: Testing Poetic Talent Again, All Eyes Fall on Him

Chen Mao then looked at Fan Zheng and asked, "What does Master Fan think?"

Fan Zheng was a man of gentle and tactful nature, and he was good at mediating disputes.

He said gently, "What Master Chu said is indeed reasonable, and what Master Sun said is also sincere. However, I think that this poem is not empty of anything. It is not about objects, but about the state of mind. However, this poem is indeed very different from contemporary poems. I dare not make a conclusion. Please allow me to think about it some more."

This statement was indeed tactful, neither negating Chu Wenju and Sun Datian nor belittling Liang Shanbo.

Chen Mao smiled slightly and turned his gaze to Zhu Tao, who was in the main seat: "My lord, why don't we hear what the author of this poem has to say?"

Zhu Tao nodded, looked at Liang Shanbo, his gaze containing both a test and an expectation: "Liang Shanbo."

Liang Shanbo rose from his seat and bowed to Zhu Tao, Chen Mao, and Meng Wenlang, saying, "This junior is here."

Zhu Tao asked, "What is your poem 'Snow on Qiantang Lake' about? Why did you write it?"

Liang Shanbo did not answer immediately. He lowered his head slightly, as if organizing his thoughts, then raised his head and slowly said, "Reporting to Your Excellency, the first snow not long ago fell all night. The next morning, I went for a stroll along the shore of Qiantang Lake with my virtuous brother Zhu Jiuling."

As they were traveling, they suddenly saw a small boat on the lake, with an old man wearing a straw raincoat and hat sitting on it, holding a fishing rod, motionless. The lake was as calm as a mirror after the snow, and his boat was still in that white expanse of sky and earth, as if it were one with the lake and mountains.

The snow of the previous night had sealed off every mountain path. Birds did not fly, people did not walk; between heaven and earth, only a pure white remained, all things submerged in snow. Yet, amidst this pristine whiteness, only one person remained unhidden. He sat there alone, steer his boat, fishing rod in hand. All was silent and still, but this man alone endured.

When I read Zhuangzi, I often felt that the phrase "communing alone with the spirit of heaven and earth" was profound, but I never quite grasped its meaning. Only one day, when I saw an old man fishing alone on a lake after a snowfall, did I suddenly understand.

A thousand mountains without birds signify the return of heaven and earth to stillness; ten thousand paths without people signify the return of the mortal world to nothingness. In this silent emptiness, a person, a small boat, and a fishing rod find clarity and self-awareness. This is the true heart that emerges from the chaos of the world.

Guo Zixuan said, "To transform alone in the realm of profound darkness." I, a junior, always thought it was something profound and difficult to attain. But after meeting the old man, I realized that the so-called "transformation alone" is simply guarding one's own heart when all things are silent, and doing things that need not be told to others.

The younger generation wrote "Fishing alone on a snowy lake," a line that contains neither the word "person" nor the word "heart." Yet, the younger generation feels that the fishing rod sinks as the heart sinks; the more vast and empty the world becomes, the clearer the heart becomes.

This poem describes both the lake and the poet's state of mind. The snow represents coverage and annihilation; the angler represents guarding and preservation. This junior poet wishes to use these twenty characters to record the subtle feelings evoked on that day.

After Liang Shanbo finished speaking, the pavilion fell silent for a moment.

Zhu Tao's gaze lingered on the boy for a long time.

From the boy's clear and bright eyes, he saw his straight and upright spine, and then his simple clothes, without a single ornament or embroidery.

There were nearly thirty young men in the pavilion, most of whom were dressed in fine clothes.

Liang Shanbo, dressed simply, stood out conspicuously amidst the lavish attire of the room.

In Zhu Tao's view, Liang Shanbo's striking feature is not his poverty, but his purity. It is a purity that is neither humble nor arrogant, a purity forged through hardship.

Zhu Tao was silent for a moment, then turned to Chen Mao: "Brother Minze, in my opinion, we should test Liang Shanbo's poetic talent again. Let him compose another poem about snow on the spot, and compare the two poems side by side to see his talent even more clearly."

Chen Mao was taken aback, then smiled and said, "Your Excellency is right. Nephew Liang's poem 'Snow on the Qiantang Lake' was already quite good. If you could compose another one, today's gathering of melodious poems in the cold of winter would be even more delightful."

He turned to Meng Wenlang and asked with a smile, "What is your opinion, Mr. Meng?"

Meng Wenlang smiled slightly, his gaze lingering on Liang Shanbo's face for a moment before he said to Zhu Tao and Chen Mao, "Since the Prefect and the Magistrate have this intention, it is my good fortune. I only wonder if he has the talent to give it a try today. Let us give him a chance."

Zhu Tao nodded, then turned his gaze to Liang Shanbo: "Liang Shanbo, could you perhaps compose another poem about snow on the spot?"

Liang Shanbo pondered for a moment before speaking: "Since the Prefect has given the order, I will dare to give it a try. However, I need a moment to think silently at the table. Once I have a poem in mind, I will write it down on paper."

Zhu Tao nodded and said, "That's the way it should be. You can ponder this silently at the table; there's no need to rush. If a moment isn't enough, even a stick of incense can be used as the limit, which is perfectly acceptable."

Liang Shanbo then said, "I have another request that I cannot make."

Zhu Tao raised an eyebrow slightly: "Go on."

Liang Shanbo calmly replied, "The Prefect has ordered me to compose another poem about snow. However, there have been far too many poems about snow throughout history. I have already composed one, and I fear that in such a rush, I might not be able to match the previous one in terms of quality."

"Your Excellency, could you perhaps broaden the subject matter a bit and allow me to compose a poem on the theme of snow? It doesn't necessarily have to be about snow itself. Snow can be a seasonal element, a starting point for inspiration, but it doesn't have to be the main subject of the poem."

Zhu Tao nodded slightly, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes. This young man was neither humble nor arrogant, neither flustered nor impatient; not only did he dare to make a request, but he also made a reasonable one.

"Okay," Zhu Tao said, offering only one word.

As a result, the situation in Zhuyun Pavilion became somewhat strange.

Zhu Tao, Chen Mao, Meng Wenlang, Fan Zheng, Chu Wenju, Xiao Zhen, Sun Datian, Du Shiyi, and other prominent figures from Qiantang were drinking warm wine and chatting casually. But their gazes kept drifting towards Liang Shanbo.

The young men in the pavilion were all watching Liang Shanbo closely. Some stared at him, some glanced at him casually, and some whispered to each other, their eyes constantly drifting in his direction.

For a time, Liang Shanbo became the focus of the entire Zhuyun Pavilion.

He seemed completely unaware, his head slightly lowered, his expression calm as still water, his right index finger gently drawing on the felt, stroke after stroke, as if writing words, or perhaps tracing some unseen pattern.

Zhu Yingtai knelt beside him, wanting to say something to him, but the words caught in her throat.

She didn't want to disturb his meditation, and she knew that everyone was staring at him, so if she spoke to him, it would be too conspicuous.

She knelt quietly, only occasionally turning her head to glance at him, and sometimes, the corners of her mouth would involuntarily curve into a smile.

Xiao Zhen suddenly turned around and beckoned to Xiao Hu, who was kneeling behind him.

Xiao Hu quickly leaned forward and called out in a low voice, "Grandpa."

Xiao Zhen's voice was deep: "Ah Hu, I remember you mentioned before that there was a student in your school who beat you in wrestling and also in archery. Are you talking about this Liang Shanbo?"

Xiao Hu respectfully replied, "Yes, sir, it is indeed him. He is my friend."

Xiao Zhen nodded, turned back around, his gaze lingering on Liang Shanbo for a moment, and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

On the other side, Sun Yuangui mustered his courage, leaned close to his father Sun Datian's ear, and whispered, "Father."

Sun Datian was holding a glass of wine when he heard this, so he turned around and glared at him.

Sun Yuangui did not back down and continued in a low voice, "Father, do you remember? I told you about Liang Shanbo before. He is my friend. He is no ordinary person. He is skilled in both literature and martial arts. His learning is the best in our Jiazhai School. Even Wang Shu is not as good as him. He can beat Xiao Hu in wrestling and also won the championship in the autumn archery competition."

After hearing this, Sun Datian glared at him again.

Sun Yuangui shrank his neck and looked at his father with pleading eyes.

Looking at his appearance and then at the simply dressed young man over there, Sun Datian understood. His son was asking him to look after this Liang Shanbo.