Chapter 72: Splendid Views Through the Four Seasons, Quietly Observing All Things

Chen Dabao and Zhang Doudou’s faces flushed red and then turned pale as they heard this. Shen Xian, however, did not mock the two of them. He set Qingqing down, took her hand in one of his own, and picked up the stylus with the other, walking toward the large display screen.

By now, Zhang Doudou had figured out how to win that string of golden beads. Seeing Shen Xian standing before the screen, she sneered, “What, are you planning to write a couplet that will be renowned through the ages?”

Shen Xian turned his head, beaming at Zhang Doudou. “That’s right, why not? If you can, you should try it too. Or do you not even have the courage to pick up the pen?”

A surge of frustration welled up in Zhang Doudou, leaving her breathless. As someone who had slipped through the cracks of nine years of compulsory education, the thought of writing on the screen with a stylus gave her the same dread she’d felt being called to the blackboard by a teacher at school. This, she really couldn’t do. Shen Xian was truly a master at getting under people’s skin.

Chen Dabao, seeing his girlfriend being mocked, didn’t dare snap back at the others, but he did dare to challenge Shen Xian. “If you’re so capable, go ahead. I want to see what you can come up with today!”

“And what if I actually manage it?” Shen Xian asked with a cheerful squint.

“If your writing is chosen, I’ll eat shit on the spot!” Chen Dabao declared.

Take note—he said “chosen.” Anyone can write, even nonsense counts as writing. But to have your work selected? That’s as hard as reaching the sky!

Previously, Jinshan Temple’s couplet had been “Only those blessed may ascend the land of sages, while the unworthy cannot enter the gate of liberation,” but that couplet had eventually been awarded by a Buddhist luminary to Mount Wutai, meaning Jinshan Temple could no longer use it.

Shen Xian looked at Chen Dabao. “You said it yourself.”

Chen Dabao immediately retorted, “And if it’s not chosen, you’ll eat it!”

Shen Xian nodded. “Deal.”

“Everyone bear witness! Buddy, I just saw you recording video. Sell me the footage afterward—I’ll give you a thousand yuan!” Chen Dabao spotted a young man in the crowd holding up his phone and hurriedly called out to him.

He’d been worrying about not having a chance to humiliate Shen Xian, and now the opportunity had fallen right into his lap.

“Deal,” said the young man, delighted at the prospect of making a thousand yuan just for a video.

Shen Xian, still holding Qingqing with one arm and a stylus in the other, walked up to the screen and began to write.

First line: “Splendid scenes in all four seasons, but none so fine as autumn moonlight.”
Second line: “Calmly observing all things, wishing for peace across the land, as tranquil as the lake.”

As soon as the couplet appeared, the eyes of more than a dozen judges narrowed in astonishment.

The professor of classical studies examined the screen carefully, pondering for a moment before a look of utter amazement appeared on his face. This couplet was not only impeccably balanced but also perfectly suited to the occasion! Behind Jinshan Temple lay the myriad Buddha Lake; especially in the second line—“Calmly observing all things, wishing for peace across the land, as tranquil as the lake”—it captured the transcendence and magnanimity of Jinshan Temple in a single stroke. Just reading these two lines, one could feel a grand sense of majesty sweeping forth.

The judges clustered together, discussing in low voices.

The abbot chewed over the lines, murmuring, “Splendid scenes in all four seasons, calmly observing all things—what a perfectly balanced couplet, what grandeur! It’s every bit as good as Mount Wutai’s!”

“Impressive!”

“A true classic, no less than Jing’an Temple’s renowned couplets!”

“Not only balanced but so grand in spirit—just a glance, and the transcendence of Buddhism is palpable!”

Among the crowd, many with a keen literary sense were also stunned. Who was this young man, able to compose such a magnificent, meticulously paired couplet?

Xu Zijian stepped forward, scrutinizing Shen Xian. “Young man, are you a Chinese literature major?”

Shen Xian shook his head. “No, I’m in music.”

Music? Then could he write ancient-style songs? If so, that would be wonderful!

Xu Zijian’s eyes brightened and he promptly handed over a business card. “Would you be interested in joining the Ancient Poetry Society?”

Shen Xian accepted the card politely. “So you’re Professor Xu. I have considered it, but I’m quite busy with work at the moment. Perhaps when things settle down.”

“Please do join us,” Professor Xu urged, grasping Shen Xian’s hand.

The legacy of classical literature was in decline—nowadays, there wasn’t a single young torchbearer left. If this continued, the youth of tomorrow might not even grasp the basics of couplet structure or tonal patterns.

Just look at so many so-called ancient-style songs these days—they’ll write anything just for a rhyme, heedless of meaning or coherence. For example: “Tonight is too long, both my thighs itch,” or “Negotiating breakfast with a tiger, your smile is like a vicious dog…”

So, are both thighs itching, or is it your backside? And what does “tonight is too long” have to do with your itching? Further, if your beloved’s smile is like a vicious dog, plucking at your heartstrings, what does that even mean? If you meant to say someone’s a villain and their smile is like a rabid dog, I’d have nothing to say.

But you’re talking about your beloved. To call their smile that of a vicious dog—aren’t you asking for trouble? It’s simply beyond ridicule.

Such florid but shallow language lacks any depth. Xu Zijian detested this trend, but in an age where entertainment reigned supreme, there seemed little recourse. The only hope was for someone to shoulder the banner of classical literature and compose truly outstanding ancient-style songs. Then he could point to these works and say—look at what real ancient style is, and compare it to what you’re writing.

That’s the gap. That’s the difference.

This was Xu Zijian’s greatest ambition, and also that of the Ancient Poetry Society. Its members, all seasoned scholars, shared the same hope.

But back to the matter at hand.

After Shen Xian finished his couplet, the judges deliberated for over ten minutes, then took a photo and sent it to a renowned calligrapher: “Master Gong, what do you think of this couplet?”

The calligrapher replied promptly: “Excellent! This is the most perfectly matched couplet I have ever seen. It fits Jinshan Temple’s standards exactly. I will start writing it immediately and have it delivered!”

The judges and the abbot were overjoyed.

With the calligrapher’s endorsement, the decision was clear.

The abbot stood, looking at Shen Xian. “Sir, after our discussion and review, we have decided to adopt your couplet!”

A wave of astonishment swept through the crowd. Some looked at Shen Xian with surprise, others with envy.

Jinshan Temple had been seeking a couplet for a long time, with at least ten thousand online submissions. No one expected today’s winner to be such a young man.

“Thank you,” Shen Xian replied with a smile.

The abbot then personally descended from the dais, walked to the golden beads, took them down, and presented them to Shen Xian. “Now, they are yours.”

Buddhism always speaks of fate. Since Shen Xian had composed a couplet for Jinshan Temple, it proved these golden beads were destined for him.

He held the beads in his hand, feeling their weight and admiring the intricate patterns.

Turning to Chen Dabao, Shen Xian said, “Mr. Chen Dabao, it’s time to fulfill your promise!”