Chapter 22: Xu Ze Has Gotten Ahead of Himself

Xu Qing paused for a moment, then asked, “So, what do you all think? Does this ‘Song of Dreaming’ truly lack a final line?”

“I think it has one!”

“I don’t think so. Otherwise, why has no one managed to add a fitting last line after all these years?”

The students began discussing among themselves in short bursts.

At that moment, a boy dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, his hair slicked back, raised his hand and said, “Teacher, I believe the poem is already complete as it stands.”

“Everyone’s been misled by her other ‘Song of Dreaming,’ so they naturally assume the two poems should follow the same structure.”

“But just as Professor Li Lianfeng pointed out recently, Li Qingzhao’s two ‘Song of Dreaming’ pieces use their structural differences to reflect the poet’s different emotional states.”

“This ‘Song of Dreaming’ simply doesn’t have a final line!”

Finishing his speech, the boy smoothed his shiny hair with confidence and sat down.

Many nodded in agreement with his analysis, especially since he had invoked Professor Li Lianfeng, the vice president of the Chinese Classical Poetry Association, who had devoted decades to the study of ancient verse. His words carried weight.

Xu Qing nodded. “Indeed, Professor Li Lianfeng believes this ‘Song of Dreaming’ is already complete, not missing anything.”

“Analyzing Li Qingzhao’s state of mind at the time and the records in ancient sources, his argument does make sense.”

She then continued, “Does anyone else have a different interpretation?”

A few students who had been about to raise their hands quietly lowered them.

Who would dare challenge the vice president of the Classical Poetry Association? It would be almost laughable to stand up and say, “I think the vice president is wrong!”

Besides, to this day, no one has managed to supply a final line that fits perfectly with the poem.

Unless someone truly could come up with such a line, and it earned universal recognition.

But that’s exceedingly difficult. How could one hope to match the work of the greatest female poet of all ages?

Seeing no one raise their hand, Xu Qing was about to end the discussion and continue with the lesson when a voice suddenly rang out.

“Teacher, I believe this poem does have a final line.”

Xu Ze slowly rose from his seat, his expression earnest as he spoke.

He had not planned to interject, but he could not bear to see such a timeless masterpiece remain forever incomplete.

Clearing his throat, he said solemnly, “I believe this ‘Song of Dreaming’ does have a last line, and its structure should match that of ‘Struggling, struggling, startling a sandbank full of gulls and egrets.’”

Hearing Xu Ze’s words, Xu Qing outwardly appeared interested, but inwardly felt indifferent.

She had read nearly every attempted completion by renowned masters and could agree that none had achieved perfection.

Most lacked a certain flavor, feeling more like forced additions.

Xu Qing asked dismissively, “So which master’s completion do you think comes closest to the original?”

Xu Ze shrugged and replied leisurely, “I haven’t read the other teachers’ attempts, but I’ve written my own final line, and I believe it could rival the original.”

His words sent a shockwave through the classroom.

If Xu Ze had merely said some master’s version was the best, no one would have minded.

But to claim to have written his own—and to boast that it could rival the original—was outrageous.

Was he implying he surpassed all the great literary figures who had attempted it? That he could even stand shoulder to shoulder with Li Qingzhao?

The slick-haired boy, seizing the opportunity to vent his long-standing dislike, sneered loudly, “Just because you wrote a silly tune, now you think you’re something special?”

Xu Ze glanced at the boy, a sly smile curling his lips, and mouthed the word, “Idiot.”

Although Xu Ze made no sound, the boy instantly caught the meaning and knew it was directed at him.

He hadn’t expected Xu Ze to insult him so directly. His face flushed with anger, and he was about to explode when Xu Qing clapped her hands on the desk, signaling the class to quiet down.

The slick-haired boy had no choice but to swallow his rage for the moment, shooting Xu Ze a venomous glare.

Xu Ze ignored him and quietly flicked at his nose.

Xu Qing couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. So even Xu Ze was not immune to arrogance.

In her memory, Xu Ze had always been a modest, unassuming young man.

But from his performance in class today, he seemed to be just like everyone else—success had gone straight to his head.

And Xu Ze’s pride had risen especially fast.

First, he’d arrived late to class, then openly challenged Vice President Li Lianfeng’s authority, and now he was claiming his line could rival Li Qingzhao’s own.

Although Xu Ze’s lyrics and singing were excellent, it now appeared that a little talent had made him unbearably conceited.

Xu Qing silently shook her head. People like this rarely achieve anything truly great in the end.

Since you’re so confident, let’s see what you’ve written. She had already planned out how to gently critique Xu Ze’s work.

Looking at Xu Ze, her tone became a touch stiff. “Xu Ze, come write your line on the blackboard.”

Xu Ze nodded, strode up to the podium, took a piece of chalk, and wrote the true final line of the ‘Song of Dreaming’ on the board:

“Do you know, do you know? It should be when the greens flourish and the reds fade.”

When Xu Ze finished, the slick-haired boy was inwardly roaring with laughter.

“That’s it? Just those few simple words, and he dares say it rivals Li Qingzhao?”

The literary masters who’d tried to supply a line before had all drawn from the classics, their choices full of erudition.

Xu Ze’s, by contrast, seemed more like a nursery rhyme.

But unlike the slick-haired boy, several boys and girls in the audience were shaken to their core. As core members of the school’s literary society, they were steeped daily in the study of the classics, ancient and modern.

They had the pride of true scholars and looked down on most so-called “famous” modern poems posted online.

To them, those were mere piles of ornate words—flashy but empty, lacking substance.

But Xu Ze’s line gave them the feeling of reading a genuine masterpiece from antiquity.

Though each word seemed simple, together they radiated a richness and depth.

Especially the final four words, “greens flourish, reds fade”—ordinary enough on their own, but in Xu Ze’s arrangement, vivid and full of life.

“This line…” As a professor of Chinese language and literature, Xu Qing, too, sensed that Xu Ze’s completion was something truly remarkable.