Chapter 84: The County Academy Poetry Gathering

Lianchang Palace was originally a royal residence, also known as Lanchang Palace and Yuyang Palace, and was among the largest of the Tang dynasty's imperial retreats. In its heyday, Emperor Gaozong Li Zhi, Empress Wu Zetian, and Emperor Xuanzong Li Longji all visited it for leisure. Though it has long since fallen into disrepair—the pavilions and towers now weathered and worn—its air of antiquity is all the more pronounced. The meticulously crafted scenery that once adorned the palace still lends the surroundings a striking beauty.

Now, with the palace abandoned, all restrictions have vanished; anyone may venture inside to explore its grounds. It has become a favorite haunt for scholars and poets, a place where the literati gather in pursuit of inspiration. Lianchang Palace sits at the confluence of the Luo and Chang Rivers, upon the delta where the waters merge, the terrain broad and open, bordered by mulberry groves and bamboo thickets. To the north rise Han Mountain and Phoenix Wing Mountain, where ancient cypresses stand in solemn ranks. To the south, Nuji Mountain towers, majestic and full of grandeur.

Wei Renshi and Li He set out early for Lianchang Palace, only to find a dense crowd already assembled, nearly a hundred gathered in anticipation. They were taken aback.

“Can the county school’s poetry gathering really draw so many people?” Wei Renshi asked in astonishment.

Li He shook his head, bewildered. “I have no idea; it’s my first time attending.”

Wei Renshi glanced about, then pulled aside a man dressed as a scholar, who appeared to be in his late thirties or forties, and politely inquired, “Brother, may I ask why so many have come for today’s poetry gathering? Wasn’t it organized by the Fuchang County School?”

The man looked down, then answered, “It seems you are unaware. Though today’s gathering is indeed hosted by Fuchang County School, they have invited the former scholar Zhang Ji, known as Wenchang. He not only passed the imperial examination in the fifteenth year of the Zhenyuan era, but he is also the foremost disciple of Han Tuizhi, the Four Gates Doctor of the Imperial Academy. If one earns his favor, it is possible to submit one’s work to Doctor Han, and perhaps gain entry to the Imperial Academy itself.”

“I see, thank you, brother.” Wei Renshi bowed again.

Wei Renshi recalled Zhang Ji with care: Han Yu’s chief disciple, renowned for his musical poetry, celebrated alongside Wang for his mastery of the poetic form; his works such as “Autumn Thoughts” and “Song of the Faithful Wife” have been cherished for centuries.

Soon, several carriages arrived, weaving through the crowd to the rear. The throng surged forward, pressing toward the back gardens of Lianchang Palace. Nearly a hundred people crowded into the palace’s gardens, where a few figures were already seated within the pavilion.

When the influx ceased, a man within the pavilion rose and stepped forward, proclaiming in a clear voice, “Today’s poetry gathering was meant for the students of the county school, as well as those who have yet to join our ranks, so all might exchange and learn, recognizing their shortcomings and drawing on the strengths of others. Yet, luck is with you, for the former scholar Zhang Wenchang happens to be visiting, and will offer his thoughts as well. Wenchang is gifted in letters and enjoys the favor of the Imperial Academy’s Four Gates Doctor. Treasure this opportunity.”

“Not at all!” A middle-aged man in green robes stood and bowed to those around him. “I am unworthy of the schoolmaster’s praise. All here are gifted; let us exchange ideas and learn together.”

Wei Renshi and Li He, slight in stature, had managed to squeeze through the crowd to the front. Wei Renshi could not help but smile secretly, amused that the famous poet Zhang Ji squinted perpetually—his ‘smiling’ expression was quite remarkable.

After a few more words from the organizers, the poetry gathering was declared open, and all took their seats.

Not everyone was seated; only the enrolled students of the county school had assigned seats, while several others remained empty, their purpose unclear.

Wei Renshi soon understood. A man emerged from the pavilion and announced, “The county school students are seated. The remaining empty seats are reserved for other scholars. Yet with so many here today, not all may sit. To claim a seat, one must first present a poem. Since seats are limited, only the best will be admitted.”

Wei Renshi saw through the county school’s intentions. After all, the faculty knew well the abilities of their own students, but not those from outside. These empty seats served as the first test, a screening for the outsiders.

For those beyond the county school, it was a chance to make their mark, a direct opportunity to impress the school’s professors and officials, to gain recognition among peers and forge valuable connections. If fortunate enough to earn the favor of the schoolmaster, or the visiting scholars and officials, one might even be recommended for advancement.

It was a golden opportunity, and so the scholars and literati valued these gatherings highly. News that Zhang Ji, closely linked to the Imperial Academy’s Doctor, would attend had drawn the crowd in droves.

Wei Renshi, however, felt differently. He cared nothing for such ambitions; he simply wished to witness the grand scene he had long dreamed of—scholars gathered by winding streams, pausing their cups and composing poetry.

Yet the scholars seemed too calculating, too driven; there was no sense of detachment or carefree abandon. But one could not blame them. Who does not yearn for a bright future? In a world shaped by common aspirations, they had little choice.

It was not that they relished displaying themselves before so many, or sought the admiration of others. Circumstances compelled them. Wei Renshi himself disliked currying favor with the powerful, yet to survive with dignity in this age, he too had to attempt connections through Liu Yuxi.

Setting aside such biases, focusing on their poetry alone, Wei Renshi realized that none should be underestimated.

Each poet recited their verses in a strong voice; to Wei Renshi, their work was impressive, and a few pieces even left him astonished. These were promptly rewarded with seats by the professors.

“Changji, why haven’t you submitted yours?” Wei Renshi glanced down and saw that Li He still held a blank sheet. He hurriedly asked.

“I’m waiting for you,” Li He replied, glancing at Wei Renshi’s own blank page.

Ah, this was true friendship, wasn’t it?

Wei Renshi shook his head with a wry smile, took the brush from Li He, pondered briefly, then wrote:

“One goes two or three miles,
Mist-shrouded village, four or five homes.
Pavilions, six or seven rise,
Eight, nine, ten branches bloom.”

Feeling a bit embarrassed, he signed his name and handed the sheet to Li He.

Li He looked down, delight lighting his face. Clutching both pages, he pushed through the crowd and submitted them.