Chapter 22: Wishing to Borrow Heaven's Brush to Rewrite the Merits of Dingyuan!

Chapter 22: May I Borrow the Almighty’s Pen to Rewrite the Distant Ancestor’s Merit!

The sun rose in three poles, and the sky brightened.

After two days of rain, the air in the Lotus Garden had become much fresher, carrying a faint fragrance of flowers, grass, bamboo, and wood.

Even the golden-finned koi in the pond grew lively, one after another leaping out of the water, only to be hauled up by Xiao Wúgō with his crude fishing rod.

Occasionally, voices of excitement could be heard from the pavilion.

“Brother, the third koi today.”

“Brother, the fourth one! Can’t we eat them after all?”

“Brother, the fifth—”

Xiao Yǐ’s leg.

These koi in the pond had gone mad, like those who adore and flatter without end, biting at Xiao Wúgō’s hook recklessly—licking the bait!

Even Chen Yì, with his pleasant disposition and calm nature, had to abandon his fishing rod and return to the study chamber to practice calligraphy, determined to ignore them.

In these days, under the blessing of Master Dàchéng, his semi-cursive script advanced rapidly, likely due to his practice of Wei Qing’s calligraphy, which had given him ample experience in brush techniques.

In just over ten days, he had mastered semi-cursive writing thoroughly, only a step away from achieving mastery.

As Chen Yì practiced the brushwork, he couldn’t help recalling the matter of Old Duke Hòu’s birthday celebration.

“Old Duke Hòu, who spent his life wielding sword and spear, subduing the barbarian hordes and the armies of Póutī and Suōguó… His birthday poem should be related to the military.”

Thinking this, he pictured several frontier poems in his mind.

Some with aspirations unfulfilled, others brimming with a killing intent across vast, rolling landscapes. Yet few could be applied to Old Duke Hòu.

After some thought, Chen Yì made a decision.

He quickly scanned the cypress paper, drafted a rough outline in his mind, dipped his wolf brush in ink, and summoned the qi from his dantian to stir the heavens and earth, writing with force:

“Flares of beacon towers forge our courage, armor forged from Kunlun. Ten years we brandish swords southward, our might cleaving clouds. We once strode through Póutī’s waves, binding the spirits of Cāngshan, chatting calmly at the frontier… May I borrow the Almighty’s pen to rewrite the distant ancestor’s merit!”

This time, Chen Yì did not use his usual flowing semi-cursive script but chose Wei Qing’s bold, rugged style instead.

Quickly, a poem of bold strokes and grandeur emerged, hinting at profound, far-reaching thoughts.

When the final stroke settled, Chen Yì suddenly flung his wolf brush aside and leaned back, feeling his limbs weak and his vision dim.

He promptly closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and relaxed to rest.

It turned out that controlling the brush with intent consumed far more energy than he had anticipated.

Not only had he drained his dantian’s qi, but his blood had also been somewhat depleted, leaving him as exhausted as after practicing the large gun tower technique for two hours.

“Brother, are you unwell?”

At that moment, Xiao Wúgō entered, saw his furrowed, weak expression, and hurried over to ask.

Chen Yì managed a weak smile and blinked. “I pushed too hard—nothing serious. Bring me some food.”

Xiao Wúgō fetched food and handed it over while glancing at the poem on the table.

Though he had only recently studied classical texts and had little understanding of poetry, he recognized the characters “Dìngyuǎn Hóu” and “Xiao Yuǎn” on the poem.

After studying it carefully, Xiao Wúgō wrote it down and suddenly asked, “Brother, are you preparing a birthday poem for Grandfather?”

Chen Yì ate the food. “Grandfather’s great birthday, as his brother-in-law, I should do something in return for his kindness.”

Xiao Wúgō laughed. “It’s a birthday poem. I’ll keep it secret for now, so we can surprise Grandfather later.”

Even with his shallow understanding of poetry, Xiao Wúgō sensed this was a poem praising his grandfather.

After finishing the snack, Chen Yì regained some strength. “It doesn’t matter. A poem will be known eventually, whether hidden or not.”

He stood, took a sheet of xuan paper, dipped it in ink, added the poem’s title, *Water Melody Tune on Celebrating Count Xiao*, and signed his name, completing the work.

Yet to make it a perfect “birthday poem,” it needed to be bound by someone.

“Can I tell Grandfather now?”

“Go ahead.”

Chen Yì didn’t mind. Since he had already written it, whether hidden or not made no difference.

“Then I’ll go tell Grandfather right away.”

With Xiao Wúgō’s enthusiastic nod, he rushed out, passing the guards at the gate toward the main courtyard.

Seeing his confident stride, Chen Yì calmly gathered his brush, inkstone, and paper from the table, then stepped outside.

He summoned Xiao Bèo and instructed her to fetch a bookbinder to the manor, and to bring more food.

After Xiao Bèo left, finding no one around, Chen Yì took some pastries and walked directly to the Garden of Prosperous Hunting.

When Pí Wénguì saw him approaching, she quickly jumped down from the tree.

Without waiting to speak, she grabbed a pastry and shoved it into her mouth.

Eating, she sobbed and complained, “Brother, if you’d come sooner, we wouldn’t be starving!”

In truth, Pí Wénguì was hungry, hadn’t slept the night before, and was quite drowsy.

Chen Yì watched her swallow without form, waited until she calmed, then asked, “Has anything happened?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Pí Wénguì exclaimed excitedly, “Brother, you’re brilliant! Before dawn, someone came to collect that secret letter!”

After hearing this, Chen Yì suddenly understood who she meant.

It was one of the servants responsible for removing garbage and debris from the household.

They were all old soldiers of Duke Hòu, who had followed him through many campaigns.

But how peculiar!

Earlier, Liu Sìr was like that too. This elderly servant, who should be one of Duke Hòu’s oldest retainers, how could he be part of the “hidden guard”?

Chen Yì thought this over and told Pí Wénguì to continue hiding in the Lotus Garden, so as not to be seen.

After eating and drinking to his strength, Pí Wénguì grew excited again and asked, “Brother, what should we do next?”

“Not yet. Let the bullets fly for a while.”

“Bullets? What are those?”

“You can think of them as arrows…”

……

The courtyard of Xiao’s mansion.

Xiao Wúgō bounced and skipped to a quiet courtyard, scanned the area, then stopped.

Under the pavilion in the courtyard, several elders led by Old Duke Hòu were leisurely drinking tea.

Beside them sat the young duke’s wife, Xiao Qiūyǔn, and the young master, Zhang Héng, attended by several household servants.

Xiao Wu Ge adjusted his jacket collar and approached with the utmost reverence, greeting each one individually.

"Wu Ge has met Grandfather, Uncle Zhang, Uncle Sun, Uncle Li, Aunt Qiuyun, and Younger Brother the Crown Prince."

Xiao Yuan Shi gestured to the side, "Wu Ge, sit here by me."

Xiao Wu Ge obediently took a seat.

Xiao Qiuyun glanced at him, smiling, "Brother, Wu Ge is growing more like an elder brother these days."

Nearby, young Crown Prince Zhang Heng rolled his eyes and made a disdainful face at Xiao Wu Ge.

"Qiuyun is right—Wu Ge truly carries his father's talents," nodded Duke Zhang Xuan.

Xiao Yuan Shi was pleased, waved his hand modestly, and asked, "Wu Ge, I hear you've been fishing in the Spring Lotus Garden lately. What brings you here today?"

Xiao Wu Ge nodded, "Your younger brother wrote a congratulatory poem for your anniversary..."

Before he could finish, Zhang Heng spoke in a childish voice, "What younger brother? That's just a runaway groom."

Xiao Qiuyun scolded sharply, "Heng Er, don't be so disrespectful!"

The Duke's expression soured slightly, "Heng Er, if you continue this way, go back to Jiaozhou!"

"It's nothing, it's nothing..."

Though Xiao Yuan Shi harbored some dislike, he didn't dare hold a grudge against the child, and turned to Xiao Wu Ge: "Wu Ge, do you remember what poem Chen Yi wrote? What was it called?"

"My son remembers."

Xiao Wu Ge immediately recited, his childish voice echoing through the courtyard.

"Beacon fires temper courage, armor forged from Kunlun, a spear held for ten years..."

(End of Chapter)