After saving the Empress, I became the top scholar in the imperial examination.

"Need not!"

Zhu Cuiwei spoke subconsciously, her voice fast and hurried, and she finished speaking in a flash, almost catching Ning Nan off guard.

Seemingly worried that the simpleton might actually apply it, the woman glanced at him quickly with her bright eyes and added:

"I think it's alright."

"It's alright then." Ning Nan nodded his chin. Since the other party didn't mind, he wouldn't apply it.

I was a little reluctant to part with it, and at that time I managed to get some ink and a pen from somewhere. On a whim, I wrote this poem, but the child was too weak and lacked strength, so the writing was just so-so.

The lamp burned like a bean. The old woman was worried that her goddaughter would catch a cold, so the window was closed and no wind blew in. The wick steadily absorbed the oil, emitting light and heat.

The boy's dark shadow was cast on the earthen-yellow wall, occupying most of the woman's field of vision.

After Ning Nan admitted it, the woman fell silent, and the room became quiet. However, since the two were a little more familiar with each other, their eye contact was not as awkward as the first time.

Ning Nan was no longer as restless as last time. He leaned back in his chair rather leisurely. Perhaps it was because the night was too deep and quiet, and the oil lamp was working, giving him a strong sense of security. Or perhaps it was because the previous actions had been too exciting. After sitting by the woman's bed, his boiling blood slowly cooled down, and his heart calmed down as well.

"Who taught you to write?" Zhu Cuiwei thought for a moment and then asked.

Zhu Cuiwei was truly puzzled by the upright and majestic style of Wei stele calligraphy. She searched her mind for contemporary masters but couldn't think of anyone willing to teach this country boy. Could it be that he was a disciple of some reclusive sage?

Ning Nan mumbled, "Um, a teacher."

"Who is it? Where are you?" The woman raised her head and her eyes lit up.

"He... was a free spirit, and just taught me on a whim."

Ning Nan blinked.

"They've been missing for a long time," he added, nodding again.

This excuse was used for a long time, and the same excuse was given to Old Monster Han. Old Monster Han drank a lot of wine that day, his face red as he slammed the table, questioning Heaven why it didn't send him such a master.

Zhu Cuiwei sighed with some regret, without pressing the matter further.

I have heard of such a situation before. The Grand Tutor often lamented that his classmates who were unwilling to serve in government were full of talent, but they spent their days indulging in nature and did not think about serving the country. They had simply wasted their time studying the classics!

The last two sentences were obviously said in anger by the Grand Tutor, but his unwillingness to serve in office was indeed true.

Presumably, this child's teacher is the same; such a person is probably unmoved by any amount of gold, silver, wealth, high office, or generous salary.

However, what surprised her even more was the country doctor in front of her.

Seven years old... I don't know how long he studied, but he was able to write such elegant characters!

Even with renowned teachers, talent is talent. If students were truly so easy to teach, the world would be filled with beautiful calligraphy and poetry long ago.

Perhaps that master discovered this child's talent by chance, and that's an understatement to say it's one in ten thousand. So, on a whim, he left his legacy in this rural area. However, since this lineage exists, who knows, one day that master might suddenly reappear and come looking for this student.

Zhu Cuiwei's expression was complicated. She had heard that Liu Zhenxi's calligraphy of Wei stele style was worth a thousand gold pieces per character in Nanjing. But the characters written by this country boy when he was seven years old seemed to already contain three-tenths of the great scholar's true essence. More than ten years have passed since then. She wondered how his skills had improved now.

After returning home, I'll find this boy and buy him a piece of calligraphy... She silently pursed her pink lips.

"You wrote the calligraphy, and you wrote the poem too?"

I asked Ning about this during dinner earlier. Ning patted her chest and said that it was all written by my son when he was seven years old. I don't know where he learned it. Later, my son learned to recognize even more characters and even helped people write letters. Isn't that amazing?

Zhu Cuiwei glanced at the woman's raised eyebrows and somewhat expectant expression, nodded, and said, "Impressive." Ning's mouth immediately stretched into a wide grin, and she said, "It's just so-so, all nonsense."

Although she verbally agreed, Zhu Cuiwei still found it hard to believe.

It's already hard to believe that a seven-year-old can write calligraphy like this, let alone write poetry like this?

Before the whale has even swallowed the sea, the sword's aura has already swept across the autumn sky... Such a grand and majestic poem, could it really be written by a seven-year-old child?

The woman reached up and touched her forehead, rubbing it involuntarily.

She was taught by the Grand Tutor since childhood. The Grand Tutor was the top scholar in the eighth year of the Longchang reign. His knowledge of the classics and poetry was exceptionally profound. Although her favorite student could not compose many good poems, she still had a keen eye and solid foundation.

Although the poem written by this man is a fragment, the precision of its word choice and the grandeur of its imagery are unparalleled in my life.

Ning Nan paused for a moment, then said, "I wrote the words."

Then, the boy seemed to grit his teeth and said somewhat reluctantly, "The poem, well... just think of it as something a bald-headed monk wrote when he passed by my house."

"A bald-headed monk? Just passing by your house?"

"Um."

Ning Nan nodded.

He had checked the history with Han Laoguai. The timeline of this world was a bit off starting from the Tang Dynasty. Li Bai and Du Fu were not well-known and did not write much poetry. On the contrary, some unfamiliar names suddenly became famous, but their poems were mediocre and hard to understand. After the Tang Dynasty came the Zhao Dynasty, and after the Zhao Dynasty came the Yuan Dynasty established by the Mongols. At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, heroes rose up. The Zhu family emperor was born a beggar. He fought until the world was in despair and established the Great Liang Dynasty. The world has changed. Now, the Great Liang Dynasty only has half of its country left.

Therefore, it's pointless to explain to the curious, big-eyed girl in bed that it was written by the bald-headed monk; it would save us the trouble.

"That monk..." Zhu Cuiwei's fair face froze, her brows furrowed in disbelief, "Was it really written by a monk?"

"Otherwise what? Could it be that I wrote it?"

"What about that one?"

Which song?

"The horse gallops swiftly like the wind, the bowstring twangs like thunder."

Ning Nan didn't have much of an impression, but he vaguely felt that he had indeed read it in front of the other party, so he nodded and said, "It was also written by a monk."

"Too?"

"certainly."

The woman was momentarily speechless, choked by the words.

"Did the monk write two poems?"

"Uh... I'll just write two poems for now."

What does "temporarily" mean?

Could there be a few more songs coming out later?

The woman seemed to be angry; she held her breath, turned her head, and stared at the ceiling.

But upon closer reflection, it seems the boy wasn't wrong. It wasn't written by the bald-headed monk. Could it really have been written by him? At the age of seven?

Can a country boy really have such poetic talent?

Zhu Cuiwei frowned, and unconsciously puffed out her cheeks, as if she was holding her breath but couldn't exhale.

Fair skin glowed warmly in the dim light.

Seeing this, Ning Nan suddenly smiled. This aloof and pretty maidservant does have a cute side sometimes, like a big-eyed goldfish.

He leaned back in the bamboo chair, not intending to accept any accolades for his extraordinary poetic talent.

Poetry should be written appropriately for the occasion. If you really boast about your poetic talent, you'll be at a loss when someone organizes a game of "flying flowers" and asks you to compose a poem on the spot. It's better to leave it to a bald-headed monk who can recite a couple of poems when he's in the mood, but doesn't need to sign his name.

More importantly, poetry expresses one's aspirations, but it is not the aspirations themselves; fame and officialdom are the fundamental goals, and passing the imperial examinations is the ultimate aim.

Even a poet as great as Li Bai, didn't his life goal still aim for the position of prime minister?

Unfortunately, as the son of a merchant, Li Bai was not qualified to take the imperial examinations and was unwilling to become a court jester to please the emperor, so he had no choice but to be given gold and sent home.

This is also why Ningnan wanted agricultural registration. The laws of Daliang also apply to those with military, merchant, or artisan registrations, as they are not eligible for the imperial examinations.