All-rounder Artist

Chapter 1071: Chapter 972: The Talent Stands Out in the “Forest Chapter 1071: Chapter 972: The Talent Stands Out in the “Forest Mount Lu.

The scene.

The air was terrifyingly silent, as if the drop of a needle could be heard.

The literati were as if mourning their ancestors, spiritless and disconcerted, all captured unreservedly by the camera.

They were not simply slapped by Xian Yu, they were struck by the weight of a thunderbolt, each doubting their own existence!

In a daze.

Someone’s voice stuttered intermittently, “So he didn’t want to compete with us because he wasn’t afraid but because he truly felt we weren’t worthy…”

Two hundred poems!

Picked at random!

One after another!

Each a classic!

How could such a peerless talent deign to compare with the common folk?

What of “I do not sing of spring first, which insect dares to chirp?”

What of “You may all perish, names and bodies alike, but the rivers flow eternal!”

This was the wrath of Thunderbolt Xian Yu, with poems that almost seemed to scold the literati to their faces, and yet that unparalleled talent left no room for rebuttal!

The cleverest insult carries no profanity?

The cleverest insult is when someone scolds you to your face, and you can only applaud their eloquence!

…

“Been looking at the sky from the bottom of a well, haven’t you.”

Not all the literati at the scene were dismissive of Xian Yu.

A very few had also chosen silence when asked to raise their hands earlier.

Now, these few were filled with various emotions, but their gazes were clearly directed at the leader, Hua Weiming.

At this moment.

Inside The Tenth Pavilion.

Hua Weiming was beside himself, his eyes unfocused as though they had lost their fix point.

Four words suddenly flashed through his mind, “utter disgrace and collapse.”

His heels weakened slightly.

Hua Weiming felt darkness creeping before his eyes, with a tendency to faint creeping upon him, fortunately someone by his side was quick to catch him.

“I should faint.”

Hua Weiming thought bitterly, then closed his eyes, ignoring the exclamations around him.

He was mortified.

Feigning to faint was the best strategy.

Because Hua Weiming didn’t know how to face what was coming next.

He had never before felt such an urge to bury himself deep underground and hide away.

Remaining there, he became the joke.

Whether he fainted or not, he had already become the joke.

A medical team, always present at such large literary events, came running from a distance, and Hua Weiming was quickly carried away under the watchful eyes of all present for treatment.

…

The Seventh Pavilion.

Also, one of the literati who hadn’t raised his hand earlier spoke up, his voice soft but dripping with irony:

“Little Xian Yu…”

Someone once mockingly called Shu Ziwen “Little Xian Yu.”

Shu Ziwen found it a great insult and could not accept the moniker.

Yet, at that moment, people realized just how much the title “Little Xian Yu” would have flattered Shu Ziwen.

The Celestial Dynasty had Li Bai and Du Fu.

And then there was the term “Little Li Du.”

Actually, “Little Li Du” was a term of praise.

Now “Little Xian Yu” also became a term of praise.

But Shu Ziwen was utterly unfit and unworthy for the title; if he had possessed even an iota of ‘Little Xian Yu’s demeanor, he wouldn’t have faced such a disgraceful downfall today.

At this moment.

Shu Ziwen actually thought:

If only he could faint like Hua Weiming and be done with it.

Age brings wisdom, and Shu Ziwen was still too young to realize that Hua Weiming had actually feigned fainting.

Now.

Every gaze directed at Shu Ziwen made him extremely uncomfortable, it was as though he had plunged into an ice cellar, feeling as if even his thoughts had become rigid.

His very mindset had collapsed.

At this point, don’t even mention asking Shu Ziwen to compose poetry; he couldn’t muster a single word if asked to speak in public.

…

The rain had gradually stopped.

The eight judges at the panel were still standing there.

At the moment, they were somewhat reminiscent of He Qinghuan, who had returned from Xian Yu’s earlier.

Shock was there.

Reverence was there.

Fear was there.

Admiration was there.

Bewilderment was there.

They finally understood why He Qinghuan had acted so strangely today.

He must have seen Xian Yu’s poem in advance and thus foreseen that scene.

No wonder he wouldn’t sit down.

When Xian Yu was present, what right did they have to sit?

They couldn’t.

They were judges.

Yet, as judges, not one of them dared to casually comment on Xian Yu’s poems!

Xian Yu had given up his role as a judge.

Remembering this made the remaining judges uncomfortable; if Xian Yu was not qualified to judge, what about them?

The roc rises on a gust.

Directly reaching heaven in an ascent of ninety thousand Li?

That day seemed to have arrived, right here and now.

The scene fell awkwardly silent not a word spoken at the foot of Mount Lu, with all the judges standing; only the post-rain breeze blew by, offering a chilling coolness that nonetheless sent shivers down everyone’s spine.

…

The awkward silence wouldn’t last forever.

Ms. Huang had not forgotten her duty, although the shock she felt inside at that moment was unprecedentedly strong:

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

She finally spoke up, “Although Teacher Admirable Fish has withdrawn from the competition, our poetry conference must go on. Teacher Hua Weiming has left due to health reasons, so let’s have the rest continue.”

She did not mention Xian Yu’s poems.

It was not that Ms. Huang didn’t want to, but there was simply no way to discuss them; where to begin with those two hundred poems? If they really started talking, perhaps several days would not suffice; better to carry on with what now seemed a poetry conference only in name.

Indeed.

In name only.

With Xian Yu’s contributions, whatever happened next at the poetry conference was meaningless; who won or lost didn’t matter. The audience would not remember them; they would only remember Xian Yu’s soaring rise and his view that “all mountains are small.”

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