Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 206 "A Record of Passing Through the Ancient Battlefield of Red Cliffs" [Seeking Monthly Tickets!]

The cabin was silent for a moment, with only the occasional faint sound of the oil lamp wick cracking.

"Brother Zigu's poem is profound and powerful, and its thoughts are far-reaching. It is a rare and excellent work. I am afraid that my talent and ability in the art of poetry cannot reach this level."

He looked at Zeng Gong honestly, without the slightest affectation.

"However, today, having personally witnessed the ancient fortress of Wulin and paid homage to the ancient flames of war, my heart is filled with a heavy feeling, and countless thoughts are surging within me. Even a poem cannot fully express these thoughts and feelings."

Lu Beigu paused slightly, then, meeting everyone's gaze, said, "Therefore, I have taken the liberty of writing an essay, which may allow me to express my thoughts. I wonder if you gentlemen would allow me to give it a try?"

Everyone had different thoughts about Lu Beigu's words.

Lü Huiqing felt much more relaxed. After all, he had already done his best in composing the poem, but compared to Zeng Gong's poem on the same subject and content, his work was clearly far inferior in quality.

Seeing that Lu Beigu had also taken the initiative to say that his poetry was not as good as Zeng Gong's, he felt less pressured. When he heard that Lu Beigu was going to take on the challenge of writing prose, which was even more difficult, he was surprised and became more like a spectator.

An encouraging smile appeared on Lü Huiqing's face: "Oh? My dear brother wishes to express his feelings through prose? That is an elegant pursuit! The night is long, and it is the perfect time to read your wonderful writing."

Wang Shao raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. He was quite surprised by Lu Beigu's frankness and choice, but if an essay could explain the truth and analyze the past and present, it might not be inferior to the brilliance of poetry.

Cui Wenjing said, "Writing is naturally formed; the wonderful state is achieved when inspiration strikes and one does not adhere to any particular style."

Upon hearing Lu Beigu's words, Zeng Gong's admiration deepened. He was a humble man who never boasted about his strengths. Lu Beigu's frankness did not earn him contempt; instead, it made him even more eager to read the essay.

After all, as a master of prose, Zeng Gong knew that a good essay requires a theme, structure, style, and diction, and its difficulty is no less than that of a good poem, and may even be greater.

Lu Beigu's willingness to try is commendable.

The atmosphere inside the cabin subtly shifted. The lingering excitement of the earlier poetry recitations subsided, and everyone held their breath, eagerly anticipating Lu Beigu's prose work.

Lu Beigu spread out the papers on the wooden box, his gaze falling once again on the dark stone he had picked up from the top of Wulin Hill.

The stone surface was rough, and the dark marks that looked like they had been burned were faintly visible under the dim light.

He picked up his brush, and the ink spread in the inkstone, just like the thoughts churning in his heart at that moment, eager to be poured out.

After finishing his thoughts, Lu Beigu picked up his pen and wrote this essay in one go.

"A Record of Passing Through the Ancient Battlefield of Red Cliffs"

In the autumn of the year Bing Shen, I and several friends sailed together and moored at Wulin.

It was the time of Frost's Descent, and a long, bleak wind blew. Looking south to the Red Cliffs, the sheer cliffs were like ochre. One could see turbid waves surging into the sky, and the great river flowing eastward. Only then did one realize that this was the old fortress where Zhou Yu defeated Cao Cao.

Zichun stroked the riverbank and sighed, "In the past, Cao Cao led a million troops, his banners obscuring the sun, his ships stretching for a thousand miles, his momentum seemingly poised to swallow Wu and Yue and overturn the southeast! Yet Sun Quan and Liu Bei, with their strategy of fire attack, reduced them to ashes in a single night. At that time, masts and oars were shattered, metal clashed, soldiers cried out, the river water turned red for days, and the stench of blood lingered for a month."

Zigu pounded his chest, pointed north, and said sadly, "Is it only at the end of the Han Dynasty? The Yuanjia era was hasty, and the Song emperor, following the example of the Liao Dynasty's general, rashly launched a northern expedition. Yet the Tuoba clan marched south, watering their horses at Guabu. The elders of Jiangbei fled in terror, their fields and hills reduced to ruins, and cries echoed across the wilderness."

Upon hearing this, I remained silent. I bent down and picked up a broken halberd from the riverbank. Its iron color was dark and dull, like congealed blood, and half of its blade was eroded by the sand and gravel. As I stroked its rust, a chill seeped into my bones, and I seemed to see smoke and fire obscuring the moon, war drums splitting the clouds, and golden spears and iron horses galloping before me.

Alas! Oh Heaven, what have the people done wrong? When war breaks out, what is there to say about the victory or defeat of Cao Cao and Liu Bei, or the success or failure of the Yuanjia era? Those who fill the ditches and perish in the mud and sand, are they not the flesh and blood of the common people?

The heroic deeds of these men are recorded in history, but the bones of the soldiers exposed to the elements by the riverbank and the weeping of the displaced people have been forgotten. Who will remember them? It only leaves future generations to stand before this vast expanse, admiring their glory while forgetting their suffering. How tragic!

Returning home by boat at night, rising and falling with the waves. The Milky Way hangs low over the fields, the mountains and rivers are desolate.

I wanted to sleep, but the waves crashed against the side of the ship like the neighing of ten thousand horses in the night, and I couldn't fall asleep. So I got up, put on my clothes, and composed these words to record my feelings.

The still-wet ink on the paper lay on the wooden box, and the dim light illuminated the words of "A Record of Passing the Ancient Battlefield of Chibi" so clearly.

The crowd gathered around, their eyes fixed intently as they silently read it word by word. Like other prose works from the Song Dynasty, Lu Beigu's essay also employed some literary techniques, fictionalizing and reshaping his real-life experiences to a certain extent.

For example, Zeng Gong did not mention the "Yuanjia Northern Expedition," and what Lu Beigu found on the hill was not a broken halberd but a stone. Similarly, Lu Beigu did not write this article to record his feelings because he could not sleep.

However, these literary fictions and reshapings do not affect anything; on the contrary, they are common techniques used by Song Dynasty literati.

Before long, everyone had finished reading.

Lu Huiqing's expression shifted rapidly. He had been immersed in his own poetry, but now he was completely stunned by this prose.

"This...this is truly what my virtuous brother did tonight?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.

After glancing at the essay on the wooden box and then at Lu Beigu's calm and composed expression, Lü Huiqing felt extremely conflicted. She was shocked, impressed, and even felt a slight sense of loss at being outshone, but more than anything, she felt awe for this remarkable piece of writing.

Wang Shao realized that his previous understanding of Lu Beigu was probably too superficial.

Lu Beigu's "Record of Passing Through the Ancient Battlefield of Chibi" almost subconsciously reminded him of the passage in "The Rhapsody on the Epang Palace" that reads: "The pillars supporting the beams outnumbered the farmers in the fields; the rafters supporting the beams outnumbered the weaving women at their looms; the nail heads gleamed more than the grains of millet in the granary; the uneven tiles were more numerous than the threads of silk on one's body."

This prompted Wang Shao to exclaim, "This article flows smoothly like the Yangtze River, profound and poignant, almost reminiscent of Du Fu's 'Ode to the Epang Palace'! But weapons are instruments of destruction, used only as a last resort by sages. Throughout history, conquests and court strategies have been used, sometimes for unification, sometimes to avenge past humiliations, but what has been the price? Countless have been 'filled with ditch and buried in mud and sand'! Especially the line, 'It only allows future generations to stand before this vast expanse, admiring its splendor while forgetting its wounds,' is truly a wake-up call!"

Cui Wenjing was already deeply moved. He repeatedly pondered those concise and vivid sentences, feeling that "turbid waves surged into the sky, the great river poured eastward," "the iron color was dark and deep like congealed blood, the sharp blade was half melted in the sand and gravel," and "I seemed to see the smoke of war obscuring the moon, the war drums splitting the clouds, and the golden spears and iron horses rushing forward" were intertwined in his mind to form a series of shocking images.

When he read the ending lines, the loneliness of "starry sky hanging over the fields, mountains and rivers desolate" and the heart-wrenching "ten thousand horses neighing at night," he felt a deep empathy, because Lu Beigu truly wrote down what they saw and felt on the passenger ship at that moment.

"This article is deeply moving, profound in its themes, penetrating through the ages, and filled with compassion for all living beings! To witness its completion tonight is truly the greatest fortune of my life!"

Zeng Gong was the last to finish reading it.

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving, and even his usually gentle and calm face was now moved.

He didn't speak immediately, but slowly closed his eyes, as if to etch the heaviness conveyed between the lines into his heart.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and said, “My dear brother, your essay ‘Record of Passing Through the Ancient Battlefield of Chibi’ is far more profound than ordinary lamentations and reflections on the past. ‘Oh Heaven, what have the people done wrong?’ ‘Heroes’ achievements are recorded in history, but the soldiers whose bones are exposed on the riverbank and the people who weep in the wilderness have their names forgotten. Who will remember them?’ This is the heart of a benevolent person, directly pointing to the pain of war throughout the ages, and expressing profound thoughts that no one before us has ever thought of!”

Zeng Gong held Lu Beigu in extremely high regard, praising his profound historical insight and compassion at such a young age. He noted that Lu's writing style was mature and his ideas were outstanding, far exceeding Zeng Gong's expectations of a scholar of his age.

At this moment, Zeng Gong's gaze toward Lu Beigu was no longer just one of admiration, but also held a hint of inquiry.

"Moreover, the writing is profound and poignant, the descriptions of the scenery are vivid, and the historical accounts are as if the author had personally experienced them. Especially with the 'broken halberd' as the starting point, the author moves from the object to the emotion, and from the emotion to the reason, progressing layer by layer, directly touching people's hearts. This kind of historical writing deeply captures the spirit of the Spring and Autumn Period, which cannot be achieved by those who merely win with fancy words!"

Then Zeng Gong patted Zeng Bu on the shoulder and said, "Zixuan, you should read this article often to remind us not to forget the suffering of the common people and not to fail the weight of the nation!"

Zeng Bu was the youngest, and his feelings may not have been as profound as his older brother's, but the tragic desolation and heart-wrenching power conveyed in the text "A Record of Passing Through the Ancient Battlefield of Chibi" also deeply moved him.

Therefore, Zeng Bu nodded heavily.

Looking at Zeng Gong's solemn expression, Lu Beigu cupped his hands and said, "Brother Zigu, you flatter me. The fact that this article resonates with everyone has also eased the knot in my heart."

Zeng Gong said nothing more, but he also made a copy for himself, leaning against the cabin wall and silently reading it over and over again.

After an unknown amount of time, everyone had put on their clothes and gone to sleep. Zeng Gong then sighed softly, put the "Record of Passing the Ancient Battlefield of Red Cliffs," which he had already memorized, into his satchel, and then extinguished the oil lamp.

Lying on the cramped bed, Zeng Gong recalled that during the Qingli era, he was in Bianjing with his father. When he first heard that the war in the northwest was critical, the scholars in the city were full of enthusiasm and spoke of "sealing the wolf and residing in the Xuxu", but few people mentioned the laborers who died on the long transport line and the broken homes of the border households under the beacon towers.

At this moment, listening to the night waves outside the cabin, the bitterness in his heart caused by the wasted years was somewhat diluted by a sense of relief.

The rise and fall of dynasties are like the tide, washing away heroes, but beneath the waves, there are also things that stand firm.

(End of this chapter)