Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 197 "Letter to My Brother" [Seeking monthly votes!]

The languid look on Song Qi's face completely vanished, and he didn't look at anyone anymore, including the boy standing in the moonlight who seemed out of place with the time and space around him.

"Get a pen and paper."

Song Qi's voice was deep, carrying a rare solemnity.

The junior official standing to the side dared not delay and immediately stepped forward, spreading out paper and grinding ink on the low table beside Song Qi.

However, Song Qi did not immediately pick up his pen. Instead, he stretched out his well-maintained, well-defined hand and slowly picked up the glass of wine that he had just put down.

The cool glass touched his fingertips. He lowered his eyes and looked at the candlelight reflected in the remaining wine in the glass.

What flows in the young man's poem is not a simple emotion, but an insight into the essence of life—a journey through time, a fleeting existence, and the loneliness under the eternal moon.

This transcends the realm of ordinary talented scholars composing poems about the wind and moon, reaching the level of Li Bai's lament, "Life is but a dream, how much joy can it hold?" Yet it carries a more serene and expansive view of time and space.

He, Song Qi, was renowned throughout the land for his literary talent and refined taste, boasting of having read all the poems and verses in the world. Yet, at this very moment, a seventeen-year-old boy, with the simplest of descriptions, dissected the deepest memories of his past.

He needed to confide in someone, to share the shock of that moment and the subsequent reflection on his own life with the person who understood him best.

So he picked up his pen and wrote a letter.

—Letter to my brother.

My dear brother:
Today, at the prefect's banquet, several young scholars exchanged poems. Lu Sheng, looking north, composed a poem titled "A Youthful Journey," which includes the line, "The moon is the soul of my hometown." Thinking of my brother, I wonder if the moon over Bianliang is as bright and clear as this?
I recall my childhood, when our shadows lingered in our old garden. When the jujubes ripened, my elder brother would climb the branches to pick them, while I eagerly awaited their arrival, leaping with joy at the mere sight of one. Every winter, outside the window, the old plum tree's branches would slant and spread, and my mother would sit before the brazier with a scroll in hand. My brother would lead the reading aloud, and I would hum along. All these scenes seem like a painting seen through a curtain, something I could only admire from afar, never to be reached.

As we grew older, we went to the imperial examinations together, and my brother and I were stranded in a dilapidated temple in the southern suburbs of Bianliang. The north wind blew through the window, and we ate rice from a clay pot. My brother would always pass the rice to me. When the night was unbearably cold, we would share a quilt.

Ten years later, the elder brother became a high-ranking official, and on the Lantern Festival, he devoted himself to studying the profound mysteries of the Book of Changes, while the younger brother lit lanterns at his private residence that night. Upon hearing this, the elder brother once sent a servant to ask him: "Sir, do you remember the time when we shared pickled vegetables and cold roasted meat?" Upon hearing this, the younger brother clapped his hands and laughed, and then ordered a messenger to reply: "Sir, please also consider, what was it that we shared when we ate pickled vegetables together?" Upon hearing this, the elder brother would surely smile as well.

We ate simple meals by lamplight, each according to our own nature, yet the shared hardships of our youth have never been forgotten for a single day.

In our prime, we rode side by side; in our old age, we are scattered like drifting tumbleweeds. My body is like an autumn tumbleweed, tossed about by its own will. Now, my temples are gray, and I once again urge my weary horse westward. This journey to Yizhou, through the mountains and rivers of Ba and Shu, through miasma and the smoke of barbarian lands, is long and uncertain. I fear we may be separated by the ends of the earth, never to see you again.

At this thought, my heart is filled with sorrow. Tears stream down my face as I write this, and I am at a loss for words. I only wish that you, my brother, take good care of yourself, eat well, and wear warm clothes.

Your younger brother, Qi, bows his head.

Written in Jiangling on the night of the 22nd day of the ninth month of the first year of the Jiayou era.

The group of people were right next to him, and Song Qi made no attempt to hide it from them, so they were able to see what was going on.

Song Qi's letter to his brother is undoubtedly a deeply moving and sincere work of profound emotion.

As a literary master, Song Qi abandoned complicated techniques and only selected the most down-to-earth and genuine moments in life, such as the joy of brothers climbing and waiting under the jujube tree in their childhood, the scene of brothers reciting poems and following each other by the fire pit in the cold winter, and the mutual support between brothers sharing a meal and a quilt in the dilapidated temple in Bianliang.

These seemingly simple details vividly portray the unbreakable bond between brothers.

As they looked at the letter from home, they couldn't help but feel moved and sigh.

Lu Beigu finally confirmed that the anecdote of the two Songs "eating pickled vegetables together" recorded in "Qian's Private Records" was indeed true.

After finishing writing and waiting for the ink to dry, Song Qi handed the paper to Lu Beigu. "Since you're going to Bianjing for the imperial examination, please deliver this letter to my elder brother when you arrive."

Everyone was shocked when they heard this.

Presented to the Song Dynasty official!

This is more than just a letter.

This was clearly an opportunity personally offered by Song Qi, one that carried enough weight to change the fate of a candidate!

Who was Song Xiang? He was a man who achieved the highest honors in the imperial examinations, a master of poetry, and served as prime minister twice—the pinnacle of civil officials!

Now that Chen Zhizhong has retired, he is almost the only person who can consistently outrank Wen Yanbo and Han Qi in terms of seniority, ability, and reputation.

Leaving aside career advancement and literary fame, simply taking some time to guide someone preparing for the imperial examinations would be enough to help a promising candidate pass the provincial examination and become a Jinshi.

The weight of Song Qi's words just now was truly revealed!
Moreover, this letter to my brother is a hundred times more valuable than any verbal praise, or even a regular book recommendation!
By including Lu Beigu's name in a letter home, even if it's just mentioned at the beginning, Song Qi's recognition of Lu Beigu's talent is evident. It also shows that he is willing to use his relationship with his brother as a bridge to formally introduce this young man to Song Xiang.

Lu Huiqing felt a surge of heat rush to her head, which then turned into a great sense of loss.

He had just risked writing a poem to satirize Wang Kui, not only to make a name for himself in literary circles, but also to leave a deep impression on Song Qi and lay the groundwork for possible future promotion.

But what about Lu Beigu? A single poem was enough to grant him a direct pass to meet Song Xiang!
The difference between them is like heaven and earth!

His hands, hidden in his sleeves, clenched tightly, his nails almost digging into his palms. He felt a mix of emotions: jealousy, frustration, and a sense of powerlessness at being completely outshone.

The local gentry's gazes toward Lu Beigu had completely shifted from astonishment to awe.

Although they were far from the central government, they understood what the letter meant.

This young man named Lu Beigu will probably not only be known in Jiangling after tonight, but will also be known in Bianjing along with this letter!

Wang Kui's expression kept changing.

Song Qi's actions were tantamount to publicly declaring his extreme regard for Lu Beigu.

He'd better think twice before trying to do anything to these people again, especially since Lu Beigu has become someone he can't mess with.

Lu Beigu solemnly accepted the letter.

"I will obey the scholar's command!"

Song Qi looked at the young man in front of him, nodded slightly, and showed a trace of fatigue on his face.

As I get older, I can no longer indulge in all-night feasting and revelry like I used to.

"It's late, and the wine is all gone." Song Qi's gaze swept over the guests with their varied expressions, finally settling on Wang Kui. "Prefect Wang, thank you for your hospitality. The banquet can now be adjourned."

He said no more, flicked the sleeves of his purple robe, and turned to walk out.

(End of this chapter)