Chapter One Hundred: The Second Trial, the Tang People!

“This is impossible!” Han Feng’s face was filled with disbelief; the blow was too sudden for him to accept.

“Nothing is impossible!” a young woman replied loudly. “Are you doubting the Xiang Pavilion?”

Han Feng said, “I want to verify the painting!”

“No, you’re still a challenger. You can’t leave unless you withdraw.”

Without hesitation, Han Feng said, “Fine, I withdraw!” He never intended to pass the remaining two rounds anyway; his main purpose in challenging was to improve his painting skills. He couldn’t get through because painting was all he knew.

The young woman was momentarily stunned, clearly not expecting Han Feng to be so decisive. “Alright! Then take off your mask and leave!”

Han Feng immediately removed his mask and walked out. Yet, the moment he did, someone recognized him.

“Huh? Han Feng? Is it really him?”

“Han Feng? Master Yan’s top disciple? Even he lost? Then...”

All eyes turned to Li Yi, wondering who he really was.

But Li Yi’s gaze was fixed on the departing Han Feng. A disciple of Yan Liben? He had never heard of him. Was this person even known in history?

Meanwhile, on the first floor, Han Feng rushed straight to where Li Yi’s paintings were displayed. However, the area was already crowded, tightly packed with people. After much effort, Han Feng finally squeezed in. Just one glance and he instantly understood—it was no injustice that he lost.

Li Yi’s painting captured the very moment the three celestial maidens performed, rendered as a sketch. The figures were vividly lifelike, seeming to dance within the painting itself. Every detail of their features and hair was so realistic, the power of modern sketching had been revealed in Tang Dynasty China for the first time. Most impressively, Li Yi painted the exact instant of the maidens’ performance, which required tremendous memory and expressive skill—there were no references at the time of painting!

Li Yi’s victory didn’t mean traditional Chinese painting was inferior to sketching. On the contrary, Li Yi admired traditional painting but lacked the perseverance to learn it, so he studied sketching instead. His win was mainly because no one in the Tang Dynasty had seen sketching before, making it all the more astonishing.

Before long, the second round began. Li Yi and the others were led to the next room, where a qin sat waiting. They drew lots again; luckily, Li Yi was last again, which gave him more time to think. This round was a singing contest—simple enough—and the winner would be decided by audience votes.

After hearing the rules, Li Yi relaxed completely. Compared to others who might struggle, singing was his forte; this was practically his personal concert.

As expected, the group of scholarly aspirants, who could barely manage basic arts, were hopeless at singing. They performed ancient war songs—some passable, others downright unpleasant. After over half an hour, it was Li Yi’s turn. He rubbed his sore neck, tired of waiting.

He staggered to the qin, somewhat unsteady. Though he wasn’t skilled at the instrument, it was enough to handle this situation.

After tuning and a brief warm-up, a beautiful prelude flowed forth.

“Like yesterday’s candlelight accompanying the small boat,
How could a Tang man not know how to indulge?
My lonely boat, your graceful shore hiding secrets,
Stepping ten thousand miles, with whom do I journey?
Wearing the wrong dowry, how can there be joy?
A touch more rouge won’t make it beautiful.
A sudden stop, firecrackers before the courtyard,
Foolish to think my heart with gray hair could be invalidated...”

Li Yi’s voice stunned everyone present. A new musical style? It sounded remarkably pleasing.

He sang “Tang People,” a song about lovers who ultimately parted, tinged with sorrow. Yet, singing this in the Tang Dynasty gave it a unique charm.

When the song ended, thunderous applause broke out. Li Yi’s new style had won again. After two rounds, it was clear this competition had a dark horse. Thus, the third round was crucial.

Without hesitation, the third round began. Although the shrewd woman had hoped to delay, she couldn’t explain it to the many guests. Still, she found a way.

The third round was a qin-playing contest, the woman’s final gambit, having realized Li Yi’s qin skills were mediocre.

And she was right: Li Yi’s playing was indeed poor. But as the saying goes, there’s always a way when you reach the mountain.

They drew lots again, and this time Li Yi drew number one—unfortunate for someone.

Li Yi was the first to perform, seated at the qin. Calm and composed, he thought, “Poor skills don’t mean I can’t win. How fortunate—I know one piece, the only one I’ve mastered!”

As the first notes sounded, a chill ran through everyone, as if engulfed in a deadly aura.

It was “Ambush from Ten Sides,” a fiercely intense piece.

By playing this, Li Yi was declaring war on the woman—indeed, declaring war. The day’s chaos had gone on long enough; it was time to end it. This day could be a holiday for himself, as the second master hadn’t given him a moment’s rest.

Lost in thought, his fingers moved swiftly.

As soon as Li Yi’s music began, the woman knew she had lost. He could play qin, and a new piece at that—was it his own composition? What was there that he couldn’t do? Why had he come here? Was he really going to take that final step?

Li Yi won again, without surprise or dispute. The other ten contestants, overwhelmed by his playing, withdrew voluntarily.

In the end, this competition was a farce, a solo performance by Li Yi from start to finish.

When Li Yi removed his mask, everyone realized the man who had created a miracle that night was none other than Li Yi—the Jade Qilin, Li Wenyong. The fifteen-year-old boy, once underestimated by all, had thoroughly taught them a lesson: never underestimate a young man’s potential.

The contest was over, and the Xiang Pavilion closed its doors as well. What remained was between Li Yi and the pavilion, no longer their concern. Having witnessed a legendary event, no one regretted attending and left cooperatively.

In the end, only Li Yi, Li Ke, and Cheng Chumo remained on site, along with the Xiang Pavilion staff. Li Ke and Cheng Chumo had been asked by Li Yi to stay and watch over the purple-robed group. With the final step approaching, Li Yi didn’t want any regrets born from neglect.

What followed was the ultimate proof.