"That person just now seems to be a scholar from Huaiyuan."
At the other end of the street, four people squeezed out of the crowd. Xu Xiurong turned his head and said uncertainly.
Then after thinking about it carefully, the beauty said firmly:
"They are from Huaiyuan. In order to make it easier to draw swords, the style of their Confucian robes is different from the common ones."
Ji Ping'an said "Oh" and said flatteringly: "Then shouldn't we be at the cultural gathering at this time?"
"Who knows, maybe there's something wrong."
If you don't understand it, it's not something worth paying attention to.
Ji Ping'an smiled and said:
"If you want to go see it, you can always get in as a prisoner."
Xu Xiurong shook his head. Although she had read many poems and books, they were only used to cultivate her sentiments and pass the time. As a practitioner, she would not be greedy for the literati.
What's more... when it comes to poetry, isn't Ji Ping'an next to him better than those people?
Although this guy picked up the fragments of the National Master's work, the few sentences he wrote casually were enough to amaze him.
At this moment, she didn't know that in the eyes of people who really understood poetry, those few sentences were more than just "amazing", they were enough to bring down the literary society.
"Senior Brother, I want that fan! Senior Sister Huaizhu, you also have your eye on that mirror, right?"
The little beauty next to her started chirping.
I am full of enthusiasm for this kind of thing that can be done for free by just writing a few words without spending any money.
Ji Ping'an was helpless and said: "Okay, okay, I'll write it..."
I thought to myself, if these completed sentences were sold to those wealthy literati, who would use them to show themselves in the literary world, just a few or two sentences would be enough to cover the entire street.
The result was such a waste. If the great scholars in the capital of the gods found out, they would probably scold him for wasting such a waste of natural resources.
But...what does it matter? Of course, having fun when going out to play is the most important thing.
…
"This poem...this word..."
On the other side, Han Qingsong's face turned red with excitement, his eyes were blank, and the stall owner's chants echoed in his ears.
This man seemed to have swallowed a glass of cold water during the sweltering heat, and trembled all over.
Although he was not good at composing poetry, his taste in poetry was not low, and he immediately realized the exquisiteness of these few sentences.
At first he was in disbelief, then he pushed through the crowd, rushed to the stall and stared at it carefully to make sure, and then he hurriedly asked:
"Who wrote it? Where is that person?"
The stall owner was startled and pointed in the direction:
"After I finished writing, I went over there. It was a young man about your age. By the way, he was accompanied by three girls. He looked like a lotus. I don't know which family he was. He was probably traveling with his family. …”
Finally, he sighed again:
"The words and sentences are not bad."
It's more than good... You mediocre people don't know the benefits of this poem at all... Han Qingsong wanted to argue loudly.
I think the aesthetic standards of these people are too poor.
But after hearing the stall owner's description, he was stunned, as if the people he bumped into just now were like this.
Thinking of this, Han Qingsong ran away and chased after the crowd.
But there are so many people on Chang'an Street, where can I find him?
"A poem like this should not be buried here."
Han Qingsong was depressed at first, and then walked back to Wenxuan Tower happily, preparing to report the matter to his master.
…
…
At the same time, inside Wenxuan Building.
The atmosphere of the cultural gathering became increasingly lively and gradually reached its climax.
The hall on the first floor has been re-planned and turned into a large "auditorium" occupied by scholars from Shendu.
There are two exclusive seats, occupied by Yunhuai Academy and Hanlin Academy respectively.
At the front are long tables lined up with pens, inks, papers and inkstones, and in the middle is an aisle covered with precious carpets.
There are also poetry banners hanging above the head. The process of the literary meeting is very simple:
Representatives from both parties will draw themes and genres from prepared wooden boxes.
Then, both parties created works, and the works completed within the specified time were read aloud in public for the appreciation of many readers present.
The "judges" on the referee's bench will comment and decide the winner. Repeat for several rounds until the dust settles.
"Deadline!"
At this time, the "commander" standing in the field glanced at the hourglass and struck the bell with a small hammer to announce.
The talented men on both sides stopped writing, took a few steps back, and had someone copy out the copy. They walked all the way up the stairs to the private room on the second floor and handed it over to the judges and the princes, nobles, and Confucian celebrities who came to watch the cultural gathering.
Soon, everyone was whispering, commenting and commenting.
In the hall, someone stood up, recited aloud in a cadence, and the whole house was filled with applause.
"Here we go again, here we go again." In a private room on the second floor, Yu Yu stood by the railing, looking down, resisting the urge to yawn, and only then did he cheer up.
Behind her, at a round table with fruits, pears and peaches, was a slender old man with frosty white temples and wearing a light blue Taoist robe.
Taoist elder, Chen Daoling.
At this time, the old man held the tea cup, shook his head and laughed after hearing this. He knew the virtues of his saint daughter very clearly, and he didn't know anything about poetry and articles. He was just here to join in the fun.
All that matters is victory or defeat.
Fortunately, it was on the second floor. Otherwise, with Yu Yu's style, he would probably have to pretend to be a "holy lady" and suffer for several hours.
Thinking of this, Chen Daoling raised his head and looked at Gao Mingjing in the private room opposite on the second floor.
At this literary meeting, only Daomen and Molin were present. The former wanted to highlight the style of the largest sect in the Zhou Dynasty, while the latter was more pure:
Mo Lin is good at music, chess, calligraphy and painting. He has a similar temperament to Yunhuai Academy and has always had a good relationship.
He shifted his gaze again to the most conspicuous private room on the second floor on the right, which was the judges' bench.
Compared with the tense martial arts performances of the other two factions, Wen Hui highlighted elegance and the atmosphere was much more harmonious.
"Hey, this song is interesting... Yu Wenjing, if I remember correctly, is a concubine of the Hanlin Academy?"
The old man with a white beard, who was respectfully called "Zeng Gong" and also served as a referee in the Green Apricot Garden in the past, picked up a piece of poetry, chewed it over and over, and looked at the latter with a smile.
The old-fashioned bachelor Chengzhi, who had met Ji Ping'an once, was wearing an official robe today and was sitting in a big mahogany chair. Hearing this, he smiled and said:
"Mr. Zeng has a good memory. He is indeed a junior who was promoted last year. His essays in the imperial examination are pretty good, even if he doesn't want to write poems."
beside.
Lian Congyun, a powerful figure with an elegant temperament and a scarf on his head, also glanced at him, nodded slightly, and said:
"However, this round, Huaiyuan is also quite good, and this song is quite spiritual. It was written by Qin Leyou, Master Zhang. If I remember correctly, this person seems to be participating in the Grand Prize on behalf of Huaiyuan? "
brush--
Hearing this, even Duke Lu, who represented the emperor and was sitting here as a "spectator", looked over.
Master Zhang was wearing a scholar's shirt and a goat's beard. He had an elegant and gentle temperament. When he heard this, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes became finer and finer, and he smiled and said:
"Leyou and Qingsong are both the leaders of this generation. I don't want even the national players to hear about them."
Duke Lu Guo interjected:
"The Shendu Grand Prize is a grand event in Kyushu. Although we are ordinary people and have no chance to touch the great road, we still care about it."
The hidden meaning of this statement is:
His Majesty the God Emperor cares about you very much and knows your Huaiyuan very well.
Master Zhang smiled, still looking calm, and said:
"The big prize is still to come. Today's literary meeting will only talk about elegance."
The implicit meaning of this sentence is: don't ask around.
"Master's words make sense." Bachelor Chengzhi smiled and then gave his own comments.
The others also wrote down their "scores" and handed them to the boy to pass on.
Lian Congyun looked under the railing and said:
"This literary fight is very evenly matched. I'm afraid that after a few more rounds, it will be difficult to decide the winner."
Hearing this, the great scholars present also became serious.
Despite their casual tone, how could they not care about winning or losing on the inside?
But the situation is indeed as Lian Congyun said, extremely anxious.
The two sides competed with each other in their poems and articles, each with its own merits. After several rounds of debate, it was impossible to tell the winner.
It's hard to say that in the end, the referee would have to leave the field and take advantage of the situation.
It's just that scholars want to lose face. If this kind of thing can be avoided, they will still want to avoid it. No one wants to end up with an "unfair" reputation.
The white-bearded old man said with emotion: "The reason why they are equally matched is that they are of similar level. There is no poem that is amazing enough to overwhelm the whole room."
Bachelor Chengzhi smiled bitterly:
"What Mr. Zeng said is, how easy is it to write that kind of poetry? Ever since Da Guoshi closed his pen, the literary context of the Great Zhou Dynasty has dried up."
Imperial Master... mentioning this name, all the scholars present felt sad.
It is true that in the past, the Imperial Master used his talents wantonly and handed down too many famous works.
With the power of one person, he has suppressed the literary world of Kyushu for hundreds of years. Even if we look back on the past, the sages of the past appear to be dim.
Perhaps the Imperial Master was so talented that he whetted the appetites of scholars.
After he closed his pen, the poems written by later generations of scholars seemed mediocre and mediocre.
This kind of thing is not difficult to understand.
If someone reaches the pinnacle of skill and talent in a certain field, future generations can only look up to him and cannot think of transcendence.
They will say that this field is blocked by it, and if future generations want to surpass it, they can only find a new way.
But how easy is it to open a new road?
Those who can blaze new trails should be regarded as masters, and there are only a handful of masters in ancient and modern times.
Although Master Zhang is a monk, he is also a scholar at heart. Hearing this, he also sighed in his heart.
Looking at the poems written by the two sides in competition, they all seemed mediocre.
At this moment, suddenly at the gate of Wenxuan Building, a handsome scholar wearing a green shirt, a sword on his waist, red lips and white teeth walked in.
After looking around, he got into the group of people in Huaiyuan.
"Senior Brother Han, you are back. Sit down quickly. A new round of competition is about to begin again. Just now, Senior Brother Qin made a song..."
A scholar from Huaiyuan beckoned and shared the progress of the literary struggle.
Han Qingsong looked excited, ignored him, and just said:
"Bring me a pen and paper."
The former was startled and thought, are you going to join the war too? I never heard that Senior Brother Han is good at poetry.
"hurry up!"
Han Qingsong urged, and when the latter brought a pen and paper, he quickly wrote three poems on the paper.
He immediately put down his pen, dried the ink stains, and walked around the crowd toward the second floor.
This unexpected scene immediately attracted the attention of some scholars in the hall.
But soon, everyone turned their attention back to the two sides who were selecting a new round of themes.
…
Han Qingsong stepped on the stairs and climbed to the second floor. He glanced at Master Zhang.
He walked straight over. The guards of the Duke's Mansion who were guarding the private room took a look at his clothes and did not stop him.
"Qingsong? What are you doing here?" The elegant and easy-going Master Zhang asked in surprise.
At the same time, the other scholars also turned to look, and Han Qingsong resisted the pressure and raised his hands:
"Xiao Ke, I apologize for disturbing you."
Immediately, he handed over the poem he had written:
"Master, please take a look at this first."
Master Zhang became more and more confused. He knew that Han Qingsong was not good at poetry and didn't know what medicine he was selling in his gourd.
Frowning slightly, he raised his hand, and the pages fell into his hands, and he started reading.
"Qingpingdiao...eh..."
He was startled at first, then his eyes fell on the two most familiar lines of the poem, and he realized that these were the fragments of the National Master's poem.
So...it's a completion?
After thinking about it, the old man slowly raised his eyes and saw the two sentences above. Then, he was stunned again.
His brows were furrowed, his lips moved silently, as if he was reciting silently, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he savored it for a moment, becoming more and more surprised.
He couldn't help but look up at his proud disciple:
"This poem..."
Han Qingsong reminded:
"Master, there are two more chapters."
Master Zhang seemed to realize something and looked away. He turned to the next page with some anticipation and read in a low voice.
His breathing was visibly rapid, and his mouth and tongue were filled with fluid.
Without hesitation, he turned to the last page again, which was simply a poem.
But this time, the Master from Huaiyuan simply immersed himself in it and could not extricate himself. He only praised in a low voice:
"It's natural...it's natural..."
Beside, the others saw this scene and became very curious.
Lian Congyun couldn't help but ask:
"Master Zhang? Master Zhang? What did you say?"
Only then did the latter wake up, his face flushed with excitement, he looked around at everyone, and took a deep breath to adjust his emotions.
Then he handed over the three pages of paper and said:
"You all have your hands on it, can this complete sentence be called perfect?"
Completion?
The great scholars were stunned and couldn't help but come over to read. Even Duke Lu, who didn't like poetry very much, also came over.
Then……
Similar changes to Master Zhang's appeared on everyone's faces, and some even murmured:
"The clouds are like clothes, the flowers are like faces, the spring breeze is blowing the threshold, and the dew is thick... This sentence, this sentence..."
Someone next to me said:
"After being drunk, I don't know that the sky is in the water. This line is the most suitable. With this line alone, the whole poem has been raised to at least two levels!"
Another person stood up with trembling hands and said excitedly:
"This poem is the most wonderful complement to the poem "Ugly Slave". Over the past hundred years, countless people have tried to complete it, but none of them can be as seamless as this sentence. In my opinion, I am afraid that the master of the country will not be able to complete it. That’s it for the sentence.”
"No, I think this sentence means 'first wife'!"
For a time, the whole room was buzzing with discussion.
This unusual scene immediately attracted the attention of others in the distance.
"Hey, what are those people doing? Why are they all standing up? Aren't they still writing a new round of poems?" Yu Yu asked in surprise with his eyebrows raised on his porcelain face.
Behind her, Chen Daoling, who was sitting upright drinking tea, was also quite puzzled and ordered the boy in a low voice to go and find out.
opposite.
In another private room across the hall, Gao Mingjing also noticed the abnormality in the "jury's seat". The great painter was surprised and uncertain:
"Go and ask what's going on."
Qu Chuchen, who was behind him, said "Yes" and went alone without looking for anyone else.
Zhong Tongjun, who had a bookish look on his face, raised his embroidered eyebrows, thinking about the scholar from Huaiyuan who climbed up the stairs just now, and said:
"Is it possible that Huaiyuan came up with good poems?"
But immediately, she leaned down and looked down at the hall, clearly a new round had just begun.
In the lobby on the first floor.
Some people also noticed the changes upstairs. The scholars who acted as the audience were whispering to each other and talking in low voices. From time to time, some people got up to inquire.
Gradually, the entire hum of discussion became clearly audible.
Yu Wenjing, who was thinking hard and holding an ink pen, noticed something strange and raised his head, wondering what happened.
Sitting in the seat of Huaiyuan, wearing a moon-white Confucian robe with a slightly open chest, the handsome "prodigal son" Qin Leyou was writing an article. At this time, he also raised his head and asked doubtfully:
"what happened?"
Next to him, a scholar from Huaiyuan said:
"I don't know. Just now, Senior Brother Han came back in a hurry, asked for paper and pen to write something down, and sent it upstairs, and then that was it. I guess it's related."
Han Qingsong? ... Qin Leyou was confused, and the state and inspiration he had finally brewed disappeared.
The buzzing chatter became louder and louder, and everyone noticed that something was going on. So much so that the two sides of the civil war, which should have attracted much attention, were actually ignored by people and no longer paid attention to them.
upstairs.
The group of scholars did not pay attention to the discussion below. After the initial surprise and joy, they finally remembered something and raised their heads one after another to look at Han Qingsong, who had fair skin and a male-female appearance:
"Did you edit this article?"
Han Qingsong had calmed down now. Facing the complicated looks of a group of great scholars and masters, Han Qingsong took a deep breath, straightened his chest and raised his head, looking like a scholar as proud as a cypress.
He said calmly: "No!"
As a scholar, he disdains being a literary thief.
Of course, even if he wanted to, these three songs had gradually spread, and there were many witnesses, so he couldn't keep them as his own.
No... Then what are you doing with your proud face... A group of great scholars were speechless.
"Who in Huaiyuan made up for that?"
Han Qingsong frowned and said calmly: "It's not from my Huaiyuan."
Not them...
A group of scholars led by Bachelor Chengzhi breathed a sigh of relief quietly. They were really afraid that it was Huaiyuan's poems. Otherwise, with these few poems, it would be difficult for them to favor Shendu.
Wait...if it wasn't Huaiyuan, wouldn't it be...
The white-bearded old man named "Zeng Gong" breathed tightly, and suddenly felt similar to that of Qingxingyuan that day, and said in a trembling voice:
"Who is that..."
Han Qingsong immediately recounted how he noticed a crowd gathering on the street and how he asked about it.
So, is it a young man with three female dependents who just wants to win a few worthless prizes and make up for it?
After hearing this answer, a group of big shots, including Master Zhang, looked at each other with a sense of disbelief.
At this moment, at the gate of Wenxuan Building, another scholar suddenly broke in, waving a few pieces of paper in his hand, and said loudly:
"Mr. Zeng, where is Gong Zeng? The student has something to report..."
The white-bearded old man frowned, recognized that he was his student, and called for someone to let him in.
Not long after, the scholar ran in excitedly and was about to speak.
The latter interrupted: "But there is a young man outside who has completed the poems of the National Master, and it is completely natural?"
The student was stunned for a moment and said, "Does Mr. Zeng already know?"
The white-bearded old man shook his head, pointed at the words on the table, and said:
"I have already read these three songs, you..."
The student shook his head, but what he said made several scholars collectively stunned:
"It's not these three songs. This one is outdated. Now it's the fourth and fifth songs... Mr. Zeng, it's so lively outside right now!"
…
Correct typos first and then correct them
(End of chapter)
