Chapter Forty-Eight: Li Mo'er

“Jin Changwu, Clerk Zhou, what punishment do you deserve?”

Before Jin Changwu could ponder further, Li Mo’er spoke again. Her calm words made both men break out in a cold sweat.

“We acknowledge our guilt, please, Lord of the Celestial Guard, punish us as you see fit.”

Jin Changwu and Clerk Zhou replied at once, trembling with anxiety. Today, when Shiyang County was attacked by demons, as the top officials of the county, they had failed to act in advance, walked right into a trap, and caused the tragic deaths of Master Zhang, Officer Pan Shun, and other officials, the destruction of the city, and the needless deaths of countless citizens. These disasters could not be explained away as mere negligence. If the Celestial Guard wished, a single impeachment memorial would strip them of their ranks, exile them to the frontier, and their families would be barred from officialdom for generations.

The more they thought about it, the more fearful they became, and their backs remained bowed.

Yet Li Mo’er’s answer was simple.

“We were all negligent in this matter. I will report it truthfully. However, the credit for slaying those demon cultists will be given to you both.”

Hearing this, Jin Changwu and Clerk Zhou exchanged glances and felt a surge of relief and joy.

Though Li Mo’er did not absolve them of responsibility, letting the merit for slaying the demon cultists fall on them—two cult scholars, several cult candidates—such a feat was enough to offset their crimes. Even if not entirely, it would save them from a three-thousand-mile exile.

“Thank you, Lord of the Celestial Guard,” Jin Changwu and Zhou quickly bowed in gratitude. Li Mo’er turned, arms crossed, looking at them with a hint of amusement.

“But that is my condition. From now on, the safety of Young Master Song in Shiyang County is your special concern.”

Li Mo’er’s words made even Song Mu, standing nearby, pause in surprise, looking at her with some confusion.

Jin Changwu quickly grasped her meaning and nodded repeatedly.

Today, Song Mu had composed a world-shaking poem of tremendous literary power, whose influence would soon spread throughout the land. In just two months, Song Mu had written an inspiring poem of eight measures and now a battle poem of nine measures—a dazzling achievement for a mere pupil. Even Jin Changwu had never witnessed such a spectacle.

He began to wonder if Song Mu’s story of being struck by lightning was true—could the heavenly thunder truly bestow enlightenment?

Seeing Jin Changwu accept Li Mo’er’s request so easily, Song Mu dared not speak further, standing quietly with his hands at his sides.

Li Mo’er then waved her hand, dismissing Jin Changwu and Zhou.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept beneath Song Mu, transporting him at once to the academy courtyard. Li Mo’er’s figure appeared before him.

Song Mu looked at the young lady, so valiant and spirited, and felt somewhat at a loss.

“Your poetry, Young Master Song, is bold and invigorating, different from the romantic style of my Li clan’s poetic tradition, but I like it very much.”

Li Mo’er spoke quietly, then flicked her hand, tossing a small stone to Song Mu.

He caught it—a thumb-sized piece of emerald, resembling a green gem, but with mysterious light flickering within. Holding it in his palm, Song Mu felt its warmth and noticed that his literary energy flowed more smoothly throughout his body.

---

“After today, I imagine you will be renowned across the realm. If you become the top scorer in the academy examination, all the poetic schools will vie to recruit you,” Li Mo’er said.

“Recruit me?” Song Mu rubbed the stone, puzzled.

“Yes. You are now an uncut jade; everyone can see your worth. However, I have a small piece of advice for you.”

“If you pursue officialdom, after the provincial exam, you may go to Jinling. The Celestial Guard would be eager to have you join.”

“If the path of officialdom proves difficult, come to the Li clan’s poetic school. The green tourmaline in your hand will be your token.”

Li Mo’er spoke, pointing to the stone in Song Mu’s hand.

Song Mu stared at it, suddenly panicked.

Tourmaline was the most important vessel for storing literary veins in this world, nurtured in fallen stars, and reserved for scholar households. The Song family’s literary tourmaline was carried by his second uncle, only two fingers in length, kept close as a life treasure. His uncle had promised to give it to Song Mu once he passed the academy exam.

Now, Li Mo’er had gifted him a piece of literary tourmaline.

“This... this is too precious.”

Song Mu felt the warm stone burning in his palm, but he gripped it tightly.

Li Mo’er saw his reaction and smiled knowingly, her expression gentle.

“It’s just a fragment, containing a trace of literary vein. It will continually nurture your constitution, without interference, and will benefit your cultivation. Please keep it without worry.”

Song Mu hesitated, then quickly searched his pockets for something of value. The most precious thing he had was the Demon-Suppressing Brush given by Ouyang Hong.

He felt awkward, but Li Mo’er watched him with a smile.

Suddenly, Song Mu remembered his robe. He removed it, carefully folded and dusted it, then offered it to Li Mo’er.

“Miss Mo’er, I have nothing to match the literary tourmaline, so I can only offer you this poem.”

He looked at her as he spoke.

“This...” Li Mo’er stared at the robe, eyes wide and mouth agape in surprise.

“The poem you just wrote is inscribed on it—it’s a treasure, and you’re giving it to me?”

She could hardly believe it, but Song Mu nodded with a smile.

“It’s only a poem. If you don’t mind, please accept it.”

Li Mo’er studied him, her eyes filled with mirth. With a wave, the robe landed in her hands.

As she held it, a vast power surged from the fabric. The cloth, inscribed with a nine-measure poem, was heavy as a thousand catties, its weight unmistakable—even Li Mo’er felt its gravity.

---

“Very well, then. I’ll accept it. Remember what I told you.”

Li Mo’er said, then paused for a few seconds, hesitating before speaking again.

“If possible, Young Master Song, I hope to see you one day riding through the streets of Chang’an on horseback.”

Song Mu froze, then bowed his head and asked softly,

“Miss Mo’er, are you leaving now?”

“Yes. I’ve done what I came to do. From now on, things may not go as I wish.”

Her words carried a trace of helplessness and uncertainty.

But soon, the sorrow vanished from her face. She looked at Song Mu again and said,

“Well then, Young Master Song, may you rise step by step. If you achieve top honors one day, don’t forget to celebrate.”

Song Mu responded with a calm smile, his spirit light.

“Miss Mo’er, I believe that when we meet again, we will both cherish these days.”

Li Mo’er nodded and raised her brows, then waved goodbye with Song Mu’s robe in her arms.

A gentle breeze fluttered, and Li Mo’er disappeared.

Song Mu gazed at the empty courtyard before him, lost in thought. He glanced at the ground, then into the distance.

Had he just entertained some unusual thoughts?

At a nearby window, several pupils who had just climbed down from the rooftop watched Song Mu. Though they hadn’t heard the conversation, the lingering attachment between the two was obvious, and the pupils exchanged knowing looks.

“Is Brother Song smitten with that lady?”

“She’s a scholar, did you see her atop the roof? Her whole body was adorned with golden poetry.”

“They seemed like kindred spirits, didn’t they?”

“Never mind that. What matters is that we witnessed something extraordinary—a poem of nine measures was born!”

“Such glory! When I am old, I’ll still be thrilled to recall it.”

“Yes, a legendary poem, nine measures strong. The last time we heard such poetry was nearly ten years ago.”

“Brother Song’s talent is remarkable—perhaps Shiyang County will have its first top scholar’s plaque.”

“Top scholar? You mean Song Mu? Who knows—after all, that apparition just now, the great scholar Song Wenrong, was only second place in his year.”

“Well... who can say?”

...