Chapter 121: Tao Fengming’s Plan

Although Master Xiao assigned the group an exceedingly arduous task, he was not so heartless. Seeing their struggles, he rose to instruct them personally. Even those who had finished their rounds no longer obstructed others from completing the task.

He was a man with a fierce heart yet a delicate appreciation for beauty.

“Practice your bow stance first. Your arms must be straight, your waist and back upright, and your hands level with your shoulders!”

“When drawing the bow, hold your breath. Shooting an arrow is not random—control your breathing, adjust your breath!”

“What realm do you think you’re in, daring to use the Poetry Sage’s verses? With your mere scholar’s literary skill, how many sheets of paper could you possibly animate? Know your limits. Doesn’t the Golden Register contain the Scholar’s Poetry Manual?”

“If you’re that capable, why not try the Immortal Poet’s six frontier ballads? Let’s see if the paper doesn’t drain your literary energy completely!”

Song Mu was currently writing Lu Lun’s poem “Replying to Zhang Deputy Envoy’s Frontier Ballad,” focusing on the line, “Desiring to chase with light cavalry amid heavy snow that covers bow and blade,” when he heard Master Xiao cursing all around.

Fortunately, Song Mu managed to avoid those harsh criticisms for the moment. The poem he used was only loosely related to archery but could still conjure a white arrow. He gathered his literary energy and bent his bow, nocking the arrow.

Song Mu had joined the archery club during university but was far from skilled. He understood the basic postures but remained a novice. As he drew the bowstring, he immediately felt a tremendous force resisting his pull.

“Good. A steady longbow. Keep your arms straight, continue applying force, regulate your breathing, and release when you feel the limit.”

Without Song Mu noticing when, Master Xiao had come to his side, continuously correcting his form.

Following the guidance, Song Mu released the string upon reaching the edge of his strength.

The bowstring vibrated, and the longbow in his left hand seemed to leap from his grasp; he felt as if he could barely hold onto its flat frame.

Luckily, the arrow shot forth, but perhaps lacking literary energy to sustain it, it dispersed midair.

Still, he had released an arrow at last.

Song Mu pouted and shook his arm, flexing his fingers. Master Xiao then spoke beside him.

“When drawing the bow, both hands must exert equal force. Grasp the moment of release carefully, and both hands must release evenly.”

He looked toward the distant target and patted Song Mu’s shoulder.

“At the moment of release, channel your literary energy fully; otherwise, how can you shoot far enough to slay enemies?”

With that, Master Xiao moved away to instruct others.

Hearing his master’s advice, Song Mu felt the exquisite subtlety of releasing literary energy. Though not exactly miraculous, it was the first time he witnessed his literary energy manifest so tangibly, filling him with awe.

In just a few centuries, amid demon attacks and global unrest, literary energy had developed to an incredibly profound level in human hands.

The scholars around had begun their archery training, but their progress was painfully slow. Song Mu repeatedly shot arrows, rested, and restored his energy, finally completing his last shot shortly after sunset.

That day, his arms ached unbearably; he could barely hold chopsticks at dinner.

Yet after the meal, he hurried to Feng Ming’s residence. When he arrived, Feng Ming had already lit an oil lamp.

As Song Mu reached the courtyard gate, a familiar voice called out.

“Come in and have some tea.”

“Master,” Song Mu replied respectfully, entering. Inside, Tao Fengming had changed into a simple cotton-linen robe, sitting cross-legged on a bamboo bed layered with thick felt, leisurely sipping tea.

Upon seeing Song Mu, Tao Fengming turned and beckoned him over.

“Jingzhao, come sit. The weather’s cooling, autumn breezes blowing; have some hot tea.”

As he spoke, Tao Fengming produced a piece of dried meat from somewhere and began chewing.

Song Mu sat quietly by his side, sipping tea before looking up at his master.

“I heard from Master Wang and Master Xiao that your performance these days has been... adequate?”

Tao Fengming’s words startled Song Mu. He couldn’t tell whether it was praise or criticism.

He hurriedly nodded and replied softly, “Yes, disciple has only skimmed the surface and grasped but half the meaning these past days.”

Tao Fengming nodded but said no encouraging words, abruptly changing the subject.

Fortunately, Song Mu had grown accustomed to his master’s abrupt conversational style and took the initiative to ask questions.

This time, Tao Fengming was quite willing to answer.

“People often say strange poems evoke strange realms, but I see it differently. The unfolding of a strange realm lies in your heart. When your heart holds the poem, the mental force naturally stirs. Even if you do nothing else, the realm unfolds on its own.”

Hearing this, Song Mu lowered his head in thought, struck by a sudden insight.

He recalled the incident in the fishing village.

When he first read his ancestor’s poem “Cloud and Sun,” it instantly entered his heart. That surge of passionate emotion made him discard all other thoughts. In that unconscious state, the strange realm suddenly unfolded.

Now, Tao Fengming’s words brought him a moment of enlightenment.

Seeing Song Mu’s contemplative expression, Tao Fengming fell silent, eyes half-closed as he sipped his tea.

After a while, Song Mu looked up and exhaled deeply.

“Enough talk. Why don’t we see how your strange realm truly fares?”

Setting down his cup, Tao Fengming’s teacup lightly tapped the table. Suddenly, the scene before Song Mu shifted.

The surroundings remained the same, but the tea set changed from pure white to a warm orange hue.

“Think of a way to restore my cup’s pure white color,” Tao Fengming said calmly.

At that moment, paper and brush materialized before Song Mu, a mysterious and wondrous sight that made him swallow hard before asking, “Master, is this... the strange realm?”

Tao Fengming nodded. Song Mu fell silent, bowed his head, and picked up the brush to ponder carefully.

Tao Fengming made no move as Song Mu began to write poetry.

Soon, green moss appeared before them, creeping over the tea set. Yet Song Mu’s brush never faltered.

Countless strands of mental and literary energy surged wildly from his body. The tea set became covered in green, then blossomed with clusters of white flowers, growing denser until the tea set and cup appeared filled with white blossoms.

Tao Fengming stroked his chin in admiration.

About fifteen minutes later, as the tea cup began shifting from green back to white, it suddenly collapsed, reverting instantly to orange.

Song Mu was drenched in sweat, fingers too weak to hold the brush.

Seeing this, Tao Fengming waved his hand gently, and everything vanished, returning them to reality.

“Master, forgive me, disciple truly...” Song Mu trailed off.

Tao Fengming smiled and shook his head, then produced a small porcelain bottle from his robe.

“Inside are some Tonggu Pills, good for relaxing muscles and tendons. They’ll help your recovery.”

Grateful, Song Mu accepted the bottle with many thanks. Meanwhile, Tao Fengming produced another piece of dried meat, chewing as he spoke.

“There will be a hunt at the prefectural academy in three days, and a second group will depart in half a month. I will lead the second batch.”

Song Mu did not understand the sudden announcement, expression unreadable. Tao Fengming’s gaze pierced through strands of loose hair, locking onto Song Mu.

“I agreed.”

“But on the condition that you come with me.”

Song Mu nearly choked on his tea upon hearing that.

…