Great Zhou Wensheng

Chapter 110 Poetry and Painting in One Prefecture! "The Humble Abode Inscription" Amazes Jiangzhou! (Seeking Monthly Tickets)
As dawn broke, the thin mist still lingered.

The bluestone slabs of the Jiangzhou government compound were covered with a cacophony of footsteps, startling the dew that had settled on the eaves.

On the day of the preliminary exams at the academy, the morning bell had just stopped ringing when the academy was already bustling with activity.

Hundreds of young scholars stood solemnly in the courtyard, their robes fluttering, the fragrance of ink, brushes, paper, and inkstones mingling with the dampness of the morning dew.

Zhou Shanzhang, dressed in a black Confucian robe, stood on the high steps, with a line of instructors behind him.

His long sleeves billowed in the wind, and his piercing gaze swept over the students, instantly silencing the entire courtyard. The bronze bells on the eaves rang crisply in the morning breeze, as if unveiling the small literary examination held in Jiangzhou Prefecture.

"The Dragon Boat Festival is just two days away, and Jiangzhou Prefecture will hold a dragon boat literary competition. There are many things to do."

Today's preliminary examinations at the prefectural and academy levels will be conducted according to the "Six Arts of a Gentleman" and the "Eight Refined Arts of a Scholar." Each instructor and student will choose one subject to be examined.

After saying this, he flicked his sleeve, signaling everyone to disperse.

However, the instructors and scholars in the courtroom remained standing still, their eyes fixed intently.

"What? Still have questions?"

Zhou Yuanjun raised an eyebrow slightly, looking somewhat surprised.

"Please allow me to report, Your Excellency!"

We would like to see Brother Jiang Xingzhou compose a poem and painting!

Suddenly, a scholar named Shen Zhiyun stepped forward from the crowd, bowed deeply to the ground, and said with a smile, "Brother Jiang, since you came to my Jiangzhou, every poem and essay you have written has been published above the county level!"
Poetry and painting have always been inseparable!
To be able to see his poetry and paintings today would surely be a grand event!

A morning breeze rustled through the ancient cypress trees in the courtyard.

Hundreds of scholars held their breath, their eyes all focused on one person—the silent scholar in a pale white robe standing below the steps, Jiang Xingzhou.

"Not bad!"

Another instructor clapped his hands and laughed, "With Jiang Sheng's talent, this will surely be another work that will garner recognition beyond the county and reach the prefecture. How can we miss such an opportunity?"

The scholars and instructors echoed their agreement, their laughter ringing out.

By witnessing firsthand the process of writing poems and essays while boating on the river, they can improve their skills and gain valuable insights.

Upon hearing this, Master Zhou was taken aback at first, then clapped his hands and laughed: "Good! Good! I had the same idea! In that case, let's start with the painting lesson today! Let's all have a look!"

He turned his head and called out, "Instructor Zhao!"

"exist!"

Zhao Mengjie bowed respectfully to Zhou Yuanjun, then turned to face the dozens of students in the painting class, his voice booming like a bell:

"Art class—exam begins!"

"Here!"

The ancient cypress trees in the courtyard cast dappled shadows, and dozens of long sandalwood tables were laid out in succession. Dozens of scholars and students from the Cheng Guan Painting Academy began to paint as their sleeves fluttered.

Zhou Lingyun picked up a wolf-hair brush,
Xu Ziqian was mixing indigo dye.
On their desks, the cinnabar was as bright as pomegranate fire, the ochre as deep as dragon abyss, and there were countless shades of indigo and rouge.

Suddenly, a soft "hiss" was heard.

Jiang Xingzhou's wide sleeves drooped down as he slowly unfurled a twelve-foot-long sheet of Xuan paper.

The pure white scroll cascaded down like a waterfall.
The scholar sitting next to him was so startled that he hurriedly pressed down on the corner of his fluttering paper.

But Jiang Xingzhou's brush tip hovered three inches above the paper, a single drop of ink suspended yet to fall.

The courtyard suddenly fell silent, and the sound of the pine soot ink shattering in Jiang Xingzhou's hand could be heard. Even the scholars of the painting academy were distracted and couldn't help but crane their necks to look.

Jiang Xingzhou pondered for a moment, then picked up his pen.

The moment the wolf-hair brush touched the paper, the fragrance of pine smoke and ink in the courtyard suddenly condensed.

On the Xuan paper scroll,

The ink seemed to move as if it were alive—

In the distance, the mountains are shrouded in a thin mist, with a line of dark blue breaking through the sky. Where a lone goose flaps its wings, there are specks of vermilion, as if the glow of the sunset has touched its feathers.

On the stream bank, the water is clear, and the shadow of the fisherman's straw hat is depicted with dry brushstrokes, while the wine gourd at his waist is adorned with gold powder, shining brightly in the full scroll of ink painting.

Jiang Xingzhou's writing style

Three thatched wooden houses emerge from the ink-black landscape nestled against the mountains and beside the water.

In the left room, a crooked carved window frame bears a half-finished poem, "Deep in the Clouds," written in delicate, small regular script. Each character is like an ant clinging to wood, appearing and disappearing amidst the dappled shadows of the trees.

Inside the central room, through the open door, an elderly man in plain clothes sat discussing philosophy with dozens of young people. On a low table, a scroll of the Spring and Autumn Annals was placed, and a half-cup of cold tea was rippling.

In the right room, wisps of tea smoke rose, leaving faint ochre-colored watermarks on the rice paper.

The moss on the stone steps outside the thatched wooden house, its dark color mixed with crushed malachite powder, shimmered with a deep blue hue in the morning light.

Beside the house, on a strangely shaped stone plate resembling a reclining ox, lies a precious chess manual that is half-finished!
Jiang Xingzhou's wolf brushed lightly,
A wooden bridge suddenly appears from the stream.

The pine wood grain of the bridge planks subtly reveals the brushstrokes of Wu Daozi's "orchid leaf drawing," which shimmer and shine under the reflection of light.

On the stream bank, three clumps of black orchids suddenly paused.

Jiang Xingzhou dipped the belly of his brush into the stale ink, and ice crack patterns immediately appeared on the edges of the petals.

Surprisingly, a few ink shrimp could be seen in the flowing water under the bridge.

The ink shrimp in the stream had their antennae trembling slightly, as if they were about to leap off the page at any moment. The stream gurgled, creating a lively and joyful atmosphere.

The entire courtyard of Jiangzhou Prefecture was filled with instructors, scholars, and students who watched intently, holding their breath in disbelief.

The sound of the stream in the painting clearly transformed into the flowing, gurgling sound of a guqin, echoing endlessly in the courtyard.

Zhao Mengfu stared intently at the scroll, his knuckles lightly tapping the table, causing the tender Longjing tea buds in the teacup to rise and fall with each tap.

"it is good!"

He suddenly clapped his hands in admiration:

"Three strokes outlining the eaves reveal its spirit, five strokes of ink dividing light and shadow create rhythm. This painting appears simple and unadorned, but in reality, every stroke conceals its sharpness, and the ink tones are naturally perfect, having already reached the realm of 'extraordinary skill'!"

Beneath the white jade paperweight, this scroll depicting a thatched cottage in a riverside village glows slightly yellow in the morning light.

but,

Instructor Zhao Mengjie still harbored a lingering doubt.

He observed Jiang Xingzhou's usual paintings, capturing pavilions, towers, carved railings, and jade pillars with effortless skill. Even the roof ridge beasts and scales of palaces were rendered with exquisite detail.

Why did Jiang Xingzhou draw such a simple thatched cottage and earthen steps during the Dragon Boat Festival examination in Jiangzhou Prefecture?

"However, in the Dragon Boat Festival mini-exam at Jiangzhou Prefecture, a painting depicting a scene from outside the county was enough to be rated as top-tier in painting! Perhaps he wanted to hold back some of his true abilities!"

Zhao Mengjie thought to himself.

"The painting is finished!"

Jiang Xingzhou finished his stroke, the ink still wet, and a picture of a mountain stream, thatched cottage, and wooden house had already appeared on the paper.

The painting depicts low-hanging thatched eaves, a babbling brook, and distant mountains that appear dark and indistinct, creating a serene and tranquil atmosphere.

"This is the article!"

He hesitated for a moment,

He picks up his brush, dips it in ink, and with a stroke of ink that seems to glow green, he writes an article on the blank space of the painting.

The people in the Jiangzhou government office were immediately alerted, holding their breath and focusing their attention on the flowing, powerful strokes of the calligraphy.

【The Humble Abode Inscription】

A mountain is not famous for its height, but for the immortals who dwell there.

Where the brush falls, the ink washes over mountains and rivers.

At the very moment the final stroke of the first line is completed, the scroll suddenly bursts forth with a dazzling blue light.

The painting depicts swirling clouds and mist, from which ethereal, otherworldly music emanates, seemingly playing in harmony with zithers and lutes high above the heavens.

"Look! The painting is ethereal!"

One of the scholars gasped in surprise.

In the painting, amidst the mountain mists, several cranes take flight, their feathers shimmering with light.

In the depths of distant peaks, shrouded in mist, one can vaguely see a white-robed immortal sitting and playing a zither, the clear sound lingering in the air as his fingertips pluck the strings.

The music sometimes sounded like a clear spring gurgling over rocks, and sometimes like the sound of pine trees rustling in the wind, causing the paulownia trees in the courtyard to move and rustle even without wind.

Zhao Mengjie, the instructor, was momentarily stunned. His teacup clattered to the ground, and the tea flowed like a stream among the shards of the celadon.

Completely oblivious, his eyes were fixed on the painting that was gradually gaining spiritual charm—this was no longer just a literary treasure from the county; it was clearly a masterpiece with "spiritual charm arising spontaneously"!

Above the Jiangzhou government compound, auspicious clouds gathered at some unknown time, and under the glow of the sunset, the entire picture of a mountain stream and thatched cottage seemed to burst forth from the paper.

"wonderful!"

A sudden burst of praise erupted from the crowd in the mansion.
"The very first line reveals an ethereal quality, a natural and masterful style!"

"With just this one sentence, this article must be a masterpiece of at least the level of a county-level writer!"

The instructors and scholars nodded in agreement, whispering amongst themselves and offering their opinions, their eyes filled with amazement.

With just a few strokes and a single sentence, the idea is already excellent, like a gentle breeze that refreshes the mind and spirit.

"[It's not the depth of the water that matters, but the presence of a dragon that makes it sacred.]"

With a light flick of his wrist, Jiang Xingzhou's brushstrokes were as sharp as knives, and the ink flowed like waves. The ink on the Xuan paper even faintly shimmered with light.

Once this second sentence is uttered...
"boom--"

The stream in the painting suddenly surges, and the originally calm water surface is stirred up into a thousand waves.

Deep in the pool, where there were originally only a few fish and shrimp, a blue shadow meandered and swam, its scales and claws appearing and disappearing, and the roar of a dragon could be heard continuously.

"The dragon possesses dragon energy!"

Some people staggered backward, pointing at the painting with horrified expressions.

Suddenly, the dark dragon burst out of the water, raising a cloud of mist.

The dragon's whiskers bristled, its golden eyes flashed like lightning, and a long roar shook the paper violently, as if it were about to be torn apart by the immense dragon energy.

"Wow!"

The ink dragon entered the stream and disappeared into the water of the painting.

Zhao Mengjie's hair and beard stood on end, and his hand holding the teacup trembled slightly. He clearly saw—as those dragon eyes opened and closed, they actually nodded slightly to Jiang Xingzhou!
The scholars in the courtyard were dumbfounded.

"The first line speaks of immortals, the second of dragons! What a perfect match!"

Suddenly, a scholar in a blue robe in the crowd exclaimed in admiration, "A mountain is not valued for its height, nor for its depth; one is illusory, the other real, yet they perfectly embody the profound principles of heaven and earth!"

"This opening is brilliant!"
"Entering the Dao through literature, connecting with the spirit through ink!"

Upon hearing this, everyone around looked enlightened.

These two lines, seemingly plain, are like yin and yang complementing each other, both inheriting the ethereal beauty of the previous line and inspiring later literati to play with dragons, truly wonderful beyond words.

This is a humble abode, but my virtue makes it fragrant!

Mossy traces climb the steps, green grass enters the curtain.

There are great scholars among the people talking and laughing, and there is no unlearned person among the people!

One can play the zither and read Buddhist scriptures.

There is no noisy music to disturb the ears, nor the burden of official documents to weary the body.

Jiang Xingzhou wrote it in one go, his brushstrokes flowing like the wind!

The world suddenly fell silent.

Suddenly, a purple aura of morality rose from the beams of the three crooked thatched huts in the painting, swirling around them like smoke and mist, shining with golden light, making the humble dwellings radiant.

The mottled earthen walls suddenly gleamed with a golden luster, and the spider webs under the eaves transformed into tassels and beads.

A plaque made of ebony suddenly appeared in the main room. The two characters "陋室" (humble abode) were written in a vigorous and powerful style, and the ink was not yet dry, but it already revealed a strong and unyielding spirit.

"This...this is actually the Purple Qi of Literature?"

In the courtyard of Jiangzhou Prefecture, an elderly scholar with white hair trembled as he reached out, his fingertips pointing excitedly at the purple aura in the painting.

In the painting,

Suddenly, clear and melodious zither music drifted from inside the thatched wooden house.

But what could be seen were illusory figures—a scholar in a blue robe playing chess on a stone board, his fair hands plucking the strings of a scorched-tail zither.

A white-haired scholar sat on a cushion in the room, holding a scroll. Every word he wrote shone brightly, making his beard and eyebrows appear golden.

The strangest thing is that inside the thatched wooden house in the painting, there are clearly many great scholars and literati, talking loudly and eloquently, but only the sound of pearls and jade can be heard.
Even though the thatched hut was piled high with books, the people reading them were completely absorbed and showed no signs of fatigue. A young boy carrying tea moved among them, and even the breeze stirred by his robes smelled sweet.

"In the painting, there are learned scholars chatting and laughing, and no uncultured people come and go. Such a scene shows that people do not care about social status, but only about their knowledge. They talk about the great principles of sages and saints!"
Isn't this comparable to the scene of Confucius discussing the classics with his disciples at the Apricot Altar before his travels throughout the states?

Upon seeing this, Zhao Mengjie suddenly felt his eyes burning, and tears welled up in his eyes.

This is the highest realm of painting—artistic conception and atmosphere!
He could even see—outside the stone steps in front of that humble abode, where the moss was mottled, a faint rut mark appeared;
As the bamboo curtain under the eaves sways gently, it seems as if the silhouette of Zilu carrying a sword flashes by.

The bamboo slips of the Spring and Autumn Annals, spread out on the table, still clearly bear the morning dew from the banks of the Sishui River.

Confucius, upon hearing the Shao music, did not taste meat for three months.

As Zhao Mengjie stroked the scroll with trembling hands, the clear sound of bells and chimes seemed to drift back from thousands of years ago wherever his fingertips touched.

In the painting,

Those indistinct figures of young scholars, whose acquaintances were all of high social standing.

At this moment, things gradually became clear in his eyes—

Some sit upright like Yan Hui, while others play the zither and let out a long sigh, resembling Zeng Xi.

In the center of that humble room, an old man in plain clothes was clearly writing and editing the Six Classics, with an oil lamp on his desk illuminating the eternal night as if it were daytime.

"This is truly a case of learning the Way from Confucius in the morning!"

Zhao Mengjie suddenly straightened his clothes and bowed deeply to the painting.

He was the first among everyone in the courtyard to realize what was happening.
The painting before us clearly depicts Jiang Xingzhou using ink and brush as a boat, carrying a group of literati upstream for thousands of years, sharing a cup of tea with Confucius, and discussing philosophy.

"Wonderful! What a wonderful line: [He converses with learned scholars, and has no uncultured people among his acquaintances]!"

A cheer exploded like a thunderclap.

The scholars in the courtyard all showed expressions of shock.

The white-haired old scholar trembled all over, and the teacup in his hand clattered to the ground, but he was completely unaware.

He could clearly hear the chanting coming from the painting—not from one person, not from ten, but from the chanting of countless scholars over thousands of years, weaving into a vast river between the beams of his humble room.

"With this sentence, it must be an article written by a high-ranking official!"

"From this thatched wooden hut, the voice of a great Confucian scholar could be faintly heard!"

The government office erupted in cheers, and all the instructors were deeply moved.

There are actually people in this world...
How could such a profound artistic conception be depicted with such straightforward and simple strokes?!
However, they clearly did not realize who the phrase "[talking and laughing with learned scholars, and having no commoners among his companions]" in the painting refers to.
What place does this thatched hut/humble dwelling refer to?

"【Zhuge's thatched cottage in Nanyang, Ziyun's pavilion in Western Shu.】"

Confucius said: "What is there to be ashamed of in such a humble place?"

until,

Jiang Xingzhou's last stroke of the brush, like a silver hook and iron pen, still lingers in the inkwell.

The entire mansion fell into a deep silence.

"Is this... Confucius?"

The entire audience of young students and elderly teachers alike were all startled and rose from their seats, their breaths catching in their throats.

The still-wet ink on the Xuan paper on the table now faintly shimmered with the brilliance of a scholar lecturing in the school.

If the preceding text is a chapter about precious jade,
This last sentence is the voice of a sage, striking the bells and chimes of the Sishui River, awakening the deaf and enlightening the blind!
This is no ordinary humble abode!

This is a thatched wooden house built by Confucius on the banks of the Zhu and Si rivers when he was still a great Confucian scholar before he was conferred the title of saint. It was the first Apricot Altar in the world where he taught his disciples!
This sentence comes from the Analects, Book 9, "Zihan"—"The Master wished to live among the Nine Yi tribes. Someone said, 'That's uncivilized, how can you do that?' The Master said, 'If a virtuous person lives there, how can it be uncivilized?'"

At that moment, Dean Zhou finally awoke with a start, suddenly pushing the table aside and standing up, his face full of disbelief. "Nephew Jiang, you have incorporated the profound meaning of Confucius's words into this painting of 'The Humble Abode'!"

Although the brushwork of this painting is exquisite, it is ultimately somewhat simple, merely a work of art for those leaving the county.

However, as Confucius said: "What is there to be ashamed of?"
Once this earth-shattering sentence was uttered,
Everything is different.

In an instant——

The entire scroll seems to have been inspired by the aura of a sage, and the ink marks on the paper even faintly exude the purple aura of the apricot altar, with literary brilliance soaring to the sky!
The originally somewhat simple and unadorned brushstrokes now seem to be like a spring breeze from Zhusi, bringing brilliance to a humble room, and the artistic conception rises sharply and steadily, directly entering the realm of "the master of both poetry and painting"!
"The words of a sage are subtle yet carry immense weight!"

An old scholar's eyes shone brightly, and he whispered in a trembling voice, "Once this sentence is uttered, this humble room in the painting will no longer be an ordinary thatched hut, but a sacred place that carries the legacy of Confucius—the Apricot Altar!"

"Brother Jiang Xingzhou, is this the man who excels in both poetry and painting?!"

In a daze, the people in the Jiangzhou government compound...

It's as if the humble room in the painting has transformed into an ancient and simple altar, with the faint sound of sages chanting scriptures echoing, the literary spirit soaring straight to the sky!
All of a sudden——

The scroll of "Ode to a Humble Abode" from the "Poetry and Painting of Shuangda Mansion" emitted the sound of a celestial zither and the roar of a dragon, and suddenly burst forth with brilliant literary light!
The instructors and scholars of the prefecture and academy felt a surge of righteous energy wash over them, and those with less literary cultivation involuntarily took several steps back.

The light emanating from the scroll grew stronger and stronger, eventually transforming into a pillar of light that reached the heavens, illuminating the entire Jiangzhou Prefecture as if it were daytime!

But see—

Above Jiangzhou Prefecture, dark clouds surged like dragons and snakes rising from the land, eventually forming the entire text of "The Humble Abode Inscription" in the void.

Each character floats in the air, its golden strokes and iron lines revealing the aura of a sage:

A mountain is not famous for its height, but for the immortals who dwell there.

It’s not the depth of the water that makes it magical, but the presence of a dragon.

This is a humble abode, but my virtue makes it fragrant.

Mossy traces climb the steps, green grass enters the curtain.

There are great scholars among whom to talk and laugh, and no unlearned people among whom to associate.

One can play the zither and read Buddhist scriptures.

There is no noise of stringed instruments to disturb the ears, nor the toil of official documents to weary the body.

Zhuge Liang's thatched cottage in Nanyang, and Ziyun's pavilion in Western Shu.

Confucius said: "What's so humble about it?"
Suddenly, a clear light broke through, and a humble thatched cottage appeared amidst the clouds.

The shadowy figure of a learned scholar sat on a table under the eaves, holding a bamboo scroll and speaking eloquently.

The sound of recitation resonated with the morning bells and evening drums of the Confucian Temple, echoing endlessly between heaven and earth.

Thump—!
Boom-!
Boom-!
Thump—!

The giant bell at the Jiangzhou Confucian Temple rings by itself, its sound resounding for miles around.

The bells of the Confucian Temple rang four times.

After a brief pause, the bells rang four times again!
The entire city's bluestone pavement trembled slightly with the sound of the bells. A vast resonance of talent overflowed from heaven and earth.

Within a hundred miles, the sky was filled with swirling clouds, and at the very center of this vortex of talent was none other than Jiangzhou Academy!

On the long street, hundreds of thousands of ordinary people stood there in astonishment, stopping to watch.

A young child, perched on his father's shoulders, pointed to the sky and stammered, "Dad! The words...the words are shining! From 'The Humble Abode': 'Scholars of great learning gather here, and no uncultured person comes and goes!'"

"A masterpiece of poetry and painting from the capital? A new work by Jiang Xingzhou from Jiangzhou Academy?!"

The storyteller in the teahouse suddenly sat up with a start, staring in astonishment at the scroll in the sky. His gavel fell to the ground, but he was completely unaware.

Li Qing, the old scholar from the south of the city, stumbled out of his shabby study, his turban askew, not bothering to straighten it. Gazing at the sky, tears streamed down his face.

"[What's so shameful about it?] What a wonderful statement!"

His withered fingers gripped his patched long gown tightly. "If I had seen Jiang Lang's article thirty years earlier, how could I have ended up like this? How could I have spent my whole life in self-pity, blaming heaven and earth, and wasting my life!" He choked up and could not speak.

Wang, the scholar from the north of the city, ripped open his shirt, revealing his lean chest, and roared to the sky:
"[He converses with learned scholars and associates with no uncultured people]! This is the true spirit of a scholar!"

[As Confucius said, "What is there to be ashamed of?"] This is the essence of a scholar!

I understand! I've attained enlightenment!

The sound shattered metal and stone, startling all the birds in the city.

now,

The entire Jiangzhou Prefecture is bathed in the ethereal beauty of this place, a place where poetry and painting are intertwined with the "Humble Abode Inscription." Books throughout the city turn their pages without a breeze, and ripples spread across the inkstones—it's as if heaven and earth resonate, and all things respond in harmony!
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(End of this chapter)