Sole Sovereign of the Literary Way: From the Start, My Three-Year-Old Sister Taught Me to Write Poetry

I transmigrated. I became a poor scholar with only my three-year-old sister and three coins to my name.

A voice in my mind announced: [The Way of Literature is 73% incomplete.]

I tentatively recited a poem about geese. A withered tree blossomed, a spirit goose soared into the sky, and the Heavenly Dao's bells rang for ninety thousand miles. Scholars across the street dropped to their knees. My sister tugged at my sleeve. "Big Brother, can we eat the goose?"

This world had no Li Bai or Du Fu. I copied "Quiet Night Thoughts," and the moon lit up. I copied "The Song of the Wandering Son," and all things wept. I copied "Bring in the Wine," and the River of Literary Spirit surged beneath my feet. My enemy challenged me to a literary duel? "The Song of the Knight-Errant" shattered his literary heart. The emperor hosted a banquet? "The Road to Shu Is Hard" made the imperial palace float for three days.

My sister was three, and whenever I got stuck, she'd say, "Big Brother, I want to see the moon." Then the Heavenly Dao would send moonlight down of its own accord.

But no one knew the price.

Every poem I copied made me forget a little more of my previous life. After a hundred, I forgot my name. After two hundred, I forgot my hometown.

Three hundred poems later, the Foolish Tide swallowed the sky. Standing atop the city wall, I recited from "Moonlight Before My Bed" to "May We All Be Blessed with Longevity." When I finished, dawn broke.

The System displayed: [Completion achieved. Cost: Forgetting your entire previous life. Confirm?]

My sister clutched my hand.

"Big Brother," she said, looking up at me, "it's okay if you forget the whole world. I'll remember it for you."

I crouched down and held her.

"Confirm."

Then, for the first time, I used my own voice to write a poem that wasn't in the System's database.

"Stranger in a Foreign Land."