Chapter Twenty-Eight: Inferior Consequences

“Excellent, truly an admirable ode to the plum blossom. Regardless of Yan Ziqing’s character, this poem can certainly be considered a fine piece. Brother Zhou, within these twenty-eight characters, Yan Ziqing has encompassed the harshness of winter and summer, the cycles of spring, summer, autumn, and winter—telling the story of the plum blossom’s life. This is indeed a superior ode to the plum.”

“Indeed,” the man surnamed Zhou agreed. “Yan Ziqing’s ten years of study have not been in vain; he possesses some talent in poetry.”

“This poem is commendable, a fine work even among poems praising objects. Each line contains repetition. The first line, ‘Ice and snow weigh upon the branches, yet the branches grow sturdier,’ speaks of the plum tree’s resilience. The second, ‘Frost’s blade carves the blossoms, and the flowers become more beautiful,’ reveals the proud spirit of the plum.”

“And these third and fourth lines—‘Enduring three colds, cold fragrance in the buds; through hardship, heralds the spring, spring fills the courtyard’—fully express the plum’s vitality. The so-called ‘three colds’ refer to late spring chills, May chills, and autumn chills. Without stating it outright, the changing of the seasons is all implied in the third line. The final four lines serve to highlight the theme, elevating the qualities of the plum tree and its blossoms. In my humble opinion, I would rate this as a work of the lowest grade.”

Having finished his commentary with a genial smile, Kong Zhichong pronounced his judgment, but his conclusion took most by surprise.

“What? The rating is the lowest grade? Yan Ziqing’s reputation may very well be ruined,” the crowd burst into heated debate at the mention of the lowest ranking.

Some of Yan Ziqing’s longtime friends were outraged and loudly protested, “Such a fine ode to the plum, yet it is given the lowest rating—this is sheer nonsense! Such judgment is nothing but an insult to the countless scholars of Huile County.”

The man spoke skillfully, knowing he was risking himself as the first to speak out, yet his words rallied the county’s scholars to his side. As the saying goes, the law does not punish the masses; even if he stood out and was later punished, the consequences would be light.

Kong Zhichong surveyed the crowd, a trace of a smile on his lips. Having given the lowest rating, he had naturally anticipated such an uproar, so he held his tongue and waited for their challenges.

Yan Ziqing was the first to speak. Others might not know, but he was aware beforehand of the topic. He had devoted three sleepless days and nights to composing this poem—how could such a result be possible? Yan Ziqing could not fathom it.

Something must have gone wrong.

Especially seeing Li Zisheng sitting there composed and at ease, Yan Ziqing’s frustration only deepened.

“Master Kong, is there some mistake? What is wrong with my poem that it only deserves the lowest rating? I cannot accept this,” Yan Ziqing declared, his words righteous, as though he had suffered a great injustice.

Such indignation made Yan Ziqing forget all sense of propriety, daring to question Master Kong directly—a step too far for a participant. Others might question, but for a contestant, it was overstepping.

Kong Zhichong gave Yan Ziqing a measured look.

“An object is not mere object; emotion is emotion. The simplest method of expressing feeling through objects is to imbue the poem with personal sentiment, yet your work speaks solely of objects and shows no personal feeling. That is the first flaw. Second, emotion must be genuine, and I find none in your poem. For these two reasons, even the lowest rating flatters your work.”

With Kong Zhichong’s explanation, Yan Ziqing’s face turned ashen. Scholars have always been rivals, but such rivalry refers to peers; when an esteemed elder disparages your style and reputation, there is little hope of ever establishing yourself in the literary world.

Yan Ziqing could not comprehend. Two nights prior, someone had told him that victory would pave his way to success, while defeat would doom his official ambitions forever. Why was this so? What was so special about eight-year-old Li Zisheng across from him?

Yet, though he had received the lowest rating, if Li Zisheng’s result was the same, he would not count it as a loss. So, despite his pallor, he still harbored a sliver of hope.

Li Zisheng sat calmly, unconcerned with the outcome. Even upon hearing Yan Ziqing’s rating, Li Zisheng remained indifferent, only pondering the reasons behind the situation.

Yan Ziqing was clearly agitated; the examination itself was abrupt and unexpected. But what if he lost or won? If there was some personal gain at stake, it would be another matter, but as an eight-year-old child with nothing to his name, even his reputation had been spread by his teacher, Cheng Zhongliang. What, then, was the cause?

The more Li Zisheng considered it, the stranger everything seemed. Since arriving at the county academy, all had been peculiar.

“Very well, let us now evaluate Li Zisheng’s poem,” Kong Zhichong’s voice rang out over the din, silencing the crowd.

Li Zisheng pushed aside his tangled thoughts and patiently awaited the critique. No matter what lay behind this contest, it was still a chance to spread his fame, and he was unconcerned by others’ curiosity over an eight-year-old’s precocious talent.

Li Zisheng understood well that when Li Bai’s fame began to spread, he was only five years old; to be eight and only now gaining renown was already late. In the Tang Dynasty, he was hardly considered a prodigy.

His paper was laid flat and then displayed on the wooden wall. Kong Zhichong, being closest, read it first. He stood before the paper for the time it takes to drink two cups of tea, while the crowd below grew impatient, though no one dared to voice complaint as it was Master Kong who blocked their view.

“General Zhou, what is happening? Why is Kong Zhichong behaving so?” In the loft, a man in a pale yellow robe questioned his companion.

“Director, why is Master Kong acting this way?” he asked, gesturing toward the loft.

The director was puzzled as well but dared not interrupt Kong Zhichong. However, with such an esteemed guest sending General Qian Niu down from the loft, he had no choice but to alert Kong Zhichong, lest disaster befall the Huile Academy.

Li Zisheng, too, noticed Kong Zhichong’s unusual behavior, but felt entirely calm. Had Kong Zhichong shown no reaction, Li Zisheng would not have believed it, for the poem he had chosen was one to be passed down through the ages.

Since the contest was already well known, there was no need to hold back. He would let them witness his ability and see his reputation soar—especially with the presence of that high-ranking figure who had just sent for the director, to whom even the academy’s leader showed utmost deference.