Hearing Lu You shower praise on Li Lihua's poem, the surrounding crowd burst into applause and cheers.
This truly was a fine poem. All the competing contestants admitted defeat in their hearts! Everyone felt that in this poetry and wine gathering, Li Lihua was bound to take first place.
Next to take the stage was contestant number two—the son of a capital official, a typical feckless playboy completely devoid of learning. Listen to the verse he chanted: "Wine, wine, three water dots! Water can turn into wine. The world cannot do without it, and every meal leaves not the lips!"
Lu You shook his head upon hearing this, offering no comment. The crowd also fell silent.
Yet this second contestant chuckled, saying, "How do you like my poem, everyone? Come on, give me some encouragement!"
Roars of laughter erupted from the crowd.
Eighth Prince also laughed, saying, "Dulin, step down already and save yourself from making a fool of yourself, hahaha!"
Dulin was a friend of Eighth Prince, and his father served as the Junior Vice Minister of Rites.
Hearing Eighth Prince teasing him, Dulin wore a cheeky grin and replied, "The piece composed by Eighth Prince is hardly any better than Dulin's level..."
As he spoke, he stepped down from the stage, utterly unbothered by his own "masterpiece"! Judging by his demeanor, he was rather proud of it.
Eighteen more contestants followed in succession, all of them churning out drivel that had nothing whatsoever to do with poetry.
Zhao Lie shook his head repeatedly as he listened, sighing inwardly: This truly is the tragedy of Nanchu.
When Lu You called out the name of the twenty-first contestant, the crowd applauded, for this person was none other than the host, Eighth Prince Zhao Jian.
Striding forward in high spirits and full of confidence, Zhao Jian stood on the stage and announced in a ringing voice, "My lords! Though lacking in talent, this prince will now make a fool of himself before you all!"
Thunderous applause shook the surroundings! Among the crowd were no shortage of sycophants and flatterers. They knew Eighth Prince was a formidable figure who might well ascend to the position of Crown Prince in the future, especially since the current Crown Prince, Zhao Yong, had suffered repeated failures in repelling the Jin invaders, leaving Emperor Yuan utterly disappointed in him.
Crown Prince Zhao Yong was also acutely aware that his position was precarious, knowing that among all the princes, the greatest threat to him was Eighth Prince.
Seeing so many people rallying around Eighth Prince left a bitter taste in the Crown Prince's mouth.
Meanwhile, Eighth Prince grew quite giddy with self-importance upon hearing the wave of applause greeting his appearance.
He waved repeatedly to the crowd on all sides while saying, "Thank you all for your support of this prince!"
With that, Zhao Jian began to chant his poem.
That cunning Zhao Jian had long made thorough preparations for this Lantern Festival wine party. Having proposed wine as the theme for impromptu poetry, he had actually prepared several poems beforehand and memorized them backward and forward. His whole purpose in setting up this event was to humiliate Zhao Lie.
The crowd soon heard Eighth Prince Zhao Jian recite a *qijue*:
"Among all fine foods, wine takes the crown,
For joy and sorrow, it holds the town.
With so many worries to trouble mankind,
Drink deep till you're drunk, and leave cares behind!"
When Eighth Prince finished chanting, dead silence fell over the venue.
Lu You closed his eyes in contemplation for a moment, murmuring the verse to himself before opening them in astonishment. "This poem, *Ode to Wine*, by Eighth Prince is another rare masterpiece!" he exclaimed. "It captures how indispensable wine is as a delicacy in daily life, while also showing how it can release people from their troubles and grant them temporary contentment! Splendid, simply splendid!"
Zhao Lie thought to himself: Who would have thought that while Eighth Prince usually acts so dissolute, this poem undeniably has a certain level to it. Compared to the casual doggerel rattled off by those others just now, it was ten times better.
Next, according to the order, the contestants were called up one by one, yet not a single poem caught Lu You's eye.
Most of the spectators gathered in the arena were princes, high officials, and their family members.
Watching their own sons and daughters take the stage and produce utterly nonsensical poems—and seeing these pampered wastrel youths not only feel no shame, but actually strut about intoxicated with themselves and brazenly ask the audience for critiques—
The high officials and nobles felt stripped of all dignity, utterly humiliated, wishing they could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.
For the surrounding onlookers were chattering among themselves, offering mercilessly scathing reviews of their offspring. The torment in their hearts was worse than death.
Only now did these parents truly understand the saying:
"Raise a son without teaching, and he's like a mule;
Raise a daughter without teaching, and she's like a pig!"
This was the law of cause and effect: reap what you sow.
Lu You continued calling out the numbers. Among them, the Eldest Prince and the other seven princes took the stage one after another. Though their verses were a slight step above the doggerel of the playboys, they were still hardly fit for refined company.
Meanwhile, Yan Song ran back and forth, relaying the live situation of the poetry competition to Emperor Yuan.
Hearing that the poetry competition had progressed this far with only two fine works earning the praise of the veteran Academician Lu You, Emperor Yuan smiled and said, "That is hardly surprising. Li Gang's daughter goes without saying—she is the premier talented woman of the Capital. As for Lao Ba, he has some foundation, but to compose such a fine piece through impromptu improvisation today is quite unexpected."
Emperor Yuan did not believe Zhao Jian possessed such literary flair; he simply did not know that his eighth son, eager to save face, had made preparations long in advance. After writing the poem, Zhao Jian had taken it to the Imperial Academy and asked several scholars to polish it.
Only after the Imperial Academy scholars revised and refined it, perfecting it from word choice to syntax, did this poem come into being. Zhao Jian had merely memorized it well enough to recite it here.
Thus, as the saying goes, a father knows his son best, and Emperor Yuan had good reason not to believe in Zhao Jian's natural talent.
However, what Emperor Yuan cared about most was his least favored son, Lao Jiu. He asked Yan Song when that son would take the stage.
Yan Song replied that it would be soon, as the Ninth Prince was number forty-five, and with only three people left, he would be up.
Hearing Zhao Lie's name, Emperor Yuan felt an inexplicable jolt in his heart, followed immediately by a sharp pang. Then, just as quickly, the sensation vanished altogether.
In a daze, Emperor Yuan was overcome by an indescribable terror.
Seeing this, Yan Song hastily asked, "Your Majesty, are you all right?"
Waving a hand, Emperor Yuan said, "I am fine. Go quickly and see what poem Lao Jiu produces, and report back truthfully!"
Yan Song bowed respectfully. "Understood! This slave will go at once!"
When Yan Song hurried into the west hall, he arrived just in time for Lu You to call out the name of the forty-five-numbered contestant: Zhao Lie.
Whether among aristocratic households or common folk in the capital, everyone was utterly familiar with the name of the Ninth Prince, Zhao Lie.
It was just as the saying goes: a man fears fame as a pig fears being fat.
Ever since Zhao Lie's origins were cast into suspicion and he was reduced to an abandoned prince, the hellish existence he suffered in the palace had naturally spread before long through the streets and alleys, reaching across the entire Nanchu, and even leaking into the rival Great Jin Empire.
Hearing that the Ninth Prince Zhao Lie was about to take the stage, the crowd erupted into a commotion, filled with every kind of reaction: some scoffed, some pitied, and a few held hope. But by far the majority simply waited quietly for Zhao Lie to appear, eager to watch him make a fool of himself.
Dressed in white robes with a slender figure, Zhao Lie looked, upon closer inspection, truly dashing and exceptionally talented!
Had the people present not known him to be an abandoned prince, quite a few maidens might well have fallen in love with him. Alas, a plucked phoenix is no better than a chicken!
Arriving on the stage, Zhao Lie cupped his hands in a circle just like the other competing contestants and delivered his opening remarks: "My lords! I am Zhao Lie, the reigning Ninth Prince. I now take the stage to offer a poem, and I ask you all to correct my flaws!"
Eighth Prince Zhao Jian sneered. "Ninth Brother, there is no need to waste everyone's time. Hurry up and chant your masterpiece! If you cannot make one, apologize to the crowd right now and get lost!"
Zhao Lie smiled. "Why is Eighth Brother in such a frantic state? Could it be you are afraid that your younger brother's poem might surpass yours, rendering a whole month of your painstaking efforts entirely in vain?"
"You... what nonsense are you spouting? Your poetry surpassing mine? Hahaha! That's hilarious! Did everyone hear that? This abandoned younger brother of mine claims his poem will surpass mine!" Zhao laughing uproariously, Zhao Jian nearly squeezed out tears of mirth!
The crowd joined in the laughter as well, feeling that Zhao Lie was not only ignorant, but utterly shameless! How could a mere poetry talent of his compare to the Eighth Prince?
A useless, discarded waste, utterly devoid of shame!