Chapter 2: A Poem Opens the Path of Literature

“Impudent! Yang Tian, you dare to insult me? I, the Crown Prince, have kindly sought to save you, yet you fail to appreciate it. Now, no one can save you.” Prince Qin Yong’s expression was dark as he shouted angrily.

He had never heard Yang Tian’s words before, but a brief thought revealed their meaning.

He was being called shameless, courting death. His whole family was worthless, deserving their fate.

He was the Crown Prince, soon to ascend the throne as ruler of Qin. Yet the Marquis Champion responded indifferently, refusing to openly support him, instead declaring eternal loyalty to the state—hypocrite to the core. The youngest son, Yang Tian, was equally foolish; at death’s door, he still clung to the family’s martial arts, oblivious to the situation, his mind sick.

“Guards, take him away!”

Instantly, imperial guards surged in, grabbing Yang Tian by the arms and dragging him out.

“Young master…”

An elderly man with white hair inside the courtyard, seeing Yang Tian, flashed with joy, followed by endless anxiety and grief.

The young master’s lucidity was a blessing, yet also the greatest misfortune.

Yang Tian heard the voice and glanced over. The white-haired elder was the steward of the Marquis’ residence, formerly called Uncle Fu, whose loyalty to the household was unquestioned.

Just as generations of the Marquis Champion had served Qin faithfully, Uncle Fu’s forebears had devoted themselves to the Champion’s family.

“All of you, obey orders: guard the Marquis Champion’s residence tightly. No one is to enter or leave.” Prince Qin Yong commanded coldly.

“We obey, Your Highness.” The guards responded.

Yang Tian could say nothing to Uncle Fu; it was all meaningless now.

He looked up at the sky.

Dark clouds loomed,

Mist shrouded the air,

The sky hung low, oppressive, as if it would collapse, suffocating all beneath.

It seemed as if a torrential storm was imminent.

He sensed the sorrow and despair woven through all the servants of the Marquis’ house, a feeling indescribable stirring within.

The blade of death hung overhead, counting down the moments.

“Yang Tian, you’re lucky. The Emperor has summoned you. To be judged by His Majesty in person—your family should be grateful.” Qin Yong mocked.

Yang Tian ignored him; he had no time to spar with a clown.

He realized his consciousness could penetrate his mind.

That great book—The Treasure of China—emitted an awe-inspiring aura.

This was his golden finger!

Alas, it needed to be activated, and he was uncertain what lay inside or whether it could save his life.

Fortune?

It truly existed, yet remained elusive.

Yang Tian did not know how to obtain it.

National fate, it seemed, was a form of fortune.

The fortune of a nation.

If he wished to borrow it, perhaps he needed to become a recognized official of Qin.

“Damn it, about to be executed—how could I be appointed an official?” Yang Tian gritted his teeth in frustration.

If only he hadn’t started in such dire straits, he might have managed it.

Now he could only face the sovereign and see if there was any chance to break the deadlock.

A year ago, the ruler of Qin fell ill. Numerous renowned physicians failed to cure him; he drifted between sleep and consciousness.

As time passed, his lucid moments grew ever fewer.

Yang Tian’s father had once saved the monarch.

Yet Yang Tian refused to place all hope in the ruler’s memory or mercy.

His mind raced, delving deep into inherited memories, devising one self-rescue plan after another, dismissing the useless and refining the useful, constantly recombining ideas.

Even in the last moments, Yang Tian would not give up.

Unknowingly, they arrived at the palace.

“Yang Tian, I give you one last chance. Surrender your family’s spear technique, and I will do my best to spare your life. Once we reach the court, regret will be useless.”

Qin Yong was relentless, now nearing the government hall, pressing him in a low voice.

Yang Tian flashed a broad smile, mocking, “Heh.”

“If you desire the Yang family spear technique, soon you’ll have your wish.”

The Yang family spear technique, a pinnacle martial art, famed throughout the Nine Provinces.

Each move was fierce and deadly—a powerful weapon on the battlefield.

The Marquis Champion, feared by foes, owed much to this technique.

Not only Qin Yong coveted it; many in Qin desired it.

Yang Tian’s plan accounted for the importance of the spear technique.

Qin Yong’s expression soured once more. He did not know what Yang Tian intended, but he was certain Yang Tian would not bargain.

Click, click, click—

Announced by attendants, Yang Tian strode firmly into the Hall of State Affairs.

Within, civil and military officials turned their gaze upon him.

Yang Tian’s demeanor was calm, his stride unhurried, sweeping the room without panic.

Those gazes:

Gloating, indifferent, curious, awkward…

Whether men or ghosts, soon all would be revealed.

“Yang Tian, a humble subject, bows to Your Majesty. Long live the Emperor, ten thousand years!”

Yang Tian knelt with a resounding voice.

He held no taboos; it was as if he were paying respects in advance.

The ruler sat upon the dragon throne, unable to conceal his exhaustion and weakness.

“Concerning your father, the Marquis Champion—his misjudgment in battle led to the loss of the border stronghold. Rumors say he colluded with the enemy, surrendering as part of a trap. As the only surviving son, what do you have to say?”

The ruler was direct, though his voice lacked vigor, like a tiger in its twilight.

Before Yang Tian could reply, the ministers began taking sides.

“Your Majesty, the Marquis Champion’s misjudgment is fact. It caused heavy casualties and the loss of the border stronghold—an unforgivable crime. Though there is no conclusive evidence of collusion with Wei, given his talent and military acumen, such a mistake is absurd. Therefore, I believe he harbored disloyalty. I urge Your Majesty to punish the entire Marquis Champion’s household as an example.”

“I second the motion!”

“I second the motion!”

“I, your son, second the motion!”

…

“Your Majesty, I believe this is pure slander—a conspiracy. The Marquis Champion died in battle. Heaven bears witness, he and his family have served Qin loyally for generations. He would never commit such disloyal acts. I implore Your Majesty to see the truth.”

“I believe the Marquis Champion is innocent.”

…

Yang Tian, with a sidelong glance, memorized every movement.

Dozens of ministers,

Most slandered the Marquis Champion, urging harsh punishment, their hearts deserving condemnation.

A minority remained silent, several among them generals often associated with the Marquis.

Only a few openly declared their belief in his innocence.

The ruler looked calmly at Yang Tian. No one knew his thoughts.

“The Champion’s generations of loyalty and conduct—I trust Your Majesty has already judged. All affairs of Qin rest in your hands; I have little more to say. Only a poem can testify to our loyalty.”

Yang Tian did not argue further. Though the ruler often lost consciousness, he saw through the essence of every major event. The fate of the Champion’s house lay in his hands.

“Oh? You compose poetry? Speak, let me hear it,” the ruler said, surprised.

Some ministers who knew Yang Tian were equally astonished.

“The moon of Qin shines bright at the Han frontier,
A thousand-mile march, yet none return.
But if Dragon City’s Champion stands,
Never shall barbarian horses cross Yin Mountain.”

As Yang Tian recited, his words echoed through the hall, resonant and stirring.

Simple lines, yet profound in meaning.

As the last word fell,

Suddenly, each character manifested in the air, thunder rolling across the floor.

Clouds outside retreated, light burst forth.

The twenty-eight characters exploded, transforming into streams of literary brilliance that swirled around Yang Tian, as if he were an immortal descended.

Yang Tian felt his mind clear, his body refreshed, as if reborn, untouched by dust.

The entire hall was stunned, faces changed in awe!