In front of the purple sandalwood desk in the center of the waterside pavilion, clear water dripped down the edge of the table.
Outside, the sun had shifted from its zenith toward the west, casting long shadows of the stone pillars across the scorching bluestone slabs.
Over the waters of Shichahai, not a whisper of wind could be heard; even the cicadas in the willow trees along the banks had ceased their crying.
Inside and outside the pavilion, five hundred students of the Imperial Academy and failed scholars remained kneeling, both knees planted firmly on the ground.
All anyone could hear was an aged voice drifting back and forth.
"How can the water be so clear and cool? Because fresh, living water comes from the source... How can the water be so clear and cool? Because fresh, living water comes from the source..."
Kong Zongyun stood before the desk; his walking stick had long since rolled into some forgotten corner.
He stared unblinkingly at the ten characters on the rice paper, mechanically repeating the words.
His voice went from sonorous to dry and hoarse. Bloodshot veins surfaced in his eyes, and his entire being seemed drained of vitality.
The meaning hidden within these ten characters was too colossal, too terrifying.
The legacy of the Six Dynasties, inherited by the Great Qian Dynasty for over a century, emphasized ornate rhetoric and strict structure.
But these ten characters broke free from all literary constraints, directly tearing open the underlying logic of the universe and the evolution of all things.
It was a pinnacle of profundity that the literary circles of Great Qian had never before touched.
Kong Zongyun swayed and lunged toward the desk. His right hand trembled, and his sleeve swept over the nearby bronze water basin, knocking it down.
He ignored the spilling water, grabbed the weasel-hair brush from the desk, pressed the tip fiercely into the remaining ink, and dragged over a sheet of Chengxintang paper.
He had to use the traditional doctrines of Great Qian to deconstruct the Heavenly Dao hidden within this "fresh, living water."
"The qi of heaven and earth gathers and disperses irregularly..." Kong Zongyun gritted his teeth, his wrist shaking violently.
The tip of the brush fell onto the paper.
Two seconds.
After writing only eight characters, Kong Zongyun's wrist froze rigidly in mid-air, unable to descend any further.
These eight characters landed on the paper, dry and pale, utterly incapable of explaining the vastness within Xu Qinghuan's ten characters.
To use Great Qian's stale doctrines to interpret this poem was a blasphemy against the Dao.
Clatter. The weasel-hair brush slipped through his fingers and rolled half a circle on the purple sandalwood.
Kong Zongyun gripped the edges of the rice paper bearing his eight characters with both hands.
Riiiip—
The abrupt sound of tearing silk echoed through the pavilion. Pulling outward with both hands, Kong Zongyun forcefully ripped the rice paper in half.
Then into four pieces, then eight. He tore the traditional facade of Great Qian to shreds, letting the scraps of paper slip through his fingers and scatter over the scorching ground beneath his feet.
Nearby, Gu Zongming clutched the iron box containing the "Inscription of a Humble Cot" to his chest. Looking at the torn paper at Kong Zongyun's feet, his beard trembled, but in the end, he didn't utter a single word.
He understood Kong Zongyun's heart.
Kong Zongyun turned around. He pushed away the pageboy who stepped forward to support him and dragged his heavy steps around the desk.
He stopped two feet directly in front of Xu Qinghuan.
The old man brought his hands together at his chest, his sleeves draping down. He raised his hands steadily above his head, and then, pressed his spine downward.
Without the airs of a renowned Confucian scholar, without the arrogance of the Imperial Academy's Grand Libationer, and without the imposing presence of a descendant of the Kong family, he bowed submissively, bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
A formal, deeply respectful bow.
"This old man thanks the Princess for bestowing this poem."
Kong Zongyun's head was buried deep between his arms. In this arena of discourse watched by scholars all over the world, he did not launch into a lengthy deconstruction of the poem, nor did he show off any literary theories.
He sealed all his shock and incomprehension within this deep bow.
Xu Qinghuan stood her ground, the sun shining on her long gown and casting a dark shadow.
She accepted this bow with perfect peace of mind.
She gave a slight nod, not bothering to spout any overly profound academic jargon.
A real knife only needs to be thrust in; there is no need to pull it out and explain why it causes bleeding.
"The words have been written, and the principles left behind. Take your time to comprehend them."
"After all, I still have dozens of account books to review at the manor, so I will take my leave now."
"Consider today's poem and article as my humble attempt to cast a brick to attract jade."
"Let's go," Xu Qinghuan turned her head and dropped these words to Xu Zijin beside her.
Xu Zijin folded his fan, took a step forward, and positioned himself diagonally in front of her to clear the way.
Right at that moment, a startling rustle echoed across the bluestone slabs inside and outside the pavilion.
Rustle, rustle, rustle.
It was the sound of knees scraping against the ground.
With their hands propped on the scorching stone slabs, not daring to lift their heads, they forcefully dragged their knees half a foot to the right.
Behind him, the five hundred Imperial Academy students and failed scholars all maintained their kneeling postures as they retreated to the left and right.
Amidst the dense crowd, a three-foot-wide path opened up.
Stepping on the paper scraps, Xu Qinghuan walked out step by step along this path formed by kneeling figures. The wind stirred by the hem of her robes swept over the heads of the scholars on both sides.
Boarding the small boat, Xu Zijin untied the hemp rope fastened to the wooden post.
With a turn of the wooden scull, the small boat parted the waters of Shichahai, stirring up ripples as it drifted toward the depths of the lake.
Inside the entire pavilion, no one touched the brush and ink on the desk again. The Shichahai Literary Gathering, renowned throughout the capital, came to a hasty end in this eerie manner.
Up in the Moon-Gazing Tower.
Xie Yunwan stood behind the window, watching the lone boat vanish into the ripples.
She clenched a broken porcelain shard in her palm. The sharp edges pierced her skin, oozing blood, yet she seemed completely unaware of the pain.
...
Three days later, early morning.
East City, outside the main gates of the Imperial Academy.
The morning mist had not yet fully dissipated, and a thin layer of dew coated the bluestone slabs.
An old gatekeeper holding a bowl of paste carefully affixed a yellow paper notice right in the center of the main doors.
In the bottom right corner of the notice was the seal of Kong Zongyun, the Grand Libationer; the red ink was striking.
It bore only two brief lines: "Effective immediately, I am canceling all scriptural lectures for the next half year. My doors are closed to all guests."
The students gathered at the gate for their morning readings completely erupted in shock. The Imperial Academy had established its rules a century ago; even during the wars of the previous dynasty, there had never been a precedent of a Libationer suspending lectures for half a year.
This door, representing the literary vein of Great Qian, was shut just like that, right in front of the whole world.
A similar scene occurred at the old Yingke Inn outside the Dongbian Gate.
Four famous scholars from Jiangnan, carrying purple-hair brushes and Hui ink, had originally intended to come early to pay their respects to Gu Zongming.
Just as they stepped onto the stone stairs of the inn, a pageboy holding a broom forcibly blocked them outside the threshold.
"Gentlemen, please return," the pageboy said, holding the broom horizontally in front of him. "My master has given absolute orders. Since midnight last night, he has entered secluded meditation."
"He will not accept calling cards, nor will he see outside guests." The pageboy paused and added, "Even letters from Lord Xie of Jiangning are to be returned exactly as they came."
Two titans of the literary world, one after the other, completely severed all contact with the outside world.
This news spread rapidly, sweeping through the entire capital before noon.
The long streets of the East City descended into total chaos.
The thresholds of Songzhu Bookstore, Listening Rain Teahouse, and even the corner stalls selling brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were almost trampled to pieces.
Countless Academy students and failed provincial graduates, stuffing copper coins and broken silver into their sleeves, rushed madly at the bookstore counters.
"Give me paper! Even the cheapest yellow hemp paper will do! Give me a whole quire!" a scholar, dripping with sweat, roared as he gripped the edge of the counter.
"Out of paper! Sold out ages ago!" The shopkeeper clattered his abacus loudly, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Right now on the market, Xuan paper is twenty copper coins a quire! Even coarse straw paper used to make up the numbers is selling for eight!"
"Does anyone have a copied version of the Epitaph of a Humble Cot and that Thoughts on Reading! It doesn't matter if the handwriting is ugly! I'll pay half a tael of silver!"
The people beside him couldn't squeeze in, stomping their feet in anxiety outside.
The price of paper in the capital had abruptly more than doubled within this mere half a day.
Under the eaves on the street, several scholars who had managed to snatch up paper and ink gathered together. Leaning over stone blocks, they copied the two poems word by word, their lips moving rapidly and spit flying as they spoke.
"Do we even need to guess?" an older scholar who had failed the imperial examinations slapped his thigh, lowering his voice, his eyes filled with fanaticism. "Elder Kong of the Imperial Academy and Elder Gu of Jiangnan, together they are nearly a hundred and fifty years old. What insurmountable hurdle could they have encountered to enter a secluded meditation unto death?"
He pointed at the ink that hadn't yet dried on the paper, his knuckles trembling. "They are absolutely comprehending the ten-character mantra left by Princess Xu! How can the canal be so clear... This philosophy is too profound!"
"As for what is buried in it? Why care so much!"
"But I guess if they really unravel the Dao within this source of living water, the literary lineage of our Great Qian Dynasty will likely turn over a completely new leaf!"
"More than just turning a page!" a young Imperial Academy student nearby chimed in. "The scholarly circles of the capital will have a whole new way of living from now on."
...
At the same time, on the northern grasslands.
The wind in early May had completely lost its biting chill; blowing against people, it even carried a hint of dry heat.
The ice and snow had long melted without a trace, and the pasture grass over the mountains and plains shot up like crazy, stretching into an endless green sea.
Inside the royal tent of the Left Luli King, gruff laughter shook the roof of the tent.
A burly barbarian general, his head full of small braids, was using a boning knife to carve off large chunks of dripping roast mutton.
"Your Majesty, the Great Qian outpost camp opposite us has completely changed its look recently!" the general reported indistinctly, chewing on large mouthfuls of mutton.
"That general surnamed Xu, who previously led the night raid on our vanguard camp and fought like a madman in the pile of corpses, hasn't shown his face for a full half month!"
Sitting on a large tiger-skin chair, the Left Luli King narrowed his eyes and stroked his heavily bearded chin.
"Are you sure you didn't see wrong? That is a fearless roaring tiger. Is the Great Qian military really willing to hide him away?"
"Absolutely true! Their current defense line is as loose as a broken sieve."
The general spat heavily on the ground, his face full of mockery.
"Those leading the camp patrols have all been replaced by a bunch of weaklings who have never seen blood! I reckon it's those Great Qian civil officials engaging in some political infighting again."
The general grinned, his eyes full of greedy, fierce light. "These Southerners feel uncomfortable if they don't fight amongst themselves for a single day. Stripping their most capable fighting officer of his military power—this move is truly destroying their own Great Wall!"
Hearing this, the Left Luli King burst into laughter and grabbed the horsewhip from the table.
"Good! What a fine job of destroying their own Great Wall!" He strode out of the royal tent and looked at the warhorses on the pasture outside, which had eaten themselves plump and strong.
Now that the horses were full of green grass, it was time for them to drink the blood of the Southerners.
The Left Luli King turned his head, looking toward the direction of the Great Qian border pass, his eyes as grim and sinister as a hungry wolf's.
"Since that is the case, if this continues, the Great Qian defense line will be like a layer of window paper that breaks with a single poke."
"Within three months, we will definitely breach the first pass of Great Qian!"
...
Two veteran soldiers wearing old mandarin-duck battle tunics were drinking in silence. On the wooden table with a missing corner, there was only a small dish of dry peanuts.
"Have you heard? The memorial from the northern outpost camp entered the Ministry of War yesterday." An old soldier missing two fingers gulped down some cloudy wine and smacked his lips.
His fellow townsman opposite him, whose face was covered in stubble, leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "They won a victorious night raid. Shouldn't they reward the merits and give the brothers below a handsome bounty?"
"Reward my ass, it's purely empty promises." The missing-finger veteran sneered and spat heavily on the ground. "My uncle's cousin's distant nephew is in the northern supervisory camp, and he passed on the exact news."
"Centurion Xu, who led the charge and hacked through the barbarian camp, was directly stripped of his military command by the higher-ups!"
"Centurion Xu? Xu Zhan, the second son of the Xu family?" Hearing this, the townsman's eyes almost popped out, his face looking as if he had seen a ghost. "That is a fearless roaring tiger! If they don't let him lead the troops, what is the outpost camp going to use to block the barbarians? Isn't this a waste?"
The missing-finger veteran shook his head, his eyes full of frustration and sarcasm. "Who knows what grand game of chess those lords in the capital are playing."
"Those who can fight can't beat those who can write; those who risk their lives can't beat those who scheme."
"This sharp blade, Second Brother Xu, has probably been snapped by their own hands."
