The night before the summer solstice has a hint of coolness.
Xia Yang, happiness means being able to smile to others when you are sad.
Luo Yan smiled slightly, listening and saying a few words from time to time.
Throughout the conversation, Liu Ruixuan listened.
Xia Yang suddenly broke into his life, and Luo Yan appeared inexplicably, but they truly reminded him.
I always thought that I was disguised very well, and my emotions and anger were no longer visible, but a little more profound, but others could see through it in a few short dialogues.
Liu Ruixuan sighed slightly, lowered his head and looked at the fallen leaves at his feet.
The deciduous foreign trees, the lonely night under the cold light.
Who doesn’t know how to hang a book bag? He is also a master of poetry for quite a few years!
Ahem, it seems wrong.
Liu Ruixuan raised his eyebrows slightly, and took another look at the fallen leaves under his feet. The fallen leaves were all red and could not be swept away.
This is good and poetic!
Um?
Those familiar eyes, that familiar frost slapped eggplant face.
What does that look that glanced over casually mean?
He actually blinked at him again and again.
wink? Showing your affection tomorrow? Eyebrows?
Ahem, he didn't see anything.
Liu Ruixuan turned away.
He heard nothing.
I don’t understand why they suddenly changed their poetry appreciation.
It's better to be silent than that.
Then he might as well make a quiet screen beside him.
"Bowl."
Luo Yan's voice came faintly.
What? Why did you change the topic again and talk about happiness?
"Why is the Autumn Wind Sad Painting Fan?" Xia Yang said with a calm expression, "The first thing I saw was Li Bai's sentence. If I had known it would be so disturbing, why would I not have known each other in the first place."
"Huh? I've never heard of Li Bai writing such long and affectionate poems?" Luo Yan glanced at Xia Yang and then at Liu Ruixuan.
Ahem, what are you looking at him for?
He is not Li Bai.
Liu Ruixuan rolled his eyes silently in his heart, he was not Xia Yang either!
Which poem is this from? How come he doesn't know.
"Three to five or seven words, Autumn Wind Ci." Xia Yang nodded slightly.
"Three to five or seven words?" Luo Yan was startled for a moment, and her tone rose, "I've never heard of it."
Liu Ruixuan raised his eyebrows slightly,
He has only heard about groups of three and five, seven heroes and five righteousnesses, what kind of words?
He hasn't heard of it either!
"Huh?" Xia Yang responded, looking left and right at Luo Yan and Liu Ruixuan, "Haven't you heard of it?"
"Yes." Luo Yan nodded, "Senior Xia Yang, are you sure this is Li Taibai's poem?"
Um! Could it be that I remembered it wrong?
Liu Ruixuan also glanced at Xia Yang.
Biyi, they are too familiar with Li Taibai's poetic style.
"No." Xia Yang's voice came over.
No? Liu Ruixuan looked at Xia Yang after hearing this. Are you kidding them?
"What does Senior Xia Yang mean?" Luo Yan glanced at Liu Ruixuan uncertainly, then looked at Xia Yang with some confusion, "Senior, did you remember it wrong?"
"No." Xia Yang laughed loudly.
No? Ahem, what does this mean?
Liu Ruixuan glanced sideways at Xia Yang, one on the left and one on the right, what does that mean?
Think of him as mentally retarded!
Liu Ruixuan looked away, raised his eyebrows, and quietly took two steps back.
It is better to live without bamboo than to eat without meat.
Braised elbow, braised pork, braised pork trotters, here he comes.
"Oh." Luo Yan suddenly laughed, "That's right. Li Bai's poetic style has always been bold and unrestrained, fresh and elegant, rich in imagination, wonderful in artistic conception, wonderful in language, romantic, and clear in intention."
Ahem, Liu Ruixuan, who took two steps back, couldn't help but roll his eyes in the air.
This Luo Yan is also a "talent". These words spit out like goldfish's bubbles, string after string!
"This is not Li Bai's poem." Xia Yang chuckled.
Ahem! After Liu Ruixuan heard this, he looked towards Xia Yang, with a trace of contempt in his eyes.
Finally gave him a chance to despise Xia Yang.
The expression on Luo Yan's face changed, and then slowly returned to the slightly proud look with her chin raised slightly. She glanced at Xia Yang, then turned to Liu Ruixuan, and softly uttered two words, "Senior. "
Ahem, senior?
What does it have to do with him?
Liu Ruixuan was startled for a moment, he was not Xia Yang!
He is not Li Bai either!
He didn't care who the poem belonged to, he wasn't interested!
He is only interested in midnight snacks now!
Let the two of them go to Bo Ya Ziqi in the mountains and rivers.
He is just a layman!
"Huh?" Liu Ruixuan responded, rolled his eyelids, glanced at Luo Yan, and then slowly lowered his eyes.
"Senior, I think..." Luo Yan looked towards Liu Ruixuan, a bright smile appeared on her fair face, which looked very soft under the orange street lights.
"No need to ask him," Xia Yang took two steps back, put his hand on Liu Ruixuan's shoulder, patted it twice gently, and said with a smile, "He doesn't know either."
Um? he does not know?
Liu Ruixuan glanced deeply at Xia Yang, Luo Yan hadn't asked a question yet!
That's too arbitrary.
"The autumn wind is clear, the autumn moon is bright, the fallen leaves gather and disperse, and the jackdaws roost again. When will we know when we miss each other? It's embarrassing at this time and this night!"
Xia Yang turned his head and glanced at the setting sun in the west, and said quietly, "When you enter my lovesickness door, you know that I miss you painfully. Long lovesickness brings long memories, but short lovesickness lasts forever. If I had known that it would be such a troubling thing, why would I not have known each other in the first place."
Wind, moon, leaves, night, lovesickness.
These are all cherry blossoms at this moment
Liu Ruixuan looked up at the sky, then looked down at the fallen leaves at his feet.
Xia Yang was probably having convulsions again.
However, it sounds quite poetic.
Especially those few sentences, the long-term lovesickness brings long-lasting memories, but the short-term lovesickness brings endless longing. How could he not feel the same way?
As soon as I know the pain of lovesickness, I taste the pain of lovesickness.
Suddenly I thought of Stendhal's epitaph: lived, loved, wrote.
Ahem, is Xia Yang pretending to be a scholar and using words to commemorate the past ten years of bitter love?
"This is Li Bai's words, not a poem." Xia Yang's voice came over, with a familiar smile and a familiar calmness.
What? Li Bai also wrote lyrics?
What about good Tang poetry and Song lyrics?
Such a cool and unrestrained poet, does he also miss lovesickness sometimes?
Liu Ruixuan raised his head and looked at the bright moon above his head, thinking that everyone could taste red beans!
Even Li Bai, the poet who likes to look at the moon and drink alone, has become a vulgar person.
Painting leisurely among the rain flowers, leaning against the painting screen and thinking about the past. In the south of the Yangtze River where apricot blossoms and misty rain bloom, green grass overflows the river embankment.
On a summer night in early June, the moon began to shine slightly. In the warm breeze that occasionally passes by, I can read an ancient poem and listen to the soft singing of ancient lovesickness.
I couldn't help but think of that long-ago era, when the man in white clothes and white robes, elegant, handsome and full of talent, walked slowly in the woods as the sun was setting, drinking a pot of turbid wine and playing a Dongxi flute.
The sound was soft and faint, approaching from far away, gradually becoming clearer, clearer, and gentler. As the leaves in the forest drifted, and as the afterglow gradually faded away, it sounded one after another, one after another, night after night, like the silence in a dream. Silent heartbeat.
Following the everlasting sound of the flute, when the moonlight is getting brighter, in the dusk of night, in the flowery courtyard, and between the words and the painted screen, I feel grateful for the cold calmness and refined elegance.
In June in the south of the Yangtze River, there is a bright moon and sparse stars, green grass, and warm breeze. I read a poem, bathed in the orange light, and recall a soft song that belongs to the early summer in the south of the Yangtze River...
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