Chapter 120: The Resounding Moonlight Pavilion

When Xuanyuan Changfeng read the poem written by Gou Ye, his eyes widened in astonishment. At that moment, it was not only him; everyone present, including Jia Zhengyi, wore expressions of amazement. On the poetry screen appeared the verse:

“Do you not see the Yellow River’s waters descending from the heavens, rushing toward the sea never to return? Do you not see the bright mirror in the high hall lamenting white hair, morning silk black, evening snow? When life is at its height, one must revel to the fullest; do not let an empty cup face the moon in vain. Heaven gave me talents that will be useful; though wealth scatters, it will return again. Let us roast lamb and butcher oxen for pleasure, we must drink three hundred cups in one go. Bring the wine, do not let the cup rest. I sing a song to you, pray lend me your ear. Bells and drums, delicacies and jade are not worth cherishing; I only wish to be forever drunk, never to awake. Since ancient times, sages and worthies have been solitary; only drinkers leave their names behind. In the past, Prince Chen feasted at Ping Le, drinking ten thousand coins’ worth of wine in mirth and jest. Why does the host speak of scant money? Simply buy and pour, let us drink together. Five-flower horses, fine pelts worth a thousand gold, call the boy to trade them for good wine, to drown eternal sorrows with you.”

Gou Ye had directly inscribed Li Bai’s masterpiece “Bring in the Wine” on the poetry screen, with only slight alterations, yet it was enough to astonish all who beheld it. This poem, among Li Bai’s thousands, is the most difficult to surpass—a peerless, timeless work filled with immortal lines that resonate through the ages, unparalleled before and after.

With the poem displayed, who could dare challenge it? Gou Ye nonchalantly flicked his brush to the side and boldly declared, “If anyone can surpass my poem, I shall bow immediately, even willing to sacrifice my hair for my head!” Having spoken, he led the group through the crowd, ready to return to his elegant chamber.

Suddenly, a shout came from behind: “Young master, do not leave!”

Gou Ye turned to see Xuanyuan Changfeng, dressed in white, solemnly bowing before him. “I am Xuanyuan Changfeng, honored to meet you, young master. You are truly a great talent. I humbly concede defeat; this poem is unparalleled through the ages. I dare say it will remain unsurpassed for a hundred, even a thousand years. I beg you to leave your name, so I may pay my respects properly.”

Xuanyuan Changfeng, who had always been arrogant and domineering, had never spoken such words nor lowered himself before anyone. Today, he astonished all present. Yet it was understandable—Gou Ye’s poem on the screen was simply too dazzling. Even those who could produce notable verse bowed instantly, unable to find any comparable poem. That was the most terrifying part.

“Gou Ye.”

Hearing the reply, Xuanyuan Changfeng waited until they reached the chamber before slowly rising. At that moment, he genuinely bowed his head in submission, finally understanding the truth of “there are always greater talents beyond.” From now on, he would never claim to be the foremost prodigy in the capital.

He quietly approached the poetry screen and, with great care, wiped away his own poem. He feared even touching the lines Gou Ye had written. In his mind, that poem had become a sacred scripture, not to be defiled in the slightest.

Unbeknownst to Gou Ye, this act ignited a sensation overnight among the capital’s literati. Scholars and elegant gentlemen flocked to the Moonlight Pavilion to admire Gou Ye’s poem, invariably expressing heartfelt admiration, shaking their heads, pounding their chests, and lamenting their own inferiority. Gou Ye’s name spread swiftly through the literary circles, though no one knew who he truly was or where he came from. They privately bestowed upon him the illustrious title: The God of Poetry.

Word spread exponentially. Soon, tales of the “God of Poetry” became legendary—he spoke in famous lines at will, stood tall and imposing, possessed unparalleled talent, a literary star descended from the heavens. Some even claimed he was a celestial being sent to compose poems on earth. Whenever doubters appeared, they would be brought to Moonlight Pavilion to see Gou Ye’s verses, rendered speechless and filled with profound admiration upon reading.

The owner of Moonlight Pavilion promptly commissioned a new poetry screen, carefully framing the one where Gou Ye’s poem was inscribed, placing it prominently in the main hall. Every visitor or passerby could immediately behold the immortal verses.

Gou Ye, however, remained unaware. He was still biting his brush, deep in thought, struggling to memorize the Four Books and Five Classics. Suddenly, he sneezed and murmured, “Hmm? Who is cursing me?”

Because Gou Ye rarely left home, he was ignorant of the outside world. But Jia Zhengyi, who was often out and about, certainly knew. At noon that day, as Gou Ye’s family dined in the hall, Jia rushed in breathlessly, unable to utter a word. Yun Niang handed him a cup of tea; after a sip, he exclaimed, “Young master Gou, you’ve become famous! You’re on fire!”

Gou Ye looked around in confusion; everyone shared his expression. “Boss Jia, don’t rush. Tell me slowly.”

Jia then recounted the events surrounding Moonlight Pavilion and the literary world’s reaction. Gou Ye listened, stunned. He had never imagined that casually writing lines from Li Bai’s poem would cause such a stir in the capital. They even gave him the title “God of Poetry.” He had intended to keep a low profile upon entering the capital, yet his actions had immediately made him renowned.

Jia continued, “Young master Gou, you don’t realize it, but your poem has spread throughout the entire literary circle of the capital. Everyone praises it highly. It’s impossible for you not to become famous now. Several clan leaders have expressed their admiration, especially Lord Xiao, who is himself a jinshi graduate. He is greatly pleased and said you are truly an unparalleled talent. When you bring glory to the merchant clan, he will recommend you as the sixth clan leader.”

“No way. It’s just a poem, yet the clan promises me the position of leader? Am I not profiting a bit too much?” Gou Ye was full of astonishment, honestly not thinking his deed was so remarkable.

“Just a poem? Young master Gou, your verses have circulated throughout the capital’s literary world! Everyone praises your work. You could hardly avoid fame now.”

Before Jia finished, an unexpected commotion arose outside. The door opened, and an official entered, resembling a eunuch from television dramas. Behind him followed a dozen burly guards. The official called softly, “Gou Ye, receive the imperial summons!”

Everyone knelt as the official continued, “By imperial decree, Gou Ye is to enter the palace immediately to pay respects to His Majesty.”