Volume One, Chapter Seven: The Contest of Wits Begins

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Su Yuan remained unaffected by the crowd, swiftly brushing his brush across the paper with a speed that left onlookers dazzled. The scholars nearby were stunned, their eyes wide as they stared at Su Yuan, doubting their own sight.

“Wow! How is this beggar so formidable?”

While others were still lost in deep thought, this man simply picked up his brush and began to write!

Everyone instinctively assumed Su Yuan was scribbling nonsense just to get it over with, harboring a hint of disdain in their hearts.

By the time they regained their composure, Su Yuan had already finished his poem. He then softly blew on the paper, and the little maid beside him followed suit with cautious breaths.

Once the ink dried, Su Yuan neatly folded the paper and placed it on the table, sitting calmly with an indifferent expression. The entire process took less than ten breaths.

The little maid obediently clung to the corner of his robe, nestling into Su Yuan’s embrace.

The scholars nearby looked at Su Yuan in shock, unable to collect their thoughts for a long while.

“This is ridiculous... kidding around! That was so fast!”

Many of them were on the verge of cursing.

Meanwhile, many eyes were fixed on Su Yuan, especially He Yuanshen, who closely watched the proceedings.

Seeing Su Yuan finish so quickly, He Yuanshen felt relieved, thinking Su Yuan must have completed the five-character poem.

That alone would be enough to crush the competition!

Apart from He Yuanshen, the scholars from Daqing were stunned to see Su Yuan resting while others were deep in thought or furiously writing. They were utterly baffled.

A beggar joining a literary contest was one thing, but while others were agonizing over their work or writing feverishly, this beggar was playing with a child. Surely, he was here just for fun!

With this thought, many cast him contemptuous and mocking glances.

Some even considered that if their side took the top three spots, they might drag this beggar onto the stage for a duel just to humiliate him thoroughly.

In literary contests, challenges could go both ways.

Even the ten judges, all esteemed scholars, frowned slightly at Su Yuan’s nonchalant demeanor, displeased.

Such a solemn affair as a literary duel—having a beggar enter was one thing, but to finish so quickly and remain so composed was simply irritating.

Who did he think he was? The living saint of letters or some divine literary star? He showed no respect for the contest!

Though displeased, none dared to cause trouble for Su Yuan.

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The Emperor of Chu and other royal members focused their attention on the eldest prince competing, paying little heed to Su Yuan.

Both sides sent their princes to participate, underscoring the importance of the literary and martial contests.

From afar, the Emperor of Chu observed Su Ming as he wrote his poem, his voice gentle.

“Ming’er, are you confident in this literary duel?”

Su Ming lifted his brush and looked up with pride.

“Father, rest assured. The first place will be mine.”

It was no wonder he was so confident; he had prepared extensively for this contest, especially dedicating great effort to composing snow-themed poetry. The Emperor was well aware of this.

Hearing his son, the Emperor’s heart settled, a proud smile spreading across his face. Looking at his eldest son, his satisfaction only grew.

He was certain Su Ming would claim first place, knowing well the effort his son had put into mastering snow poetry.

Su Yuan glanced towards the main stage and saw the Emperor’s affectionate gaze at Su Ming, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. He had never felt such paternal love from the Emperor.

When he saw Su Ming and Consort Lu Gui, his heart brimmed with hatred and murderous intent.

This mother and son had conspired to poison his mother, the Empress, and colluded with the northern tribes to slaughter his maternal grandfather’s family of nine men.

They even spread rumors in Daqing that since becoming commoners, his wife had resorted to selling herself to support Su Yuan.

To save face, Daqing forcibly brought his wife back.

Su Ming seized this opportunity to incite palace assassins in Daqing to cripple Su Yuan, leaving him paralyzed. This grudge must be repaid with their blood.

...

Time passed little by little until the allotted period ended. A group of attendants came to collect the poems.

Soon the scrolls were gathered on the stage, copied anonymously, and presented to the ten great scholars for review. The judges busied themselves with reading, temporarily ignoring the outlier, Su Yuan.

Besides watching the progress of the reviews, many scholars cast disdainful looks at Su Yuan, seemingly eager to witness his downfall.

Having finished so early, if he failed to place at all, it would be an utter disgrace. After all, he had been so conspicuous just now.

The review proceeded swiftly; though there were forty-two entries, the quality of poetry was apparent at first glance to the great scholars.

With alternating reviews, a general ranking could be discerned in half a tea session. The real challenge lay in the final ranking.

As the saying goes, “In literature, there is no absolute first; in martial arts, no absolute second.” When talents are evenly matched, it’s truly difficult to distinguish superiority.

Just as everyone anxiously awaited the results, a Daqing scholar, Zhuang Xiaoxian, suddenly exclaimed:

“A fine poem! This one could be first place...”

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At his words, all eyes were drawn to him.

The Emperor of Chu’s face brightened with joy as his gaze shifted to Su Ming, who wore a pleased expression, heartened by the news.

Both the Emperor and Su Ming believed that the first prize in the poetry contest would undoubtedly be Su Ming’s.

Mu Yuncheng glanced at the Emperor and Su Ming, offering flattery:

“Your Majesty, the Crown Prince is truly worthy of his title. It is most admirable; this poem must be first place!”

The Emperor paused slightly at Mu Yuncheng’s words. Though an opponent, the praise for his son felt somewhat like a veiled compliment meant to flatter.

Yet, confident in his eldest son, he paid no mind to the subtle flattery, responding with a faint smile:

“Your nation’s top talent, Gu Tingyu, is also formidable. Perhaps the first place belongs to him!”

“N-no, no...” Mu Yuncheng smiled lightly, lowering his head with a barely perceptible hint of mockery at his lips.

At that moment, Su Ming looked arrogantly at Mu Yuncheng, his voice tinged with pride:

“Your Gu Tingyu is indeed a rare talent, but I am no less. Soon, the victor will be clear. Let us wait and see!”

His words implied that first place was already his.

The Emperor found nothing improper in his son’s confidence; rather, he admired his son’s boldness and unmatched presence.

He Yuanshen, however, looked at Su Ming with a complex expression, sighing inwardly.

This eldest prince did possess some talent, but was too young and arrogant without the merit to justify it.

One could not say he lacked talent, yet many outclassed him. How could he be so certain of first place when the folk talent he discovered, with that five-character poem, was unmatched?

Seeing Su Ming so impatient and proud, He Yuanshen found himself missing the second prince.

Though the second prince was mediocre in talent and skills, ranking lowest among the princes, he was at least humble, courteous, and gentle—never so arrogant.

Many shared He Yuanshen’s sentiment, including Grand Tutor Luo Changfeng and Chancellor Gan Yunshen.

Nearly a third of the courtiers, watching Su Ming, longed for the second prince, Su Yuan.