The Lucky Farmgirl
Chapter 1029 - 1008: Expressing Ambition and Emotion

Chapter 1029: Chapter 1008: Expressing Ambition and Emotion

Avoiding the crowd, Bai Shan quietly asked Manbao, "Who did your Fifth Brother sell the ink chrysanthemums to?"

Manbao thought carefully before remembering, "It seems like it was the Prince of Luzhou, because Yin Huo mentioned that the Prince of Luzhou has a good relationship with the Prince of Yizhou. I asked around in the pharmacy, and it seems that this Prince of Luzhou is particularly wealthy, so I let Fifth Brother sell the flowers to him. The ones he sold were the ink chrysanthemums."

Bai Shan nodded thoughtfully and couldn’t help but quietly inquire about the relationship between the organizer of this poetry contest at Mohui Garden and the Prince of Luzhou.

As a result, Lu Xiaofu teased him, saying, "It’s just a small poetry contest. What kind of relationship could it have with the Prince of Luzhou?"

He said, "The Prince of Luzhou is a feudal prince. To avoid taboo, he would not hold literary or poetry contests outside. At most, the women of his family would organize a flower appreciation feast in their own garden. And clearly, we common folk can’t attend a feudal prince’s flower appreciation feast."

So, Bai Shan turned to him and said, "Aren’t you a descendant of the Lu family? How can you not attend?"

Lu Xiaofu laughed at himself and said, "Just a collateral branch. Being able to receive a favored admission to the Imperial College was already the surplus grace of my ancestors."

He glanced at Bai Shan, who although two years his elder, shared a similar fate, and couldn’t help but remind him, "We’re already steps ahead of others by being in the Imperial College. You’re young; there’s really no need to hurry in arranging your career in civil service."

Bai Shan looked up at him for a while and nodded.

Lu Xiaofu could tell he had not taken his advice, but he just smiled and said no more.

Friendships that are shallow should not delve into depths; a word of caution was already him extending the courtesy of friendship.

Peng Zhiru came hurrying over, waving his hands as he said, "Come on, come on. They’ve posted the topic in the central courtyard. It seems we have several masters here to judge the poetry."

Bai Shan went with them. Manbao had already found a spot, started grinding ink, and began writing a poem on a piece of paper, while Bai Erlang was biting his pen in frustration.

Bai Shan walked over, first examining the topic posted outside the pavilion—very common, centered around the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Then he looked down at the poem Manbao had written, nodding his head.

After Manbao finished, she handed him the brush, pulled her poem aside, and spread out a blank sheet of paper for him, saying, "Your turn."

She handed her poem to Bai Erlang, asking him to submit it, "That’s enough, don’t struggle if you can’t think of anything, quickly submit this for me."

Bai Erlang glanced at the signature on her poem, which only had the character "Zhou", and asked, "Why not write your full name?"

Manbao looked around, sighing sorrowfully, "Poetry is not my forte. The poem, well, it’s good enough to share, but I’d rather not embarrass myself competing for a place."

Since she was not vying for fame, of course, there was no need to sign her full name.

Bai Erlang read her poem, hee-hee-ing with mirth, "I get it; your poem is just mediocre. Since it won’t bring fame anyway, there’s no need to write the full name."

"It’s still better than you, who can’t even write one at all."

Bai Erlang: ...

Listening at the side, Bai Shan suppressed a smile and remained silent for a good while before he finally started writing.

Mr. Zhuang had said to them when analyzing poetry that good poems are never empty talk. Words always exist, and no quality poem can come from mere flowery language.

A true quality poem is one that expresses an aspiration or sentiment. Like policy discussion, it must convey substance and emotion to be moving.

Before coming here, he had wondered, what topics would Mid-Autumn Festival inspire?

If not the moon, then it would be the osmanthus tree, or perhaps a combination of everything that embodies Mid-Autumn.

But what aspirations or feelings could a thirteen-year-old boy like him possibly express?

There certainly was, it’s just that no one knew about it, and it wasn’t quite to his own liking.

But it was still much better than before when he only knew how to eat and play.

Bai Shan dipped his brush in ink and slowly began to write...

Manbao chased Bai Erlang away, then turned his head to see that Bai Shan had been very quiet, so he couldn’t help but take a step forward to look. He saw that Bai Shan was writing the fifth line.

As Manbao read on, he couldn’t help but fall silent as well.

After finishing the last line, Bai Shan turned his head to meet Manbao’s eyes, tears still present in his own. He smiled and nodded, putting down his brush. Then he blew the ink dry and handed the poem to Bai Erlang, who had just gotten Manbao’s poem back, "This is a poem I wrote last night when I couldn’t sleep. I just changed two words and feel it’s slightly better than it was last night."

Manbao nodded and said, "It’s very well written."

Bai Erlang, who had just returned, was handed another piece of paper and couldn’t help but burst out, "Although I can’t write it myself, you shouldn’t always send me to deliver the poems, it’s embarrassing."

Manbao glanced at him, pulled the paper back, looked it over, and said to Bai Shan, "Sign it first. I think your poem is very good, and it’s sure to be recognized."

Bai Erlang then leaned in to read it, and as he read, his voice grew softer. Though his own poetic talent was not great, he still had the ability to appreciate it.

He couldn’t help but look up at Bai Shan, "Did you really write this yourself?"

Bai Shan lifted his eyelids and said, "Do you think I would copy someone else’s work?"

"No, I suspect that this is something you two conspired on. How can one person write so well, and doesn’t it also mention Manbao?"

Manbao couldn’t help but give him a thumbs up and said, "You sure have some imagination. I wish I could write such fine poetry myself, but sadly I don’t have that kind of talent."

Not far away, Peng Zhiru finished writing and was about to submit his work when he saw the group gathered together talking enthusiastically, so he came over and asked, "Have you all finished your compositions?"

Manbao said, "I’ve already submitted mine. Look, this is Bai Shan’s."

Peng Zhiru looked down at the poem and glanced at Bai Shan in surprise, "Did you write this?"

Bai Shan nodded.

Peng Zhiru then fell silent for a moment before he crumpled the poem in his hand and tossed it aside, laughing, "Then I guess I shouldn’t embarrass myself by submitting mine."

Although Bai Shan’s poetry was stronger than both Bai Erlang’s and Manbao’s, Mr. Zhuang had said that they were all not very good at poetry, so it was the first time Bai Shan had been praised by someone other than Manbao or Bai Erlang, which made his face turn slightly red.

Peng Zhiru smiled slightly and said, "Why doesn’t Brother Bai submit it now?"

Boldly, Bai Erlang volunteered, "I’ll do it for you."

With that, he grabbed the paper and ran off.

Lu Xiaofu also finished writing and came over to inquire, "How well did he write? Recite it so I can hear, I’m deciding whether I should also crumple mine."

Although the three of them had entered the Imperial College together, Lu Xiaofu’s ranking was still below Bai Shan’s. Moreover, he and Peng Zhiru had later seen the posted essays, and to speak honestly, Bai Shan’s essay was not inferior to Peng Zhiru’s, especially in two aspects: his scripture posters and ink meanings were without a single mistake, whereas Peng Zhiru’s ink meaning even missed a sentence.

As for the policy discussions they had privately, Bai Shan’s was substantive and no worse than Peng Zhiru’s, and his calligraphy was better than Peng Zhiru’s.

They both had guessed at that time that the reason Bai Shan placed second was probably because of his young age, and because he had just arrived in the capital, he hadn’t yet made a name for himself.

Meanwhile, Peng Zhiru had already visited many people in the capital and had gained some renown.

Lu Xiaofu had always known that among the three of them, in reality, Bai Shan was the strongest. He was very curious about what this poem was like.