Chapter 15: Who Is Making a Name for Themselves

Not only was Shen Shi curious, but even his own younger brother found it strange and asked, “Brother, what’s wrong with you? Why go to all this trouble? Wouldn’t it be easier to have our men give him a beating and then drive him away?”

It was clear that Qian Shengwen was itching for a fight after being insulted.

“Beat him up? Do you even know who that person with him is?” Qian Shengju whispered.

“Who? Kong Xueli? Brother, he might have the surname Kong, but he has little to do with the Kong family in Shandong. Maybe five hundred years ago they were related,” Qian Shengwen scoffed.

“I’m not talking about the one surnamed Kong. I mean that young master Gongsun reciting poetry.”

“Gongsun? Brother, you know him?”

“We deal in timber, often going deep into the mountains. They hunt wild men—been up the mountains plenty too. I’ve seen him once.”

Qian Shengwen drew in a sharp breath and said no more about fighting.

Timbermen were strong, but however strong they might be, how could they compare to the ‘slave-hunting squads’ who specialized in cutting people down? He had nothing further to say about his brother’s idea. All he could do was look hopefully at the Instructor Wang.

Only when he realized he couldn’t win did he remember Instructor Wang. The instructor’s face was dark as he said, “Shen Shi, stop this nonsense! If you keep this up, I’ll expel you from the academy and bar you from ever sitting for the civil exams.”

Wang wasn’t fond of the Qian brothers, but that didn’t mean he disliked their money. Wealthy families like theirs gave generous annual tributes, amounting to half his income.

As the saying goes, you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. Faced with real interests, he wouldn’t turn his back on silver.

As for the Shen family, they were obsessed with scholarly pursuits to the point of madness. Their tributes were actually hunted personally from the mountains.

At first, it was a novelty—a testament to their teachings. Martial men seeking knowledge: was that not the goal of Confucian instruction?

But year after year, the novelty wore off. This was an age when wild game was cheap; were it not for the Confucian rules, Instructor Wang would have refused their tributes outright.

Yet, unable to refuse, he could at least take the Qian brothers’ side.

The moment Shen Shi heard “the withered chrysanthemum,” he knew trouble was brewing—not because the poem was too lewd. On the contrary, rare gems of literature were meant to be shared. Such licentious verses, he couldn’t bear to stop Gongsun Ce from reading aloud.

Perhaps the poem was even quite refined in its own way—full of wit and substance, Shen Shi thought.

The pity was that the crowd was too vulgar. They cared nothing for the meaning of “one night the chrysanthemum withers,” but only for the crude injuries implied, refusing to let Shen Shi explain and threatening to blacklist him from the exams. How could he dare say more? Until he found a way to stand out for his literary talent, he had no choice but to remain in scholarly circles.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get on with it,” Instructor Wang ordered, caring little whether Shen Shi actually composed poetry or not. He only wanted to cover up the scandalous poem. If a poetry gathering ended with rumors of unspeakable injuries, he would lose all dignity as an instructor.

Shen Shi intoned: “A single plum blossom stands proud in the cold; magpies alight to savor its fragrance. The whole garden is filled with spring’s colors, yet even so, the snow is hard to hide.”

Instructor Wang nodded with satisfaction. “Hmm, though spring is still far off, to use the garden’s blossoms as a metaphor for spring is passable. You pass.”

Now, this sounded like a proper poem. Whether or not Shen Shi composed it himself, Wang did not care.

He knew Shen Shi was not a literary prodigy. Compared to making a fool of himself with nonsense, buying a poem was a minor offense. This was Jinhua, not Suzhou or Hangzhou. Though not far apart, the literary atmosphere here was inferior.

It was like those open-book exams in future schools.

Self-deception? Absolutely.

But high marks made teachers look good.

Wouldn’t he rather have Jinhua’s literary scene flourish like Suzhou or Hangzhou, with local poetry spreading across the land, always mentioning the host’s name in connection? That would be true glory.

But he knew it was impossible. Poor students were poor students. The fact that Shen Shi thought to buy a poem to save face already satisfied him.

Instructor Wang was content, but Shen Shi was not. If he wanted to move in scholarly circles, plagiarism was inevitable—better to start sooner than later. “Sir, this poem was originally written by a young lady, and I merely composed the prose to accompany it. It can hardly be counted as my own.”

“Listen, he admits it’s not his,” Qian Shengwen said gleefully, his spirits revived. Not a soul here hadn’t bought poems from Suzhou or Hangzhou, but as the one involved, he couldn’t say so. Now that Shen Shi admitted it himself, this was the Shen dolt he was familiar with. He shouted it out for all to hear, eager to spread the news.

The maid Autumn scolded, “What’s wrong with Young Master Shen? It’s not as though we would tell anyone!”

Lady Si Hou bit her lip thoughtfully. “Young Master Shen is simply honest by nature—he’s never one to take undue advantage.”

“But isn’t it just that he can’t compose one?” Autumn fretted.

Si Hou replied, “A gentleman knows what ought to be done and what ought not. This was my mistake.”

She had overestimated Shen Shi. Perhaps the original Shen Shi was as she thought, but no longer. As the saying goes, nobility is but an epitaph for the noble—so the original Shen Shi was gone.

Her attempt to help had somehow become her own lady’s error. Autumn was indignant and could not understand it.

Shen Shi ignored Qian Shengwen and said, “Sir. The reason I do not compose poetry is not for lack of ability, but for lack of will.”

What was this? He could, but would not—why?

Shen Shi continued, “Sir, my family has pursued scholarship for three generations. But Jinhua is remote. If I wish to study further, whether in the academy at Pingjiang Prefecture or Jiankang Prefecture, I must leave home. Yet my father is often away traveling and studying, leaving only my grandmother and mother at home. I truly do not have the heart to leave them.”

Before resorting to “borrowing” poems, Shen Shi laid a foundation—a plea of filial piety.

Otherwise, how could he explain his sudden poetic talent?

This, too, was a special “buff” unique to the ancients. As long as one was filial, any miracle could be forgiven.

“Excellent!” Instructor Wang was delighted, rising to declare, “Filial piety is the foremost of all virtues. To put filial piety first is what a true scholar should do.”

Every dynasty in history revered filial piety as the foundation of governance, so far from causing trouble, his words brought praise for his noble character.

With such a virtuous student, even if lacking in literary skill, Instructor Wang could feel proud.

The maid, hearing this, was no longer upset. Lady Si Hou’s eyes sparkled with delight. The others nodded approvingly.

Seeing everyone satisfied, Qian Shengwen grew anxious and shouted, “Why so many words? Just say whether you can compose poetry or not!”

He had nothing to attack in Shen Shi’s character. Ever since the Shen family abandoned martial pursuits for scholarship, they had truly lived by the scholar’s code of the gentleman.

Qian Shengwen wanted to step on Shen Shi to make a name for himself, but he had no intention of actually helping Shen Shi’s reputation.