The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Then someone recited: "The scenery of Chenzhou surpasses that of Chang'an; in my drunken state, I can see the world as if it were my own. If it weren't for the princes and nobles raising their swords, where would this peace be?"

Another person recited: "On the lake, at the String and Song Pavilion, songs of sorrow for all ages in Jiangnan are sung. Today, kings and nobles fill the seats, but where are my true companions?"

Another person recited: "Lord Lü and Wang You, the lucky star of Chenzhou, the savior of the common people. Look at the warm hot soup, warming all the poor scholars; the elegant Eight Immortals, gathering the learned. The hidden arrows are silent, the steel knife is reliable, sweeping away the villains and bringing peace to the people. Truly, his achievements surpass those of Fenyang by three points."

Lord Lü recognized the pearl's value, the Prefect bestowed favor, and the Prince showed him esteem. May Lord Lü be wealthy and long-lived; may his virtue be as boundless as the Eastern Sea. May he one day rise to prominence, soaring high and bringing glory to his family. At that time, let us not forget this day, and together we will revel in music and song.

The young prince gently waved his folding fan and recited aloud: "On the lake, music and song ripple, merging with the sky. Painted boats echo with music all night long, the strings and pipes intoxicating the soul. Behold the water fairies, hand in hand with princes and nobles, dancing in golden robes. Tell me, in Chenzhou, where is there not the beauty of the Xiang River?"

The wind and moon are beautiful, the smoke and dust are still, and peace prevails. Why need swords and spears? Let us enjoy poetry and wine with beautiful women.

Forget the flames of war on the border, forget the barbarian hordes of Western Xia; this is a paradise. May our Great Song Dynasty forever roam freely.

Every word was flattery and praise, making Wang Zhonghua's skin crawl. He didn't want to get involved, but seeing Liu Sanbian and the others swaying their heads and indulging in self-admiration, the alcohol took effect, and the fire in his heart could no longer be suppressed.

Liu Sanbian, beaming with pride, swayed his head and recited: "Where will I be when I wake up tonight? On the willow bank, in the dawn breeze and under the waning moon, what a beautiful poem..."

"What beautiful words! What a perfect 'Where will I be when I wake up from my drunken stupor tonight'! What a perfect 'Dawn breeze and waning moon'!" Wang Zhonghua suddenly stood up, holding a wine cup, and staggered towards the front of the stage. "Since you talented gentlemen are in such high spirits, I, Wang, will also offer my humble work!"

Before he could finish speaking, the entire hall erupted in uproar. A crude, uncouth soldier who made soup, sold wine, and led villagers in suppressing bandits—he dared to compose poetry? Did he really think a single poem, "Partridge Sky: I Am a Mountain Dweller of Qingdu," would be enough for him to live off for a lifetime? Liu Sanbian's lips curled into a disdainful sneer, waiting to see the joke.

The young prince picked up his wine cup, seemingly lost in thought.

Ouyang Xiu's eyes shone, and Di Qing's hair flew up.

Qin Tiehua's eyes gleamed with boundless delight.

Liu Xinyi's cool gaze held a hint of intensity.

……

Wang Zhonghua, however, ignored everyone else, downed the wine in his glass in one gulp, and then smashed the glass to the ground, the sound startling everyone. Fueled by the alcohol, he began to recite:

"My hair stands on end in anger, as I lean on the railing, the rain has just stopped. I raise my eyes, look up to the sky and roar, my heart filled with fierce ambition. How much fame and glory have turned to dust, how many thousand miles of road have I traveled through clouds and moon? Do not idly let your youthful head turn white, only to be filled with empty sorrow."

The shame of Chanyuan remains unavenged; the hatred of the subjects, when will it end? We will drive our chariots, shattering the Helan Mountains. With lofty ambition, we will feast on the flesh of the barbarians when hungry, and laughingly drink their blood when thirsty. We will wait to reclaim our lost lands and return to the imperial palace!

The words were like knives, the sound like tearing silk, and the entire hall fell silent. The overwhelming heroism and grief surging between the words, like a bolt of lightning, cleaved through the decadent music in the hall.

Liu Sanbian's face turned deathly pale, and he stammered, "This... what kind of outrageous nonsense is this? 'The Shame of Chanyuan'? The Treaty of Chanyuan between our Great Song and the Northern Liao is the cornerstone of a century of peace. You... you are slandering the national government, committing treason!"

Many scholars echoed his sentiments, criticizing Wang Zhonghua for talking nonsense and disgracing literature.

Di Qing abruptly stood up. He didn't look at the arguing crowd, but instead looked at Ouyang Xiu. He was waiting for an attitude, an attitude that could determine the fate of the world.

Ouyang Xiu frowned, his gaze fixed intently on Wang Zhonghua: "This poem... this poem is bold and unrestrained, unlike anything ordinary. But how does young friend Wang interpret the three words 'the shame of Chanyuan'?"

Wang Zhonghua sneered, his drunkenness rising, and he no longer cared about anything else: "The Treaty of Chanyuan was peace we bought with tribute, feeding wolves with silver! Paying tribute year after year, submitting to the emperor year after year—is this glory? This is shame! You all sit here reciting poetry and drinking, do you know that the Western Xia in the northwest are eyeing us covetously, and the Northern Liao in the northeast are sharpening their knives? The Song Dynasty is already surrounded by enemies on all sides! You scholars," he pointed at Liu Sanbian, "have read the classics, yet you only know 'singing of the eternal sorrow of Jiangnan,' but you don't know 'when will the hatred of the subjects be extinguished!' You eat the people's blood and sweat, yet all you do is flatter and fawn, living a life of debauchery! The nation has nurtured scholars for over a hundred years; the day to uphold integrity and die for righteousness is here! And you? Where is your integrity? Where is your righteousness?!"

"Boom! Boom!! Rumble!!!"

These words were like a thunderclap, silencing the entire room.

Liu Sanbian and the others were blushing with embarrassment, but remained silent in rebuttal. Chen Shimei's face was ashen, but a strange light flashed in the young prince's eyes. It was the gleam of seeing an interesting toy, or perhaps even a friend or a formidable rival.

Di Qing suddenly slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "Excellent! Excellent is the 'With lofty ambition, I'll feast on the flesh of the barbarians; with laughter, I'll drink their blood!' Young Master Wang's words have struck a chord with me! For ten years in the Northwest, the blood I shed and the brothers who died, were all for the sake of 'reclaiming our lost lands'! Those who say the Treaty of Chanyuan was an honor should go to the border and see for themselves the soldiers who risked their lives to defend the frontier, see the villages plundered by the Western Xia!"

Ouyang Xiu slowly rose, clapped his hands, and praised, "Excellent poem! Excellent spirit! Although Wang Xiaoyou's 'Man Jiang Hong' deviates slightly from the rules of prosody, its spirit is awe-inspiring and its ambition is overwhelming. Especially the line 'Do not idly let your youthful head turn white, only to regret it in vain,' should serve as a warning to all young people! I am a few years older than you, but I have learned a lot today."

He turned to the assembled guests, his voice not loud, yet every word carried immense weight: "Gentlemen, though young friend Wang's words are scathing, they hit the nail on the head. Our Great Song has enjoyed peace for too long, but our military preparedness has become lax, and our civil officials have become complacent and our military has become idle. If this continues, the nation will cease to exist. Today's victory banquet should not celebrate the achievements of any one person, but rather the ambition of the sons and daughters of our Great Song to defend our land and expand our territory!"

When Ouyang Xiu spoke, who dared to disobey? All the guests in the hall bowed their heads in silence. The arrogance of the literati was completely crushed, while the backbone of the warriors quietly straightened a little.

Just then, a sharp, piercing sound from a pipa rang out from the third-floor corridor, like the splash of an icy spring, shattering the silence of the hall. Everyone looked up in astonishment, only to see a woman carrying a pipa, emerging from a half-rolled-up beaded curtain. She wore no makeup, only a moon-white dress embroidered with pale ink landscapes on the hem, which flowed like a scroll as she moved, so ethereal and captivating that one dared not look directly at her. The dress, seemingly simple, was in fact made of the most precious "sky-blue gauze" from Jiangnan, shimmering with pearly light under the sun—a treasure beyond measure.

Li Jingniang may not be a stunning beauty, but she possesses a captivating charm. Her eyebrows are like distant mountains, naturally verdant without makeup; her eyes are like autumn waters, cold and still without waves. Most exquisite is the line of her jaw, tightly defined, carrying an innate arrogance, as if no man in the world could catch her eye. She holds a pipa, her fingers not plucking the strings, yet the pipa seems alive, nestled in her arms; the person and the instrument are as one.

She stood on the veranda, her gaze sweeping lightly over the guests, like a frost-covered blade skimming water; wherever her eyes fell, everyone bowed their heads. The local gentry and powerful men, usually so vulgar and uncouth, now held their breath, afraid that their rudeness might offend the beauty; the scholars and gentlemen, so proud of their refined taste, dared not even wave their folding fans too loudly, lest they flutter the hem of her robes.

Her gaze paused only when it fell upon Wang Zhonghua. She plucked a string with her slender hand, producing a sharp, tearing sound. Then, she gracefully bowed, her eyes fixed intently on Wang Zhonghua: "Young Master Wang's poem is powerful and majestic. I, Jingniang, am unworthy to accompany you. Would you be willing to sing this 'Man Jiang Hong' with me?"

These words caused an uproar in the hall. Li Jingniang was the most beautiful courtesan in the capital, aloof and elegant, and never sang with anyone; yet today she had taken the initiative to invite Wang Zhonghua!

Wang Zhonghua, still tipsy and brimming with excitement, and having been a karaoke enthusiast in his past life, often spending time with friends in karaoke bars, looked at Li Jingniang's burning gaze and laughed loudly, "Why not!"

He strode onto the stage and stood shoulder to shoulder with Li Jingniang. The sound of the pipa rose, like an iron cavalry charge, swords clashing. Wang Zhonghua began to sing again, his voice hoarse, yet carrying the resonant sound of metal and stone:

"His hair stood on end in anger, as he leaned against the railing..."

Li Jingniang's harmonies followed, clear and resonant, like jade shattering in Kunshan, or a phoenix's long cry. The two, one rugged, one melodious; one masculine, one feminine, their rendition of "Man Jiang Hong" moved the entire audience to tears. The singing and pipa music intertwined, seemingly not echoing in the tavern, but resonating in the hearts of every person with a spirit.

Below the stage, Chen Shimei's expression shifted between light and shadow, his hand clenching slightly in his sleeve, yet his face remained calm and composed; the young prince's gaze grew increasingly intense, his fan already stopped, his eyes as if he were assessing a priceless treasure; Di Qing stood with his hand on his sword, his tiger-like eyes filled with tears; Ouyang Xiu stroked his beard and smiled, his eyes full of satisfaction.

Among the crowd, two pairs of eyes never left the figure on the stage, who was singing loudly.

Qin Tiehua sat in the corner, her fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles turning white. She stared at Li Jingniang, who stood side by side with Wang Zhonghua on the stage—that moon-white figure, that aloof demeanor, that tacit understanding between her and Wang Zhonghua. She didn't move, nor did she speak, her lips pressed into a thin line, something churning in her eyes, but she suppressed it tightly, refusing to let anyone see it.

Was it jealousy? Was it worry? Or something else? She herself probably couldn't say for sure. She only remembered that when Wang Zhonghua recited that poem, her heart felt like it had been gripped—not because she was worried that he had offended all the powerful people in the room, but because of the burning heat in his chest that made her eyes sting.

But at this moment, the woman standing beside him and singing with him was another woman.

Her hand slowly loosened its grip on the edge of the table, then clenched again, repeating this three times. Finally, she lowered her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips, as if she were laughing at herself. Then she raised her head, her gaze still fixed on the person on the stage, but the fire in her eyes burned even brighter than before—the kind of light that only iron meets fire.

Further away, beside a pillar in the corridor, Liu Xinyi stood with her arms crossed, her blue robe as cold and aloof as frost. Her gaze swept over Wang Zhonghua on the stage, over Li Jingniang who was singing with him, and finally landed on Qin Tiehua's hands, which were clenched and then relaxed.

The corners of her mouth curved slightly—the smile was so faint, as faint as moonlight reflected on water, vanishing at the slightest touch.

Then, she withdrew her gaze and looked back at the stage. The pipa music was urgent, the singing was in full swing, and Wang Zhonghua's forehead was beaded with sweat. His voice was already a little hoarse, but he was still singing hoarsely. Liu Xinyi looked at his appearance of giving it his all, and the thin layer of ice in his eyes that never melted seemed to crack with a very fine crack.

She didn't grip the edge of the table like Qin Tiehua, nor did she shed tears like the others. She simply watched quietly, as if looking at someone unrelated to her. But if someone were close enough at that moment, they would see—her arms were crossed, her fingertips gently digging into her sleeves, creating fine creases.

—Qin Tiehua and Liu Xinyi, one with a worried expression and the other with sharp eyes as usual, each had different thoughts.