Chapter Eleven: Literary Splendor Fills the Sky, Poetry Astonishes All Gathered

“Have you made up your mind? If so, step up and help me take down Zuo Jincheng.”

Feng Yumian, restless by Xu Feng’s side, kept clamoring for him to defeat Zuo Jincheng.

Her nature was the complete opposite of Feng Yuzhi’s — one calm, the other restless.

“I’ll give it a try.”

Xu Feng knew he couldn’t hesitate any longer; otherwise, the opportunity would slip through his fingers.

Zuo Jincheng had just finished reciting a poem, and as the crowd was savoring it, Xu Feng’s voice immediately drew everyone’s attention.

Feng Yuzhi’s expression turned the most unpleasant. She had assumed Xu Feng was only here to accompany his sister for fun, never expecting he would actually step forward. This was a humiliation to her.

Zuo Jincheng wasted no time and sneered, “Who do you think you are? A mere live-in son-in-law, daring to compete on the same stage as us? Get out of here before you embarrass yourself further.”

“Xu Feng, remember your place.”

Their voices rose in unison, clearly aiming to humiliate him.

From their exchange, the crowd learned of Xu Feng’s identity. Whispering among themselves, many had heard of the ‘useless live-in son-in-law of the Feng family from Gusu’. It was a favorite topic of gossip, but no one had seen him in person until now.

Xu Feng had no intention of backing down. Yet before he could speak, someone leapt up to cut him off.

“Oh, Master Zuo, quite audacious of you to make decisions on behalf of Tianxiang Pavilion. One might think your Jianfeng Mountain is the true owner of the place.”

“A treasure belongs to the capable. Until the dust settles, anyone may take the stage — even a beggar. Your repeated obstruction only brings Tianxiang Pavilion into disrepute.”

Feng Yumian was sharp; she directly accused Zuo Jincheng from Tianxiang Pavilion’s standpoint, leaving him speechless and unable to retort.

At that moment, the pavilion’s envoy also spoke.

“Miss Feng is right. The capable claim the treasure. I kindly ask Master Zuo to refrain from disrupting the order and causing me difficulty.”

Zuo Jincheng’s face darkened. If his gaze could kill, Xu Feng would have perished countless times by now.

“No worries. I know Xu Feng’s abilities better than anyone. He knows nothing of poetry; his literary talent pales even compared to Lang Jun.”

Only when Feng Yuzhi spoke to comfort him did Zuo Jincheng’s expression improve somewhat.

“This Feng family son-in-law is truly insubordinate. I am ashamed to compete on the same stage with him.”

“He’s already a live-in son-in-law at their door, yet he still dares disgrace himself in public. If I were him, I’d have found a rock to smash my head on long ago.”

…

Amidst numerous discordant voices, Xu Feng paid no attention, not letting others’ words weigh on him.

One cannot stitch another’s mouth shut.

The first round’s theme was bamboo. Several timeless, exquisite poems fitting the scene came to Xu Feng’s mind. He picked up a peanut, tossed it into his mouth, and then recited effortlessly:

“Clinging firmly to the green mountain, roots set deep within the fractured rock.

Though ground down and beaten, still resilient and strong, enduring winds from east, west, south, and north.”

The poem silenced the entire arena; all the previous clamor vanished.

At first, it seemed ordinary. But on closer reflection, its true meaning emerged. Zuo Jincheng’s prior poem mentioned bamboo repeatedly, whereas Xu Feng’s seven-character quatrain never explicitly said ‘bamboo’ yet perfectly embodied bamboo’s tenacity and steadfast spirit.

Moreover, it was a metaphor for human resolve, subtly reminding all of his own identity.

A poem that expressed resolve through imagery, destined to be remembered through the ages.

Zuo Jincheng was ready to mock again but opened his mouth and found no words. Anyone with eyes could see the vast gulf between the two poems.

His earlier work was like a speck of dust compared to Xu Feng’s radiant moon.

Feng Yuzhi stared at Xu Feng in disbelief, her mind in turmoil. She had always thought Xu Feng uneducated and a disgrace, nothing more than a fallen man forced to be a live-in son-in-law. This poem made her realize she had seriously underestimated him.

Feng Yumian’s response was simpler: she applauded openly, her face alight with admiration. Though no businesswoman, her family valued literature and scholarship; she couldn’t compose poetry but had read many fine lines and could judge the merit of the two poems.

“What do you all think? It’s clear which one is superior compared to Zuo Jincheng’s.”

Feng Yumian’s face practically broadcast her delight at the underdog’s success.

Zuo Jincheng’s teeth itched with rage, yet he could do nothing to her.

“May I present my bamboo poem for approval?”

Xu Feng stood at the center, hands behind his back, dressed in flowing white robes. He seemed unaware that his poem was a crushing blow to everyone present.

After all, most attendees were martial men from the jianghu.

“Please wait a moment, Young Master Xu.”

A white-robed maid quickly transcribed the poem and handed it to her master for review. This time she returned in less than ten breaths.

“My master says Young Master Xu’s poem deserves a commendation token.”

The token bestowed by Tianxiang Pavilion was heavy, its material unknown. With this first success, Xu Feng gained confidence; the remaining two tokens would be mere trifles.

“Has Xu Feng ever composed poetry at your residence?”

Someone as proud as Zuo Jincheng simply could not accept this reality.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. This poem likely isn’t his own; probably lifted from some classic text.”

Even Feng Yuzhi was reluctant to believe it was genuine. She stubbornly clung to the notion that Xu Feng was worthless.

“In that case, we’ll expose him later. I want to see how he explains himself.”

Zuo Jincheng’s eyes were ferocious. He resolved to let Xu Feng revel in his arrogance for a while, then crush him when he reached his peak.

After reciting the poem, Xu Feng did not leave but looked up and asked,

“Is it one token per poem?”

His question was hard not to misinterpret.

“Is he really going to continue? Surely he can’t produce another poem of equal caliber.”

“Not that talented. If he were, he wouldn’t be a live-in son-in-law.”

…

The white-robed maid did not doubt and asked with genuine interest,

“Young Master Xu, do you have other fine bamboo poems?”

“We’ve prepared several more themes: plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. Young Master Xu may consider them all.”

Due to Xu Feng’s earlier performance, the themes originally meant to be unveiled gradually were announced outright by the maid.

Throughout history, countless poems featured the four motifs of plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. Yet only a rare few achieved lasting renown and deep resonance.

Xu Feng’s bamboo poem was undoubtedly one of the finest.

He pondered once more, hands behind his back, pacing slowly. The crowd held their breath, not daring to disturb.

What had begun as a martial arts contest had become Xu Feng’s personal showcase.