Chapter 27: Were You a Jealous Pot in Your Past Life?

The academy erupted in cheers, as the young scholars scrambled to read the grand scholar’s commentary beneath the poem. Upon seeing his remarks, their faces shone with delight, as if the poem were their own and they themselves had received the scholar’s praise.

One among them called out loudly, “Everyone! Have you noticed that since a few days ago, my literary aura has been growing stronger within me? Could it be that this poem has been published in the national literary journal, and now people all over the land are reciting it?”

His words were met with enthusiastic agreement; each of them claimed to feel their literary spirit flourishing. As the voices faded, all eyes turned to Song Mu, who sat quietly in the classroom. He returned their gaze with a gentle smile and offered a respectful salute.

“Fellow scholars, since the grand scholar has praised us so highly, we ought all the more to apply ourselves to our studies. This stage is merely a beginning; you are all distinguished talents. One day, when we stand together in the golden hall to deliberate the affairs of the nation, will that not be a splendid discourse?”

“Indeed!”

Song Mu seized the moment, stirring their hearts with his words, which were both rousing and inspiring. Nearly every student agreed wholeheartedly, for to stand beside the emperor and wield influence over the realm was the dream of each and every one.

Shao Le rose to echo him, followed by many others, filling the classroom with a spirited and ambitious atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Pan Wenhao, seated in the corner, looked at Song Mu with bitterness in his gaze, tinged with envy. To command such enthusiastic responses—this was once Pan Wenhao’s own dream. He had long hoped to enjoy such adulation in the academy and had labored toward it for years. Yet only those with no scholarly rank would follow him; the true scholars paid him no heed. Even after Song Mu composed his renowned poem, Qi Dazuo had been placed under house arrest by his family.

Especially since Song Mu’s creation of the poem, even those who were once indifferent to him now seemed invigorated, singing his praises as if they were transformed. Pan Wenhao clenched his fists tightly.

In the upcoming academy examination, he was determined to defeat Song Mu, not only to seize his ancient books but to make him kneel and admit his faults before him, so he would know who truly deserved the title of foremost scholar.

The stir caused by the National Literary Journal lasted quite some time, until the teacher arrived and gradually the excitement subsided.

At last, the journal itself reached Song Mu’s hands. He was genuinely interested in this official periodical of antiquity and began to leaf through it. Within were articles penned by accomplished scholars and members of the Hanlin Academy, rich with references and detailed arguments on classical doctrine. Song Mu found himself absorbed in their wisdom.

After finishing the articles, he felt a surge of heroic literary energy in his chest, and his own literary aura grew even stronger. The journal indeed had the power to enhance one’s spirit, filled as it was with incisive critiques of contemporary issues, written by the most learned minds. Normally, one would have to buy their books to read such profound essays.

Having finished several articles, Song Mu turned to the section on poetry. The first poem was his own, accompanied by the longest commentary. The others were followed by only a few brief remarks, mostly written by editors from the Hanlin Academy. After all, the journal was published monthly, and even in a vast land, poems of exceptional quality were not as plentiful as fish in a river, ready to be caught in every net.

Having carefully read through these sections, Kong Zong handed him a book. Song Mu set down the journal and looked up, seeing that it was “Complete Solutions to the Academy Examination Questions.”

Even in ancient times, they had collections of past exam questions, much like modern preparatory guides. Although the academy examination emphasized the transformation of literary aura into literary power, having good insight into the questions was still important; only with the blessing of the celestial lights in the examination hall could one respond deftly and rise to new heights.

“Brother Song, this was sent to me by my father a few days ago. He specifically asked me to share it with you,” Kong Zong said, opening the book and pointing to the content in a soft voice.

“These are the top-scoring essays from previous years, the topics are quite novel. Next month’s exam will be easier for us with this.”

Song Mu nodded and took the book, examining it closely.

Thus another day of study passed. After parting ways with his fellow scholars, Song Mu packed up to return home. As he rounded the corner, he recalled what Li Mo’er had said that morning. Hesitating for a moment, he decided to head toward the street.

A short while later, Song Mu tucked a gourd of aged vinegar into his satchel and returned home. Yaya was weaving flower strings with the neighbor’s children, while Madam Zhu sat in the courtyard sewing shoe soles. Upon seeing Song Mu, she hurried to prepare dinner.

Song Mu said he would wait for Second Uncle to return, then quickly retreated to his room.

He opened the door to find it empty, paused, and carefully closed it behind him.

A languid voice drifted from above.

“You’re back, Young Master Song. Did you bring the vinegar I asked for?”

Song Mu looked up to find Li Mo’er reclining in a hammock tied to the ceiling beam. The hammock swayed gently as Li Mo’er poked her head out.

Song Mu took the gourd from his bag. Li Mo’er’s eyes lit up as she sprang from the beam and landed lightly at Song Mu’s side, snatching the gourd from his hand. She opened it and inhaled deeply, her face enraptured.

“Excellent vinegar!”

Li Mo’er praised it, then pulled out a small gourd from her waist and began to pour the vinegar into it.

Song Mu was astonished by her agile descent from the beam—she landed without a sound, not even disturbing the dust on the floor. Such skill was wasted if she were not a master thief; though, come to think of it, she was literally living as one now.

Just as Song Mu was about to speak, he noticed that Li Mo’er’s small gourd was somehow absorbing the entire contents of the large gourd—nearly two pounds of vinegar poured effortlessly into a vessel scarcely the size of a palm.

Li Mo’er shook the large gourd, as if the small one still hadn’t been filled. Song Mu was even more amazed; perhaps that little gourd was a treasure of some kind.

When the large gourd was finally empty, Li Mo’er pursed her lips in dissatisfaction but set it aside, cradled her small gourd, and took a sip, emitting a contented, cat-like sound of pleasure.

Song Mu grimaced, and Li Mo’er, satisfied, kicked off the floor and returned to her hammock, swinging her legs with delight.

Song Mu, helpless, gathered up the gourds. From above came Li Mo’er’s voice again.

“Thank you, Young Master. But please bring more tomorrow—this won’t last me long.”

Song Mu stumbled, incredulous, and looked up.

“You can drink two pounds of vinegar in a day?”

“Were you a vinegar jar in your past life?”

…