The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Those who were truly drunk, clinging to each other and proclaiming themselves the "Ninth Immortal of Wine," were struck dumb by the sound, as if by a sudden clap of thunder. One of them held his hand high, wine trickling down the rim of his cup, leaving a damp patch on his clothes, but he was oblivious—the sound was like a ladle of clear spring water, a wisp of celestial music pouring over his burning soul, making him suddenly lose track of time, unsure whether his own madness or the madness of the poet was real.

Those who were feigning drunkenness, who had been peeking at the commotion with fans covering their faces, now slowly lowered their fans, a hint of embarrassment at being seen through flashing in their eyes. The clear sound, like a bright mirror, reflected their awkwardness in pretending to be drunk, which only made the eight truly drunk people in the poem seem carefree, unrestrained, and genuinely sincere.

The young scholars, who had previously treated Du Fu's "Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup" as a rote lesson, never imagined that someone could surpass Du Zimei in talent. Now, they heard it as if hearing heavenly music. Some swallowed hard, as if the verses were fireworks, scorching their chests even through the air; others' fingertips trembled slightly, trying to grasp something, but only grasping a wisp of wind—they realized that poetry could not be mere embroidered words, but rather the vibrant, unrestrained, and bold essence of life itself.

The courtesans in the building, who were playing their pipa and singing to entertain the guests, felt ashamed of their own inferiority upon hearing this voice, and their fingers stopped playing. Their songs were decadent, while this man's chanting was the true voice of heaven and earth. His voice was like a jade ruyi, gently brushing aside their feminine airs to reveal a pure and respectful heart beneath.

The most remarkable was General Di Qing, who sat quietly alone in a corner, his eyes already glazed with drunkenness. Hearing the sound, he didn't open his eyes, but his smile deepened, as if he had returned to the frontier. He stretched out his strong fingers and gently tapped a rhythm on the wine table, each tap striking the awakened hearts of everyone present—a leisurely longing that only those who had witnessed prosperous times, tasted true wine, encountered true immortals, and had their own stories could possess.

"Good lad, if he gets the chance to rise to prominence someday, he'll surely become a dragon soaring through the clouds. Perhaps getting to know this lad is my destiny, Di Qing's destiny." A glint flashed in General Di's eyes as he lowered his head.

Beyond this dazzling spectacle, in a secluded booth on the second floor, partially veiled by a gauze curtain, Qin Tiehua was tightly gripping the hem of his robe, his fingertips turning slightly white.

She had secretly followed Wang Zhonghua. She changed into an inconspicuous blue cloth dress, smeared some soot on her face, and slipped in among the vegetable delivery workers, hoping only to catch a glimpse of him from afar. But now, her gaze could no longer leave the figure standing by the railing.

The moonlight and lamplight intertwined, casting a soft glow on his tall figure. He tapped the railing, tilted his head back, and recited, each word like a branding iron just pulled from a furnace, deeply imprinted in her ears and searing her heart. His voice was clear and resonant, piercing through the clouds and splitting rocks, yet it carried a calm and unhurried power she had never heard before.

He was no longer the somewhat dull and protective Zhonghua Ge from Wangjiagang, nor the boy with charcoal ash on his hands in the blacksmith shop who helped her bury herself in studying the blueprints... At this moment, he was like a famous sword suddenly drawn from its sheath, its cold light sharp and its brilliance dazzling, as if the hustle and bustle and brilliance of the entire Wanghu Tower were only there to highlight him alone.

Qin Tiehua felt as if her heart was being squeezed tightly by a hand, both sore and swollen, making it almost impossible to breathe. She was proud of him, so proud that she wanted to cry; but more than that, she felt an unprecedented panic, like an icy tide, instantly engulfing her limbs and bones.

Because she clearly saw that when Wang Zhonghua recited, "These gentlemen, unrestrained by worldly desires, each embracing the bright moon and gentle breeze," the eyes of the previously reserved young ladies downstairs suddenly changed. They forgot to wave their fans, forgot to maintain their dignified posture, and each one looked up, their gazes following the figure upstairs with fascination. In those eyes, there was amazement, admiration, and even more so, an undisguised, fiery adoration. A wealthy young lady in a pale yellow dress and a pearl hairpin even accidentally knocked over the fruit plate in front of her, but she was completely unaware, only staring intently, her cheeks flushed like the sunset.

Several older women at the next table were also whispering among themselves, their eyes frequently glancing at Wang Zhonghua and then at their own unmarried daughters. Qin Tiehua could sense the calculation and eagerness in their eyes even through the curtain.

Even the courtesans who had been playing their pipa in the restaurant had stopped, gazing intently at Wang Zhonghua, their eyes glistening with tears, as if his recitations were not poems, but words of love that struck straight to their hearts. One of the most beautiful courtesans in red even gently bit her lower lip, a gesture that carried a hint of resentment and a sense of certainty.

Qin Tiehua abruptly lowered her head, unable to look any longer. She stared at her rough fingers, marked with tiny scars and indelible black grime from blacksmithing; she smelled the mingled scent of smoke and rust on her body, clashing jarringly with the perfumes and wines filling the building. A sharp sense of inferiority and intense anxiety gripped her heart like vines.

He was so dazzling, like a dragon suddenly leaping from the abyss and soaring into the heavens. And she, she was still Qin Tiehua, wallowing in the mud, only knowing how to swing a hammer. When... did the distance between them become so vast?

"Good lad, if he gets the chance to rise to prominence someday, he'll surely become a dragon soaring through the clouds. Perhaps getting to know this lad is my destiny, Di Qing's destiny." General Di's whisper could be faintly heard.

Qin Tiehua trembled. Even a great figure like General Di said such a thing…

The entire building fell silent, save for that clear, resonant voice, like jade shattering and ice cracking, its lingering echo echoing endlessly. Wang Zhonghua finished reciting, bowed slightly, and thunderous cheers and applause erupted from below. He turned amidst the cheers, his blue robe fluttering, his profile sculpted in the light and shadow with a resolute yet graceful curve reminiscent of Louis Koo.

Qin Tiehua bit her lip hard, almost biting the beauty mark on her lip into her mouth, until she tasted a slightly metallic sweetness. She turned abruptly, shoving aside the bewildered helpers behind her as if fleeing, and stumbled down the stairs, escaping this suffocating and heartbreakingly bustling place. Tears blurred her vision, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.

No, this can't be. A voice screamed wildly in her heart. She couldn't just stand on the ground, looking up at him as he soared higher and higher. She had to change, to become better, to become more worthy of him! Whether it was blacksmithing or prospecting for minerals, she had to learn everything he did, and do it to the best of her ability! She had to stand beside him, not just hide in the shadows and look up at him!

She rushed out of Wanghu Tower, the cold autumn wind hitting her face, but it couldn't extinguish the fire burning in her heart—a raging flame mixed with panic and inferiority, but ultimately suppressed by stubbornness and determination.

Inside the building, the splendor remained unchanged, but no one knew what kind of turbulent waves had just passed through the heart of a young girl.

The entire building fell silent, save for that voice, like shattering jade and cracking ice, each word striking a chord in people's hearts. It evoked shame, it evoked longing, it evoked the true nature that had been numbed by alcohol for too long. Some looked down at their wine cups and suddenly felt that the murky liquid reflected their own souls, which had never been so clear before.

That was Wang Zhonghua, a man as handsome as a jade tree, with a voice as clear as metal and stone.

"The Eight Drunken Immortals" became famous throughout the world, and Wang Zhonghua's song moved the world!

Amidst deafening cheers and countless gazes—some eager, some inquisitive, some admiring—Wang Zhonghua calmly bowed and slowly retreated into the relatively dim shadows of the second floor. The clamor seemed to be separated by an invisible barrier, and the excited expression on his face, befitting a "performer," gradually faded, returning to his usual composure.

Just as he turned around, his gaze, as if drawn by an invisible thread, gently swept over the elegant seat where Qin Tiehua had just been hiding.

At this moment, only the slightly swaying gauze curtain remained, and... a barely perceptible, extremely fine strand of blue fabric left behind when it was hastily torn off—the color of the dress Qin Tiehua was wearing today.

His steps faltered almost imperceptibly.

A tinge of blue light seemed to prick his heart, stirring a complex and indescribable ripple. He could imagine how she had secretly followed him, and how she had fled in such a panic. When he was reciting the poem earlier, he hadn't been fully focused; out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to have caught a glimpse of that slender, tense, and focused figure behind the curtain, but the situation at the time didn't allow for distraction.

At this moment, as the clamor subsided, the hastily vanished shadow and the solitary piece of cloth were etched more clearly in his heart than the cheers that filled the building.

A warm current of care washed over her—this silly girl must be worried about him, yet didn't want him to find out, hence her clumsy approach. Wanghu Tower is a melting pot of people; how nervous must she have been, a young woman coming alone?

Immediately, a deeper appreciation welled up within him. He recalled the blacksmith's shop, her taut back and focused gaze as she swung the hammer, sparks flying onto her dusty cheeks, yet she seemed oblivious, only a wild, vibrant life force radiating from her. It wasn't the beauty of a sheltered woman, pampered with makeup, but rather a beauty like the resilient grass of the mountains, the refined iron in the furnace, carrying the scent of sweat, the smell of smoke, and an indomitable stubbornness. This beauty, amidst the affected elegance of the women in the building, seemed so unique and precious, like a refreshing mountain breeze dispelling the superficial fragrance of cosmetics surrounding him.

However, this appreciation was mixed with a subtle understanding and pity. "Silly girl..." Wang Zhonghua sighed silently in his heart, the almost imperceptible twitch of his brow betraying the turmoil in his heart. He did not want his "appearance" to become a burden for her, nor did he want to see her deny her own value because of it.

A strong expectation welled up in his heart—he didn't expect Qin Tiehua to become one of those refined young ladies downstairs, skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, adept at composing poems and expressing sentiments. No, that was absolutely not her. He expected her to truly recognize the preciousness of her unique strength, to transform her focus when forging iron, her keenness when searching for ore, and her bold courage in the face of Qiu Laohu into her own solid foundation and radiance. He hoped she could be happy, to walk with her head held high on the path she had chosen, no matter if that path was filled with sparks or thorns.

He wanted her to understand that true "worthiness" was not about forcing oneself to conform to a certain standard, but about each other shining with our unique brilliance, moving forward and upward in our respective fields, and then seeing the world's scenery side by side.

He captivated the entire audience, but her departure stirred the softest corner of his heart. The most moving waves in this world often begin with the smallest of gestures and are hidden in the dim light of a lamp.

Don't believe it? Let's see if the iron hammer of the Qin Dynasty and the poems of our King of China will create a different symphony.