Chapter 13: Madam Xu?
Elegant ladies smiled gracefully, while talented scholars exuded confidence.
The main hall of the Dragon’s Roar Pavilion buzzed with the lively chatter of hundreds of scholars, their every third sentence laced with quotes from classic texts. Whether or not others understood, they all nodded and smiled politely, maintaining an air of shared intellectual understanding.
Seated on a row of grand chairs at the head of the hall, Song Baiqing, his hair streaked with gray, held a teacup, his eyes filled with impatience. As the Grand Tutor of the Imperial Academy, almost every student who had passed through its doors would address him as “Teacher.” His former pupils held official positions throughout the Great Dynasty, making him a highly respected figure. He had little patience for this pursuit of fame and recognition.
However, in the Great Dynasty, where martial artists held immense influence, scholars alone couldn’t maintain order. The current Emperor valued scholarship, and without events like this, Chang’an would likely be filled with nothing but martial arts competitions and duels, a spectacle unbefitting a civilized dynasty.
Therefore, Song Baiqing had to attend such gatherings, offering praise to those scholars whose talent he deemed worthy. The Emperor himself would also pay attention to these events, even possessing a keen interest in poetry.
But poetry was something that anyone with a basic education and knowledge of meter could write. Truly exceptional poems, those that would be passed down through generations, were rare. Out of the thousands of poems composed at a gathering like this, perhaps only one or two would be worth remembering. The rest were mere drivel.
Therefore, the task of reviewing the poems had been entrusted to his daughter, Song Yufu.
Beside the grand table where the renowned scholars sat, Prince Yan, Song Yu, and Song Baiqing discussed the upcoming spring imperial examinations. Song Yufu diligently examined the poems, occasionally seeking guidance from a gray-haired elder beside her.
The elder was named Qi Xinghan. In his youth, his essay titled “Ode to Chang’an” had impressed the previous Emperor, earning him fame and a position as an official censor. He was known for his vast knowledge and outspoken nature.
However, Qi Xinghan was even more famous for his stubbornness. During the previous Emperor’s reign of over twenty years, he had remonstrated with the Emperor over twenty times, infuriating him to the point where he had publicly denounced him as “that old fool Qi.” The current Emperor, in his ten years of rule, had implemented administrative reforms, suppressed banditry, and promoted talented individuals from humble backgrounds. He was widely considered a wise and capable ruler. But simply because he had once forgotten the time while playing chess and arrived late for a court meeting, Qi Xinghan had relentlessly criticized him, constantly reminding him not to be distracted by frivolous pursuits. The Emperor had grown so weary of his nagging that he had even given up hobbies like hunting and spring outings.
Qi Xinghan, having nothing to lose, was truly fearless. Even his fellow scholars, who found his criticism excessive, couldn’t argue with him. This was a testament to his eloquence and persistence.
However, despite his tendency to nitpick, Qi Xinghan’s expertise in poetry was undeniable. He carefully examined each poem, offering fair and insightful critiques that were rarely disputed.
As the poetry gathering progressed, a few decent poems had been presented, but none that could be considered masterpieces.
Song Yufu grew impatient. She hadn’t yet found the poem she had overheard at the Imperial Academy. She kept glancing at the other desks.
Song Baiqing, who was conversing with Prince Yan, noticed his daughter’s restless behavior and frowned:
“Yufu, what are you looking at?”
Song Yufu quickly lowered her head and sat properly, replying softly:
“Nothing, Father.”
Prince Yan, with his gentle and refined demeanor, smiled at Song Baiqing’s strictness towards his daughter:
“Yufu is still young. It’s natural for her to enjoy poetry. It’s understandable that she’s tired after reading so many mediocre poems. Masterpieces are rare.”
Song Baiqing nodded and looked at the young men and women in the hall, their faces filled with enthusiasm:
“Poetry should be inspired by genuine emotions. It’s pointless for them to pretend to be heartbroken and melancholic at such a young age. What good poems can they possibly write…”
As he spoke, Qi Xinghan, who was sitting beside him, shook his head:
“That’s not necessarily true. Chang’an has a million households, and many are literate. There are always a few exceptionally talented individuals. For example, this one: ‘The wind has stopped, the fragrance of dust lingers, the flowers have faded; the sun sets, I’m too weary to comb my hair…’”
As soon as he uttered those words, several scholars who had been frowning with boredom perked up.
After enduring an evening of mediocre verses like “A wide river, a hundred zhang across, filled with fish both tender and fresh,” those lines, “The wind has stopped, the fragrance of dust lingers, the flowers have faded,” were like a breath of fresh air. It was impossible not to notice.
Prince Yan and Song Baiqing also raised their eyebrows, their interest piqued. They turned to look at Qi Xinghan.
Qi Xinghan, over sixty years old, felt it was inappropriate for him to recite such melancholic lines with his aged voice. He handed the poem to a servant, who passed it to a courtesan playing the zither.
The hundreds of scholars and poets in the hall, sensing that something special was about to happen, stopped talking and turned to look.
The courtesan, dressed in an elaborate gown, knew this was an opportunity to gain recognition. She took the poem, read it carefully, and began to recite in a soft voice:
“The wind has stopped, the fragrance of dust lingers, the flowers have faded; the sun sets, I’m too weary to comb my hair…”
Her voice was sweet and melodious, tinged with a hint of sorrow, perfectly capturing the poem’s sentiment of lost beauty and the passage of time. With just a few lines, she evoked the image of a woman weary and heartbroken from life’s hardships.
Song Baiqing’s eyes lit up, and he sat up straight, listening intently.
Prince Yan’s expression remained unchanged, but he tapped his fingers on the table and nodded slowly.
The scholars and poets in the hall were captivated. Just the first two lines of the first stanza revealed the exceptional skill of the “poet.” The imagery and depth of emotion were beyond their reach.
Many ladies and gentlemen stared at the courtesan, mesmerized.
The courtesan continued reciting with a solemn expression:
“I hear that spring is still beautiful by Shuangxi Stream, and I plan to drift there in a light boat. But I fear that even a small boat on Shuangxi Stream cannot carry all my sorrow.”
Silence fell over the hall as the entire poem was revealed.
Song Baiqing stroked his beard, frowning and nodding slowly. He struggled to find words to express his admiration.
The first stanza vividly portrayed the image of a woman weathered by life’s storms, while the second stanza described her yearning for solace and her realization that even the beauty of nature couldn’t alleviate her overwhelming sorrow.
Both the language and the technique were exquisite, and the poem’s poignant emotions resonated deeply with the audience. Its sorrowful tone and evocative imagery made it feel as if they were witnessing the poet’s pain firsthand. It was truly a masterpiece.
The renowned scholars present, recognizing their own inability to write such a poem, dared not offer any hasty critiques.
Prince Yan, Song Yu, pondered for a moment, then smiled and looked at the scholars and poets in the hall:
“I didn’t expect to find such a talented woman hidden among us. It’s a shame that she’s remained unknown.”
“Indeed!”
Qi Xinghan stroked his chin, a hint of admiration in his eyes:
“Based on this poem alone, I would petition the Emperor to grant this madam a comfortable and carefree life. Our Great Dynasty values talent, regardless of social status, martial prowess, or gender. We cannot allow someone with such talent to be burdened with sorrow, without even a place to find solace.”
Although Song Baiqing didn’t believe that writing good poetry equated to being a capable official, he acknowledged that such talent indicated exceptional intelligence. He nodded:
“You’re right. Which madam wrote this poem?”
The scholars and poets in the hall looked around, searching for the “middle-aged woman with a heart full of sorrow” who had written such a poignant poem.
The courtesan looked at the signature on the poem, hesitated for a moment, then said hesitantly:
“Xu Buling… Madam Xu?”
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