Transmigration: Space-Aided Rise to Power and Prosperity-Chapter 289 - 125 Poetry

"Indeed! It seems today’s reputation is bound to be lost, but luckily we didn’t step up," lamented another scholar nearby. Such a young age to dare compete, his scholarly skills must be impressive. Yet to encounter the Three Great Scholars today, it’s just bad luck for him.

Even if he’s here for the Provincial Examination, he’ll become a stepping stone. Even if he becomes a scholar, his reputation will suffer. It might even affect his ranking in the future Imperial Examination.

"I have his poem here! If you all are ready, let’s evaluate it together!" Fu Ming couldn’t stand the arrogance of these Jiangnan scholars.

True! Jiangnan is indeed a place of flourishing culture, overflowing with talents, firmly surpassing the Northern region. Each year, Jiangnan candidates claim seven or eight of the top ten spots in the exams, proving Northern regions are lacking. Of course, this fosters the arrogance and aloofness of Jiangnan scholars.

Fang Huai remained expressionless, but his eyes flashed with coldness. It was time to teach these Jiangnan scholars a lesson, did they really think there were no capable people in the North? Especially in the past decade, they became more unrestrained, thinking they had support from high-ranking court officials.

As Fang Huai thought, he started to equate these scholars with those in the court faction he disliked, growing more displeased, especially with Huang Junheng.

"Then let’s first appreciate Senior Brother Liu’s work!" suggested Huang Junheng, heading towards Fu Ming’s direction.

Gu Chengyu and the others had no choice but to follow. After all, they were involved too, right? As they moved, the crowd followed. Many were scholars staying at other inns, there to join the excitement. The front of Qunying Building was already packed tight.

Liu Haonan, seeing so many people, found himself in a bind with no way out, reluctantly agreeing, feeling that securing first place might be risky.

Huang Junheng, too, felt nervous. But it wasn’t because of Liu Haonan. He knew exactly how much Liu Haonan was capable of. He had prepared well in advance; Min Feng was the one he needed to be wary of. Being the top scorer of the Provincial Examination was his goal, and he couldn’t let his uncle down.

Compared to the tension within the two, Min Feng was quite calm. Born to a fishing family in Jiangnan, his father often fished on the lake to support his studies. He studied late, only for seven years, and ranked first three years ago. Though he regretted not achieving Little San Yuan, becoming 禀生 to ease his family’s burden was satisfactory for him.

Min Feng’s thoughts aligned with Huang Junheng’s. Although Liu Haonan was also among the Three Great Scholars, his reputation held much fluff. He was the only one not a 禀生 among them, and it was unclear when he even came to be mentioned alongside their names.

The poem was indeed difficult, and with a fixed format too. Min Feng had confidence, and though Huang Junheng had some talent, he didn’t care much.

Gu Chengyu didn’t need to look to know that the three scholars didn’t take him seriously.

"Is there anyone else who wants to write? If not, we’ll begin," Shopkeeper Wan asked the crowded audience. Seeing no response, he bowed to Fu Ming to commence.

Fu Ming first opened Liu Haonan’s poem, reading it aloud, "Spring treads on fragrant meadows, summer sees the green lotus pond, autumn wind sends red leaves, winter drinks in poetry of white snow."

With that reading, the entire place fell silent.

"This? Did we pick the wrong one?" a hesitant examinee spoke up, though his eyes turned to Gu Chengyu, clearly suggesting the poem was his work.

Gu Chengyu also found it strange. A Jiangnan scholar shouldn’t produce something of this standard! Though the poem covered the four seasons and rhymed well, concluding with "winter drinks in poetry of white snow" as the highlight, he felt the preceding lines were too plain and lacked some depth.

These words made Liu Haonan blush. Previously, when participating in poetry gatherings, he’d spend days crafting his pieces before dazzling everyone. Now, composing poetry off-the-cuff was not his strength. But for this scholar to doubt him who couldn’t even write a single line?

"What? Do you think I’m old and muddle-headed? It’s clearly signed on it," Fu Ming responded unhappily to the skepticism, shaking the paper in front of the crowd with a flourish.

The scholar shrank under Fu Ming’s gaze. He was close enough to see, with just those motions, that the signature was indeed Liu Haonan’s.

"Personally, I think it’s alright? It rhymes, and the last line is quite classic. Composing spontaneously, getting to this level is already commendable. It’s quite something."

The scholar’s comment was fair. After all, many of them didn’t dare participate. It was because Liu Haonan was one of the Three Great Scholars of Jiangnan that expectations were stricter, but really, how many geniuses are there in the world? During gatherings, how many people compose spontaneously? Most have pondered at home with plenty of backup poems.

"Now onto the second, this is Huang Junheng’s poem, listen closely." Fu Hengyou looked around, ensuring everyone calmed down before continuing.

"Spring blossoms, autumn moons, summer cicadas, winter snows. If trivial matters do not burden the heart, each season is a good time in the world."

Upon hearing this poem, Liu Haonan’s face paled. Wasn’t it said that Huang Junheng’s talent matched his? How is that possible? Did Huang Junheng write this at home? It’s possible he knew the topic from his uncle.

Liu Haonan’s thoughts raced while Huang Junheng maintained a calm facade, though internally pleased; Liu Haonan couldn’t compare to him.

"Wow! This poem is well done!" someone praised, feeling it worthy of a Jiangnan scholar.

The crowd was abuzz with discussion, and Liu Haonan’s expression turned even more unpleasant.

Min Feng glanced at Huang Junheng in surprise, not expecting him to possess such talent. Gu Chengyu observed their expressions, internally critiquing; this poem was indeed well-crafted, matching the seasons, especially the emotion in the last two lines.

Fu Hengyou took out another sheet, "Signed by Min Feng!"

"Breezes turn Jiangnan’s shores green, swallows rush to peck at spring mud. Curtains of rain, pomegranates burst quietly, summer lotuses sway in the wind. Rural songs of harvest joy, autumn leaves pave golden roads. Wax month’s snow in silver wraps, firecracker sounds bid farewell to the old year."

As soon as this poem was read, the crowd erupted in cheers.

"I knew it! Senior Brother Min’s poems always overshadow ours, and you see! This must be today’s first."