Chapter Six: Poetry and Songs, After All, Are Merely Pastimes!
“Last winter, a friend of mine from the North sent a letter describing the Great Wall, blanketed in vast, magnificent snow.”
“Though both imperial grandsons were raised in the South and have never been to the North, each has seen snow.”
“Let us take the snow on the Great Wall as our theme. Compose a poem or lyric within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. Let us see who can write better.”
Upon finishing, Huang Zicheng’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Typically, impromptu poetry is inspired by immediate scenery, emotions, or events.
He feared Zhu Yunxu had prepared in advance, so he deliberately chose a topic far removed—ten thousand miles away from the reality at hand.
In this way, even if Zhu Yunxu had come prepared, it would be useless.
More importantly, Huang Zicheng had previously tutored Zhu Yunwen, who had just composed a poem about snow. It was perfect for this occasion.
After announcing the theme, Huang Zicheng fixed his gaze on Zhu Yunwen.
Zhu Yunwen instantly understood and deliberately assumed a thoughtful pose.
Zhu Yunxu, however, gently shook his head and inquired, “Second brother, have you already decided?”
Zhu Yunwen was momentarily taken aback.
Wasn’t the time limit one incense stick? Why ask so soon?
Could it be that this lad truly possessed poetic talent?
It would be problematic if he beat him to the punch.
With this in mind, Zhu Yunwen smiled faintly, “I do have a couple of lines, though I fear they may lack refinement. Since third brother asks, second brother shall humbly present them.”
Whispers rippled through the court.
In ancient times, Cao Zhi’s seven-step poem was celebrated through the ages.
Who would have thought the second imperial grandson possessed such skill?
The theme had just been given, yet he had already composed?
Some glanced at Huang Zicheng and immediately understood.
After all, Huang Zicheng was a figure of the Eastern Palace, once serving under Zhu Biao, and was known to have a good relationship with Zhu Yunwen.
His deliberate choice of topic indicated Zhu Yunwen had prepared this poem beforehand.
This meant Zhu Yunxu was likely to lose!
This arrogant youth, ignorant of his limits, deserved a lesson.
...
Soon, a eunuch brought paper and brush.
Zhu Yunwen immediately took up the brush and wrote:
“After snowfall, the Great Wall stands taller still,
A silver cloak gleams under the sun’s thrill.
Ancient paths wind like white silk bands,
Mighty passes silent, wrapped in silver strands.
Cold winds flutter banners with a huntress’ flair,
Chill sharpens swords in the frosty air.
This scene and feeling worthy of a painting’s art,
Sung by generations, cherished in every heart.”
“Excellent!”
“A fine poem!”
“The second imperial grandson truly has talent!”
As Zhu Yunwen finished, the court erupted with praise.
Though not exceptional, the poem was solid and proper.
For an impromptu composition, without deep contemplation, it was impressive.
Especially for a mere teenager, such talent deserved commendation.
Whether it was pre-written was an open secret, but none dared expose it, pretending it was spontaneous.
The eunuch presented the poem to the elder Zhu’s desk.
Zhu Yuanzhang glanced over it and nodded with satisfaction.
Zhu Yunwen exemplified filial piety and scholarly grace—an ideal heir to maintain the throne.
Though Zhu Yuanzhang had only studied for two years, he was diligent and eager to learn.
Even in wartime, he read tirelessly.
In true scholarship, the old Zhu was far from an illiterate.
In literary accomplishment and cultivation, he had read more histories and poems than many future scholars.
Looking at Zhu Yunwen, a smile touched his lips.
Since ancient times, the realm was won by the sword, but governed by talent.
Zhu Yunwen’s qualities aligned perfectly with the old emperor’s hopes for his successor.
...
“Just as Cao Zhi’s seven-step poem became legendary, now the second imperial grandson’s swift composition shall be a tale for the ages!”
“No peer in the present age can match the second imperial grandson’s talent. How laughable that some still claim he lacks ability!”
“Like summer insects who cannot fathom ice, some shallow and arrogant fools mistake their ignorance for talent.”
“How could they ever compare to the second imperial grandson?”
...
The scholars murmured among themselves.
Zhu Yunwen descended from the Lü clan, a family of civil officials.
They naturally wished to see him ascend.
As for the military nobles—did they understand poetry and literature?
The officials were content to watch the spectacle unfold.
“Third imperial grandson, do you have anything to say?”
“Have you composed your poem, Your Highness?”
“Surely you won’t fail to write within an incense stick’s time, will you?”
One by one, the courtiers teased with mockery.
Huang Zicheng would clearly not assist him.
This meant it was impossible for Zhu Yunxu to have prepared.
To compose a poem within such a brief time, and to match or surpass Zhu Yunwen’s quality, was no small feat.
Many present were scholars skilled in poetry, able to compose effortlessly.
Yet, even they might find it difficult under such constraints.
Moreover, Zhu Yunxu was but a fourteen-year-old boy.
Everyone awaited his humiliation.
Unfazed, Zhu Yunxu spoke aloud:
“A ruler must first govern the state.”
“Poetry and lyrics are but trivial arts.”
“The late Emperor Li delighted in poetry, producing timeless verses—yet he was still a doomed sovereign.”
“True scholars must apply their learning: cultivate themselves, manage their families, govern the state, and bring peace to the realm. That is true skill.”
His words barely faded when someone retorted:
“You boasted just now, claiming far greater talent than the second imperial grandson. Now you resort to clever words, unwilling to write?”
“Exactly, stop making excuses and prove yourself with a poem.”
“Though poetry may be minor, it reveals a person’s genius and ability. Is the third imperial grandson unable to write because he lacks talent compared to the second?”
...
Voices grew louder, harsher.
Had it not been for his imperial status, they would have shouted insults.
Zhu Yuanzhang spoke:
“Yunxu, since the theme is set, you should compose accordingly. If you cannot, admit humbly that you are no match for Yunwen.”
“Grandfather, I shall obey your command,” Zhu Yunxu replied.
“I have long composed the poem in my heart and will now put brush to paper.”
He did not intend to write it himself.
His calligraphy was poor, and today he wished to display his talent without revealing weakness.
“Understood!”
The young eunuch prepared the ink and brush promptly.
Silence fell; all eyes turned to Zhu Yunxu.
Their gazes spoke volumes—they waited for his embarrassment.
Zhu Yunxu began:
“The northern realm’s scenery: a thousand miles sealed in ice, ten thousand miles of drifting snow.”
At once, the audience’s eyes brightened.
His opening was commendable.
Though arrogant, he possessed undeniable talent.
What would follow?
“Looking inside and outside the Great Wall, only vast wilderness remains; along the Yellow River, the surging currents cease.”
“The mountains dance like silver snakes, the plains charge like waxen elephants, daring to compete with heaven in height.”
The court fell into deeper silence; only breaths were heard.
Zhu Yunxu continued:
“On a clear day, dressed in red and white, the land is especially enchanting.”
“Such splendid rivers and mountains have drawn countless heroes to bow.”
“Excellent!”
Lan Yu applauded heartily.
Having led many campaigns in the northern deserts, he was familiar with the northern scenery.
Zhu Yunxu’s verses matched his memories perfectly.
More importantly, the words were plain yet bold, evoking the grandeur to swallow rivers and mountains whole.
Though a rough soldier unfamiliar with poetry, Lan Yu instinctively recognized its merit.
Realizing all eyes were upon him, he fell silent.
The scholars, too, were speechless, their expressions complex.
Zhu Yunxu recited loudly:
“Pity the Qin Emperor and Han Wu, somewhat lacking in literary grace;
The Tang and Song founders, slightly inferior in style.
A generation’s hero, Genghis Khan, knew only how to bend bow and shoot great eagles.”
Above, the elder Zhu’s eyes suddenly flashed sharply.
Such spirit! He had long overlooked this.
Zhu Yunxu smiled gently, delivering the final line:
“All are past and gone; to count the true heroes, look to the present age.”