“Of course, those above the External Scenery realm are already considered strong; they can’t really be regarded as extraordinary talents,” the old emperor added.
Meng Qi raised his eyebrows, his expression turning serious. Did this mean Xuan Zhen, Bai Qigu, and others at the Perfect Half-Step level could participate in the Qionghua Banquet?
The artistic contest was manageable, but if there were martial arts duels later, he would truly struggle to win. At best, he could barely protect himself. Could the champion really rely on Zhao Laowu, who was also at the Perfect Half-Step level?
Setting aside the issue of boasting before the emperor and resolving worldly karmic ties, Zhao Laowu had recently ascended, while Xuan Zhen and Bai Qigu were all formidable experts with abundant resources and advanced techniques. The chances of victory probably didn’t even reach thirty percent.
In that case, the task from the Six Paths was extremely difficult, far exceeding the level represented by the reward of fifteen hundred virtuous merits!
Unless there were other restrictions or modes in the martial arts contest of the Qionghua Banquet?
As Meng Qi pondered this, Wang Zai looked at the “River of Blade Qi” Yan Chong, who was slowly stepping onto the stage, and chuckled, “What the emperor said earlier mainly emphasized cultivating one’s disposition and refining one’s mind. Therefore, it differs from a regular artistic competition. The main focus is whether one’s artistic skills demonstrate personal mental cultivation. Of course, those skilled in the arts will naturally receive a bonus.”
After all, someone skilled in playing the qin would naturally express themselves more effectively through this method than a complete novice.
Putting aside his doubts and seriousness, Meng Qi calmed his mood as he watched Yan Chong walk to the winding river: “I wonder what artistic talent Yan Chong possesses?”
He recalled that Yan Chong came from a minor sect or school, and even if he had encountered fortuitous opportunities, he should be like himself—never having received any formal training in the qin, chess, calligraphy, or painting.
As he asked, Jin Wang Zhao Yi’s attendants had already brought a table, an incense burner, teacups, tea cakes, and other items.
“It should be tea ceremony,” Wang Zai nodded slightly.
Meng Qi was slightly surprised but quickly recalled Wang Zai’s earlier words. The path of artistic talent wasn’t limited to just the qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting. As for how to judge the outcome of different events, naturally, it would depend on “cultivation level!”
After all, he had once impersonated a tea ceremony expert… A sudden wave of delight surged in Meng Qi.
After bowing, Yan Chong lit the fire, boiled water, and used his blade to break off tea leaves. His movements were smooth and natural, with an inherent blade momentum. They were graceful and measured, calming everyone’s minds as they watched.
When the water reached its first, second, and third boil, white vapor rose, and Yan Chong leisurely brewed the tea, exuding an atmosphere of serene tranquility.
“Please, Your Majesty, taste the tea,” Yan Chong said calmly. The teacup in his hand flew toward the high platform without haste, steady and smooth, like water flowing along a winding channel, not a drop spilling. This clearly demonstrated Yan Chong’s mastery of external qi projection and his control of force, approaching the limit of the Qi Opening realm, subtly assisted by the power of heaven and earth.
Gao Jinzhong, the chief eunuch, caught the teacup, inspected it, and presented it to the old emperor.
Zhao Mingyu took a sip and nodded with a smile: “Excellent tea, excellent tea ceremony!”
Wang Zai followed up: “Brother Yan is skilled in the might of tidal forces, surging and mighty, yet when brewing tea, he displays the gentleness of a flowing stream and the calmness of a lake beneath the moonlight, revealing his inner nature. Every movement is graceful and measured, deeply attaining the essence of tea ceremony, achieving serene peace through focused and orderly action.”
“Excellent,” Meng Qi wasn’t sure whether to praise Yan Chong’s tea ceremony or Wang Zai’s explanation. In any case, he abandoned the idea of competing in tea ceremony. He was certain his mental state could surpass Yan Chong’s, but in other aspects, he couldn’t achieve such perfection. The difference in skill was immediately apparent!
So what should he display?
Sing a song? Express the blade through calligraphy?
As he pondered, the scene grew quite quiet. Many who had been eager to compete abandoned their ideas of participating, feeling overshadowed by Yan Chong. They thought it better not to embarrass themselves, avoiding leaving a negative impression before the emperor. They would wait for the competition in their areas of expertise!
As for someone like Bai Qigu, she had never considered showcasing any artistic talent!
At this moment, Xuan Zhen, who stood beside the crown prince, stepped forward, requesting paper and brush, and bowed with clasped hands.
“Calligraphy…” Meng Qi toyed with the teacup in front of him.
Xuan Zhen tossed the white paper into the air, leapt up himself, and began writing in midair without any support.
This seemed impulsive and showy, yet Xuan Zhen’s expression was focused and calm, each stroke like a blooming lotus.
Both the person and the paper descended slowly, like a Buddha descending from the heavens—not manifesting the wrathful mudra, but radiating compassion and serenity.
When his feet touched the ground, Xuan Zhen pressed his hand, flipping the paper to reveal the characters written upon it:
“All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, like dew, like lightning; thus should one contemplate them.”
Each of these twenty characters had its own style—some vigorous, some majestic, some slender, some wild, some structurally rigorous and powerful, others lively and vivid, each with unique curves and turns, none repetitive.
So many calligraphic styles crowded onto a single sheet of paper, which should have been complex and chaotic, yet at a glance, it appeared natural and smooth, exuding a subtle and enduring Chan (Zen) flavor.
Different characters, different appearances—various forms are not the true form; the Chan essence naturally emerged.
“This replicates the stele inscription of the ‘Diamond Sutra’ at the Half-Mountain Pavilion of Shaolin Temple. It truly embodies the Buddhist spiritual cultivation of Chan Master Xuan Zhen,” murmured Wang Zai in admiration, appearing to have previously seen the stone rubbings.
Meng Qi had once admired the stone stele left by that Arhat monk. Observing this calligraphy, he felt differently: “Though slightly immature, the Zen essence within is not far off. Through myriad forms, one realizes that all forms are not the true form, thereby perceiving the Tathagata…”
As the two exchanged comments, many young aristocrats who could only vaguely sense the enduring Chan flavor but couldn’t articulate its source suddenly gained insight.
Wang Zai sighed: “I originally intended to write the ‘Song of Righteousness,’ but after seeing Chan Master Xuan Zhen’s calligraphy, I dare not lift my brush anymore.”
Thus, the path of painting and calligraphy was ruled out again… Meng Qi felt a hidden “grief and indignation” and abandoned the idea of expressing blade intent through calligraphy.
“Chan Master has truly grasped the essence of Buddhist teachings,” the old emperor praised.
He was also deeply scheming, showing no trace of hostility toward the Shaolin monk.
Xuan Zhen softly chanted a Buddhist phrase and slowly said: “All beings possess Chan essence, but are deluded by various forms, making it difficult to see the Tathagata. Our Buddhist sect does not force sentient beings to convert; we merely wish to explore together the path to liberation from suffering and attainment of the other shore.”
Everyone slightly frowned. Was this implying that the crown prince’s path involved excluding dissenters?
However, the conflict between sects and aristocratic families could not be resolved with a single speech. The representatives of the top aristocratic families withdrew their gazes, remaining expressionless.
Although sects had always tried to infiltrate the imperial court over the years, such overt actions were unprecedented. Therefore, they remained vigilant, mentally removing the crown prince from their considerations.
Frankly speaking, if it hadn’t been for the betrayal of a monk close to the crown prince in the past—who revealed his deep faith in Buddhism and his desire to establish a terrestrial Buddhist kingdom—he might have been deceived by the prince’s earlier facade.
As for now, well, it’s just a desperate struggle!
After Xuan Zhen returned to the high platform beside the crown prince, fewer and fewer people wished to step forward. All turned their gazes toward the Ruan family. Ruan Ershiyi, with beauty unmatched in the Jiangdong region, was naturally gifted in the qin. If she didn’t step forward now, when would she?
Suddenly, someone laughed loudly, stepped into the air, and landed in the center of the stage. It was “Purple Extreme Sword” Cui Zhe.
He smiled while bowing, holding a purple jade xiao flute in his hand. He raised it to his lips, pressed it with both hands, and blew out a melodious and far-reaching tune.
The xiao flute’s sound slowly spread, dispersing into the water and the mountains, melancholy and profound, solitary and ethereal. Ahead seemed surging tides and rolling waves, while he stood at the bow, drifting with the current.
The eyes beheld a seamless expanse of sea and sky, boundless and infinite. Amidst the vast heavens and earth, he stood alone, his hair loose, toying with the boat as it drifted.
The xiao’s sound grew lower and lower, the sea fell silent, and the surging waves began to brew.
The artistic conception, charm, and melody were all perfect, evoking deep emotions in many.
The river seemed to flow slower, the lake surface became even more tranquil, and the forest fell silent without bird songs, highlighting the stillness.
The lingering sound reverberated in their hearts, and everyone fell silent, immersed in this mood.
“Tomorrow I shall scatter my hair and drift in a small boat, fully capturing the distant charm of the xiao flute…” Wang Zai sighed, “Purely in terms of artistic skill, Brother Cui surpasses Chan Master Xuan Zhen and Brother Yan. As for artistic conception, it’s hard to determine who is superior.”
He turned his head to look at Meng Qi: “I truly dare not go on stage to embarrass myself anymore.”
As Meng Qi was about to agree, a sudden thought struck him, and he smiled slightly: “Since it’s not limited to the qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting, I’d like to give it a try.”
Wang Zai was slightly astonished: “Whistling?”
Meng Qi’s expression froze, feeling awkward inside. Wasn’t that joke just a joke? Why take it so seriously?
Brother Wang, you’re just too upright!
After the emperor’s evaluation, Cui Zhe returned to his seat. As everyone turned their gazes toward Ruan Yushu, suddenly a figure darted into the center of the stage, his movements graceful, seemingly walking on air, his robe fluttering like a celestial being.
“Su Ziyuan, what will you demonstrate?” The old emperor clearly hadn’t expected Meng Qi to step forward, showing considerable surprise.
The path of artistic talent seemed naturally incompatible with the titles of “Thunder Blade Mad Monk,” “Wild Vajra,” and “Crazy Blade.”
Amidst the astonished gazes of the crowd, Meng Qi said nothing. He picked up a piece of rotten wood by the riverside, sat cross-legged, straightened his palm into a blade, and began peeling away the outer layers.
Just now, he had recalled the matter of the divine sword puppet, and how he had once seen Master Lu carving puppets. The tranquility and focus contained in that act were indescribable!
Carving was also an art!
“Those who imitate me will live; those who copy me will die…” Meng Qi silently recited this phrase, calming his mind and returning to a tranquil state like a still lake. His palm-blade and finger-sword moved unhurriedly as he carved.
Today, dressed in a green robe, he exuded a more carefree demeanor compared to the masculine vigor of his usual black attire. Though sitting on the ground, he showed no trace of coarseness, instead radiating a relaxed and contented air.
At first, Wang Zai and others didn’t think much of it. Meng Qi’s carving seemed ordinary, with no artistic conception displayed, as if he were merely going up to liven up the atmosphere.
However, as Meng Qi continued carving, they gradually sensed something amiss. Their gazes seemed to follow Meng Qi’s hands. He was so focused, so devout, that they too became focused and devout.
Only after achieving this focus could one forget worries. Their inner troubles and anxieties gradually faded, restlessness subsided, and anxiety vanished as they fully immersed themselves in observing the carving.
This feeling wasn’t limited to those who had opened their acupoints; even Half-Step and External Scenery experts felt it, though not as deeply immersed.
No one spoke. Only the sound of flowing water and birdsong echoed, enhancing the serene atmosphere.
The palm-sword and finger-blade movements were naturally seamless, each containing subtle variations. The devout and focused demeanor cleansed their souls.
After an unknown amount of time, Meng Qi stopped. The wooden carving in his palm was complete, bearing a striking resemblance to the emperor, with a unique charm.
Everyone present was calm and serene, smiles emerging on their faces.
Meng Qi sent the puppet flying toward the old emperor. It flew silently, as if devoutly enjoying its journey.
After catching the puppet and playing with it for a while, the old emperor suddenly sighed: “Focus, tranquility, and devotion to martial arts indeed bring rewards.”
Meng Qi bowed and returned to his seat. Wang Zai looked at him for a long time before sincerely saying: “Just now, I thought it was one of the Perfect Half-Step External Scenery experts. Each ‘blade’ and ‘sword’ stroke was filled with devotion, drawing people into focus.”
Meng Qi smiled lightly and nodded, candidly accepting Wang Zai’s praise. Although he didn’t possess Master Lu’s level of cultivation, his Eight-Nine Arts could simulate a bit of that aura, combined with his own Reversion to Emptiness skill level, naturally evoking admiration.
The only issue was that he had never learned carving before. His carvings weren’t technically skilled, merely capturing the essence—barely describable as expressive.
As everyone remained calm and serene, Ruan Yushu, holding an ancient qin, slowly descended from the high platform.
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