Chapter Thirty-Two: Upheaval in Shiyang County

After taking a short rest in the alley, Song Mu finally felt some of his strength return. Only then did he rise to his feet, ready to head home, with Li Mo’er following behind.

“What will you do with those people? Aren’t you going to report them to the authorities?” Song Mu asked, referring, of course, to the members of the Demonic Sect in that household they had just left.

“The Purity Guard will handle everything. You needn’t trouble yourself over this,” Li Mo’er replied.

“I…” Song Mu hesitated for a moment, then let it go. Ever since she’d learned he had spiritual power, Li Mo’er’s attitude toward him had changed considerably. She no longer looked down on him with that air of disdain; in an effort to seem more approachable and amiable, her speech had also become a touch more earnest.

In the end, Song Mu sighed softly and could only lower his head and head home. Sometimes, without strength, even the simple act of asking questions is entirely out of reach. He murmured this to himself and temporarily set the matter aside.

Halfway home, Li Mo’er suddenly vanished without a trace. When Song Mu arrived home and entered his room, he found her already there, lounging in her hammock, gleefully drinking from a gourd.

Remembering how she could consume two jin of vinegar in a single day, Song Mu found himself at a loss for words.

Seeing that Li Mo’er had no intention of conversing further, Song Mu sat on his bed, reciting from his books in reverse to restore the cultural energy and spiritual force within him.

Later that evening, Song Liangda returned. The Song family gathered for dinner, and at the table, Song Mu learned some fresh news.

The construction on the city walls of Shiyang County had been halted—apparently due to the recent spate of demon and monster appearances, as well as the heavy toll the project had taken on the people over the past half-year.

The repairs had dragged on for six months and remained unfinished. The registrar and the assistant county magistrate had jointly petitioned the prefect of Jizhou, who had ordered the suspension of the work and sent officials to investigate.

Hearing this, Song Mu frowned.

The emergence of demons and monsters within the city would be considered a failure of governance anywhere, but the construction of the city wall was no simple matter. Shiyang County was not a critical thoroughfare, but it still served as a node in river transport, so fortifying the walls was a necessity. Jin Changwu, in his ambition to lay foundations for a century-long legacy, had nearly doubled the walls’ height and thickness.

The scale of the project was immense. Jin Changwu had the townspeople take turns at forced labor, suspending repairs during busy farming seasons and allowing rest during traditional festivals. To complete this reinforcement would take at least a year.

Only recently had the busy farming season ended, making it the ideal time to press on with the wall. And yet…

“Alas, with work stalled, I’ll be idle again. Who knows if we’ll even resume before winter?” Song Liangda took a small sip of wine, his face tinged with worry.

When disaster strikes at the city gate, those living near the moat suffer as well. With the wall project halted, Song Liangda’s livelihood was at risk. Though the job wasn’t easy or prestigious, at least it kept him from hauling bricks and brought in some silver. Just as life was improving, hope vanished in the blink of an eye.

Song Liangda only sighed a few times, then said nothing more—perhaps not wanting Song Mu to worry, and even trying to sound cheerful about finding other work.

But Song Mu’s thoughts were elsewhere. Since coming to this world, he’d encountered one disturbance after another. Now, even Jin Changwu had been affected. Song Mu sensed an approaching storm.

He could imagine Jin Changwu’s dark expression at the county office, but what could a mere child scholar like himself possibly do? Major affairs were for the grown-ups to worry about.

After dinner, Song Mu washed up in the side hall, then returned to his room with his hair loose, habitually glancing up at the beams. Li Mo’er was nowhere to be seen.

Song Mu shook his head. Though the girl was still young, she had far more worries than he did. But she was a ranked scholar after all—her concerns were not for him to share.

He sat back at his desk and began to read aloud.

When he finished, he mentally recited ancient texts. Once he felt a flash of insight, he opened the day’s examination topic, spread out his paper, and began to write.

Since entering that mysterious state the day before, Song Mu felt as if he’d grasped something elusive. Now, when he picked up the brush, the old saying proved true: “Read ten thousand books, and your writing will flow as if inspired by the gods.”

Tiny characters flowed swiftly onto the paper. His hand moved faster and faster as the essay took shape, and soon, he’d completed an explication of the classics.

As he finished, a modest surge of literary energy rose from the page and entered his body, swelling the already abundant cultural force within him.

By now, the literary energy gathered inside him was formidable, suffusing his entire being and making him strong and ever-energetic. Yet this literary energy was no match for true literary power. The moment he tried to wield it in poetic combat, he was like an overinflated balloon—one use, and all would be drained away.

This scattered energy could not support even a single battle poem.

Now Song Mu understood the vast gulf between literary energy and literary power. Once energy condensed into power, it was like gas compressed into liquid—smaller in volume but greater in strength.

To qualify as a licentiate scholar was to condense literary energy into power, which was the only way to unleash poetry’s true might.

With this settled in his mind, Song Mu resolved that only after passing the licentiate exam would he truly be able to fight freely. Otherwise, he’d be as he was today—almost losing his life.

If he had to fight, then he must compose original verses; those wouldn’t drain his inner energy, yet could still repel the enemy.

With these thoughts concluded, Song Mu threw himself back into his studies. Whenever inspiration struck, he began to write at once.

Another explication complete, Song Mu was drafting a policy essay when Li Mo’er returned.

He hadn’t even noticed her arrival. Only when he reached for the scissors to trim the lamp did he see a figure appear before him.

He glanced at her briefly, then bent back over his writing. He was in the midst of a thought and dared not lose the thread.

Li Mo’er seemed used to his indifference by now. She simply stood by and watched, apparently interested in his essays, following along as he wrote.

Only after about half an hour did Song Mu finish his piece, the words on the paper beginning to emit a subtle literary aura.

He absorbed the energy into himself, stretched contentedly, and finally looked over at Li Mo’er.

“Miss Mo’er, you’re back?”

Li Mo’er was still engrossed in his essay. After a moment, she replied, “You really are a rare one, Master Song. Every piece you wrote today produced a surge of literary energy.”

Song Mu smiled, poured two cups of tea, and sipped from one. Li Mo’er spoke again.

“The county exam covers not just the classics and policy essays, but also poetry and rhapsodies. Aren’t you going to practice those?”

“Naturally I will, but poetry and rhapsodies depend on accumulation—and on the surge of inspiration within the mood,” he answered.

Li Mo’er curled her lip and turned away. “You did write a fine poem for the Clear Brightness Festival. Ouyang Hong is treasuring it these days.”

Song Mu paused, realizing where she’d been. Li Mo’er didn’t hide it, saying, “There may be chaos in the city in the coming days. Master Song, remember to protect yourself.”

Song Mu was taken aback, then laughed softly. “Is that your way of showing concern for me?”