Literary figures often acquire several types of elegant sobriquets. Some are honorific titles like "Poetry Immortal" or "Poetry Sage," while others reflect their lifestyle sentiments and hobbies. Ouyang Xiu, known as the "Six-One Recluse," explained his "Six Ones" as possessing ten thousand volumes of collected books, one thousand volumes of inscriptions on metal and stone, one qin, one chess set, one pot of wine, plus one old man—himself.
There are also nicknames given by outsiders in jest. Liu Yong of the Northern Song Dynasty frequented singing halls and dance pavilions, maintaining close relationships with courtesans and often composing lyrics for them, earning him the playful title "Liu Sanbian, Word-Smither by Imperial Decree."
Mi Fu of the Northern Song Dynasty was obsessed with calligraphy, painting, and peculiar stones. He once bowed to a rock as if it were his elder brother, leading people to teasingly call him "Mi the Mad." His nickname reveals his fervent passion for unusual stones and similar interests.
Some literati gained fame through a single poem or essay, and their sobriquets usually relate to what they wrote. If someone wrote about orchids, they might be called "Orchid Gentleman"; if about mountains and rivers, "Such-and-Such Mountain Elder."
He Yunzhao only realized this when the nickname reached her ears: this "Ru Meng Ling·Last Night the Rain Was Sparse, the Wind Sudden" was genuinely a poem about begonias. Fortunately, no one named her after a flower.
She could accept being called "a certain gentleman of Da Jin," but she couldn't stomach a floral name.
However, the title "Meng Lang" was quite interesting. On one hand, it alluded to "Ru Meng Ling," and on the other, it praised the dreamlike elegance of the third young master of the He family.
Among her admirers, if one were to pick the most fervent, it would be the young man whom He Yunzhao tossed a flower to during the Literary Gathering. He wrote over a dozen poems praising Meng Lang's grace.
But since his literary talent was mediocre, few people read his works. Such is celebrity worship—without sufficient literary skill, even fawning praise amounts to little more than "he's really handsome."
What He Yunzhao truly cared about was the preface Old Qi wrote that day—"Qiu Hua Ji Xu."
Qi Jun had originally prepared a preface beforehand. It was error-free but far from remarkable, not a work of genuine feeling—merely a "pre-made preface" drafted in advance for the Literary Gathering.
However, after hearing He Yunzhao's poem, the old man returned home, pondered deeply, and felt that his preface was too perfunctory.
So he readjusted his mindset, pacing around the courtyard late at night until he noticed the petals in the yard soaked by rain. He slapped his forehead in inspiration and rewrote it.
To match this collection, he specially brought out his finest tools: Lang Hao Hu Bi, Zi Yu Guang Hui Mo, Jing Pi Xuan from An Qing Fu, and Ganzhou Lu Tao Yan.
After drafting it, he meticulously copied it out before sealing it neatly.
It began: "In the ninth month of Fengqing's eighth year, autumn begonias bloomed in abundance. At a friend's request, I invited young talents to gather. Hearing that the third young master of the He family possessed poetic talent, I felt momentary disdain, dismissing it as a spoiled youth's privilege."
He Yunzhao paused her finger here and couldn't help laughing aloud. Old Qi was truly amusing—this line was clearly setting up for a dramatic contrast.
The old man had merely been curious and called her forward to test her, without any genuine contempt.
Old Qi was quite the scripting genius too!
She turned the page and continued reading: "The third young master of the He family is youthful, his demeanor ethereal like a dreamlike gentleman. When tested before the assembly, his responses flowed elegantly, astonishing all present."
"I urgently asked of his mentorship, only to learn he was a student of the Academy and a disciple of Old Ding."
She choked for a moment—Old Qi was really… hadn't he known she was from Hanzhang Academy at the time!
When it came to hype, Old Qi had certainly grasped seven or eight parts of the craft.
He Yunzhao took a deep breath and continued reading, somewhat worried that Old Qi's promotional skills might exceed her expectations.
Fortunately, the subsequent content became more detailed. Old Qi first transcribed all the couplets, then wrote about how some people remained unconvinced, only to be satirized by He Yunzhao's clever lines.
Then the narrative shifted, describing how the gathering's participants reveled in poetry and wine. The elderly watched the young scholars with amusement, reminiscing about their own past, while Old Qi himself expressed deep emotion about the fervor of his youth.
Rather than providing a conventional conclusion, the piece transcended formal constraints by depicting Third Young Master He being visibly moved upon hearing these recollections, followed by Young Master Mu personally preparing ink and brush for his friend, culminating with Third Young Master He composing a poem.
After this page came the "Ru Meng Ling" that He Yunzhao had written.
As the morning sun rose, He Yunzhao, who had come to the Academy early for self-study, felt contemplative. The fragrance of early autumn flowers drifted into the study as she leaned against the windowsill browsing this collection.
Old Qi's intention to promote her reputation was evident – he didn't hesitate to cast himself as the antagonist to highlight her talents, portraying himself as an arrogant old man while presenting her as the genius whose brilliance subdued her elder.
"This kindness, I shall remember," she murmured softly.
Moreover, Old Qi's preface skillfully wove together scenery, characters, and nostalgia, all centered around the passage of time. Reading the preface before the "Ru Meng Ling" enhanced one's appreciation of the lament over time's swift passage.
Old Qi genuinely admired her talent and was willing to uplift the younger generation, doing so without expecting anything in return. Encountering such an elder who actively encouraged younger talents was her great fortune.
The wind gently rustled the leaves as He Yunzhao closed her eyes and softly recited the classics: "Facing wealth with integrity, confronting adversity with courage…"
A faint sound went unnoticed by humans, but the distinct black-and-white plump little bird hopped away first.
Ding Hanzhang had listened to Liu Yuan's excited account of the literary gathering last night and found himself equally unsettled.
While he had long known that He Yunzhao typically demonstrated remarkable inspiration in poetry composition – though sometimes tending toward melodrama or emotional excess – reading this particular piece still left him astonished.
Youthful genius had existed since ancient times. After serving as an official for several years before establishing the Academy to recruit students, Ding Hanzhang had encountered countless prodigies.
Every candidate who reached the capital for the metropolitan examination was undoubtedly exceptional.
One needed to shine like the literary star descended to earth within a county, display top scholar potential within a prefecture, and surpass thousands of scholars across a province – only then could one come to the capital for the metropolitan examination and become one of the hundred-plus candidates who would earn the Presented Scholar degree.
Gold will always glitter, but in the capital, even walls are adorned with gold dust.
What Ding Hanzhang most appreciated about He Yunzhao wasn't her talent, her gift, or her comprehension, but her perseverance.
Children from wealthy families often only realized in their teens that they needed to work hard to become officials – otherwise, their future descendants might have to kneel before relatives.
Yet He Yunzhao had already been remarkably mature and steady when she entered the Academy. That year, at just eight years old, she already knew to rise at dawn and study aloud as the morning mist lifted with the sunrise.
Mu Yan was also a good child, but he hadn't yet found his direction. The boy didn't compete, merely followed He Yunzhao closely, striving to keep up lest she leave him behind.
Old Master Ding leaned against the doorframe, one hand hanging before him, unconsciously raising his arm to touch his chest. Deep wrinkles formed between his brows as complex emotions washed over him.
He had long ceased taking disciples. He could establish an academy, he could teach, but he hadn't accepted a personal disciple in years. Liu Yuan, an instructor at the academy, was his last closed-door disciple.
When the young child He Yunzhao first entered the academy, Liu Yuan came over delightedly, saying the child looked delicate but was very diligent, even fetching water and pouring tea for his teacher. He suggested taking him on as a junior disciple. At that time, Ding Hanzhang hadn't considered taking another disciple.
When He Yunzhao progressed from stumbling through texts to making rapid improvements in his studies, Liu Yuan was overjoyed. When Liu Yuan secretly gave the child extra treats and sweets, Ding Hanzhang hadn't considered taking another disciple.
When He Yunzhao studied diligently every single day without slacking off, when they saw the child grow so thin from shooting up in height that he became like a slender leaf, when Liu Yuan secretly wiped away tears watching him – Ding Hanzhang hadn't considered taking another disciple.
But at this moment – just yesterday having shone brilliantly at the Literary Gathering, surpassing all others, after receiving Qi Jun's fervent praise, amidst all the clamorous admiration, fully aware that his reputation was now established…
Still, nevertheless, as always, just like every morning before, he appeared here, leaning against the windowsill softly reciting texts.
This wasn't the first time. The young figure in the room overlapped with every previous sighting.
In spring, bundled in thick coats hugging a hand warmer while stamping his feet.
In summer, yawning while reciting.
In autumn, leaning against the windowsill to warm his back in the sun.
In winter, huddled by the stove roasting sweet potatoes dipped in sugar, yet still holding a book in his hand.
At this moment, Ding Hanzhang's heart was profoundly moved!
He wanted to take this disciple, wanted it desperately! Thousands of collected books, countless calligraphies and paintings, his beloved collection of hundreds of fans, all his unfinished annotations – he wanted to leave everything to this disciple!
"Yunzhao, how would you like this old man to take you as his disciple?"
He Yunzhao looked bewildered at the principal before him, whose smile had narrowed his eyes to slits.
From behind came an angry roar, "Master! How dare you steal my disciple!"
On an ordinary morning in September of the eighth year of Fengqing, He Yunzhao, who had been studying independently, began headache-edly trying to separate the fighters.
On one side stood a sixty-year-old man with hands behind his back, whistling innocently. On the other was a furious forty-two-year-old man leaping up to deliver a flying kick to his own master.
He Yunzhao looked left and right, pleading, "Please stop fighting!"