Chaotic Times and Disasters: I Hunt Down Martial Arts Masters and Become a God

Fu Qing walked to the desk in the center of the academy, picked up a pen, and twirled it in his hand.

"I am indeed not a professional when it comes to poetry, but writing poetry and lyrics is, in the end, about expressing what you want to say in the most natural way."

"I, Fu, have fought on the border for a year and have gained some experience. Today, I will take advantage of Your Highness Yun's kindness to share it with everyone."

He spoke casually, but the composure he exuded from the battlefield made the generals present unconsciously straighten their backs.

Yu Guangtian picked his nose in his seat, muttering gruffly.

"That kid is at it again. Every time he says 'unprofessional,' he ends up slapping the professional in the face. Is Gongsun Ming unprofessional? His face is all swollen from being slapped."

Although Sun Zhongwen was impressed by Fu Qing's composure, he was still worried. Poetry is not like witty debate. Witty debate can be resolved by logic and quick wit, but poetry requires a solid foundation and accumulation of knowledge.

A good poem can be written in a flash of inspiration, but when it comes to the depth of a professional poet who has been immersed in the art for decades, he doesn't believe Fu Qing can win.

He sat down and sighed softly, "I hope General Fu can compose another masterpiece like 'Qinyuanchun'."

The poet sent by Kangguo was Zhou Mengxi, a scholar from the mission.

This scholar, in the prime of his life, was one of the most outstanding young poets in Kangguo. Dressed in a moon-white scholar's robe, with a handsome face and elegant demeanor, he stood there like a traditional Chinese ink painting.

He first bowed to Fu Qing with a humble attitude, but in his heart he didn't take it seriously. He didn't believe that Fu Qing could write a poem like "Qinyuanchun," which only the Sage of Poetry could do.

He spread out the Xuan paper, picked up the wolf-hair brush, and the brushstrokes moved across the paper like dragons and snakes, writing and reciting poetry as he went.

His poem "Remembering the Past on an Autumn Night" begins with him drinking alone under the moon on an autumn night, gradually progressing to a lament for the past and present.

As soon as the first line, "Frost falls on the autumn river, the night air is clear," was uttered, Sun Zhongwen nodded slightly. The opening was excellent, using frost falling on the autumn river to depict the autumn mood with concise strokes.

Following the second line, "A solitary lamp illuminates the wall, making dreams hard to come by," Zhao Qianzhi said softly, "The loneliness of sitting alone on an autumn night is vividly portrayed."

Then came the lines, "A thousand years of rise and fall in a cup of wine, ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains under a bright moon," and Sun Zhongwen's eyes widened.

These two lines instantly elevate the scope, rising from personal sentiment to a deep sense of national pride, condensing a thousand years of rise and fall into a single cup of wine, and the grandeur of the vast land into a half-moon...

It's top-quality!

Crown Prince Ling Moqian frowned even more deeply—Zhou Mengxi's poem was even better than he had expected; even if Sun Zhongwen himself were to participate, he might not be able to win at this level.

The last four lines read: "Where is my homeland, my spirit wanders? The west wind blows, the setting sun casts its last rays, and the wild geese are silent. Life is but a fleeting sojourn; who is not a guest? Do not ask my name before the wine cup!"

The poem concludes with the image of geese flying south, creating a profound and melancholic atmosphere.

After reciting the entire poem, Zhou Mengxi put down his pen, bowed slightly to everyone present, and said humbly,

"Making a fool of myself."

The scholars of the Kangguo delegation were the first to applaud, and Gongsun Ming stroked his beard with a satisfied expression.

He knew very well the quality of Zhou Mengxi's poem; it would have won first place at any poetry gathering in Kangguo, and even if Sun Zhongwen himself had participated, he would at best have been on par with him.

Sun Zhongwen remained silent for a long time before slowly speaking, expressing his sincere admiration.

"What a fine poem! The poem begins with the imagery of frost falling on an autumn river, its scope expanding dramatically with a shift in the rise and fall of dynasties over a thousand years. It concludes with the fleeting nature of life, leaving a lingering and profound impression. This poem would rank among the best at any Jingjing Poetry Festival..."

"Having immersed myself in poetry for most of my life, I have to admire you. I'm afraid I might not be able to match Mr. Zhou's poem."

He wasn't just being polite. Given his mastery of poetry, the fact that he would say "may not be able to match" speaks volumes about the significance of Zhou Mengxi's poem.

Zhao Qianzhi sighed softly beside him, having given up hope that Fu Qing could win.

Yu Fu became so nervous that he started peeling chestnuts again, but after peeling for a long time, he couldn't peel a single whole chestnut.

An Sheng sat down next to him and asked, "How good is Brother Fu's poetry knowledge?"

Although he was older than Fu Qing and was the senior disciple, he had already accepted that he was the junior disciple.

Yu Fu said with a long face that Fu Ge's "Qinyuanchun" was indeed a good poem, but Zhou Mengxi's poem was also excellent, and he really couldn't say which one was better.

Ling Moxie sat to the lower right of Ling Yushu, his brows slightly furrowed.

She had known Fu Qing for quite some time, ever since they went to Quzhou together from Ironblood City, she had been observing this man.

She had seen him get stabbed through the shoulder by An Sheng's Dragon Turn in the ring, then trade his life for a fatal blow; she had seen him sneak into the underground vault in Quzhou at night, only to be shot in the ribs by a skilled archer, then shatter his opponent's heart meridian with three palm strikes...

I saw him wield his knife at the Qu family mansion and slash seventy-three times, shattering the protective qi of a Qi Realm cultivator.

Every time she thought he had reached his limit, he would break it in an even more incredible way.

But this time it's different. Poetry is not a sword technique, not a debate, not a field where you can trade injury for life or break a deadlock with logic.

Poetry relies on one's breadth of vision and strategic thinking, and Zhou Mengxi's vision was so grand that even Sun Zhongwen admired it.

What else could Fu Qing offer? She didn't know; she could only wait!

All eyes turned to Fu Qing.

He stood up, walked to the window, and read the first sentence.

"Emerging from nowhere, the vast Kunlun Mountains have witnessed all the beauty of the world..."

Upon hearing the first sentence, Sun Zhongwen's hand holding the teacup trembled.

This poem is completely different from Zhou Mengxi's serene and melancholic style from the very beginning, elevating the overall tone to an extremely high level right from the start.

Yunnan leaned forward slightly, staring intently at Fu Qing's back.

Ling Yushu, who was leaning back in her chair, slowly sat up straight after hearing the first sentence.

Ling Moxie unconsciously looked at Fu Qing, wanting to see his expression.

She had heard the poem "Qinyuanchun" from the stands at the Martial Arts Academy competition. "The scenery of the Northland is magnificent, with thousands of miles of ice and snow." At the time, she thought that this warrior from the border region was indeed quite talented.

But today is different.

Today, Fu Qing's opponent is Zhou Mengxi, the most outstanding figure in the Kangguo poetry circle, a master of poetry who even Sun Zhongwen admires.

Fu Qing's first line overshadowed Zhou Mengxi's entire poem, not because of the difference in words, but because of the difference in scope!

A thought suddenly popped into her mind, a thought she had never had for any man before:

How much about this man is still unknown to her?

"Three million jade dragons soared into the sky, stirring up the heavens with icy chill, melting away the summer sun, causing rivers to overflow, and turning people into fish and turtles..."

Sun Zhongwen suddenly stood up, knocking over the inkstones on the table and spilling ink all over the table, but he didn't even notice.

In his more than sixty years of life, he had never seen anyone dare to write about Kunlun Mountain so wildly. "Three million jade dragons soaring up"—this is not just describing scenery, but describing the power of heaven and earth. This is writing about the entire Kunlun Mountain as a living dragon.

Zhao Qianzhi, his beard trembling with excitement, tugged at Sun Zhongwen's sleeve.

"Old Sun, did you hear that? Three million for the Jade Dragon! What audacity! What a grand vision! General Fu is defying heaven and earth! The difference in their levels is like heaven and earth!"

Upon hearing the line "Three million jade dragons soared up, stirring up the heavens with chilling cold," Ling Moxie's heart beat faster than usual.

She was not a civil official, and her knowledge of poetry was not as profound as that of Sun Zhongwen and Zhao Qianzhi, but she could feel the power in those words and phrases.

This power was exactly the same as the one she felt when she saw Fu Qing unleash his thirteenth strike on the arena—unstoppable and devastating!

She suddenly understood why Fu Qing was so fearless on the battlefield and why he could always turn the tide in desperate situations on the arena.

This man has a Kunlun Mountain in his heart, and a jade dragon stirring the heavens within him.

It's not that he's not afraid of death; it's that he has something in his heart that's heavier than death. What is that thing?

Is it the hatred of the Feng family's massacre, the blood of the soldiers on the border, or something else entirely?

She didn't know, but she wanted to know.

She suddenly wanted to truly understand this person who had piqued her curiosity and made her want to get closer to him.

"Who has ever judged the merits and demerits of men throughout history?"

The old emperor on the dragon throne narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinizing Fu Qing.

Who has ever judged your merits and demerits throughout the ages? Is this a description of your life story?

The extermination of the Feng family—who will judge their merits and demerits throughout history?

Do not!

Those who knew about this event from a thousand years ago are almost all dead. If he weren't the emperor, he wouldn't know, and Fu Qing couldn't possibly know!

Fu Qing continued, lines of poetry by great figures flashing through his mind.

"Now I say to Kunlun, I don't want this height, I don't want this much snow... How can I draw a precious sword from the sky and cut you into three pieces? One piece for Kang, one piece for Jing, and one piece back to the nine provinces."

Yunnan Zhi stood up from her seat, so overwhelmed by the spirit of the poem that she stood up involuntarily.

Drawing his sword from the heavens, he cut Kunlun Mountain into three pieces and distributed them to the world—this is not the imagination of a poet, but the grandeur of an emperor!

What shocked her even more was that Fu Qing gave "a section" to Kang Guo, her country.

He wasn't condescendingly giving alms; he genuinely believed that the beauty of this world should be shared by everyone.

She suddenly understood why her father had exclaimed in admiration when he read "Qinyuanchun", why Gongsun Ming had been defeated by his wit and argument, and why Xiahou Jun had been sent flying by his thirteenth strike.

This person didn't come to compete, debate, or write lyrics; he came to change the world.

She was surrounded by talented scholars, skilled generals, and shrewd strategists.

But she had never seen anyone possess all three talents at the same time, let alone anyone with such a spirit.

If this person were willing to go to Kangguo... no, that thought was too much; she knew Fu Qing could not possibly leave Jingguo.

But she couldn't help but think to herself: how wonderful it would be if one day this person could stand beside her.

An Sheng's hand, which was holding the silver spear, trembled slightly. Fu Qing had the spirit of a border guard and the decisiveness of drawing a precious sword. An Sheng could never stop the blade of such a person.

"In a peaceful world, all people share the same warmth and coolness!"

When the last sentence was uttered, the entire Royal Academy was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and even the rustling of the autumn wind blowing through the windows could be heard clearly.