Chapter 27: That Was My Destiny with the Mountain God

Ye Wuji appeared calm and composed. For the first time in nearly forty years of life, he felt truly confident. The golden age of poetry had long since passed, and the scholars of the Great Qian Dynasty preferred composing lyrics to set melodies. While he considered himself a man of great learning, he had never encountered such a masterpiece. The poem and the lyric his son, Ye Xiu, had given him had stunned him the moment he read them. He had even, on several occasions, suspected that his dear son was the reincarnation of a poet immortal.

"In that case, I shall take the liberty to perform." Ye Wuji bowed slightly to Wang Yuanhui. "Teacher, if my efforts are lacking, I hope you will correct me."

"Feel free to let your talent flow," Wang Yuanhui said, stroking his beard. "I have always held you in high regard."

"..." Qian Gui felt his heart sink. Looking from Ye Wuji to Wang Yuanhui, he wondered, *Am I the only unfortunate soul here?*

"Then I shall present a piece to the tune of 'Lin Jiang Xian'." Ye Wuji gazed out toward the vast mountains and rivers, striving to immerse himself in the mood. "The mighty Yangtze rolls eastward, its waves washing away the heroes of old."

The scholars and licentiates present exchanged glances and began to whisper.

"So he is composing to a set tune?"

"The rhythm is quite refined, though."

"His skill is mediocre; I truly don't understand why Master Wang took him as a student."

Ye Wuji took a step forward, his voice growing grand and tragic. "Success and failure, right and wrong—it all turns to nothing. The green mountains remain, yet how many times have we seen the setting sun?"

In an instant, shock and astonishment appeared on everyone's faces. They had never imagined that a destitute scholar could possess such literary brilliance. Some looked at Wang Yuanhui with complex expressions: was this the legendary saying, "A great teacher produces great students"?

Qian Gui looked as if he had seen a ghost; cold sweat streamed down his forehead, and his legs began to tremble. Something had gone wrong—something terrible. He had kicked a steel plate.

"The white-haired fisherman and woodcutter on the riverbank, accustomed to the autumn moon and spring breeze."

Ye Wuji took a second step forward. Li Weishan immediately pulled a wine gourd from his book box. Ye Wuji opened the lid, took a sip, and tossed his hair with a dashing air. "A pot of turbid wine to celebrate our meeting, the past and the present..."

At this point, Ye Wuji took another step forward but deliberately left the final line unsaid.

"The past and present what?"

"Speak! Hurry up and finish it!"

Those with impatient temperaments began to urge him on. Monk Yangong had approached Ye Wuji at some point, his eyes filled with anticipation; he, too, was desperate to hear the final line.

Seeing that he had built the tension to its peak, Ye Wuji struck the final note: "How many affairs of the past and present are all cast into laughter and talk!"

Suddenly, the entire venue fell into absolute silence. Even Wang Yuanhui was dumbfounded. He had never expected such grand passion from the student he had raised since childhood.

A long while later, Shen Wanshan led the crowd in a thunderous round of applause. Everyone looked at Ye Wuji with admiration and respect.

"What a line: 'How many affairs of the past and present are all cast into laughter and talk'!" Monk Yangong’s eyes were red with excitement. "This 'Lin Jiang Xian' will surely be recorded in the annals of literature, allowing our Great Qian to reach the pinnacle of poetry once more."

"The time is about right. Is the vegetarian meal ready?" Ye Wuji looked at Monk Yangong with a serious expression. "I was interrupted during lunch and didn't get enough to eat."

"Donor Ye truly has a genuine nature—so spontaneous and untethered." Monk Yangong gave a thumbs-up in praise. Ye Wuji’s status had shifted from a poor scholar to a free-spirited, renowned gentleman.

People are indeed hypocritical. If you haven't shown your talent, eating heartily makes you a glutton; but once your talent crushes all others, every perceived flaw becomes a virtue.

"Donor Ye, please forgive my earlier neglect." Monk Yangong glanced at the accompanying monk-warriors and waved his hand gently. "See the guests out!"

"Master, I had no intention of causing offense. I hope you will..." Qian Gui was panicked—thoroughly panicked. But before he could finish, Shen Wanshan interrupted him. "Qian Gui, one must admit their faults when wrong and stand tall when taking a beating. From this moment on, my Shen family will sever all business relations with your Qian family."

"Master Shen, please, don't..."

No matter how Qian Gui begged, Shen Wanshan remained unmoved, and the monk-warriors dragged Qian Gui out of the temple.

With Qian Gui removed, Ye Wuji became the center of attention, surrounded by the crowd as they returned to the temple.

"I am not a man of great talent; it is all due to my teacher's excellent guidance," Ye Wuji said, well-versed in the ways of the world. "And Mr. Liu has also provided me with much instruction."

In an instant, the air was filled with compliments for Wang Yuanhui and Liu Hanqing.

Upon arriving at the donation plaza, Shen Wanshan cleared his throat. "Everyone, I am willing to offer ten thousand taels of silver to purchase this 'Lin Jiang Xian' and donate it to the Linggu Temple."

"Excellent!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their spirits high.

Yet, a discordant voice rang out: "I'm not without money; why should I sell it to you?"

"..." The crowd was about to voice their disapproval when they realized the voice belonged to the author himself.

They watched as Ye Wuji took out a very, very large red envelope and stuffed it into the donation box. Everyone was stunned, except for Monk Yangong, whose eyes flashed with a sharp light—that was ten thousand taels of silver; could he really donate more than that?

"A gentleman does not take what others love. It was indeed my impulsiveness," Shen Wanshan laughed awkwardly, hurriedly excusing himself. "Master, I keep my word. Someone will deliver the ten thousand taels in silver notes shortly."

"Donor Shen, your merit is boundless. Amitabha!"

Following Shen Wanshan's lead, the others also began to donate silver.

After the meal, Ye Wuji and Li Weishan left Linggu Temple. Wang Yuanhui and Liu Hanqing walked down the mountain together. Wang said meaningfully, "In that case, let us help him spread the word."

"Yes, Mr. Wang."

"Young Liu, I am preparing to head to the capital. Who do you think in our Jinling City is capable of succeeding my position?"

"This..." Liu Hanqing pondered for a long time. "Mr. Wang, any of the great scholars at the Jinling Academy would be capable."

"Is that so?" Wang Yuanhui said no more. The two boarded their sedan chairs and headed into the city.

Unsurprisingly, the lyric would soon spread throughout Jinling, becoming a celebrated tale. As for Qian Gui, he would surely become the ultimate villain in everyone's gossip, despised by all of Jinling.

As Li Weishan walked out of the temple gate, he felt like a triumphant general. However, Ye Wuji seemed somewhat downcast.

Li Weishan was greatly puzzled. "Uncle, this was a glorious affair. Why are you so troubled?"

"If I had known it would cause such a sensation, I would have chosen a different piece," Ye Wuji sighed.

"The Mountain God visited you in a dream, gave it to Brother You'an, and he gifted it to you. From the perspective of superstition, this is your destiny with the Mountain God." Li Weishan pondered for a moment before consoling him. "Brother You'an is still very young; no one would believe he could write such mature poetry. Besides, his intent was clear: he wanted you to achieve fame throughout the world."

"If you put it that way..."

Ye Wuji’s furrowed brows finally relaxed, and he felt his entire body lighten. Without any psychological burden, he sat back into his sedan chair. "Indeed, that is my destiny with the Mountain God."