The low-key prince summons trainees from the Imperial Household Department at the start of the game.

Five days after the Spring Equinox in the twenty-second year of Yonghe.

On the banks of Yuyuantan Park in the western suburbs of Beijing, thousands of peach trees are in full bloom.

This area was originally part of the royal gardens of the Great Zhou Dynasty, and was later developed into a place for officials and gentry to enjoy.

Around the spring equinox each year, princes, nobles, civil and military officials, and literati from the capital would gather here to appreciate flowers, compose poems, drink wine, and discuss philosophy.

This practice continued year after year, gradually becoming a set event, and was known in Beijing as the "Third-Rank Scholar Banquet".

This year's third-place banquet was even more lively than in previous years.

The Ministry of Rites spearheaded the event, with the Imperial College as a co-organizer. The purpose of this grand gathering was to warm up for next year's spring imperial examinations and encourage students across the country to make friends through literature.

As soon as the news spread, scholars from major academies in the capital and those from all over the country flocked to Beijing to study.

The pavilions and towers along the Yuyuantan Lake were fully booked by various groups three days in advance.

The scholars who arrived late could only sit on the ground among the peach trees, which had a unique rustic charm.

Just after dawn, the pond was already teeming with people.

Deep in the peach grove, someone spread out a sheet of Xuan paper and spontaneously began to write calligraphy. Before the ink was even dry, it drew cheers from the crowd.

Someone sat on the ground playing the zither, and the music drifted down with the petals, attracting several unidentified water birds that circled over the surface of the pool.

Some people gathered in twos and threes in the pavilion, talking loudly about everything from poetry and songs to politics and current affairs, arguing until their faces turned red, and their tea got cold and was refilled again and again.

The most bustling place is Guanlan Pavilion on Tanxin Island.

That was the undisputed arena for the poetry competition at the annual third-place banquet, where people rose to fame with a single poem each year, while others were defeated and lost.

This year, writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones have been set up in the pavilion. The ceremony is jointly presided over by Zhang Mao, a senior official of the Ministry of Rites, and Sun Bo'an, the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy. Whoever can compose a poem here and win the top prize will have the opportunity to be noticed by the princes and nobles present and rise to prominence in one step.

It is said that a few days ago, the people from the Grand Tutor's Mansion specially sent people to repair the plaque of Guanlan Pavilion. The newly applied gold paint shone brightly in the sunlight, adding to its solemnity.

Around noon, a sudden commotion broke out among the crowd on the west side of Yuyuantan Park.

Several sharp-eyed scholars were the first to react, and they all stood on tiptoe to look around. Their whispers came from west to east like the sound of wind blowing through wheat fields.

"His Highness has arrived too!"

"It really is His Highness!"

A group of people walked slowly from the stone path on the west side. The one in the lead was in his early twenties, dressed in a moon-white scholar's robe with a green jade belt around his waist. He had a gentle demeanor and walked with ease. He was none other than the eldest prince, Zhou Cong.

He was not wearing the prince's usual robes today, but dressed as a Confucian scholar, with only a jade hairpin in his hair, and no royal insignia on his body.

But the scholarly air and composed demeanor that emanated from his very being made him instantly distinguishable from the ordinary young noblemen around him.

Two people were accompanying Zhou Cong.

On the left is Sun Bo'an, the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy, an old scholar in his sixties, thin and vigorous, with a slightly hunched back, holding a string of black jade prayer beads in his hand, talking quietly with the eldest prince as they walk.

On the right is Zhang Mao, a secretary in the Ministry of Rites, who is in his early forties, with a square face and wide ears. He has a friendly smile and tells Zhou Cong about the latest happenings at this year's third-place scholar banquet as they walk.

Behind the three were several guards, also dressed in plain clothes, scattered among the crowd, pretending to be ordinary tourists, but their eyes were constantly scanning their surroundings.

After Zhou Cong entered the cabinet to observe politics, his status and position rose rapidly, and he received unanimous praise from the court and the public.

Humble, studious, and like his father.

I'm here today in my private clothes for the "Exploring Flowers Banquet," partly to relax and partly to see what the literary scene in Beijing is like this year.

"Your Highness, this year's banquet for the third-ranked scholar is much larger than in previous years, with no fewer than a thousand scholars from all over the country attending."

Zhang Mao pointed to the bustling crowd by the pool, his tone tinged with pride, "This is a joint event organized by the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Academy. Thanks to Your Highness, the scene is passable."

Zhou Cong smiled slightly, his gaze sweeping over the young scholars sitting on the ground in the peach grove, chatting and laughing. A hint of reminiscence appeared in his eyes: "Lord Zhang, there is no need to be so modest. When I was still a student in the palace, I also accompanied the Grand Tutor to the Flower-Picking Banquet to witness it."

"At that time, I was only fifteen years old. I sat on that rock listening to the elders discuss poetry. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I just felt that there were so many learned people in the world."

He pointed to a large blue stone half-submerged in the water by the pool, his tone tinged with nostalgia.

Sun Bo'an stroked his beard and smiled, "Your Highness already showed extraordinary talent back then. I remember that Your Highness composed a five-character regulated poem that very night, and the Grand Tutor said 'good' three times after reading it."

"You flatter me, Grand Master Sun." Zhou Cong waved his hand modestly, glancing towards the direction of Tanxin Island. "Any new faces at Guanlan Pavilion this year?"

"I was just about to report to Your Highness," Zhang Mao said, taking a half-step closer and lowering his voice. "There are a few young people who have shown remarkable talent this year."

"Su Shi, also known as Su Zizhan, who was staying at the Great Bao'en Temple, had no official title, but his poems and essays had already spread in the literary circles of Beijing. He was talented, bold and unrestrained, and had some of the style of the great poet Su Shi of yesteryear."

"There was also a monk named Daoyan who stayed at the same temple as him. He was extremely learned and often discussed literature and politics with worshippers when he was not interpreting fortune sticks. It is said that even Vice Minister Zhao of the Ministry of Works praised him highly."

Zhou Cong's brows twitched slightly, and he was about to speak when an unusual commotion suddenly broke out from the direction of Tanxin Island, interrupting their conversation.

The clamor was mixed with clapping, cheers, and exclamations of amazement. Some people were even shouting, "Quick, get some paper and pen!" and "Such wonderful lines must be written down!"

Zhang Mao and Sun Bo'an exchanged a glance, both realizing that something terrible must have happened in Guanlan Pavilion.

Zhou Cong also heard the commotion, smiled slightly, and began to walk towards Tanxin Island.

"It seems we've arrived just in time."

The Guanlan Pavilion on Tanxin Island is currently the most important battlefield for the Third Scholar Banquet.

The pavilion is three stories high, with the ground floor open on all four sides. Eight red-lacquered round pillars support the eaves, and a newly made plaque hangs under the eaves with the two characters "Guanlan" written by Grand Tutor Kong Yan.

In the center of the pavilion stood a large sandalwood table over ten feet long, complete with writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. More than ten seats were set up on each side, and they were already full of people.

There weren't enough seats, so those who arrived later stood along the railing outside the pavilion, forming a dense, impenetrable crowd.

Today's theme for the poems at Guanlan Pavilion is "Spring Water." There are no strict rules or rhymes; everyone is encouraged to express their own thoughts. The poems will be judged by the professors from the Imperial Academy and officials from the Ministry of Rites present. The winner will be the top poet at this year's Third Scholar's Banquet.

At this moment, everyone in the pavilion was crowded around a large sandalwood desk, with all eyes fixed on a scholar in a blue robe standing in front of the desk.

The scholar was about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, with a clear and handsome face, long eyebrows that reached his temples, and a pair of eyes that were surprisingly bright.

With his left hand behind his back and his right wrist suspended, he held a brush and was wielding it on the rice paper, his brushstrokes flowing like dragons and snakes.

Behind him, several renowned scholars had already submitted their papers, but they were all overshadowed by this man's casual comment.

His critiques of poetry were never roundabout; they were both precise and merciless, yet his words carried a touch of humor, making even those being criticized unable to help but shake their heads with a wry smile.

He was writing a seven-character quatrain at that moment, and before the characters were completely dry, someone next to him read it aloud.

"A few peach blossoms bloom outside the bamboo grove, the ducks are the first to know when the spring river warms. Watercress covers the ground and reeds are short, just when the pufferfish are about to swim upstream."

After the person reciting the poem finished, the entire Guanlan Pavilion remained silent for three full breaths.

Immediately, thunderous cheers erupted.

Some applauded in admiration, while others shook their heads and sighed, "We need not write such wonderful lines today."

Someone rushed forward, grabbed the scholar's sleeve, and asked, "Are you Su Zizhan of the Great Bao'en Temple?"

The scholar placed his brush on the brush holder, took a damp cloth from someone and wiped his hands, then smiled and said, "I am indeed Su Shi, but this is just an impromptu piece. You all flatter me."

Suddenly, someone asked in a shrill voice, "Young Master Su's poem about the evening scenery of the spring river is indeed a wonderful piece, but today's theme for the Flower Exploration Banquet is 'Spring Water.' Where is the spring water in your poem, Young Master Su?"

The one who asked the question was a young man in a brocade robe, with a hint of arrogance between his brows. He was Han Wenshao, the youngest teaching assistant at the Imperial Academy this year.

Born into a collateral branch of Marquis Dingyuan, Han Chong, he had always been proud of his poetic talent. Today, he wrote three poems, all of which were criticized by Su Shi, and he was already indignant.

Su Shi looked up at him and recognized him as the young master of the Han family, whose three poems he had just criticized as worthless. He then smiled slightly and said, "This is a good question, brother."

"The ducks are the first to know when the spring river warms up. Isn't the spring river water? The ducks know when the water warms up. Without using a single word, the spring feeling is full of meaning. If you have to pile up the words 'spring water' in the poem to be relevant, that's just an accountant's rambling account, not poetry."

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire room erupted in laughter.

Han Wenshao blushed and angrily turned away. He almost bumped into a group of people coming towards him when he reached the pavilion entrance. When he looked up, he was so frightened that he stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Your Highness!" The shout brought the commotion in Guanlan Pavilion to an abrupt halt.

Everyone turned their heads in unison and saw the young man in a pale white scholar's robe standing at the door. They all knelt down and bowed in respect.

Zhou Cong waved his hand, signaling everyone to rise, but his gaze fell on the scholar in the blue robe who stood before him, neither humble nor arrogant.

"Just now, I heard cheers from the bridgehead, and someone even loudly recited a seven-character quatrain, 'The ducks are the first to know when the spring river warms.' Did you write that?"

Zhou Cong walked slowly to the table, looked down and examined the new ink painting spread out on it. The calligraphy was unrestrained and elegant, unlike any other calligraphy he had ever seen, yet it had a unique charm.

He reads poetry extremely slowly, savoring each word as if it were being tasted on the tip of his tongue before letting it pass by.

After reading the last sentence, "It is the time when the pufferfish is about to ascend," he looked up, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration.

"What a fine poem! It doesn't pile up allusions or try too hard to be sophisticated. It uses ordinary scenery to express boundless vitality. It is innocent and unrestrained yet has a harmonious and complete style. Such a work has not been seen in the literary circles of the capital for a long time."

Su Shi smiled slightly, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, "Your Highness flatters me. I merely saw ducks swimming in the pond and made up a few words on the spot. I am unworthy of Your Highness's high praise."

"Just making things up off the cuff?" Zhou Cong looked at him with a half-smile. "If you can compose such a masterpiece just by making things up off the cuff, then I'd like you to make up another one."

He turned to look at the thousand peach trees outside the island in the heart of the pool, pondered for a moment, then raised his hand and pointed deep into the peach grove. "Today's flower-viewing banquet is named after flowers. Since you have been able to describe the spring waters so vividly in a poem, how about you write a ci poem on the theme of the spring scenery before us, without being bound by any rules?"

These words caused another stir in Guanlan Pavilion.