Dream of the Red Chamber: Madam, please have some self-respect!

Seeing that Jia Yun remained silent, Liu Fang assumed that he was intimidated by the large number of people on their side.

Growing increasingly smug, he raised his voice to the crowd, "Brother Chen, gentlemen! Today's literary gathering at Qinghua Pavilion is a time for poetry and friendship; how can we be without wine? Why don't we emulate Li Bai, who could compose a hundred poems after a jug of wine, using wine to enhance the festivities and poetry to express our feelings? What do you say?"

As soon as he finished speaking, his gaze swept over Jia Yun, full of provocation: "This young master Jia ranked seventh in the county examination, so he must be quick-witted. He'll surely come out on top in this mere poetry contest, won't he? Let us see just what this 'astounding' talent really looks like!"

Everyone knew that Liu Fang and Chen Yejun were deliberately making things difficult for them, so they all started making a fuss.

Feng Ziying looked worried and wanted to dissuade her, but Jia Yun gave him a reassuring look.

This made Feng Ziying slightly embarrassed, as he had only intended to introduce Jia Yun to some friends. How could he not know that the so-called poetry gathering was nothing more than a group of self-proclaimed refined scholars engaging in superficial conversation?

Admittedly, there were quite a few virtuous witnesses like Ma Shiqi, Zhou Xiangyu, and Wang Wei, but the majority of those attending the literary gathering were still spoiled brats.

"Since Young Master Liu is in such a good mood, Jia Yun will gladly accompany him." Jia Yun's tone was calm, but the emotions that had been suppressed in his heart for a long time seemed to have found an outlet.

Showing off? Or getting slapped in the face?

Since you've put your faces right up to me, then I won't be polite! Jia Yun, having transmigrated, may not have much else in his mind, but he has memorized quite a few timeless poems that have stood the test of time!

Plagiarism is something everyone can do.

The banquet was set out, and the poetry gathering officially began.

The themes were decided by the participants as "Frontier," "Expressing Aspirations," and "Impromptu Scenes," and they took turns composing poems.

Liu Fang was a good-for-nothing, so naturally he couldn't write poetry or compose songs.

So Chen Yejun took the initiative and composed a poem, "Frontier Ballad".

Its eloquent and ornate language, rich in allusions, certainly won applause.

Just as he glanced smugly at Jia Yun, Jia Yun remained silent, drank three cups of wine, pretended to be slightly drunk, picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and began to write swiftly and skillfully on the white paper.

He wrote Li Mengyang's "Autumn View" from the Ming Dynasty:

"The Yellow River winds around the walls of the Han Palace, and a few geese fly in formation on the river in the autumn wind."

The traveler crossed the moat chasing wild horses, while the general drew his arrow and shot the Heavenly Wolf.

Yellow dust obscures the ancient ferry crossing, while the white moon hangs low over the desolate battlefield.

I've heard that the northern frontier is full of brave and resourceful men, but who today can compare to Guo Ziyi?

This poem is majestic and desolate, blending the bleakness of the frontier with the longing for a worthy general. Its style is far superior to Liu Fang's frivolous works.

After the poem was completed, it was circulated among the crowd as they read it aloud, and the pavilion fell silent instantly.

Those scholars and students who had initially approached the scene with a detached, spectator's attitude were now filled with astonishment as they carefully savored the nuances of the poem. Writing poetry is not difficult for most people, but to produce such a work in such a short time is something even a celestial being descended to earth could not match.

Chen Yejun's expression also changed, and he forced a smile, saying, "You do have some guts; perhaps you prepared this in advance?"

Jia Yun did not answer, but drank several more cups by himself, appearing unrestrained.

In the second round of composing poems, Chen Yejun and his friends racked their brains to compose another one, but the words revealed their exhaustion. Jia Yun chuckled inwardly, wondering if they had only prepared one poem.

So he picked up his brush again and wrote "Farewell to Yun Jian" by Xia Wanchun, a young hero from the late Ming Dynasty:

"After three years as a captive traveler, I am now crowned in the south."

Tears flow across the endless rivers and mountains; who can say that the world is vast?

Knowing that the spring road is close, it is difficult to leave the hometown.

On the day the resolute spirit returns, its banner will be seen in the sky.

Such a tragic, resolute, and fearless heroic spirit is truly awe-inspiring. How could a teenager possess such a mindset?

Yet the skill in the writing and the emotions conveyed were incredibly genuine.

The entire audience was astonished!

Liu Fang and the others' faces had turned ashen, Chen Yejun's narrow eyes narrowed, and Jia Qiang was dumbfounded.

The third round of impromptu scenes depicts the winter scenery of Shichahai.

Chen Yejun had run out of creative ideas, so he forced Liu Fang to fill in a few lines, which were indeed bland and uninteresting.

All eyes then turned to Jia Yun.

Jia Yun was already flushed from drinking, and in his drunken stupor, he staggered to his feet.

He walked to the window and looked out at the frozen lake. In the distance, crows dotted the surface of the lake, and an inexplicable resentment welled up in his heart.

Jia Yun suddenly turned around, snatched the pen, and began to write furiously on the unfurled scroll. What he wrote was Gao Qi's "Ode to Plum Blossoms" from the Ming Dynasty:

"Her beauty is only fit for the Jade Terrace; who would plant her everywhere in Jiangnan?"

A hermit lies amidst snow-covered mountains, a beauty arrives beneath the moonlit forest.

The cold wind lingers on the sparse shadows of the bamboo, and spring's lingering fragrance is hidden among the moss.

Since He Lang left, no fine poems have been written; the east wind has brought sorrow and loneliness, how many times has it opened up?

This poem, with its image of aloofness and solitude, uses the plum blossom as a metaphor for itself, capturing both its unparalleled beauty and its loneliness at being out of step with the times.

Especially the line "A beauty comes under the bright moon and in the woods," Jia Yun felt as if he could see the red-clad girl smiling charmingly on the pine branch again.

The poem was finished, and the pen was thrown to the table.

He stood tall and silent, the room filled with the sound of the wind howling outside the window.

These three poems, though different in style, are all masterpieces worthy of being passed down through generations! This Jia Yun is no cunning fellow; he is clearly a poet with the talent of a banished immortal!

Before the exclamations of amazement and praise could fully erupt, doubts had already begun to swell.

Liu Fang was the first to jump up, pointing at Jia Yun and roaring, "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! This kind of poetry must be plagiarized! I wonder which ancient scholar or hermit stole it from! How could a mere child have such a mind and spirit? Think about it, how poignant is the line 'Knowing the road to the underworld is near, it's hard to leave my hometown' in 'Farewell to Yun Jian'? How lonely and elegant is the line 'A hermit lies in the snow-covered mountains, a beauty comes under the moonlit forest' in 'Ode to the Plum Blossom'? Is this the state of mind he could have at his age?"

Chen Yejun then chimed in with a sinister tone, "Brother Liu is absolutely right. Young Master Jia's 'poetic talent' is far too astonishing, which only raises suspicion. If it is truly plagiarized, please state the source directly, lest you tarnish this Tsinghua University and deceive the world for personal gain!"

Jia Qiang, standing nearby, further fanned the flames: "I knew it! They must have memorized some obscure poems from who-knows-where and were just trying to sound mysterious!"

The room erupted in discussion, and many who were initially shocked were swayed by these words, their gazes toward Jia Yun filled with suspicion and scrutiny.

After all, this performance was indeed beyond the realm of common sense.

Jia Yun has always been an unknown figure, and his sudden appearance is bound to arouse suspicion.

Upon hearing this, Feng Ziying was furious and was about to retort when Zhou Fengxiang, Ma Shiqi, and Wang Wei stepped forward.

Zhou Fengxiang, his face solemn, said loudly, "Young Master Liu and Young Master Chen, you are mistaken! While we dare not claim to have read every book imaginable, we are certainly well-versed in the classics, histories, philosophical works, and literary collections, and have a broad understanding of the poetry and prose of our predecessors. Brother Jia Yun's three poems are refreshing in their style and lofty in their tone. If they were truly masterpieces from the past, they would never have remained unknown to this day! How can they be so easily dismissed with the word 'plagiarism'?"

Ma Shiqi then said, "Poetry expresses one's aspirations and can also convey emotions. Brother Jia Yun has a wandering life, being from a collateral branch of the Rong Mansion. He lost his father at a young age and has experienced the harsh realities of life. How can his state of mind be compared to that of an ordinary playboy? How can we deny his talent simply because the author is young?"

Wang Wei looked around at everyone and said, "Brother Ma and Brother Zhou are absolutely right. Observing Brother Jia Yun's writing, it was completed in one go, full of emotion, and perfectly integrated with the poetic realm. It is by no means a forced and cobbled-together work. To accuse him of plagiarism simply because of his high poetic talent is tantamount to throwing the baby out with the bathwater, chilling the hearts of truly talented people all over the world! We are willing to guarantee with our own reputations that if these three poems were not written by Brother Jia Yun himself, it would be another extraordinary event in the world!"

These three were all young talents with prestige in the literary world. Their reasoned arguments were so convincing that they immediately suppressed the arrogance of Liu Fang and the others.

Many rational students nodded in agreement, feeling that what Zhou, Ma, and Wang said made more sense.

The situation on the field reversed again, and the gazes directed at Jia Yun were now filled with more admiration and praise.

Seeing that the situation was not good, Liu Fang, Chen Yejun and others turned pale and were speechless for a moment, unable to argue any further.

Looking at the three men who had spoken up for him, Jia Yun felt a surge of warmth in his heart. He bowed deeply to Zhou, Ma, and Wang, his words conveying everything without needing to be spoken.

However, the intense alcohol and the highly concentrated mind he had been maintaining while composing the poem suddenly relaxed, and coupled with the dramatic ups and downs of his emotions, he felt dizzy and staggered.

He was about to find a place to sit down when he lost his bearings and stumbled straight toward the side hall where the women were!

"Ouch!"

"Be careful!"

Amidst gasps of surprise, Jia Yun burst through the beaded curtain.

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground, but by sheer coincidence, he landed right at the feet of a plump young woman sitting alone by the window.

This young woman was none other than Liu Zhenniang, who had been absent-minded and had been dragged here by her best friend to relax!

Jia Yun's fall startled Liu Zhenniang.

She frowned, instinctively trying to get up to avoid the drunken lecher. The women around her gasped in surprise, some pointing fingers, others snickering.

However, just as Liu Zhenniang stood up, a familiar yet distinctive, crisp scent mixed with the smell of alcohol wafted into her nostrils.

That's... the fresh scent of soapberries after they've been dried in the sun!

Clean, warm, and full of youthful vigor.

This scent... she's only ever smelled it on one man in her entire life!

It was that young benefactor who, in her most desperate and helpless moment, appeared like a divine warrior, masked and rescued her from dire straits, and then held her in his arms as he jumped from the third floor!

Liu Zhenniang trembled violently and looked down sharply at the drunken young man who had collapsed at her feet.

Although his face was flushed and his hair was slightly disheveled, a stark contrast to his masked and aloof appearance that day, the contours of his brows... it was him! There was no mistake!

Is it him? !

Jia Yun? That young man from the Jia family who has recently gained fame in the capital and ranked fourth in the county examination? That... talented scholar who wrote those breathtaking poems just now?

At this moment, Feng Ziying and several quick-witted disciples rushed in, apologizing profusely, and hurriedly helped the unconscious Jia Yun to his feet.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! Madam Liu, you've been frightened! Yun-ge'er had too much to drink, he had no intention of offending you!" Feng Ziying apologized to Liu Zhenniang while helping Jia Yun up.

Liu Zhenniang then came to her senses, quickly lowered her eyelashes to hide the turmoil in her heart, and whispered, "It's...it's alright."

Her gaze, however, involuntarily followed the retreating figure of Jia Yun as he was helped away.

After Jia Yun was helped away, the poetry gathering ended hastily due to this unexpected incident.

Liu Zhenniang sat there, her heart filled with turmoil.

She pulled her best friend aside and whispered, "Just now... just now, that drunk young man, was he... was he the Jia Yun that people have been talking about lately?"