Chapter 17 The Poetry Banquet

However, Miss Wang suddenly shifted the conversation toward Zhang Chi, calling out to him from a distance, “Young Master Zhang, what do you think of this poem?”

Zhang Chi hadn’t expected Miss Wang to direct such a question at him, so he hesitated and replied, “This poem is rather good.”

“If even Young Master Zhang says it is good, then it must truly be so,” Miss Wang replied with a faint smile.

Ma Yanjie had been studious from a young age and had been studying at the academy for nearly a year. His aim was none other than to secure the single recommendation the academy could offer. Master Han held him in high regard, and the other scholars admired his talent as well. It was widely assumed that this year’s recommendation would undoubtedly go to him. Who could have predicted that, at the very last moment, a Young Master Zhang would appear?

During the Wei and Jin periods, officials were selected through the Nine-Rank System. If one was born into a humble family, the only way to enter officialdom was through the patronage of the great clans; otherwise, a lifetime of toil might not even secure a minor post. Although Ma Yanjie was of humble origin, he held himself in high esteem. Thus, even though it was clear that Miss Wang favored Zhang Chi, the rivalry among scholars being what it was, he could not bring himself to concede.

“Since Miss Wang holds Young Master Zhang in such regard, your talents must be extraordinary. Please, enlighten us,” Ma Yanjie said as he approached Zhang Chi after hearing Miss Wang’s words.

Zhang Chi now guessed that Miss Wang was being deliberate, though he could not fathom why she was placing him at the center of the recommendation debate. Though he was confident, he was never arrogant without cause. Seeing Ma Yanjie’s courteous demeanor, Zhang Chi decided to remain modest for the time being and replied vaguely, “Your poetry is exquisite and your insights profound. I am not your equal.”

Hearing Zhang Chi admit defeat, Ma Yanjie smiled knowingly and turned to Miss Wang, saying, “Miss, since I came to study at the academy, it has been nearly a year. If I claim to be second in poetry, there likely isn’t anyone who would dare claim first.”

Zhang Chi had initially thought well of Ma Yanjie, but now, hearing such boastful words, he began to feel a distaste for his arrogance.

“One must know that those who are humble cannot fully comprehend greatness, while the arrogant see only themselves and miss the subtle,” Miss Wang remarked, her brow creasing slightly.

Master Han, being in favor of recommending Ma Yanjie, noticed Miss Wang’s displeasure and quickly interjected, “Miss, although Young Master Ma may be a bit proud of his talent, he is indeed the best among the scholars at the academy.”

After all, the academy belonged to the Wang family. Though Master Han wished to recommend Ma Yanjie, seeing Miss Wang’s frown, he could only proceed cautiously, asking, “Miss, what is your view regarding this recommendation?”

Miss Wang only smiled without replying, and once again called out to Zhang Chi, “Young Master, what do you think?”

Ma Yanjie, seeing how much attention Miss Wang paid to Zhang Chi, was already quite resentful. He thought to himself that his only hope today was to defeat Zhang Chi in this poetic gathering and win the Wang family’s recommendation. Thus, he walked up to Zhang Chi and said, “Since Miss Wang praises your talent, why don’t we compete in poetry? It would add to the merriment for everyone present. What say you?”

A poetry contest with Zhang Chi was nothing to fear for him. In fact, by now Zhang Chi had realized that Miss Wang probably intended to recommend him, but worried that others might protest, so she had orchestrated this poetic gathering. This Ma Yanjie, though gifted, was far less shrewd than Miss Wang; with just a gentle prod, he had leapt out to become her stepping stone.

Sure enough, before Zhang Chi could reply, Miss Wang spoke, “Since that is the case, everyone present shall bear witness: let the two of you compete in poetry before all. The victor shall be recommended by the Wang family.”

This was precisely what Ma Yanjie had been waiting for. Seeing Miss Wang make this promise, he said, “Then, Miss, please give us a topic.”

Miss Wang’s smile was radiant. “If I set all the topics, it would hardly be fair. Let me propose the first one, Master Han the second, and if any others are interested, they may suggest more afterward.”

“A fine suggestion, Miss,” Master Han agreed, finding the arrangement quite fair.

Since no one objected, Miss Wang thought for a moment, pointed to the wine cup on the table, and said, “For the first topic, let it be wine.”

...

“Brother, it seems Miss Wang deliberately arranged this today. She likely noticed you have no official position and wishes to use this chance to recommend you. You must not let down her kindness,” Ding Yizhi whispered to Zhang Chi as he sat drinking.

The cups at today’s banquet were small, leaving Zhang Chi unsatisfied. He downed cup after cup, soon having drunk over a dozen. In truth, he felt uneasy about using the self-assured young scholar as his stepping stone, so he wanted Ma Yanjie to compose his poem first. That way, even if the contest continued, it would not embarrass anyone too much.

But after Zhang Chi had drunk more than a dozen cups, Ma Yanjie was still lost in thought. If he waited for Ma Yanjie to finish, he might end up drunk himself.

So Zhang Chi finally filled his cup, raised it with his left hand, and declared, “If Heaven did not love wine, the star of wine would not shine above.”

At this single line, the entire room fell silent.

Then Zhang Chi dipped his finger, sprinkled some wine on the ground, and continued, “If Earth did not love wine, there would be no springs of wine on earth.”

After a brief pause, he recited the completed poem in a clear voice:

“Heaven and Earth both love wine, Loving wine, worthy of the skies. Pure wine, compared to sages, Clouded, akin to the wise. If sages and worthies both drink, Why seek the immortal’s way? Three cups open the path to the Dao, One measure blends with Nature’s sway. Let us find pleasure in the wine’s delight, And not tell the sober what we may.”

As soon as Zhang Chi finished, everyone was awestruck—everyone except Miss Wang, who had expected such an outcome. She simply smiled gently and said, “A fine poem.”

At this, Ma Yanjie knew that no matter what he composed, he could not surpass Zhang Chi’s poem. Yet he refused to believe that Zhang Chi could have produced such a masterpiece in so short a time; he was convinced Zhang Chi and Miss Wang must have colluded beforehand. With a resentful flick of his robe, he said with pointed meaning, “For Young Master Zhang to compose such a poem on the spot—truly, thoughts flow like a spring. I fear you have prepared in advance. If you cannot answer the second topic, or your quality drops, suspicion of cheating would be hard to avoid.”

With that, he turned and bowed deeply to Master Han. “I concede defeat on the first topic. Please, Master, present the second.”

Since the second topic would be set by Master Han, Zhang Chi could not possibly prepare in advance, which gave Ma Yanjie confidence.

“One must possess integrity, and not engage in petty or base deeds. For the second topic, let it be uprightness,” Master Han said slowly.

In truth, Master Han had long suspected that Miss Wang intended to recommend Zhang Chi, but feared others might object. Otherwise, how could anyone display such talent, unless he were a true prodigy? Thus, he set the topic of integrity, suggesting that one must not stoop to underhanded tactics, as a subtle challenge to Zhang Chi.

Watching Ma Yanjie and Master Han measure him with suspicion, Zhang Chi could not help but find it amusing. This time, he did not wait; as soon as Master Han finished speaking, a poem was already on his lips:

“Heaven and Earth hold uprightness, In myriad forms it flows. Below, it shapes the rivers and mountains, Above, it gleams in sun and stars. In men, it is vast and noble, Filling the expanse of the heavens. On the imperial road, it is pure and clear, Breathing harmony, illumining the court. In hard times, virtue shines forth, Each deed a mark for history. In Qi, the scribe’s tablet; in Jin, Dong Hu’s brush; In Qin, Zhang Liang’s mallet; in Han, Su Wu’s staff. It is the head of General Yan, the blood of Minister Ji, The hat in Liaodong, integrity pure as snow. The Memorial to the Throne, moving heaven and earth; The boat crossing the Yangtze, bold against the foe. This spirit pervades the ages, Fierce and everlasting. When it spans the sun and moon, Life and death mean little.”

Thus, Wen Tianxiang’s immortal “Song of Righteousness” was born a thousand years early, though Zhang Chi only recited the first half.

The poem was stirring and heroic. As soon as Zhang Chi finished, even the students who had always regarded Ma Yanjie as the most talented burst into enthusiastic applause.

Master Han’s face flushed red. Since he had set the topic himself, Zhang Chi could not possibly have cheated. Remembering his earlier suspicions, he now felt deeply ashamed.

Yet Master Han was a learned man. After hearing the poem, he could not help but praise it: “Wonderful, wonderful! This poem resounds like gold upon a stone.”

He turned to Miss Wang and said, “Miss, Young Master Zhang can compose poetry in an instant; he has the talent of Zijiang and is a genius seen once in a hundred years. This recommendation must go to him.”

By Zijiang, Master Han meant Cao Zhi, who had shown extraordinary talent from a young age, able to recite hundreds of thousands of words of poetry and prose, and whose spontaneous compositions became models for generations. That Master Han compared Zhang Chi to Cao Zhi was high praise indeed.

Ma Yanjie, now sweating profusely, was a scholar of humble birth. To advance, he depended entirely on the recommendation of the great families. He had struggled bitterly for this chance, and now, hearing even Master Han support Zhang Chi, he lost all composure and rushed forward, saying, “Miss, Master, the two topics set were not my strengths—this does not mean my talent is less than Young Master Zhang’s.”

“And what, pray tell, is your strength?” Miss Wang asked with a gentle smile.

“I excel at metaphysical poetry. I beg you, Miss, allow me to compare with Young Master Zhang and see whose verse best captures subtle philosophy.”

In the Wei and Jin period, metaphysical poetry was esteemed, though most such poems were dry and flavorless.

Seeing Ma Yanjie’s lack of self-awareness, Master Han sighed and asked Zhang Chi, “Young Master Zhang, what do you say?”

Zhang Chi, wishing to give Ma Yanjie a way out, had already returned to his seat. When Master Han asked, he laughed and replied, “Let’s not compete anymore. Since I was lucky enough to win, what is the point of another contest?”

At this, Ma Yanjie snorted, “So, you admit it was mere luck, and now you shrink from the challenge? Are you not afraid of being mocked?”

Zhang Chi was unbothered, but Santong could not bear it any longer. Ma Yanjie’s arrogance was intolerable; if he insisted on humiliating himself, why wait? Santong jumped up, knowing full well that his burly appearance was unscholarly, and declared loudly, “I am my master’s attendant. My master disdains to compete with you in poetry—can’t you see that? If you’re not convinced, let me teach you a lesson myself!”

Santong’s confidence, of course, came from having persuaded Zhang Chi beforehand to teach him a poem that could be used to mock others. Santong loved showing off and would not miss such an opportunity.

“You? You can compose poetry?” Ma Yanjie was incredulous.

Santong, angered by Ma Yanjie’s contempt, retorted, “Of course I can. My poem is profoundly meaningful. With your meager learning, you’d have to read it aloud three or five times just to grasp its meaning!”

“Very well, let’s see what you can do,” Ma Yanjie, now laughing in exasperation, resolved to make Santong embarrass Zhang Chi thoroughly. “Let’s see what philosophy your poem contains that I, Ma Yanjie, cannot comprehend.”

“Bring paper and brush!” Santong felt triumphant. With a flourish, he wrote out the poem Zhang Chi had taught him, adding, “Read it carefully, or you really won’t understand.”

Ma Yanjie took the poem, glanced at it, and said, “What kind of poem is this? Absolute nonsense!”

Santong grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Here, read it aloud three times. If no one understands, I’ll admit I’m talking nonsense. But if everyone gets it and only you do not, then you’re the fool.”

Ma Yanjie read it again. Well-versed in the classics, he did not believe anyone else could find meaning in it if he could not. So, he raised his voice and recited Santong’s poem:

“Lying under the plum tree, only the lone fruit ripens; Lying on the branch, painted against the sky. The fish’s mouth rests on the stone in water; The stone lies answering spring’s green.”

Ma Yanjie was from Danyang and unfamiliar with northern dialects, but many present had fled south from the north and were well acquainted. As Ma Yanjie earnestly recited, they heard him unwittingly say, “I never went to school, I only work the fields; if you ask who I am, I am a great fool.” The entire audience burst into laughter.

After the first reading, the room erupted with laughter, but Ma Yanjie himself was still bewildered. Could there really be some hidden meaning in this poem? He read it carefully again from the beginning.

The more seriously Ma Yanjie studied the poem, the harder everyone laughed.

He was not stupid; seeing the others in such mirth, he sensed something was wrong. After scrutinizing it several more times, he finally understood, his face turning crimson. He pointed a trembling finger at Santong, unable to speak for a long moment. Knowing it was pointless to remain, he flung his sleeve and stormed out.

Miss Wang was thoroughly delighted, for she found that whenever Zhang Chi was around, something amusing was bound to happen. Truly, Zhang Chi possessed an endless magic.

The laughter continued until it finally subsided. Then Miss Wang said, “Young Master, your talent and learning are beyond compare. My Wang family’s academy wishes to recommend you for government office. What do you think?”

In truth, Zhang Chi had no great desire to become an official, but touched by Miss Wang’s kindness—and having just driven out the previous candidate—he felt it would be churlish to refuse. So he asked, “What sort of post would I be recommended for?”

“The court is now forming a new army. I wish to recommend you as a Staff Officer of Meritorious Service,” Miss Wang replied.

“What does a Staff Officer of Meritorious Service do?” Zhang Chi, having not been in this world long, was utterly unfamiliar with ancient bureaucratic posts.

Ding Yizhi smiled and explained, “It is a senior position in the military administration, chief among the various departments—rather like how Xun Yu served as Cao Cao’s adviser in the old days.”

Zhang Chi knew of Xun Yu, and thought to himself: so, it’s an advisory role.