Chapter 37: Artistic Conception, This Is True Artistic Conception

No, there is absolutely no comparison.

He even felt that his own poem was nothing more than a pile of gaudy trash. No, it was worse than trash. He had lost. He had lost completely, utterly.

Before he could even recover from this massive blow, Xie Ning slowly recited the final two lines:

"Bamboo whispers announce the return of the washing maids,
Lotus stems sway as the fishing boats descend."

If the first four lines described the scenery, then these two lines described the people. The commotion in the bamboo grove, it turns out, was the return of the girls who had been washing clothes. The swaying of the lotus leaves, it turns out, was the fishing boats drifting downstream.

These simple lines instantly imbued the tranquil and exquisite landscape painting with the warmth of human life, bringing the entire scene to life. It was ethereal, yet not empty; serene, yet not deathly still.

If one truly had to find a fault with Xie Ning’s poem, it would be that he did not follow the prompt strictly. It had gone beyond the confines of the Imperial Garden, but was that not the very pinnacle of poetry? Unrestrained, untethered, and without boundaries.

"Thud."

The white-bearded old man who had cursed Xie Ning the loudest earlier felt his legs go weak and collapsed directly onto the ground. Tears streamed down his aged face as he looked at Xie Ning, his eyes filled with awe and repentance.

"A divine work... this is truly a divine work!"

"I... I had eyes but failed to recognize a true master, and I actually... actually insulted the Poet Immortal of our age!"

"I deserve to die, I truly deserve to die!"

As he spoke, he began to slap his own face fiercely. The other scholars were no better off. They stood there dejected and spiritless, as if their souls had been ripped away. Some muttered to themselves, repeatedly savoring the lines of the poem. Others sighed toward the heavens, lamenting that they had wasted their entire lives in vain. Some even picked up the brushes in front of them and snapped them in two.

No more writing! They would never write another poem in this lifetime! In the face of such a masterpiece, all their own works appeared so pale, so laughable.

Up on the viewing platform, the young Emperor Li Qingzhi’s eyes were sparkling as he looked at Xie Ning.

So amazing! My brother-in-law is just too amazing!

Though he had practiced poetry since childhood, compared to this, his own efforts were merely child's play.

The Empress Dowager’s well-maintained face was now drained of all color, turned deathly pale. She stared blankly at the youth standing in the center of the Imperial Garden, his hands clasped behind his back. The youth stood tall, his expression indifferent, as if that earth-shattering, timeless masterpiece had been nothing more than a casual remark.

She felt as though her worldview had been completely overturned in that moment.

The entire Imperial Garden fell into an eerie silence. Only the heavy breathing of the veteran scholars and their low, dream-like murmurs could be heard:

"After the fresh rain in the empty mountain,
The weather turns to autumn in the evening.
The bright moon shines through the pines,
The clear spring flows over the stones."

They repeated these lines over and over, as if trying to carve every single word into their very marrow.

As for Yuwen Yue, he seemed to have had all his strength drained, slumped on the ground. His eyes were vacant and dull, his face ashen. He had lost. In the face of absolute, crushing talent, all his pride and self-confidence had been shattered into pieces. He could not even muster the slightest desire to resist, because the gap was simply too vast—so vast that it filled him with despair.

Xie Ning paid no heed to the scholars caught in their self-doubt, nor did he look at Yuwen Yue, who had become a puddle of misery. He simply turned around, walked slowly back to Li Qingning’s side, and sat down. He then picked up his tea, which had already gone somewhat cold, and took a sip, as if everything that had just happened had nothing to do with him.

The more calm and detached he appeared, the more terrified everyone present felt. This was the true demeanor of a master: to treat a timeless masterpiece as nothing, and to view the scholars of the world as mere blades of grass. What a temperament! What a spirit!

Li Qingning looked at Xie Ning beside her, her beautiful eyes shimmering with brilliance. Her heart was racing. She realized she had truly, completely fallen in love with this man. He was mysterious, powerful, and arrogant—yet he possessed the capital to be arrogant. He was like an endless whirlpool, pulling her in, unable and unwilling to break free.

"Ahem."

On the viewing platform, the young Emperor Li Qingzhi was the first to recover from his shock. He looked at the dejected scholars below, cleared his throat, and spoke in a tone that was slightly youthful yet carried supreme authority.

"My esteemed ministers, the result of this first round..."

"The winner is decided."

He spoke with absolute certainty. The facts were right before their eyes. If anyone dared to say Yuwen Yue had won, they would be blind, deaf, and foolish.

Upon hearing this, the scholars lowered their heads in shame, not daring to even breathe loudly. They had no face left to judge the merits of these two poems. They only felt as if they had been slapped across the face.

The Empress Dowager’s expression flickered between green and white, looking hideous to the extreme. She could never have imagined such an outcome. She had thought this was a guaranteed victory. She had thought she could use this opportunity to crush Xie Ning entirely. But instead, Xie Ning had used a masterpiece destined to be passed down through the ages to slap her, to slap Yuwen Yue, and to slap everyone present in the face.

It felt like she had meticulously planned a grand play, only for the actor to ignore the script entirely. Not only did he ignore the rules, he tore down the entire stage. This feeling left her stifled and furious, yet utterly helpless. Because Xie Ning had won so beautifully—so beautifully that she could not find a single reason to refute it.

Xie Ning put down his teacup, stood up, and walked over to Yuwen Yue, who was slumped on the ground. He looked down at the man who, only a short while ago, had been the peerless top talent of the capital.

"Hey."

He nudged Yuwen Yue with his foot.

"Don't play dead. I won the first round. According to our wager..."

He paused, a smug smile curling his lips.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?"

Yuwen Yue shuddered and snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with boundless humiliation. A wager? Kneel and call him grandfather? No! Impossible! He was the son of the Chancellor, a gifted child of heaven. How could he submit to such a humiliating act before this good-for-nothing?

"I..."

Yuwen Yue’s lips trembled as he tried to say something, but Xie Ning did not give him the chance.

"What? Trying to welch on the deal?"

Seeing this, Xie Ning’s expression suddenly darkened.