YBTGX 11

Chapter 11

Creating a Classic Again: “Song of the Wanderer,” Reaching the “Prefecture” Level!

The three-day deadline arrived in the blink of an eye. Outside the dilapidated gate of the Lu family courtyard, a dense crowd had gathered. Nearly everyone in Xiahe Village who could still walk had come, stretching their necks, waiting to watch the excitement. The sun hung overhead, baking the dusty dirt road until it was scorching hot. The buzzing of the villagers’ discussions was mixed with the droning of cicadas.

The farce that had taken place three days ago had already spread throughout the tiny village thousands of times over, appearing in various versions, yet the core remained unchanged: the six-year-old boy from the Lu family’s second branch was a prodigy of early wisdom and filial piety.

Before long, a dull rumble of wheels echoed from the entrance of the village. The crowd instinctively parted on both sides, making way. Three carriages kicked up dust as they rolled toward the Lu family’s small courtyard. The lead carriage was crafted entirely of ebony, with a spacious cabin and tassels and copper bells hanging from its four corners. It was pulled by two sleek, glossy black horses—the mere sight of it exuded a kind of prosperity rarely seen in ordinary households. The two carriages following behind, though slightly more modest, were still far more impressive than the ox-cart the village chief used for the Lunar New Year.

The carriages came to a steady halt in front of the Lu house. The curtain of the lead carriage was lifted, and Steward Wang, dressed in a brand-new dark blue zhiduo robe, stepped down with composed ease. Following him was an elderly man with a goat-like beard and a refined, thin face, carrying a medicine chest.

Steward Wang’s gaze swept over the crowd and landed on the tiny figure at the entrance. Lu Lin stood there quietly. His mother, Li Shi, stood beside him, her eyes red and swollen, gripping his small hand tightly. His father, Lu Hou, leaned against the doorframe, propped up by a crude wooden crutch.

Li Shi pulled Lu Lin closer, whispering instructions over and over again. “When you reach the Liu estate, be obedient. Do whatever the masters tell you to do. Don’t argue with people. Be quick with your hands and feet; speak less and do more. Make sure you eat your fill. If the weather gets cold, remember to add layers; don’t let yourself freeze…” It was all the most fundamental advice for survival.

Lu Lin didn’t show a hint of impatience. He simply looked up with his small face, listening earnestly and nodding from time to time. Seeing her son so well-behaved, Li Shi’s heart felt as if it were being shredded; the tears she had just suppressed began to spill over again. She saw Steward Wang leading his party closer, and the tears brimming in her eyes finally broke through, cascading down.

Steward Wang did not rush them immediately, simply standing quietly to the side, waiting for the mother and son to finish their goodbyes. Only when Li Shi’s weeping gradually faded into soft sobs did he step forward, bowing slightly to Lu Lin and the Lu couple.

“My mistress heard of Master Lu Lin’s filial heart and was deeply moved. She specifically ordered me to invite a resident physician from the Huichun Clinic in the county to treat Brother Lu Hou’s leg injury. All expenses will be covered by the Liu family.”

Once these words were spoken, not only the couple, but even the surrounding villagers gasped in shock.

“I’d heard the Liu family was a kind household, but this is truly something else.”

“Lu the Second is truly blessed to have birthed such a son.”

…

Lu Lin turned around, bowed deeply to Steward Wang, and spoke with a crisp, heartfelt voice. “I thank my mistress for her grace, and I thank you, Uncle Wang.”

Li Shi and Lu Hou also came to their senses, their faces filled with incredulous excitement and gratitude; they struggled to kneel.

“No, you mustn’t!” Steward Wang quickly reached out to steady them, at the same time waving his hand. A servant behind him immediately stepped forward, holding a parcel. “This is also my mistress’s intent. Since the young master is going to serve at our estate, he represents the face of the Liu family. My mistress specially had new clothes tailored; I invite the young master to change into them.”

The parcel was opened, revealing a sky-blue fine cotton long robe. The material was smooth and the craftsmanship exquisite—it was clearly of great value.

However, Lu Lin shook his head gently. He stepped back and bowed to Steward Wang once more. “Uncle Wang, I deeply appreciate the mistress’s kindness. However, while my parents are alive, I dare not forget my roots. Each stitch and thread of the clothing my mother sewed for me is a manifestation of a merciful mother’s love. As I leave home today, I dare not remove this garment in front of my parents, lest I forget their grace in raising me.”

The voice was childish, yet it left everyone present stunned. The villagers looked at the old, washed-out, patched clothes Lu Lin was wearing, then at the brand-new, luxurious garment in the servant’s hands. For a moment, they felt that the tattered outfit was more dazzling than any silk or satin.

At the same time, in the largest and most luxurious of the three carriages, a thick curtain was silently lifted by a finger as slender as jade.

In that very moment, Lu Lin felt a flash of inspiration. A poem emerged from the depths of his memory without warning. He turned slowly, no longer looking at Steward Wang, nor caring for the eyes of the crowd. He looked only at his mother, Li Shi. He looked at her swollen eyes, her tightly bitten lips, and her hands, covered in needle pricks from sewing clothes for him.

Lu Lin bowed deeply to Li Shi. Then, in a clear, slightly choked childish voice, he recited, loud enough for everyone to hear:

“The thread in the hands of a doting mother,” “Creates the garment on the body of her departing son.”

Li Shi’s sobbing paused; she looked blankly at her son, who remained bowed. Lu Lin did not stop.

“Closely stitched in anticipation of his departure,” “Fearing he would return late.”

A look of sheer horror appeared in Steward Wang’s shrewd eyes for the first time. He was a man of letters; he could naturally hear the sincere emotion beneath these plain, simple words. The sound of sobbing began to rise and fall from the crowd around them.

Lu Lin slowly straightened up, his eyes clear as he looked directly at his tearful mother.

“Who says that a heart as small as a blade of grass,” “Can ever repay the brilliance of the spring sun?”

Hum.

The moment the poem landed, an unspeakable, mysterious aura, centered on Lu Lin, suddenly spread in all directions. Even those villagers who couldn’t recognize a single character, while unable to understand the tonality or prosody, all felt a warmth envelop their entire bodies without exception.

Hum.

In Lu Lin’s mind, that ancient, rustic bamboo scroll unfolded with a roar. Golden characters appeared at a speed faster than ever before, the light they cast more brilliant than any time prior.

[Original Classic Created: “Song of the Wanderer” (Level: Prefecture) Effect: Hidden until literary rank reaches Juren.] [Upon the release of this poem, the sincerity of a loyal heart touches the heavens and moves the earth. Its meaning may cover the area of an entire prefecture; all who possess filial hearts shall find resonance.] [Reward: 1,000 wisps of Literary Qi.]

BOOM.

It felt as if a thunderclap had exploded in Lu Lin’s mind. A torrent of Literary Qi, ten times larger than before, descended from the sky, instantly flooding into his limbs and bones.

“My heavens!” An old woman could no longer stand; she collapsed to the ground, wailing uncontrollably. “This child… this child is the Wenquxing descended from the heavens!”

“I… I don’t understand a single word, but why does my heart feel so incredibly heavy?”

“A prodigy! This is a true prodigy!”

Exclamations of shock, praise, and weeping mixed together, completely detonating the small Lu courtyard. Li Shi could no longer hold herself up; her legs went weak, and she knelt to the ground, pulling Lu Lin tightly into her arms, weeping as if her heart were being broken.

Leaning against the doorframe, Lu Hou’s calloused hands clawed desperately at the wood, while scalding tears fell in silence. Old Man Lu looked as if all the strength had been drained from his body; his pipe clattered to the ground.

Regret! His guts were turning green with regret!

In the courtyard, only the Eldest Uncle stood frozen in place like a mud statue. He was dumbfounded. He stared at his nephew, who was surrounded by the crowd and treated like a celestial being, his mind a complete blank.

How is this possible? How could this be? A six-year-old toddler—how could he compose such a poem?

An original classic? Prefecture level? He had been studying for nearly twenty years and had never even written a decent essay capable of “passing the county level,” yet his six-year-old nephew had composed a poem of “Prefecture” level in public?

Other villagers were not scholars, but they could feel the sentiment within the poem. As a man of letters, how could the Eldest Uncle not know the significance of this work? The moment the poem was released, the Rules of Literature had already branded it into the minds of every scholar in the entire Lin’an Prefecture.

A sense of absurdity surged in his heart. He slapped his thigh as if he had realized something, shouting aloud:

“I remember now! It must be! It must be because I often cited classics while studying at home, and Lin-er absorbed it through his ears—that’s how he had this flash of inspiration today!”

He claimed all the credit without a moment’s hesitation. The surrounding villagers cast looks of utter disdain toward him.

Steward Wang, however, didn’t even bother to glance his way. This steward, who had seen all manner of storms in the Liu mansion, was currently experiencing a raging tempest in his heart. Previously, he had only suspected that the child was a rare seed for study. But now, he had witnessed a miracle with his own eyes.

A six-year-old toddler who hadn’t even begun his primary schooling could create an original classic. And it was a world-renowned work of the “Prefecture” level. A poem whose Literary Qi covered an entire prefecture—what kind of concept was that? An ordinary Xiucai, after a lifetime of study, might achieve fame in his county with a single essay that reached the “County” level.

He was far more than just a seed! He was a celestial sprout that had already broken through the soil and bloomed with world-shaking brilliance!

Without a day of schooling, he had created a classic. And a Prefecture-level classic at that! Not only had he never seen such a thing; he had never even heard of it! Such a prodigy—as long as he didn’t perish halfway—wouldn’t just be a mere Xiucai. In the future, rising to the rank of Marquis, serving as a Grand Secretary, or becoming a Chief Minister was not an impossibility!