Chapter Forty-Five: Another Timeless Poem Emerges!

A hazy, resounding voice suddenly rang in the ears of everyone in Shiyang County, and as soon as the first line was slowly recited, the sky itself seemed to thicken with gathering wind and shifting clouds.

Upon hearing this, Shi Bufeng’s expression changed abruptly, while Jin Changwu and the others felt their hearts tremble with shock, each one looking up at the heavens. Even Li Mo'er, lost for a moment, ceased her movements—her delicate face marked by astonishment, for in that instant, she felt a tremor that resonated deep within her blood.

This was a sensation unique to the Poetry Sect.

Whenever a masterpiece was born—one that could stand shoulder to shoulder with the verses of Li Bai and Du Fu—the literary energy within every scion of the Poetry Sect in the vicinity would surge of its own accord, a spontaneous exultation for extraordinary talent.

As the saying goes: heroes cherish swords, scholars delight in elegant verses.

It was a resonance with the immortal verses of the ages!

Who could have composed such a world-shaking poem at a time like this?

“Is this... an immortal poem?” Jin Changwu raised his head to look around, his expression a mix of shock and overwhelming joy.

For these verses—he had never heard their like before.

“The dance pavilions and singing terraces, all the splendor is always swept away by wind and rain.”

Another resounding line echoed, and in that moment Jin Changwu saw streaks of white light suddenly break through the clouds, tearing them asunder, as a tempest arose!

Those rays of white, descending from the highest heavens, drifted over Shiyang County, gathering in the heart of the city.

It was the literary essence lingering between heaven and earth, coalescing now into beams of white, cascading down into the city.

Jin Changwu fixed his gaze on the spot where the literary aura descended, and his pupils widened in shock.

“That’s... the county academy? Song Mu?!”

Eyes wide, he looked toward the academy and saw, atop one of its roofs, several figures. A few young scholars stood braced against the howling wind, straining together to hold up a robe.

Facing them, Song Mu—his brows like swords and eyes like stars—stood unwavering amidst the storm, his expression intent. The wind whipped his garments and hair, but he remained unyielding, his hand wielding the brush with dazzling speed.

Talent surged forth in torrents—this was a poem to dazzle the ages, unmatched and sublime!

It seemed to be a battle poem!

Jin Changwu was deeply shaken, but also wild with joy. With such a poem descending upon Shiyang County today, there was no longer any cause for fear!

“The slanting sun upon grass and trees, the ordinary lanes and alleys—they say the Exile once lived here.”

Again, a line of poetry resounded through the world, and heaven and earth seemed to shift in response.

The white feathers of literary energy, having gathered from distant realms, now transformed into countless luminous plumes drifting through the skies above Shiyang County, circling the academy and filling the air above the city.

In a single instant, these feathers radiated brilliant light as they floated down!

Wherever a feather landed upon the frenzy-stricken townspeople, they abruptly fell still, then staggered and collapsed.

The luminous feathers pacified the people’s hearts!

The radiance passed through the demonic beasts that had burst into the city through the breach, killing indiscriminately—one by one, the beasts swelled like overfilled balloons and exploded in the air.

“This... this is the Manifestation of Literary Feathers! How can this be?!”

The Manifestation of Literary Feathers was a phenomenon reserved for the rarest, most profound poetry.

Registrar Zhou, shaken, whispered in awe: the rain of feathers descending was as if a great scholar had waved his hand, bestowing literary power across the land.

“Such poetry is unrivaled—all glory to the Song family’s literary line, to Song Mu!”

Registrar Zhou murmured, his gaze drawn to the city wall, where the Tower of Literature shone even more brilliantly, its light shooting up to mingle with the radiance around Song Mu, lending the scene an even greater sense of majesty.

“Damn you! Ruining all my plans!”

At that moment, a thunderous roar exploded from the sky—the voice of Shi Bufeng, enraged to the point of madness.

He too saw Song Mu composing poetry atop the academy roof, felt the overwhelming surge of talent, and witnessed the sudden suppression of myriad demonic beasts and fiends.

His plot was nearly complete, his forces almost fully assembled, when Li Mo'er’s unexpected appearance undid his advantage. Now, with someone crafting an immortal poem and shattering the very fabric of his scheme, everything was unraveling.

All his efforts threatened to be wasted!

Bereft of his many supporting forces, Shi Bufeng was driven to fury by these unforeseen reversals.

And when he recognized that it was Song Mu of the Song family, a pang of regret rose within his anger. Why had he not pressed harder that day, as his subordinates had done in Qingzhou and other regions, utterly erasing this house of literary lineage and seizing their legacy?

But who could have imagined that a mere young scholar would ruin years of careful plotting?

As his voice faded, Shi Bufeng’s figure vanished abruptly from the sky, unleashing a torrent of energy as he sped toward Song Mu.

“Not good!” Jin Changwu, seeing this, immediately sounded the alarm and raced toward the academy.

In the next instant, another fine streak of energy flashed through the sky—a figure collided head-on with the charging Shi Bufeng.

It was Li Mo'er!

She was now encircled by rings of golden script—lines of poetry that shifted and arrayed themselves, unleashing wave after wave of attacks at Shi Bufeng.

“Law follows where poetry leads! You are no ordinary scion of the Li Poetry Sect!”

Desperately resisting, Shi Bufeng’s face twisted, a trace of terror in his eyes.

He could sense the terrifying power of the young girl before him.

Anyone who wielded the verses of Li Bai or Du Fu would have their literary energy drained with each use—descendants of the Li Poetry Sect’s bloodline would never dare use such ancestral power recklessly!

Yet this frail-looking Li Mo'er could ignite countless poems of Li Bai at will, employing them with such mastery.

Such a person could only be a figure of great importance within the Li Poetry Sect—but why would she appear in a place like Shiyang County?

A terrible sense of helplessness seeped into Shi Bufeng’s heart. All his meticulous plans—why had so many uncontrollable variables arisen?

Li Mo'er, hearing Shi Bufeng’s accusation, only grew colder. Her gaze sharpened, the light of poetry whirling about her.

“You’re right. I am a scion of the Li Poetry Sect. And as it happens, I’ve awakened ninety percent of Ancestor Li Bai’s bloodline.”

“Ninety percent?!”

Shi Bufeng felt as though his heart had been struck a mortal blow—despair flooding his soul.

No wonder—no wonder!

Shi Bufeng’s expression shifted again and again. But after only a moment, his gaze hardened with ferocity. Without hesitation, he bit into his own finger—severing it entirely!

“What of the Li Poetry Sect? If I can’t kill you, I’ll destroy him instead!”

“Heavenly Demon Possession!”

With these words, he swung his bleeding hand around him, scattering droplets of blood in every direction as his form grew indistinct.

Li Mo'er readied herself for battle and immediately turned away, golden poetry swirling rapidly over her form.

She reversed direction, abandoning the pursuit of Shi Bufeng and instead racing toward Song Mu at the academy.

On the academy rooftop, the wind raged, garments snapping, making it nearly impossible to stand.

Yet amid the swaying figures, one stood perfectly straight.

His features were delicate, his figure tall—holding a jade brush, he painstakingly inscribed words upon a robe.

A moment earlier, Song Mu’s heart had burned with anger at the crisis engulfing Shiyang County and frustration at his own helplessness. But now, as he wrote, he felt a transformation in the heavens—the literary energy that surged into him with each written character was overwhelming.

That wild, uplifting power made him feel exhilarated—the brush in his hand moved ever more freely.

Song Mu felt invincible, his spirit soaring, but the young scholars helping him hold up the robe were flushed and gritting their teeth.

“This... this robe is only getting heavier.”

“How much does it weigh now? I can barely hold on.”

“We must endure! This is a poem for the ages—if we falter, we’ll be condemned for a thousand generations!”

“Then fetch more help quickly—my hands are shaking!”

The young scholars, faces contorted with effort, shouted toward the academy below. Their fellow students, already sensing the changes sweeping the city, promptly rose to respond.

“We’ll all help!”

One by one, the young scholars climbed onto the roof, forming a circle around Song Mu, each gripping a corner of the robe and holding fast.

Song Mu, immersed in the tide of poetic energy, was oblivious as a figure streaked across the sky.

Li Mo'er, glancing at the nearby Song Mu, spun in midair and swept her hand—countless golden verses surged forth.

In an instant, explosions erupted beside Song Mu.

A blood-red figure emerged.

...