"What's the matter?" Qi Hongmian raised his eyebrows.
Luan Yu replied: "On the day Huaiyuan arrived in the capital, Baita Temple sent a greeting card."
Baita Temple... Qi Hongmian became slightly more interested. On his impeccable oval face, he raised the corners of his mouth, revealing his white teeth, and smiled incomprehensibly:
"knew."
After Luan Yu left, Qi Hongmian turned his attention again to the thin book in his hand.
The three words "The Legend of Liuli" are clearly written on the cover.
"Ah... Buddhism."
…
…
Noon the next day.
After Ji Ping'an had lunch, he and Huang He changed into ordinary green shirts and went to the agreed place to gather.
The cultural conference officially starts in the afternoon, warm-up begins in the morning, and will continue until the evening.
When Ji Ping'an arrived, he saw two carriages parked. There were not many disciples in the wooden courtyard, but they could fit in them.
"Here here!"
In the car in front, Mu Yaoyao's head emerged from the car curtain, and her white and tender hands greeted him.
Huang He was driving as usual. He got into the large car and his eyes lit up.
I saw a jade beauty sitting in the main seat of the carriage, with a straight nose and brush-like eyelashes. Is it Xu Xiurong or who else?
It's just different from the past. The female prisoner did not wear an official robe, but an ordinary woman's long skirt, and her hair was fixed with a hairpin.
Next to him, sitting suddenly was a thin girl.
"Luo Huaizhu?" Ji Ping'an was surprised, "Why are you here?"
On the one hand, this is the gathering of Nogiin disciples.
Secondly, with this "Taoist" character, I really can't imagine that she would be interested in "literary society".
Xu Xiurong glanced at him and said:
"I ordered Yaoyao to force her here. You should relax in your cultivation. A great reward from the gods is coming, so you should relax."
Luo Huaizhu said nothing, his eyes focused on the air, and he looked like he was wandering in the sky, thinking about cultivation.
No... I think her body is here, but her soul has flown away... Ji Ping'an shook his head and sighed.
As he sat down, the carriage slowly drove out of Qintian Prison and headed along the spacious street towards Chang'an Street.
…
Wenxuan Tower is located near the intersection of Chang'an Street and Zhuque Street. It is also one of the most prosperous areas in Shendu.
Today, with it as the core, the surrounding pavilions are occupied by cultural societies of all sizes.
As soon as the carriage drove in, it seemed as if it was stuck in a quagmire, making it difficult to move forward.
Having no choice but to stop in a secluded place, Xu Xiurong ordered everyone to disperse where they were, go play on their own, and agree on a time to return.
One by one, the disciples left together, and in the end there were only three women, one old, two young, and the lazy Ji Ping'an remained.
Huang He originally wanted to stay and follow the young master, but after seeing this scene, he thought about it and left in a muffled voice.
Only four people were left walking among the crowd.
Except for Ji Ping An, the other three were all very good-looking, and immediately attracted many stunning eyes. When they saw Ji Ping An, they turned to envy and jealousy.
Ji Ping'an didn't pay attention to those eyes and walked slowly, only to see a lively scene. The long street was crowded with people and noisy.
Wine flags are flying on both sides of the ancient buildings, and it is still far from the Wenhui. There are long snack vendors on both sides of the street selling food.
On the other side, the shops along the street were hung with lanterns and all kinds of gadgets.
The sounds of hawking, laughter, and shouts were mixed together, making it very lively.
"so many people……"
Mu Yaoyao's eyes were not full, and she was darting from left to right. Even Luo Huaizhu, who was distracted, was attracted and showed a curious expression.
After all, we are still "people", not "Taoist idiots" abstracted into symbols.
"Hey, look at those vendors hanging poems."
At this time, Mu Yaoyao suddenly pointed to the shops and vendors on the roadside selling all kinds of gadgets.
Different from the common stalls in the past, many stalls today have wooden poles erected and red ropes pulled up, with poems hanging on them. It is somewhat similar to guessing lantern riddles on New Year's Eve, but different.
Every piece of paper has verses or words written on it, but they are incomplete, with the previous sentence missing, the next sentence missing, and even two words left empty in the middle of a line of text.
To name a few.
A group of scholars gathered around, shaking their heads and chanting something, forming a landscape on this street.
Xu Xiurong pursed his lips and explained:
"This is a fragment of the poems written by the Imperial Master in the past. Historically at literary fairs, these merchants would come to join in the fun. In order to attract scholars to stop, they would collect fragments of sentences and hang them outside. Usually there would be a bonus.
"For example, if someone fills in, as long as the sentence he fills is acceptable and not copied mechanically, he will give some gadgets, which is a way to attract people."
She immediately told the story of how the imperial master fought in all directions in the past and handed down many incomplete poems, and called this a game among literati.
Mu Yaoyao said "Oh" and suddenly realized it. She thought about it and then said:
"Then over the past few hundred years, haven't we added a lot to future generations? If we collect some and fill them in, can we get the lottery?"
Xu Xiurong raised a finger, tapped her forehead, and said in a feint:
"I want you to use your brain more and don't think about food all day long. If a store owner dares to do this, he must be very familiar with the widely circulated sentence completion. If you copy it, wouldn't it be embarrassing for others to point it out in public? Scholars care most. face."
Mu Yaoyao was greatly disappointed and looked at the mask on the stall that was used as a lottery ticket.
Luo Huaizhu also tilted his head and stopped while staring at a cloth tiger.
Xu Xiurong looked angry and funny:
"Let's go, that's just a lottery ticket, not for sale."
Luo Huaizhu lowered his eyes in disappointment, and then heard a voice from beside him:
"want to?"
The Taoist idiot turned his head and looked at Ji Pingan, who looked calm and calm. He thought for a while and nodded:
"want to."
Ji Ping'an smiled, walked over, casually tore off a piece of paper with fragments of poetry written on it, picked up the ink pen placed on the table by the merchant, and started writing.
The scholar next to him saw this and looked over curiously.
The stall owner was also surprised and said:
"The young master is confident, so he chose a difficult one. This Qingping Diao sentence only has the following two sentences, but the upper part is missing. It is the most difficult to repair..."
He deliberately spoke loudly to attract the attention of people on the street.
At the same time read out the second half of the sentence:
"If we hadn't met at the top of Qunyu Mountain, we would have met under the moonlight at Yaotai."
Just as he was about to explain and comment, he saw that Ji Ping'an had already written a book:
The clouds are like clothes, the flowers are like faces, the spring breeze is blowing the threshold, and the dew is thick.
Putting down his pen, he pointed at the three-color cloth tiger and said gently:
"Please bring that tiger."
The crowd watching nearby became more and more surprised. They did not expect this young master to be so confident, as if he was sure that the poem he was writing met the conditions.
"The clouds think of the clothes, the flowers think of the face, the spring breeze blows on the threshold and the dew is thick... If we hadn't met on the top of the jade mountains, we would have met under the moon on Yaotai."
The stall owner was also literate, and he would murmur with surprise on his face.
With his level, he was not able to tell the difference between high and low, but he instinctively felt that it was very appropriate, as if the original sentence should be like this.
"I want it too, I want it too!"
Mu Yaoyao charged forward like a bull, pushed through the crowd, and tugged pitifully on Ji Ping'an's sleeve.
Ji Ping'an smiled, thought about it, and casually pulled out two more articles, which were a fragmented poem and a fragmented poem.
Still no need to think, just continue:
The west wind blows the old Dongting waves, and Xiangjun's hair turns white all night long. After being drunk, I don’t know that the sky is in the water, and the boat is full of clear dreams that overwhelm the stars.
Turn your wrist slightly, pick up the pen and continue:
The young man does not know the feeling of sorrow and falls in love with the upper floors. Falling in love with the upper floors, I force myself to express my sorrow in order to compose new words. Now that I know all the sorrow, I want to stop talking. I wanted to give it up, but I said it was a cool autumn.
When the word is finished, throw the pen.
Ji Ping'an pointed to the monkey mask used as a lottery ticket and a bracelet, and said gently:
"Excuse me, please wrap up these three items."
"ah……"
The stall owner Fang Fu came back to his senses and glanced at him in surprise, wondering if it was Wen Quxing from the Imperial College who came to cause trouble...
Not daring to delay, as if afraid that the young master in front of him would continue writing, he hurriedly took three items and gave them to him.
Ji Ping'an smiled, handed the monkey mask to Mu Yaoyao, gave the cloth tiger to Luo Huaizhu, and finally handed the bracelet to Xu Xiurong.
Under the surprised gaze of the female warden, Hou whispered:
"I saw you staring at it for a while, so I took it back."
Xu Xiurong was stunned for a moment, and said with complicated eyes: "You never said that you can also write poetry."
Ji Ping'an saw that the movement here attracted the attention of the people around him, and he hurriedly led the three of them away, with an innocent look on his face:
"I don't know how. This is what the National Master told me back then."
Seeing that the female star officer was still staring at him, he laughed and said:
"Let's go. There are a lot of gadgets ahead. If you want them, let me know. We don't have to spend any money. This is called purchasing."
Mu Yaoyao became excited after hearing this. Luo Huaizhu held a cloth tiger, tilted his head, and slowly raised the corners of his mouth, very happy.
Xu Xiurong bit her lip and glanced at him, then she also laughed.
The four of them quickly squeezed through the crowd, and in the process they accidentally came across a scholar wearing a Confucian shirt with red lips and white teeth.
Almost bumping into each other.
"Feel sorry!"
Han Qingsong handed over his hands and apologized. After the four people left, he let out a deep breath, with a somewhat depressed expression on his pretty face.
Today's Wenxuanlou Literary Meeting, logically speaking, as a disciple of Yunhuai Academy, he should have participated in the literary fight there.
But what can be done... Han Qingsong's swordsmanship is first-rate, and his writing is pretty good, but his poetry is quite mediocre.
He was unable to participate in the war to make Huaiyuan famous, but that damn Qin Leyou was quite good at it.
Han Qingsong sat in Wenxuan Pavilion for a while, watching the humanities people from the Academy and Hanlin Academy show off their literary talents to each other, but he couldn't get in the slightest, and felt frustrated.
Feeling depressed, I simply found an excuse to come out for some air.
Anyway, the literary meeting will last for a few hours, so he will go back later.
"Huh?"
At this time, Han Qingsong suddenly noticed the commotion in the crowd in front, and many scholars were blocked in front of a vendor.
The sounds of exclamation, admiration, inquiry and discussion were mixed together, which was extremely eye-catching.
What happened?
Han Qingsong's curiosity was aroused. He held the hilt of the sword at his waist, squeezed through the crowd and came over, patting a scholar on the shoulder:
"Brother, please ask, what happened?"
The scholar looked excited:
"Just now, there was a young master who continued to write and completed three famous poems by the Imperial Master in one breath. It was extremely amazing and is the only one I have seen in my life."
Han Qingsong looked suspicious and said "heh", thinking that the scholars in Shendu were not very knowledgeable.
Over the past hundred years, there have been countless continuations of famous articles about national teachers, and there are many excellent ones.
Some people even claim that later generations have exhausted all fragments of poems, which means:
It couldn't have been written any better.
What good sentences can be said about this street stall? Most likely these scholars have never seen the world.
Han Qingsong shook his head, turned around and left with an arrogant look.
At this time, there were probably too many people crowding in to watch, and the stall owner simply couldn't bear it anymore, so he simply shouted loudly to suppress the noise of the crowd, and then recited Ji Ping'an's completed sentences loudly.
The next moment, Han Qingsong's original steps stopped, and his whole body seemed to have been cast down.
His breathing was rapid, a layer of fine pimples appeared on the skin under the sleeves of the Confucian scholar's robe, and his face turned red with excitement.
"This poem..."
He turned his head in shock and stared into the crowd, as if he had seen something unbelievable.
(End of chapter)
