Chapter Ten: Riverside Pavilion (4)

Just as Yang Qi was about to announce Zhou Chang as the victor of the first round, a clear male voice rang out from the crowd of scholars: "Wait. I, Kong Sheng, happened to stumble upon this gathering and was moved to compose two poems, which I humbly offer for your amusement!"

It was none other than Kong Sheng, the young servant notorious for idleness and living off others, who had remained silent until now!

The crowd was taken aback.

Everyone knew that Kong Sheng possessed brute strength but lacked any scholarly talent. In such refined literary gatherings, with the "King of Jiangnan" Yang Qi presiding, his sudden proposal to recite poetry was not only a disruption to Yang Qi's enjoyment but also a self-inflicted embarrassment—shameless, indeed.

Yang Qi was greatly annoyed, frowning and glaring at Yang Kuan.

Seeing his master’s anger, Yang Kuan hurried forward with two burly servants, intent on dragging Kong Sheng away to deal with him elsewhere.

Yet, as the two servants approached, Kong Sheng’s eyes flashed with steely resolve. He spread his arms lightly, seized their forearms, and pushed them aside with force, uttering in a firm voice, "May I ask, Governor Yang, Lord Yang: since this is a public poetry gathering, why should I, a disciple of the Confucian school, be barred from participating? Or do you fear the Kong family of Jiangnan has no worthy successors?"

Yang Qi’s lips twitched as he suppressed his anger. "You have no learning, not a drop of ink in your chest; everyone knows this. Do not cause trouble, or do not blame me for being harsh!"

Kong Sheng burst into laughter. He was fully committed now, determined to challenge Yang Qi, knowing well Yang Qi’s vanity was his weakness—he would not publicly use force against him. Moreover, half an hour ago, Kong Sheng was still Yang Qi’s son-in-law; any forceful suppression would surely invite criticism.

"Very well! I will grant you this opportunity. Go ahead and recite!" Yang Qi smiled instead of fuming, waving his hand decisively, his eyes glinting with hidden menace.

Master Baiyun’s smile grew even broader. He turned to the young Daoist Attai and chuckled, "Attai, the real show is finally beginning!"

Kong Sheng strode calmly into the center, ignoring the disdainful gazes cast upon him, standing tall and composed.

"I was inspired and composed these verses; if there is any impropriety, I ask the esteemed gentlemen to offer their guidance." Kong Sheng smiled faintly, his heart swelling with a fierce, do-or-die passion and courage. Of course, none knew he silently apologized to "The Recluse of Fanchuan," for the sake of making a stunning impression, he could not hesitate.

He began to recite:

"Mist enfolds cold waters, moonlight shrouds the sands,
At night I moor by Qinhuai, near the wine shops.
The singing girls know not the grief of a fallen nation,
Across the river, they still sing the song of flowers."

His voice was steady and unhurried, imbued with a deep concern for the nation and a hint of irony. When the poem ended, a deathly silence fell over the gathering.

Everyone stared at Kong Sheng, now radiant and upright, with incredulous eyes, their minds momentarily paralyzed.

On one hand, the idle scoundrel Kong Sheng had produced a stunning poem, shocking all; on the other, his verses were laced with satire, shaming the officials and scholars who indulged daily in frivolity.

Yang Qi was dumbstruck.

Master Baiyun laughed aloud, clapping vigorously: "Young Master Kong possesses extraordinary talent and sharp insight! What a line—‘The singing girls know not the grief of a fallen nation, across the river, they still sing the song of flowers!’ The imagery is vivid, the portrayal profound, capturing the state of Jiangnan in exquisite detail—a masterpiece!"

Yang Qi’s expression darkened instantly.

Though Master Baiyun led the applause, no one else responded. Yet even in silence, none could deny Kong Sheng’s poem far surpassed those of the other scholars—a truly astonishing work!

Yang Xueruo looked up in surprise, for the first time regarding Kong Sheng seriously. At this moment, she realized that the young scion of the Kong family before her, fair-faced and imposing, was worlds apart from the youth she once knew, notorious for frequenting brothels and brawling.

How could this be? How had he changed so suddenly?

Kong Sheng glanced around, smiled calmly, and spoke again: "I have another poem, which I wish to recite in humble offering to enliven the gathering."

He steadied himself, determination flickering in his mind.

This next poem, which he had pondered thoroughly the night before, seemed politically safe; and if fortune favored him, it would make his name resound throughout the land.

One cannot seize the tiger’s cub without entering its den; without daring to take risks, how can one sweep away the gloom and leap into glory?

"I tentatively name this poem ‘Song of Everlasting Regret.’"

"The Emperor of Han cherished beauty and longed for perfection,
For years he ruled, but none could satisfy him.
A girl of the Yang clan matured in seclusion,
Raised in deep chambers, unknown to the world.
Born with radiant grace, she could not be hidden,
One day chosen to stand by the monarch’s side.
A single glance, a smile, a hundred charms blossomed,
The six palaces faded, their colors no longer rivaled."

Kong Sheng recited with clarity and conviction.

The audience, including Yang Qi, gasped in unison. The tragic romance between Emperor Ming of Tang and Lady Yang had inspired many folk songs, but few achieved such artistry or widespread acclaim. Kong Sheng’s composition, with its brilliant diction and vivid portrayal, seemed a work of divine inspiration.

Master Baiyun’s eyes lit up, his body tense, hands crossed upon his knees.

Attai’s mouth hung open, unable to close for a long while. Though a young Daoist, he had studied literature, martial arts, and music since childhood under Master Baiyun, and recognized true talent when he saw it.

With such gifts, who could say Kong Sheng was a mere wastrel?

At this point, Kong Sheng paused, secretly observing Yang Qi and the others, finally letting out a long breath and relaxing.

His judgment was sound. First, the original author of "Song of Everlasting Regret," Bai Letian, lived somewhat later, and since his poem spread openly across the land, it posed no great problem. Second, the Tang era was open-minded, and the love affair between Li Longji and Yang Yuhuan was often subject to literary elaboration and historical record. Third, and most crucially, the old emperor had abdicated, and the crown prince had ascended, making such poems—depicting the former emperor’s romance and carrying implicit warnings—worthy of praise, not suppression.

"In the chill of spring, the imperial bath at Huaqing Palace,
Silken waters cleansed her delicate skin.
Attendants helped her rise, weak and graceful,
Thus began the favor newly bestowed.
Cloud-like hair, flower-like face, golden ornaments swaying,
Lotus curtains warmed as night passed...
Pleasure was fleeting, morning came late,
From then on, the monarch no longer held court early..."

Kong Sheng continued his recitation.

Unable to contain himself, Master Baiyun leapt to his feet, acclaiming loudly, "Such a masterpiece I have seen but once in my lifetime! Young Master Kong’s extraordinary talent, hidden among common folk—I was right about him!"

Master Baiyun laughed heartily. "Governor Yang, this poem deserves a grand toast!"

Yang Qi awkwardly rubbed his hands with a laugh, raising his cup to invite Master Baiyun to drink, and the others silently drained theirs.

"Cloud-like hair, flower-like face, golden ornaments swaying,
Lotus curtains warmed as night passed...
Pleasure was fleeting, morning came late,
From then on, the monarch no longer held court early..."
Yang Xueruo sat there reciting softly, her fair cheeks tinged with a blush, savoring the poetic beauty and the exquisite words, lost in reverie.

A single poem might be dismissed as a fluke, but Kong Sheng had produced two masterpieces in succession—how could anyone call it coincidence?

Yang Xueruo gazed at Kong Sheng, her eyes filled with complex emotion.

The love story of emperor and consort had long captivated the women of the world; Kong Sheng’s "Song of Everlasting Regret" naturally resonated with Yang Xueruo.

Kong Sheng, hands clasped behind his back, continued to recite. When he reached:

"The drums of Yuyang thundered and shook the earth,
Shattering the Rainbow Skirt Feathered Garment Song.
Smoke and dust rose in the imperial city’s depths,
A thousand chariots, ten thousand riders headed southwest."

his voice became heavy and mournful. He drew forth a newly purchased flute from his waist and played a plaintive tune, perfectly complementing the poem.

"On the seventh day of the seventh month, in the Hall of Longevity,
At midnight, when no one was present, whispered words were exchanged.
In heaven, we wish to be paired birds,
On earth, we wish to be entwined branches.
Heaven and earth are long-lasting, but have their limits,
This regret stretches endlessly, never ceasing."

The epic poem of over eight hundred lines surged from Kong Sheng’s lips in waves, rising and falling, with peaks and valleys, tumultuous and grand. Early on, his cadence was measured, but by the end, his pace quickened so much that the scribes struggled to keep up, missing brilliant lines and growing frantic.

The officials and scholars were enthralled, transported by the poem and the flute, immersed in vivid scenes—some sorrowful, some passionate, some beating their fists, some rushing about in tears...

Only when Kong Sheng’s recitation ended with a deep sigh did the audience gradually return to themselves.

After a brief silence, thunderous applause and cries of praise erupted, wave after wave, unending.

The reputation of the idle scoundrel was forgotten. Today, Kong Sheng had stunned all with his brilliance and would surely soar in days to come. In the eyes of the crowd, there was only awe, only astonishment, only admiration, all memory of his previous notoriety erased.

Yang Xueruo wept, unaware of her tears. Especially the final lines, "In heaven, we wish to be paired birds; on earth, we wish to be entwined branches. Heaven and earth are long-lasting, but have their limits; this regret stretches endlessly, never ceasing," nearly broke her composure, making her want to sob aloud. Even so, she could barely contain herself.

She stared dazedly at Kong Sheng, who withdrew from the stage with an air of ease, his silhouette suddenly seeming tall and imposing. Her heart was flooded with emotion, impossible to describe.

What kind of talent, what kind of breadth, what kind of feeling could produce such a peerless masterpiece? The youth who for years had shown only an unworthy face—what hidden realms and mysteries lay within him?

This was not just Yang Xueruo’s inner portrait.

Everyone looked to Yang Qi, whose expression was so conflicted and awkward it defied description.

Such an immortal masterpiece rendered any further competition pointless. None of the young scholars present could compare; Kong Sheng’s brilliance was like sun and moon in the sky, impossible to obscure.

Kong Sheng was undoubtedly the champion of the poetry gathering. Even Yang Qi could not publicly deny his talent. Yet, according to the wager he had set, Kong Sheng—who had just withdrawn from the marriage—would now become Yang's son-in-law once more, bound to Yang Xueruo in engagement.

It was a stinging slap to Yang Qi and the Yang family!

He had just claimed Kong Sheng was unlearned and ignorant, but Kong Sheng, with undeniable facts, had caused the Yang family's reputation to collapse.

If he chose another scholar as champion, it would become a farce; but to accept Kong Sheng as son-in-law was an act of self-flagellation.

How could this be? Had the servant, all along, been playing a game with the world? Yang Qi secretly cursed: truly detestable! This servant must have engineered it deliberately, making a spectacle of me and playing the Yang family like puppets!