The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

This man remained calm and composed, without the slightest ostentation, yet within forty moves, he thoroughly understood Han Zhongming's chess style, temperament, and weaknesses. With seemingly ordinary moves, he laid a trap, completing a precise "kill" as if it were a military strategy.

This is no ordinary game of chess; it's a military strategy of planning and winning battles from afar!

Zeng Gong slowly retreated, pausing slightly as he passed Zhao Zongshi. He whispered, so softly that only the two of them could hear, "Your Highness, Han Zhongming's last move contains a hidden variation. If he doesn't concede, and moves his horse from eighth to sixth position, I will have to sacrifice my cannon to protect my king, and then fight for another ten moves to settle the game. However—on the chessboard, if the mind is in disarray, the game is doomed."

Zhao Zongshi turned his head to look at him, a glint in his eyes: "Are you reading about chess, or about people?"

Zeng Gong pondered for a moment and answered with utmost seriousness: "When chess reaches its deepest level, chess is man, and man is chess; they are inseparable."

Zhao Zongshi nodded silently, watching Zeng Gong, a man with the talent of a prime minister, disappear into the Song army's ranks. He understood—the saying "a good strategist has no brilliant moves throughout the game" was exactly right. In this game, Zeng Gong made no earth-shattering moves, no groundbreaking strategies, yet he proceeded step by step, leaving no room for error, trapping the enemy in a hopeless situation with an invisible net.

This is the pinnacle of chess, and also the essence of governing a country and waging war.

He withdrew his gaze and looked at the second competition announced by Yelü Jingrong on the high platform. A slight smile appeared on his lips as he turned to look at Su Shi behind him, who was chewing on osmanthus cake. His tone was somewhat teasing: "Zizhan, it's your turn. Put the osmanthus cake away for now, lest it interfere with the important matter."

Su Shi paused for a moment, glanced down at the half-eaten cake he was pulling out of his sleeve, smiled sheepishly, stuffed it back into his sleeve, and strode onto the high platform. Below the platform, Su Shi nodded and whispered to Zhao Zongshi, "Your Highness sending Brother Zeng to play chess is like sending Han Qi to plow the fields or Wang Anshi to compose poetry—winning is expected, losing would be strange."

Second round: Couplets

Su Shi stepped onto the high platform, and the noisy training ground suddenly fell silent.

He wore a slightly worn indigo robe, the cuffs stained with the oil from osmanthus cake, and a rough hemp belt casually tied around his waist. He looked nothing like a renowned scholar about to discuss philosophy; rather, he resembled an ordinary scholar going to a market to join in the fun. But the moment he stood before the long table with its spread-out Xuan paper, slowly rolled up his sleeves to reveal his slender wrist as he picked up a brush and dipped it in ink, his entire aura suddenly changed—like a sharp sword long sheathed in its old sheath, quietly revealing a dazzling three inches of its edge.

Han Zhongming had already recovered from the disappointment of losing the chess game. This judge of Youzhou, over sixty years old, was the foremost scholar of Han learning in Liaodong, having devoted his life to studying classics and history, especially excelling in parallel prose and antithesis. In his youth, he traveled to Bianjing (Kaifeng) to study, where he debated with renowned scholars of the realm for three days at the Imperial Academy, never losing a single one. When Yelü Jingrong invited him to serve in the government, he asked only one question: "Who were the Southern Dynasty's representatives in the war?"

Someone else answered, "Su Shi from Meishan was the second-place scholar in the imperial examination in the second year of the Jiayou era."

Han Zhongming remained silent for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, then got up and took out his treasured "Collection of Couplets" from the bookshelf, which he had kept for thirty years. He turned to the end of the volume and wrote a new annotation.

He slowly ascended the stage and stood opposite the long table. The cold wind whipped his white beard and robes, yet his figure remained as immovable as a mountain.

"I am Han Zhongming, and I have come by order of the princess to seek Mr. Su's guidance on the art of couplets." He bowed respectfully, his posture solemn, as if he were participating in a grand ancestral temple ceremony.

Su Shi quickly returned the greeting with a cupped hand and a grin: "Old sir, there's no need for such formality. Just call me Zizhan. It's just a matter of exchanging a few couplets; why make it seem like we're going to the capital to take the imperial examination?"

Han Zhongming's expression softened slightly, but the competitive spirit in his eyes remained undiminished. He picked up his wolf-hair brush, dipped it into the Xuan paper, and wrote the first line of the couplet:

"Baigou is locked in ice and snow for a thousand years."

In just seven characters, the poem encapsulates the present snowstorm, a thousand-year-old feud, and the divide between North and South. The Baigou River is frozen for thousands of miles, and the accumulated snow seals away a century of disputes. It is both a description of the scenery and a record of history, a double entendre with profound implications.

Su Shi glanced at it briefly, without a moment's hesitation, and immediately picked up his brush and wrote:

"Spring returns to Youyan, a breeze sweeps ten thousand miles away."

His wrist moved with effortless grace, and the final stroke of the character "wind" penetrated the paper with powerful, rich ink, resembling the slowly melting spring waters of a frozen land. After putting down his brush, he smiled and said, "The old gentleman's couplet is exquisite; the single character 'lock' perfectly captures the long-standing frozen predicament. I respond with the character 'return,' for the frozen land will eventually warm with spring, and the old barriers should naturally dissolve."

Han Zhongming stared at the words on the paper for a long time, his whisk hovering motionless in mid-air. He had originally expected Su Shi to use common imagery such as wild geese, frost, and a cold moon to respond, but he never expected the other to break the deadlock with the words "spring" and "wind." "Lock" represents confinement and silence, while "return" symbolizes new life and expansiveness. In addition to the perfect parallelism, the difference in the overall structure and spirit is immediately apparent.

But Han Zhongming did not admit defeat. He took out a yellowed booklet from his sleeve and slowly unfolded it. The paper was densely covered with drafts of couplets. This was his trump card, which he had painstakingly honed for many years. Each of the three perfect couplets had taken ten years of effort to complete, and he believed it to be the pinnacle of couplets.

"Mr. Su's quick wit is truly admirable. However, the couplet you just read was merely an appetizer." Han Zhongming's voice was as resonant as he read the first line aloud, "Please listen to the first line: 'Smoke locks the willows by the pond.'"

The crowd below was bewildered, unable to discern the hidden meaning. But Zhang Zai, standing in the Song army formation, exclaimed softly and turned to Wang Anshi, whispering, "This couplet contains a hidden mechanism! The five characters contain radicals representing the five elements: smoke (fire), lock (metal), pond (water), ditch (earth), and willow (wood). The second line not only needs to correspond to the five elements in terms of radicals, but also needs to blend the imagery. It is a timeless couplet that has been passed down through the ages, and countless scholars have tried to create a matching line, but none have been able to find a perfect one."

Wang Anshi nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on the indigo-clad figure on the high platform.

Su Shi held his brush above the Xuan paper, paused briefly, and then calmly began to write:

"Flame-melted seawall branch".

Flame belongs to fire, melting to metal, sea to water, dam to earth, and branch to wood—the five elements perfectly complement each other. "Flame melting" corresponds to "smoke locking," "sea dam" to "pond," and "branch" to "willow"—each word fitting perfectly. The imagery shifts from the tranquility of the pondside to the vastness of the sea, a contrast between stillness and movement that creates a delightful interplay.

Han Zhongming's pupils contracted sharply, and the whisk in his hand trembled slightly. He had pondered this couplet for twenty years, unable to find a suitable matching line, yet the young man before him had answered it perfectly in an instant. Unwilling to accept defeat, he immediately unfolded a second sheet of paper:

The couplet reads: "South Tongzhou, North Tongzhou, Tongzhou connects North and South."

Upon hearing the first line, those in the audience who were well-versed in literature gasped in astonishment. The words "north" and "south" circled back and forth, and the couplet also borrowed two place names from Tongzhou. Finding suitable place names to replicate the cyclical structure would be an impossible task.

Su Shi was slightly taken aback, then burst into laughter and quickly wrote:

"East pawnshop, west pawnshop, pawn things at both pawnshops."

After finishing writing, he joked, "Old sir, you're quite clever. There happens to be a pawnshop in each of the east and west markets outside Bianliang City. I've certainly got the advantage of location for this couplet!"

Han Zhongming's expression darkened slightly, but he still refused to back down. As he unfolded the third sheet of paper, his fingertips trembled slightly. There were only seven characters on the paper, the ink bright and clear, obviously written just last night.

The first line reads: "The three powers are Heaven, Earth, and Man."

Su Shi saw the handwriting clearly, and his smile deepened. He turned his head to look at Zhao Zongshi below the stage. Zhao Zongshi gently shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes seeming to say: "Feel free to improvise."

"The Four Poems: Elegance, Refinement, and Praise".

After putting down his pen, he leisurely explained, "Old sir, you must have been prepared. The Book of Songs is divided into Feng, Ya, and Song, and Ya is further divided into Greater Ya and Lesser Ya, making a total of four poems. Three against four, heaven, earth, and man against Feng, Ya, and Song, the sentiment, logic, and parallelism are all impeccable. Is this your most treasured skill?"

Han Zhongming's expression changed drastically. His hands gripped the edge of the table, and the whisk accidentally fell onto the Xuan paper, spreading an ink stain. Oblivious, he stared intently at the line of characters, repeatedly reciting, "The Four Poems of the Book of Songs... The Four Poems of the Book of Songs..."

Just then, a scholar in a blue robe and Confucian cap stepped out from the Liao army ranks. He was a lean-faced man in his early forties. This man was Yelü Qi, an advisor accompanying the army. He had studied Han studies since childhood and was skilled in literature. He was known as the "genius of couplets" in the northern border of Liao. He bowed to Yelü Jingrong and asked for her permission: "Princess, I have another couplet that I would like to ask Mr. Su for his advice."

Yelü Jingrong frowned slightly. Han Zhongming had suffered consecutive defeats, and if they were to concede now, it would be a loss of face for the Liao side. After a moment's thought, she nodded in agreement.

Yelü Qi strode onto the stage and wrote the first line of a couplet:

"Living in Hakka territory, I steadfastly guard my lonely window in the cold winter."

As the ink settled, a murmur of astonishment rippled through the audience of those knowledgeable in literature. All eleven characters bore the radical for "roof" (宀), sharing a common origin; the words conjured a solitary image of a traveler, enduring hardship by the cold window. The second line not only required uniformity in radicals but also a harmonious resonance of imagery. For centuries, countless scholars had attempted to respond, yet none had achieved a perfect second line.

Su Shi stared at this line of words and fell into a rare silence.

This was the first time he had paused to reflect since taking the stage.

Within the Song army's ranks, Zeng Gong whispered to Cheng Hao beside him, "This couplet is extremely difficult. Eleven characters share the same radical, and one must also consider the meaning and rhythm. Even if he were given three days to quietly conceive it, he might not be able to come up with an excellent second line."

Cheng Hao gently shook his head: "It seems that Zizhan is likely to encounter setbacks this time."

A hint of amusement crept across the Liao army's ranks. This couplet was the culmination of Yelü Qi's life's work. He had found the first line in ancient fragments of a library in the north and pondered it for seven years, yet still couldn't come up with a satisfactory second line. He was certain that even with Su Shi's exceptional talent, it would be impossible for him to provide a response in an instant.

On the high platform, Su Shi held his brush with his wrist suspended, the tip of the brush hovering in the air for three breaths.

The next instant, ink fell onto the paper:

"Those who have strayed far away, return to your near home and find true freedom."

The eleven characters—迷, 途, 逝, 远, 返, 退, 还, 迩, 近, 逍, 遥—all share the radical for "walking," which corresponds to the radical for "roof" in the first line. The first line describes the confinement of a traveler, confined to his home; the second line describes a journey to find one's way, ultimately achieving freedom. One describes confinement, the other loneliness and openness; their imagery resonates, creating a broad and expansive perspective that completely breaks the oppressive and desolate atmosphere of the first line.

The moment the ink settled, the entire room fell silent; even the howling wind seemed to lower its voice.

Yelü Qi stared blankly at the paper for a long time, his face turning from red to white, then from white to green, his lips moving but unable to utter a word for a long while. He carefully picked up the Xuan paper, bringing it close to his eyes to examine each character. The brushstrokes, radicals, tones, and artistic conception were all perfectly executed and exquisite.

After a long silence, he slowly put down the paper and bowed deeply to Su Shi. When he straightened up, his eyes were slightly red, and his voice was hoarse and rough:

"I have pondered this couplet for seven years without finding a solution. The gentleman, however, answered it in a mere moment. The radicals fit together perfectly, the imagery complements each other, and the breadth of vision and spirit far surpasses all my previous ideas."

He paused, then suddenly smiled with relief, a sense of clarity washing over him.

"Sir, you have not only matched the words perfectly, but also touched upon the heart. My ancestors were originally Han Chinese from Youzhou. A hundred years ago, they were forced to migrate north and changed their surname to Liaodong. Living in the northern frontier, their hearts longed for their homeland. Their lives were like 'living as strangers in a foreign land, guarding their cold windows.' Until today, when I saw these eleven characters—"

He gripped the Xuan paper tightly and bowed deeply once more:

"The gentleman's words made me realize that there is still another way out for my life."

As he stepped down from the platform, he still clutched the paper tightly, as if holding a key that had been dug out from the depths of ice and snow and was still warm.

Han Zhongming stood by the desk, the ink stains from his whisk still damp. He watched Yelü Qi leave, then looked at the couplets on Su Shi's desk: "Spring returns to Youyan in the winds of ten thousand miles," "Flames melt the branches of the sea dike," "East and West pawnshops pawn east and west," "Four poems of elegance and eulogy," "Lost on the path, gone far away, returning to near and carefree." Five couplets, each more difficult than the last, yet Su Shi solved them all with a laugh.

He let out a long sigh, gently placed the whisk on the table, took three steps back, clasped his hands together, and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle to Su Shi, a disciple paying homage to his master, his full head of white hair hanging down to his chest.