SSEU-TI. Was the empire most prolific poet, or rather the thuoght he was.

He was working the whole day in a small room on the ground floor of the Imperial Palaces, and did compose hi occasional verses. Harmonic compositures of welcome, forewell, sympathy, praise or compliment did get out top his brush. Somentimes derision, praise or theatening. The Imperial Palaces guest of honour, in their arrival somentimes clearing thei means, other times on their departure, were delivered a small silk roll contairing a message in verses composed by Sseu Ti. Ssseu- Ti’s compositions did follow all the rules of an elegant vagueness, as it is proper for the Court Poetry. For this reason it was not necessary for the poet to meet the guest. Sometimes, through a small winwo they did allow him to see the guest passing by, but most of the times a Pleasant Hospitality Official woned inform the poet re the age, sex, job and reason of thies visit. In the most delicate cases, the Prime Secretary did suggest the poet the contest of the poetic message and discussed with him the number and intensity of the adjectives to be used, either praise, or blanc adjestives.
Sseu-Ti’s brusc did mouve with elegance on the candid silk, but his mind was fasten than the hand that was driving the brush.
A copyist transcribed the poety before delivering the original to the guest - all the times. The copies were fileid in a vast archived. Ssue-Ti’s name was already well town in the Empire’s provinces and there was no Perfect even in the most for day regins, who woned not show with pride the poem that had been dedicated to him on occasion of a visit to the Imperial Palaces in same case, such compositions were used at a later stage as grave iscriptions.
Sseu-Ti had a geat consideration of himself, and not so much for the quality of his poems, but rather for the quality record. No other poet has ever composed so many poems. This work did pin up rooms and rooms of the archives. If anyone did draw his attention to the fact that his compositions were occasional Sseu-Ti would answer that somentimes the occasion makes poety arise, just like the day light. Stimolates the birds singing. But the would then object that the birds singing is limpid and natural while his composing were dull and sly. To cut a long story short, the too rooms of the archives very often prandly mentioned by Sseu-Ti according to his decractors were full of bad poems.
“Only posterity will be able to express a judycament about the quality of my poems” used to objiect the poet from his small room. Nevertheless no the could dispute the fertility supremacy. “Just try to spot another poet who composed as many poems at Sseu-Ti” used to object to his enemies.
They found him. He was on old man by the name of Ti-Fu who was living with his wife in a small house in the out-skirts of the capital. He was very poor. He fed himself with milk and fresh herbs only. No one ever paid for his poems. He would not obtain any sign of gratitude a consideration even when he showed up at wedding-parties with his small board filled up with markings and praised in thymes the nearly married couple His poety was like the air we breathe for wich we thank nobody.
The old Ti-Fu continued to compose his poems with no interruption because he had his one ambitions idea to realize. He wanted to be a poet and continue to live through his work in the centuries to come. Even if he nevere openly said so, he wanted to be an immortal poet. Ti-Fu had always stubborny refused any job offer running a few times the risk of starving to desth in the name of his ambitions obstinacy. “Get Paid” his wife used to tell him. But whom from? (during those years the empire was still suffering the conseguences of the terrible Famine of The Dark Sky, so called on account of the swarms of devastating locust that had darkened for a whole season the sky of the Empire Southern regions). The old man, tortured by hunger, continued to dip his brush into the watered ink, and did compose poem after poem up to very late in the night. He did allow himself a very shurt rest and dawn he would start again. “They are not beatiful in fact they are ungly” his wife would tell him to discourage him. But the old man didn’t listen to her.
“Is it possible” he said “that out of thousand of poems, aren’t there at least light or five or three or two”. After all just the beatiful poem, Ti-Fu thought is enough to create a poet. And if one is a poet he is immortal poet, because poetry would not allow any in between solution. This was old Ti-Fu theory.
When Sseu-Ti heard of Ti-Fu’s esistance, he thought that could be a malicious intention of his enemies. On the contrary he found him in his home, busy to write on a board. The openly spoke to him, as one does with a respectable enemy. They counted together the boards that the old-man had piled at home. They were more than one hundred thousands. Sseu-Ti already had his poems in the archives counted up. They were just eighty thousands.
Besides the ordered poems, Sseu-Ti started to compose many others that he dedicated to ministers, secretaries, to wifes and sons. He also composed poems for the very many officials for agents cooks, for the palaces attendants. He composed poems also for the gendarms, whom he hated, and for the imperial spies.
Many of them were unhappy with those rushed verses and noticed that his hand writing had become quite worse.
The malevolent guys did not hesitate to compare his hand writing to claws. When the poet heard it, he did not get insulted, on the other hand he wearly was flattered with the comparison (as it is well known, the chinese writing was intendet centuries ago by a monk who has observed the priuts left on the mud by a hen’s legs).
The officials in the meantime started to fear that those sentences, and eccentric images migest hide insolent allussions, and there were even humors that they might hide obsure revolutionary messages. The Prime Secretary ordered the Gendarms to keep an eye on him but Seu-Ti did behave impeccably and the images that during the official occasion were getting out of his brush, were still elegant, banal and generic as usual.
Also Ti-Fu started to cut his verses in half and accelerated his work rhythm, extending it late in the night under on oil lamp light.
His sight started to get weaker and confused his hand didi get tired due to the extended effort. At that stage, the old man used to lay down on a strall mattress, sleep a few hours, and after waking up, he started again to work. His friends brought him food and hot drinks, they presented him with new boards brushes, and even a few silk rolls.
Ti-Fu was ahead of his rival but according to his calculations in case both of them would have continued to composed poems with the same rhythm, within a period of ten years, Sseu-Ti would have reached him.
Both Ti-Fu and Sseu-Ti were well over the seventies but competition had waken up their energies and Yuoth Spirit. Ti-Fu ended up eating his poor meals with the brush in his hand in order to darm Sseu-Ti advance. His hand ran quickly while his wife was handing him over new boards, did prepare the ink, and did put some order in the completed boards that were already occupaying the whole house and cellar.
Sseu-Ti’s prestige had decreased quite a lot the moment it was known that on the out skirts of the Capital, there was another poet that had composed a greater number of verses than those composed by himself.
Such news were already known by everybody, that is ministers, secretaries, officials, chamberlains and imperial palaces attendants. Probably the Empiror himself.
One morning two officers of the Pleasant Hospitality found Sseu-Ti with his head leaning over a silk roll, as if he was sleeping. His quick brushed had reached a stop for ever.
The moment Ti-Fu heard the news, he stopped filling his boards up. One night he fell asleep smiling for his victory on his rival.ùone week had gone by from Sseu-Ti’s death. The following morning even he didn’t wake up.