Chapter 135: Defying the Heavens

These stunning lines, every word a pearl, left everyone breathless. Those who heard them gasped in unison. Who was this person? How could he possibly compose such an exquisite poem?

What, what was happening? This was not how things were supposed to go! Wasn't this man supposed to be an uncultured, gauche bumpkin? How could he produce such a masterpiece?

Many of the scholars felt dazed. Even those subconsciously resistant to him stood transfixed, muttering the lines to themselves. The most magnificent and refined part was the final verse: "Ask how much sorrow one can bear? Just like a river of spring water flowing to the east." By comparing sorrow to water, it evoked the image of the rolling river surging eastward, perfectly capturing the mourning for an "old friend."

Such sadness was heart-wrenching. While filled with admiration, one could not help but feel a lingering melancholy.

Many stared in slack-jawed silence, looking at Liu Ping as if he were a ghost. Thunder seemed to crash in their minds; they could not believe their ears. Was this poem truly composed by the man before them?

They remembered how, only a short while ago, they had secretly mocked his uncouth behavior when he tucked away the spirit fruit. "A man with such petty character, what depth of heart could he have? What literary talent? He must be mediocre and beneath notice." When he had finally begun to recite, their subconscious impulse was to watch him make a fool of himself. Instead of a joke, they witnessed him in high spirits, delivering this "azure-grade" poem with effortless grace.

Awe. Faced with this poem, there was only awe.
Shock. Faced with Liu Ping, there was only shock.

Deeply moved, they forgot to continue their own recitations. Even those who had prepared drafts in advance were no exception. In the face of such a stunning, peerless work, how could they have the gall to embarrass themselves by reciting their own mediocre verses?

Despite their pride and arrogance, they possessed at least that much self-awareness. This contest was already lost.

Not far away, Lu You covered his face, shaking his head with a wry smile. He thought to himself, "This man is truly extraordinary, unlike any other. Such a poem is destined to be remembered for ages. This Liu Ping is no simple character. Wait—Liu Ping? Liu Ping? This name... it seems familiar."

Lu You’s eyes widened suddenly as the realization struck him. This Liu Ping—was he not the young genius who composed the poem *Mountain Journey*?

It was him!
No wonder, no wonder...

"A fine poem!" The Dragon King, seated above, squinted his eyes and stroked his beard, unable to hold back his praise. Before this, he had been struggling with the dilemma of choosing a winner among several equally excellent entries. It would have been a difficult task to distinguish between them, but now that this poem had emerged—towering above the rest, far surpassing all others—there was no need for hesitation.

His exclamation broke the silence of the room, rousing the crowd from their deep contemplation. They all began to offer their own praise. Though they regretted losing the true seed, their admiration was genuine.

Everyone felt deeply stirred. Whether it was the exquisite beauty of the poem or the Dragon King’s immediate praise, they were all filled with secret envy.

Liu Ping, however, shook his head with slight dissatisfaction. In truth, the *Yu Meiren* he had just recited still had a flaw, and a very obvious one at that.

The flaw was his change of "native land" to "old friend."

This small alteration had greatly diminished the scope of the sorrow, and the overall poetic resonance had lost a touch of its purity.

Fortunately, it was still far superior to everyone else's efforts.

As he let out a soft sigh of relief, his peripheral vision caught something that made him freeze.

Ao Jinyu, who had been resting quietly against his chest, her face flushed and delicate, was now weeping silently. Her expression of sorrow was heart-breaking.

Liu Ping opened his mouth to speak but swallowed the words. He realized that his poem had likely stirred up her own painful memories.

There was no affectation, only a silent, choked sob. It was truly heart-wrenching.

Liu Ping gently wiped away her tears, held her a little tighter, and stroked her back, offering wordless comfort.

The tears he wiped away transformed into tiny pearls, scattering to the floor.

At that moment, the time for the tea ceremony had passed. The Dragon King said calmly, "The winner of the first round is you, Liu Ping."

With that, he tossed the azure true seed toward him.

The azure true seed vanished from its place and, spanning a distance of several hundred meters, landed directly on Liu Ping’s tray.

The crowd watched with envy; the value of an azure true seed went without saying.

Liu Ping tucked it away, his expression calm, showing little joy. On one hand, it was because of Ao Jinyu’s sadness; on the other, although the azure true seed was precious, this was not the first time he had seen one.

Yet, it was this very composure that drew admiration from those watching. To show no joy in the face of such a treasure—they had truly misjudged him. He was no bumpkin; he was clearly a wealthy powerhouse, a master of playing the pig to eat the tiger.

How the tables had turned; the shifting of the crowd's mindset was truly interesting.

Beside them, Xuan'er and Xuan'er hurriedly offered their congratulations. "Congratulations, Young Master Liu."

Xuan'er’s beautiful eyes blinked as she watched Liu Ping with growing interest, marveling in her heart. *This poem really is wonderful.* She looked at Ao Jinyu in his arms and couldn't help but feel a surge of envy. *If only that were me, how wonderful would it be?*

She stood there lost in thought, completely dazed. Her sister, seeing the infatuated look in her eyes, felt a jolt of alarm. *She hasn’t fallen for this Young Master Liu, has she? Don't forget our status, and don't forget who is in his arms!* She nudged her sister with her elbow, trying to bring her back to her senses.

Xuan'er remained unmoved, and her sister gritted her teeth in frustration. *Don't go offending that Great Lord, my foolish sister.*

The poetry session of the Dragon King’s banquet was not over; this was only the first round. Soon, the Dragon King spoke again: "A fine azure-grade poem for the first round, truly excellent. Everyone, keep up the effort, haha."

"Hmm. The theme for the second round is 'Striving.' Poems or lyrics are both acceptable, and the rules remain the same as the first round... The reward is two azure true seeds."

No sooner had the Dragon King finished speaking than Liu Ping recited with a smile: "Gold chalices of clear wine cost ten thousand a gallon; jade plates of precious delicacies are worth ten thousand coins."

The poem grabbed everyone's attention. They all turned toward him with expressions of astonishment, inwardly shocked. *Does this man not need time to think? The topic was just announced, and he recites immediately. Are you trying to defy the heavens?*

While surprised, they also felt a measure of contempt and disdain.

They thought to themselves: *After spending quite some time to recite one azure-grade poem and stunning the crowd, his confidence must have inflated to the point of arrogance. He doesn't know his place—how could a poem recited so quickly, without brewing, pondering, or polishing, be a masterpiece?*

However, as they silently recited the first line of Liu Ping’s poem to themselves, their expressions turned grave...

They sensed that something was wrong.

Ao Jinyu, in his arms, and the two sisters, Xuan'er and Xuan'er, were all stunned by Liu Ping's rapid recitation. *For the young master to recite so quickly and with such confidence, it must be a masterpiece, but to be this fast—nearly instantaneous—is truly exaggerated...*

The Dragon King’s eyebrows twitched, and he looked on with interest. *To recite a poem this quickly, surely he must have conceived it long ago? That doesn't matter; the key is the quality of this poem!*

After reciting the first couplet, Liu Ping did not pause for long before continuing: "I cast aside my cup and chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and gaze around, my heart lost and adrift."

Hearing this, everyone’s expression shifted. *A fine "cast aside my cup and chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and gaze around, my heart lost and adrift"—this remains vivid and lifelike; it is a supreme work.*

*It can't be... is this Liu Ping really going to defy the heavens?*

Liu Ping paid no mind to their internal turmoil and finished the entire poem in one breath:

"I wish to cross the Nine Rivers, but the ice blocks the stream; I seek to climb the Taihang Mountains, but snow fills the peaks."
"Idly, I fish by the clear stream; suddenly, I dream of sailing to the edge of the sun."
"The road is hard! The road is hard! So many diverging paths, where am I now?"
"A time will come for the long wind to break the waves; I will set my cloud-white sails and cross the vast sea!"

When the poem ended, the surroundings fell into a dead silence. Everyone was shaken once again... This was simply unfathomable. A poem recited so quickly, yet it was a masterpiece among masterpieces? It was overflowing with azure brilliance, a work destined to be recorded in history!

*A time will come for the long wind to break the waves; I will set my cloud-white sails and cross the vast sea!* Even now, they remained dazed, repeating the lines, feeling their hearts surge, and could only slap the table in absolute admiration.

Ao Jinyu, in Liu Ping's arms, felt the sorrow stirred by the previous poem vanish completely upon hearing these lines. She whispered the final verse, and the corners of her mouth gradually curled into a smile.