of the empire!
Compared to this, Chen En’s poem was nothing more than a child’s scribble!
The Southern Yue delegation was stunned.
The smugness on Ye Qingliu’s face froze instantly.
Chen En looked ashen, his body swaying, muttering to himself incessantly.
"Impossible... this is impossible..."
"How could you come up with such a timeless masterpiece on the spot! I don't believe it! You must have prepared this beforehand!"
Unable to accept the reality, he began to challenge him on the spot.
"Huh?"
Zhao Yi laughed.
*As a literary plagiarist, do you think I’m afraid of your accusations?*
*The stock I have in my brain is enough to drown you eight hundred times over!*
He hated nothing more than someone who couldn't handle losing.
"Little brat, if you lose, admit it! Don't whine!"
Zhao Yi pointed at his nose and cursed.
"Not convinced, are you?"
"Fine!"
"I’ll let you die with clarity today!"
He cleared his throat, and that slacker-like air vanished, replaced by a wild, unrestrained sense of tragedy and heroism!
"Grape wine in a luminous cup, the pipa urges us to drink before we mount!"
"Do not laugh if I lie drunk on the battlefield; since ancient times, how many have returned from war?"
The second poem spilled out.
If the first was a grand, sweeping war anthem, this one was a tragic, desolate song of heroes!
That sense of detachment from life and death, that boldness in the face of the end, pierced the hearts of everyone present!
The entire Golden Throne Hall fell deathly silent.
Everyone was so shocked they had lost the ability to think.
*Gulp.*
His father, Zhao Zhao, swallowed hard, staring blankly at the familiar yet strange figure in the center of the hall.
*Is... is this my son?*
*My rebellious son who only knows how to cause trouble and chase dogs and chickens?*
*An illusion! This must be an illusion!*
"Good!"
On the dragon throne, the Empress could no longer suppress her excitement. She slammed her hand on the armrest and stood up!
"What a line—'Do not laugh if I lie drunk on the battlefield; since ancient times, how many have returned from war!'"
"Zhao Yi! Today, you have won back immense honor for our Great Zhou!"
Her phoenix eyes shone with undisguised ecstasy and approval, dazzlingly bright.
Hearing the praise, Zhao Yi raised his eyebrows triumphantly.
He snuck a glance at the Empress on the throne.
*Tsk.*
*She’s dressed too modestly today.*
*What a waste of such excitement; the curves aren't obvious enough, can't see anything.*
*Such a pity.*
*If I could see that breathtaking scenery again, I could probably spit out two more even better poems.*
*That stuff really stimulates the inspiration!*
Below the hall, Ye Qingliu’s old face had turned the color of pig liver.
He was finished.
The face of the Southern Yue delegation had been pressed into the dirt by this bastard Zhao Yi, rubbed back and forth with the soles of his shoes until the skin was scraped away!
Chen En collapsed to the floor with a thud, his eyes vacant, his fighting spirit completely shattered.
He had been crushed.
Totally, completely, and without suspense, crushed!
However, just when everyone thought the matter was settled, Ye Qingliu—as if grabbing at a final straw—roared with every ounce of his remaining strength.
"The courage of a ruffian! Playing with words is nothing but the courage of a ruffian!"
"Poetry and prose are, in the end, mere trifles!"
His eyes bloodshot, he stared fixedly at Zhao Yi.
"We... we still have one final question!"
"Do you dare to take it?!"