"What are you all laughing at? Is it that funny? My Ninth Brother hasn't even written his poem yet—how can you be so sure he'll lose to my Eighth Brother?" demanded the Thirteenth Princess angrily, making no secret of her blatant favoritism toward her ninth brother.
Whether court officials or scions of noble families, none dared offend the Thirteenth Princess. Willful, unruly, and afraid of nothing in heaven or earth, she was widely known as the Thirteenth Demoness.
Scolded by the princess, the onlookers immediately choked back their laughter.
Even the Eighth Prince harbored a lingering wariness toward his little sister. Putting on a forced smile, he coaxed, "Little Sister, why are you so biased toward your Ninth Brother? Surely we all know what he's capable of—or rather, what he's *not* capable of. It's only natural that people are laughing at the bold claims he just made!"
The Thirteenth Princess glared at the Eighth Prince and replied coldly, "Even so, nobody is allowed to mock my Ninth Brother! Besides, his poem hasn't been written yet, so nothing is settled. What if he happens to produce a masterpiece?"
Seeing his little sister defend his dignity so fiercely, Zhao Lie felt a sudden warmth bloom in his chest. His eyes grew misty, and he swore silently to himself: *Little Sister, since you protect me like this, from this day forth, I shall guard you with my life.*
With renewed confidence, Zhao Lie took over the conversation from Zhao Yanran. "Thank you, Little Sister, for speaking up on my behalf. Rest assured, my poem will not disappoint you!"
"Ha, ha, ha! My dear Ninth Brother, this is a poetry competition, not a bragging contest. A horse or a mule isn't judged by what it says—it has to be led outside and put through its paces to see what it's really made of. If you've got the talent, hurry up and recite your masterpiece so we can all read and appreciate it!"
Hearing the Eighth Prince's words, the crowd immediately chimed in. The other seven princes and three princesses, in particular, cried out almost with one voice, "Hurry up and recite your masterpiece!"
Seeing this, Yan Song broke out in a cold sweat for Zhao Lie: *Ninth Prince, why must you bite off more than you can chew? Now look at you—you're going to lose every shred of your dignity today!*
The loud commotion had already drawn the attention of the other banquet halls. When the guests heard that the Ninth Prince was going to compose a poem—and had boastfully claimed it would be exceptionally brilliant—they all rushed over to see.
In no time at all, the place was packed to bursting.
This threw Zhao Yanran into a panic. She hurried into the center of the courtyard, pulled Zhao Lie aside, and whispered urgently, "Ninth Brother, why don't you just give up? I've got your back—let's see who dares to make fun of you when I'm here. Anyone who laughs at you answers to me!"
Knowing her ninth brother inside and out, Zhao Yanran naturally didn't believe he possessed any poetic genius or could write anything worthwhile. She only hoped he would recognize the difficulty and back out before he made a fool of himself.
Instead, Zhao Lie smiled down at her. "Don't worry, Little Sister. Today is my chance to make a name for myself. Just wait and see!"
Zhao Yanran: "..."
Turning to face Zhao Jian, Zhao Lie announced, "Eighth Brother, listen well! I am about to recite my seven-character quatrain!"
Zhao Jian forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Very well! We are all ears."
Sensing he had played up his pretense long enough, Zhao Lie cleared his throat. With his hands clasped behind his back, he began pacing back and forth with the exaggerated dignity of an old pedant.
The onlookers felt distinctly uncomfortable watching Zhao Lie's unfathomable display. *This Ninth Prince is truly obnoxious,* they thought. *Talented people are usually proud of their gifts, but this Ninth Prince is proud without having any talent at all.*
Just as the crowd was growing disgusted with his posturing, the Ninth Prince finally opened his mouth and began to recite:
*Fine wine in luminous cups, glowing bright,*
*About to drink when the pipa urges us to ride tonight.*
*Should I lie drunk on the battlefield, do not mock me, I pray—*
*Since ancient times in battle, how many ever find their way?*
The moment the poem left his lips, the entire courtyard fell into a dead silence, so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
After a long moment, Lu You let out a cry of astonishment: "Good heavens! To think that in my declining years, I would live to witness such a divine masterpiece! My time in this world has not been wasted. Ha, ha, ha! The Ninth Prince is truly a towering talent who hides his brilliance. He concealed it deep indeed!"
Some of the erudite ministers present immediately recognized the extraordinary quality of the poem and started the applause. Swept up in the rhythm, the rest of the guests followed suit, clapping furiously regardless of whether they truly understood or appreciated poetry.
In an instant, thunderous applause shook the air.
This left the Eighth Prince in absolute agony, his face turning the color of a pig's liver. He longed to fly into a rage, but the applause of the crowd showed no sign of abating, forcing him to swallow his fury for the time being.
Li Lihua's complexion looked equally grim. Having a natural inclination and talent for verse, she had hung on every word of Zhao Lie's quatrain and recognized it instantly as a supreme piece of work. It was a masterpiece without peer in the past and unmatched in the future—an epoch-making work of the highest order.
One man's joy is another man's sorrow!
Upon hearing Yan Song's report, Emperor Yuan stood frozen in place. Though the emperor was no great lover of poetry, he had studied the classics thoroughly as a prince and possessed a keen eye for verse.
*Could this rascal really have been playing the pig to eat the tiger all this time, deliberately hiding his light?*
From its artistic conception and emotional height to its vivid imagery, the poem was virtually flawless—quite simply, the most perfect masterpiece imaginable.
"Go back and keep watch! Report any new developments immediately," Emperor Yuan ordered.
Yan Song bowed and withdrew.
Meanwhile, Zhao Yanran was beaming with delight. She threw herself into Zhao Lie's arms and wept tears of joy. "Ninth Brother, you were amazing! Who knew you were so talented?"
Zhao Lie chuckled. "Thank you for the praise, Little Sister. Fortunately, I didn't let you down!"
The surrounding guests stared in stunned disbelief at the sight of Zhao Yanran embracing Zhao Lie so affectionately. They all concluded that for a discarded prince, winning the protection of the Thirteenth Princess was truly a stroke of extreme fortune amidst disaster.
By now the applause had died down. Seeing that Zhao Lie had completely overshadowed him—transforming what was meant to be a humiliating spectacle into his own coming-out party—the Eighth Prince cast aside all shame.
"Everyone," he announced loudly, "the poem my ninth brother just recited is indeed an impressive piece of work. But I can assure you, he didn't write it himself! Of all thirteen imperial brothers and sisters, everyone knows our ninth brother is the most hopeless. He can barely read a few characters—how could he possibly compose such an exquisite and peerless masterpiece?"
The Eighth Prince's words struck the crowd like a boulder dropped into a calm lake, instantly setting off a wave of murmurs and commotion.
Lu You, the chief examiner, seemed to have a sudden awakening. *Indeed!* he thought. *Zhao Lie is usually so dull-witted—how could he possibly write such a brilliant poem? Could it really be plagiarized?*
As the head of the Imperial Academy, Lu You certainly wouldn't brand Zhao Lie's poem a plagiarism based solely on the Eighth Prince's biased claim. But even if it was stolen, who was the original author?
With his vast knowledge of history, classical literature, and poetry spanning ancient and modern times, Lu You had read extensively. Though he couldn't remember everything, he would surely recognize a masterpiece like this if it had come from the hand of an earlier writer.
Yet, try as he might to rack his brains, nothing came to mind. Lu You could therefore conclude with certainty that the poem was not the work of any ancient author.
As for contemporary poets capable of producing such a grand piece, Lu You mentally screened dozens of renowned writers of the day and felt none of them possessed the capability to write it.
*Could it be the work of some obscure, unknown talent?* Lu You instantly dismissed the thought. *Anyone capable of writing poetry this fine is never a nobody.*
With that realization, Lu You maintained his composure and spoke up. "Eighth Prince, you claim that the Ninth Prince's poem is plagiarized. Do you have any evidence?"
"Well, I don't have direct proof, but this poem certainly wasn't written by my useless ninth brother! We all know his true capabilities better than anyone," the Eighth Prince argued stubbornly.