Martial Saint through Reading-Chapter 47: Brother Chu, Let Me Explain to You
Chu Ming walked to the back and sat down at the desk next to Luu Xian.
"Brother Chu, you’ve come." Luu Xian, perhaps intentionally or perhaps not, picked up the poetry book in his hands, turned to look at Chu Ming, and said in a low voice:
"Today’s lesson is on the poem ’Mountain Residence in Autumn,’ from the ’Poetry, Politics, and Military’ anthology, number thirty-three."
"’Mountain Residence in Autumn’ describes a poet who retreats to the mountains and forests, sharing his observations and feelings at dusk in autumn. The choice of words is vivid, and the sentences are beautifully constructed..."
"On my first day here, I listened to the instructor teach this poem. I only half-understood at the time, so I came again today to listen once more."
"The imagery of this poem is too profound. Just reading it several times isn’t enough to really experience it. Brother Chu, how about I explain it to you first?"
Luu Xian was quite enthusiastic and seemed genuinely eager to help Chu Ming become more familiar with the poem.
But...
Wasn’t this just showing off? In his previous life at school, there were always classmates like this, flaunting how much they knew in one way or another.
Chu Ming only responded with a vague sound, placed the ’Poetry, Politics, and Military’ volume aside, and then let his gaze drift toward the front of the hall garden, not spotting that senior Xu He.
In his ear, Luu Xian was still analyzing the poem line by line, while Chu Ming calmly took out his Political Book.
There were five volumes to ’Poetry, Politics, and Military.’ He had already finished the poetry and military volumes, and was halfway through the political one.
"Brother Chu, this class is for analyzing poetry—why are you taking out the Political Book?" Luu Xian, in the middle of his explanation, noticed Chu Ming’s peculiar action.
"I’m just looking around," Chu Ming replied calmly.
Luu Xian’s face stiffened; he suddenly felt that perhaps Chu Ming hadn’t been listening to his analysis of ’Mountain Residence in Autumn’ at all.
"Brother Chu, though I didn’t do as well as you in the academy exam, I’m sure of one principle: in learning, one must not get distracted. If you flit from this to that, your efficiency will be incredibly low."
"This is poetry class; we should review poetry first." He spoke with sincerity.
He wasn’t speaking loudly, but he still drew the attention of several other junior examinees sitting nearby.
These few junior examinees were new to the academy too, hadn’t passed the monthly exam, and could only sit at the back.
They didn’t speak, but the way they looked at Luu Xian said it all: with study habits like that, you sit with us in the same hall garden?
Luu Xian immediately realized his voice was too loud and hastily apologized to Chu Ming, "Brother Chu, I..."
"Think nothing of it." Chu Ming only looked up briefly, then continued reading the Political Book.
Soon, an elderly man with a white beard and dressed in a gray robe slowly walked into the hall garden.
Instantly, the entire room was as eerily silent as if a homeroom teacher from his past life had just appeared at the classroom door.
The old man, white beard trailing, kept one hand behind his back. He walked to the front, said nothing, opened a book, and immediately began explaining ’Mountain Residence in Autumn.’
After about an hour, the old man went out for a break, and the room buzzed with quiet discussion once more.
"Brother Chu, that old man just now is named Shen Yu. He’s the Instructor of our Baiyuan County—specifically responsible for the academy and academics—a Junior Eighth-Grade Official, and his attainments in poetry are very high," Luu Xian whispered an introduction to Chu Ming.
Junior Eighth-Grade Official?
Chu Ming’s heart stirred slightly; that Lord Feng Yuan from before was a Standard Eighth-Grade Official in the Classics. He wondered if that man would come to the academy to teach.
Thinking about it, he probably would. Otherwise, why else did he show up at Liuu Town Academy during the entrance exam to hand out rewards to the top three?
"But this Instructor has a strange temperament. Every time after teaching poetry, he’ll compose a poem for us to memorize and analyze."
"Do you know what kind of poem it is, Brother Chu?" Luu Xian continued.
Chu Ming shook his head.
"Poems that Shen the Instructor wrote himself," Luu Xian lowered his voice further, as if afraid others would overhear, "They’re not collected in ’Poetry, Politics, and Military,’ and you’ll find none of them in any Classic of Poetry. Brother Chu, do you know what that means?"
"They’re not any good?" Chu Ming replied.
"Exactly." Luu Xian’s expression grew slightly animated. "That’s what everyone thinks—even the other instructors in our academy say in secret that those poems are nothing special, lack any depth, but we have no choice but to memorize them. Because the poetry module of the monthly exam is set and graded by this Instructor himself. If you don’t take it seriously, you’re doomed."
As he spoke, Shen Yu came back in from outside; as always, he said nothing and went straight into poetry analysis.
After another hour or so, Shen Yu set down the book in his hand and picked up a few crumpled slips of paper.
"Here he goes," Luu Xian muttered in a low voice.
The other junior examinees’ expressions changed as well.
Shen Yu drew out one crumpled page, his somewhat cloudy eyes scanning the room below. "Today’s task is simple: I will read a set of verses—write them down from memory, and then, using the method I just taught, analyze them word by word, line by line."
Even though the hall garden was perfectly quiet, Chu Ming could still sense subtle shifts in the atmosphere.
Shen Yu glanced at the crumpled page and began chanting the verses.
As he recited, the junior examinees hastily copied them down with brush and ink.
This wasn’t much of a challenge for junior examinees who had gotten into the Middle Courtyard. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮
After seven lines, Shen Yu’s eyes suddenly sparkled, and in a solemn voice he said, "If anyone can analyze these verses and, based on these seven, write another three in continuation, you may skip next month’s poetry module exam—I will give you a perfect score."
Write three more lines? Skip the monthly exam and get a perfect score outright?
The junior examinees were instantly a little excited.
They had all passed the entrance exam; some had been studying at the academy for half a year or more—and adding three lines to a poem like this was child’s play for them.
"You have half an hour to write your responses."
When Shen Yu finished, he sat up front, closed his eyes, and rested.
No one spoke; over twenty people hunched over their desks, brushes flying.
But right away, everyone got stuck at the poetry analysis section.
The verses they were supposed to analyze had no proper structure, and the wording was plain—nothing like the cadence and emotion found in the poems of ’Poetry, Politics, and Military.’
To put it bluntly, it was just plain vernacular, not even worthy of being called poetry.
Analysis seemed pointless—just restate the meaning in the original words.
But precisely because of this, the junior examinees were all stumped and could only try to restructure the phrases, rewriting them in their own words.
Even Ning Hao, who was fond of poetry, frowned as he looked at the seven lines on his paper.
If this counts as poetry, then studying poetry and lyrics is a complete waste of time.
Of course, he dared not say that aloud.
Chu Ming lowered his gaze, looking at the seven verses, and was taken aback for a moment.
Reading them to himself, he found they were even more colloquial than poems written by middle schoolers in his previous life—was this really penned by a Junior Eighth-Grade Instructor?
The key thing was that Instructor Shen obviously understood poetry deeply, with a high level of accomplishment—this shouldn’t be his standard.
The contradiction was glaring—there must be a purpose behind it.
Chu Ming thought for a moment, skipped analyzing the seven verses, and wrote three more lines to continue them.
He continued in the same plainspoken style.
Half an hour passed in a flash; the junior examinees dutifully set down their brushes, waiting to hand in their papers.
Luu Xian, at Chu Ming’s side, snuck a look at his answer sheet—on the otherwise blank page, besides the seven lines, there were only three more lines of continuation, without any analysis at all.
His eyes flashed, and his lips curled into a faint smile.
