Since *Min Nong* reached Guangyuan County, it has been widely praised and admired by scholars.
Many schools used the poem as an introductory piece for children.
Everyone knew its author was Jin Feng from Jinchuan, yet no one had ever seen him.
In Dakang, where literary culture flourished, reverence for poets and lyricists was fervent. When word spread that Jin Feng was at Chunfeng Tower, the scholars present erupted with excitement.
It was as if fans in a past life learned their idol was staying in the same hotel.
Especially the scholars who attended Tang Xiaobei’s tea gathering with Jin Feng, their postures straightened instantly.
“I didn’t notice at first, but now that Brother Zhou mentions it, it does seem to be the *Hoeing Grain at Noon* poet!”
“Haha, I can’t believe I had tea with the great talent Jin!”
“Don’t gloat. Tell me, what does Master Jin look like?”
“Graceful and dashing, naturally.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Miss Xiaobei even kept him to talk privately. I saw them head to the back courtyard.”
“That must be the pavilion. Let’s go see!”
“Come on, together!”
The young masters flocked to the back courtyard.
“Look, that’s Miss Xiaobei. The one beside her must be Master Jin, right?”
A sharp-eyed guest spotted the two in the pavilion from afar.
“It’s them,” confirmed a young master who’d attended the tea gathering.
“Brother Zhou, you had tea with Master Jin. Introduce us!”
A young master urged.
“Well…” Zhou, who’d only boasted earlier and hadn’t spoken a word to Jin Feng, scratched his head awkwardly. “Master Jin and Miss Xiaobei are talking. It wouldn’t be right to interrupt.”
“True, a bit improper.”
The others nodded.
The group settled near the pavilion’s entrance, chatting while waiting, soon turning to Jin Feng’s poem from today.
“Don’t you think Master Jin’s poem today isn’t as good as *Min Nong*?”
“I agree. *Min Nong* deeply captures the farmers’ toil, moving one to tears. Today’s *Sheng Cha Zi* feels too flowery.”
“You don’t get it. Poetry depends on the setting. Writing something like *Min Nong* in this context would be out of place.”
“Still, this poem feels a bit petty, clearly just to flatter Miss Xiaobei.”
Tastes vary, and since *Sheng Cha Zi* was something Jin Feng tossed out to help Tang Xiaobei, it was merely average. Some liked it, others didn’t.
But Tiechui, cooling off behind a willow tree, overheard the comment about Jin Feng being petty and jumped up, indignant, “Who’re you calling petty?”
The young masters, unaware someone was behind the tree, were startled.
Recognising Tiechui as Jin Feng’s attendant, those from the tea gathering felt like they’d been caught badmouthing someone.
“You misunderstood. We’re just discussing poetry,” Zhou said, forcing a smile.
“Right, just poetry,” the others chimed in.
“Our master’s written plenty of poems. Today’s was his worst,” Tiechui said, eager to defend Jin Feng’s reputation.
“What else has Master Jin written?” Zhou asked quickly.
“Tons. He wrote one while drinking yesterday.”
Tiechui tossed a paper to Zhou, “You said his poetry’s petty? Read this and see what grandeur is!”
After hearing *Jiang Jin Jiu* yesterday, Tiechui loved it and had a literate female soldier write it down to teach his son.
It came in handy now.
“Let me see!”
The young masters crowded around Zhou.
“See you not, the Yellow River’s waters flow from heaven, rushing to the sea, never to return…”
As Zhou recited, the group was stunned.
After a long pause, they snapped out of it.
“Live life’s joys to the fullest, let no golden goblet face the moon empty. Spend a thousand gold, it’ll return again! What bold lines!”
“Since ancient times, sages languish in silence, only drinkers leave their names. No wonder Master Jin, so talented, chooses to dwell in the mountains. He’s seen through the ways of the world!”
“We ordinary folk, if we write a clever line or two, can’t wait to shout it to the world. Yet Master Jin stays unknown. If not for this brother, who’d know of this masterpiece? That’s the true hermit’s way.”
“This poem is the epitome of grandeur. I’m ashamed for calling Master Jin’s work petty!”
The young masters were awestruck by *Jiang Jin Jiu*, now addressing Jin Feng as “Master” instead of “Young Master.”
Even their attitude toward Tiechui softened.
Zhou took a wine jug from a servant, sat with Tiechui at the pavilion entrance, poured him a bowl, and asked, “Brother, does Master Jin have other great works?”
“Too many to count. I’m a rough man, only remember two short ones besides last night’s,” Tiechui said, scratching his head.
“Two more?” Zhou’s eyes lit up. “Please share, brother, enlighten us.”
To Tiechui, more poems meant a stronger case for Jin Feng. He said, “Actually, there are two *Min Nong* poems. The second one’s never been shared.”
“Two *Min Nong* poems?” Zhou was shocked. “What’s the second?”
“Spring plants one grain of millet, autumn yields ten thousand seeds. No idle fields in the four seas, yet farmers still starve.”
Tiechui recited loudly.
“Good heavens!”
The young masters gasped, understanding why Jin Feng kept this poem private.
The first *Min Nong*, from a farmer’s perspective, spoke of toiling and urged valuing food. It was positive, faultless.
But this one was different.
“No idle fields in the four seas, yet farmers still starve!”
It was true, but it was a slap to the court’s face.
Though Dakang’s literary culture thrived without precedents like literary inquisition, the young masters still trembled at the words.
“Brother, you said two more. What’s the other? Also about farmers?” Zhou asked, recovering.
“The other was inspired by seeing a village woman selling silk in the county seat, about silkworm breeders,” Tiechui said, then recited, “Yesterday to the city I went, returned with tears soaking my scarf. Those clad in silk and satin, they’re not the ones raising silkworms.”
“Insane, another critique of reality!”
“Daring to speak for the world’s people, Master Jin is a model for us scholars!”
“No wonder he wears coarse cloth at Chunfeng Tower!”
“From tomorrow, no more silk for me!”
The three poems Tiechui shared completely won over the young masters.
