The national teacher does not practice

Chapter 103 Who Filled This Poem? (two in one)

"That person just now seems to be a scholar from Huaiyuan."

On the other side of the street, four people squeezed out of the crowd, Xu Xiurong turned his head and said with some uncertainty.

After thinking about it carefully, the beauty said firmly:

"It's from Huaiyuan. In order to make it easier to draw the sword, the style of their Confucian robes is different from the usual ones."

Ji Pingan said "Oh", and said, "Shouldn't you be at the literary meeting at this time?"

"Who knows, maybe something happened."

If you don't understand it, it's not something worth caring about.

Ji Pingan said with a smile:
"If you want to see it, you can always go in as a prisoner."

Xu Xiurong shook her head. Although she has read a lot of poetry and books, they are only used to cultivate her sentiment and pass the time. As a practitioner, she will not be greedy for literati.

What's more... When it comes to poetry, isn't Ji Pingan next to them better than those people?
Although this guy picked up the remnants of the national teacher, but just a few casually written sentences are enough to surprise.

At this moment, she doesn't know that in the eyes of people who really understand poetry, those few lines are more than just "amazing", they are enough to hang the existence of Wenhui.

"Eldest brother, I want that fan! Senior Sister Huaizhu, you also fell in love with that mirror, right?"

The little beauty next to her chattered.

I am full of enthusiasm for this kind of thing that can be done for free by writing a few words without spending money.

Ji Pingan had no choice but to say, "Okay, I'll write..."

I thought in my heart that if these completed sentences were sold to those wealthy literati, and they would show their holiness in the literary world, just a few sentences would be enough to take down the entire street.

In the end, it was such a waste. If the group of scholars in Shendu found out, they would probably scold them for being a waste of money.

But... what does it matter? Of course, the most important thing is to have fun when you come out to play.

……

"This poem... this word..."

On the other side, Han Qingsong's face was flushed with excitement, his eyes were empty, and the stall owner's chanting echoed in his ears.

This person seemed to gulp down a glass of cold water in the scorching heat, and shivered all over.

Although he is not good at composing poems, his taste level is not low, and he immediately realized the subtlety of these few sentences.

At first he couldn't believe it, then he squeezed away from the crowd, rushed to the vendor and stared at it carefully, and after confirming it, he hastily asked:
"Who wrote it? Where is that man?"

The stall owner was taken aback and pointed in the direction:
"After finishing writing, I went over there. He is a young man who is about the same age as you. By the way, he is accompanied by three girls. He really looks like a lotus flower. I don't know which noble young man he is from. He is probably traveling with his family. ..."

At last he sighed again:

"It's a nice addition to the phrase."

It's more than good...You mediocre people don't know the benefits of this poem...Han Qingsong wants to argue loudly.

I think the aesthetic level of these people is too poor.

But after listening to the stall owner's description, he was stunned, as if the few people he bumped into head-on just now were like that.

Thinking of this, Han Qingsong ran away, chasing after the crowd.

But Chang'an Avenue is crowded with people, where else can I find it?
"Such a poem should not be buried here."

Han Qingsong was frustrated at first, and then excitedly walked back to Wenxuan Building, ready to report the matter to his master.

……

……

At the same time, inside Wenxuan Building.

The atmosphere of the literary meeting gradually became warmer and gradually reached a climax.

The hall on the first floor has long been re-planned and placed into a large "audience seat", occupied by scholars from Shendu.

Two exclusive seats are 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 poems and essays banners hanging from the top of the head. The process of the essay meeting is very simple:
Representatives from both parties will extract themes and genres from the prepared wooden boxes.

Afterwards, the two parties created works, and the works completed within the specified time were read aloud publicly for the appreciation and appreciation of many scholars present.

And the "judges" on the referee's seat will make comments to decide the winner.Repeat several rounds before the dust settles.

"Closed!"

At this time, the "commander" standing in the field glanced at the hourglass and struck the bell with a small hammer to announce.

The talents on both sides stopped writing, took a few steps back, and a copy was copied out by a special person. They stepped on the stairs all the way to the private room on the second floor, and handed it to the judges and the princes, nobles, and Confucian scholars who came to watch the literary meeting.

Soon, everyone whispered and commented.

In the hall, someone stood up, reciting aloud with rhythm and rhythm, which attracted the applause of the whole hall.

"It's coming again, it's coming again." In a private room on the second floor, Yu Yu stood by the railing, looked down, resisted the urge to yawn, and only then raised his spirits.

Behind her, beside a round table with melons, fruits, pears and peaches, was a hale and hearty old man with frosty temples and a light blue Taoist robe.

Daoist Elder, Chen Daoling.

At this time, the old man was holding his teacup, shaking his head and laughing when he heard the words, he was very clear about the virtues of his saintess, he didn't know any poetry and articles, he just came to join in the fun.

All they care about is winning or losing.

Fortunately, it was on the second floor, otherwise, with Yu Yu's style, he would probably have to pretend to be a "saint" character 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.

This time, only Daomen and Mo Lin were present at the Wenhui. The former was to highlight the demeanor of the first major school of the Zhou Dynasty, while the latter was more pure:

Mo Lin is good at piano, chess, calligraphy and painting, and has a similar temperament to Yunhuai Academy, and the relationship has always been good.

He shifted his gaze to the most conspicuous private room on the second floor on the right, which is the judges' seat.

Compared with the other two schools of performing martial arts, Wen Hui highlighted a more elegant atmosphere, making the atmosphere much more harmonious.

"Hey, this song has some meaning... Yu Wenjing, if the old man remembers correctly, he is a scholar of the Imperial Academy?"

Known as "Grand Zeng", the white-bearded old man who used to be a referee in the Green Apricot Garden picked up a poem, chewed it over and over again, and looked at the latter with a smile.

At the beginning, I met Ji Pingan once, with a square face, the old-fashioned Chengzhi bachelor is wearing an official robe today, sitting in a big mahogany chair, and said with a smile:

"Mr. Zeng has a good memory. He is indeed a junior who was promoted last year. His essays in the imperial examination are not bad. It's okay if he doesn't want to write poetry."

next to.

With an elegant temperament, the Da Guoshou wearing a square scarf glanced at Cong Yun, nodded slightly, and said:

"However, this round, Huaiyuan is also quite good, such as this song, it is quite spiritual. It was written by Qin Leyou, Mr. Zhang, if I remember correctly, this person seems to represent Huaiyuan to participate in the grand prize? "

brush--

Hearing this, even Duke Lu, who represented the emperor and sat here as a "spectator", looked over.

Mrs. Zhang was wearing a Confucian shirt and a goatee, with a refined and gentle demeanor. Hearing that the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes became finer, he said with a smile:

"Leyou and Qingsong are the leaders of this generation. I don't want to hear about the national players."

Duke Lu interjected:

"Shendu Grand Award is a grand event in Kyushu. Although we are ordinary people and have no chance to touch the Dao, we still care about it."

The hidden meaning of these words is:

His Majesty the Divine Emperor is very concerned and knows your Huaiyuan very well.

Mrs. Zhang smiled, still calmly, and said:

"The grand prize is still to come. Today's literary conference will only talk about elegance."

The implication of this is: don't ask nonsense.

"Master's words are reasonable." Bachelor Chengzhi smiled, and then gave his own comments.

The rest of the people also wrote down "scores" one after another and passed them on to the boys.

Lian Congyun looked under the railing and said:
"This time the literary battle is evenly matched. I'm afraid it will be difficult to decide the winner in a few more rounds."

Hearing this, all the great Confucians present became serious.

Don't look at the casual tone of each of them, but inside, how can you not care about winning or losing?
But the situation was indeed as Lian Congyun said, extremely anxious.

The poems and essays of the two sides competed for novelty and beauty, and each had its own merits. After several rounds of debate, it was impossible to tell the winner.

Undoubtedly, the referee will end up in the end and carry out partial support.

It's just that scholars have to face. If this kind of thing can be avoided, they still want to avoid it. No one wants to get a reputation of "unfairness".

The white-bearded old man said with emotion: "The reason why they are evenly matched is fundamentally that they are of the same level. There is not a single poem that is shocking enough to be stunning and overwhelming."

Master Chengzhi smiled wryly:
"What Zeng Gong said is, how easy is it to write that kind of poem? After the seal of the master of the state, the culture of the Great Zhou Dynasty has dried up."

National Teacher... Mentioning this name, all the scholars present felt sympathetic.

It is true that in the past, the national teachers wantonly displayed their talents and passed down too many famous stories.

With the power of one person, he has suppressed the Kyushu literary world for hundreds of years. Even if we go back to the past, the sages all look bleak.

Maybe it's because the national teacher is so talented that he has aroused the appetite of scholars.

After he sealed his pen, no matter how scholars of later generations wrote poems, it seemed mediocre.

This kind of thing is not difficult to understand.

If someone develops his skills and talents to the pinnacle in a certain field, future generations can only look up to them, and they will not be able to think beyond them.

It will be said 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 up new roads?
Those who can open up new paths 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, and he also sighed in his heart when he heard this.

Looking at the poems written by the two sides, they all seem mediocre.

At this moment, suddenly at the gate of Wenxuan Building, a handsome scholar in a blue shirt, with a sword on his waist, and red lips and white teeth walked in.

He looked around and 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, and Brother Qin just made a song..."

A Huaiyuan scholar waved to share the progress of Wendou.

Han Qingsong looked excited, ignored him, and just said:

"Bring me a pen and paper."

The former was startled, thinking that you also want to join the war?But I haven't heard that Senior Brother Han is good at poetry.

"hurry up!"

Han Qingsong urged, and when the latter brought the pen and paper, he quickly wrote three poems on the paper.

Immediately, he dropped the pen, dried the ink stains, and walked towards the second floor, bypassing the crowd.

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 drawing a new round of themes.

……

Han Qingsong stepped on the stairs and went up to the second floor. With a sweeping gaze, he locked onto Master Zhang.

He walked straight over, and the guards of the Duke's Mansion guarding the private room looked at the clothes on the other side's body, but 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 Confucian scholars also turned their heads to look. Han Qingsong held up the pressure and cupped his hands:
"Xiao Ke took the liberty to disturb, I hope you will forgive me."

Immediately, he handed over the poem he wrote:
"Master, take a look at this first."

Master Zhang became more and more puzzled. He knew that Han Qingsong was not good at poetry, but he didn't know what kind of medicine he sold in his gourd.

Frowning slightly, he raised his hand, and the few pages of paper fell into his hand, and he began to read.

"Qing Ping Tiao... Huh..."

He was taken aback at first, his eyes fell on the two lines of the poem he was most familiar with, and he realized that this was a remnant of the national teacher.

So... is it complete?
After thinking about it, the old man slowly raised his gaze, saw the first two sentences, and then, he was taken aback again.

His brows were furrowed, his lips moved silently, as if he was meditating, his eyes lit up suddenly, and he savored for a moment, becoming more and more surprised.

Can't help but look up at the proud student:
"This verse..."

Han Qingsong reminded:

"Master, there are two more."

Master Zhang seemed to realize something, looked away, turned to the next page with some expectation, and read in a low voice.

The breathing is visibly rapid to the naked eye, and I only feel the tongue is saliva.

Without hesitation, he turned to the last page again, which was simply a poem.

But this time, the master of Huaiyuan simply immersed himself in it, unable to extricate himself, and only admired in a low voice:
"It's all natural... it's all natural..."

Beside, the rest of the people saw this scene, and their curiosity flourished.

Lian Congyun couldn't help asking:

"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 let out a deep breath to adjust his emotions.

Then he handed over the three pages and said:
"Everyone hold your palms, can this complete sentence be called perfect?"

Completion?

The Confucians were taken aback, and they couldn't help coming over to read, even Lu Guogong, who didn't like poetry very much, also came over.

then……

Changes similar to Master Zhang's appeared on everyone's faces, and some people even murmured:
"Yun Xiang's clothes are beautiful, and the spring breeze blows the threshold of Revlon... This sentence, this sentence..."

A person next to him said:

"When I'm drunk, I don't know the sky is in the water. This line is the most suitable. Only this line, the whole poem has been elevated by at least two levels!"

Another person got up with trembling hands and said excitedly:

"This poem is the most perfect complement. This ugly slave, there are countless people who have tried to complete it for a hundred years, but it is not as good as this sentence. That's the sentence."

"No, I think this sentence is the 'original match'!"

All of a sudden, the whole private room started to discuss.

This unusual scene immediately attracted the attention of other people 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 raised eyebrows on her porcelain-like face.

Behind her, Chen Daoling, who was sitting upright drinking tea, was also quite puzzled, and ordered the boy to inquire in a low voice.

opposite.

In another private room across the hall, Gao Mingjing also noticed the abnormality of the "judge's seat", and the great painter was surprised:

"Go and ask what's going on."

Qu Chuchen behind him gave an "en" and went by himself without looking for anyone else.

Mr. Zhong Tong with a bookish face raised his eyebrows, thinking of the Huaiyuan scholar who went upstairs just now, and said:

"Could it be that Huaiyuan came up with good poems?"

But immediately, she bent down and looked down at the hall, clearly a new round had just begun.

In the lobby on the first floor.

Someone also noticed the changes upstairs. The scholars who acted as spectators whispered and whispered, and some people got up from time to time to inquire.

Gradually, the entire humming and discussion became clearly audible.

Yu Wenjing, who was thinking hard and holding the ink pen, noticed something strange and raised his head, not understanding what happened.

The handsome "prodigal son" Qin Leyou, who was dressed in a moon-white Confucian robe with a slightly open chest, was writing an article with a brush. At this moment, he also raised his head and asked doubtfully:
"what happened?"

Next to it, a Huaiyuan scholar said:

"I don't know, Senior Brother Han came back in a hurry just now, asked for a pen and paper to write something, sent it upstairs, and then it was like this, I think it has something to do with it."

Han Qingsong? ...Qin Leyou was stunned, and the state and inspiration that had been brewed with great difficulty disappeared.

The buzz became louder and louder, and everyone noticed that something was going on, so that the two sides of the literary battle, which should have attracted much attention, were actually ignored by people and no longer paid attention.

upstairs.

A group of Confucian scholars didn't pay attention to the discussion below. After the initial surprise and joy, they finally remembered something and raised their heads to look at Han Qingsong, who has fair skin and looks like a boy and a girl:

"This article, is it you who supplemented it?"

Han Qingsong had already calmed down now. Facing the complex gazes of a group of Confucian scholars and masters, he took a deep breath, raised his chest, and looked like a scholar who was as proud as pines and cypresses.

He said lightly: "No!"

As a scholar, he disdains to be that literary thief.

Of course, even if he wanted to, these three poems have gradually spread, and there are many witnesses, so there is no way to keep them for himself.

No... Then what's wrong with your proud face... A group of great scholars are speechless.

"Which person in Huaiyuan made up for it?"

Han Qingsong frowned, and said lightly: "It's not from my Huaiyuan."

not them...

A group of Confucian scholars headed by Chengzhi breathed a sigh of relief. They were really afraid that it was Huaiyuan's poems, otherwise, with these few poems, it would be difficult for them to favor the gods.

Wait... If it wasn't Huaiyuan, wouldn't it be...

The white-bearded old man named "Zeng Gong" took a tight breath, and suddenly felt similar to that day in Qingxingyuan, tremblingly said:
"Who is that..."

Han Qingsong immediately told the story of how he found the crowd gathering on the street and how he asked about it.

So, is it a young son with three female relatives, just to make up for a few worthless prizes?

Hearing this answer, a group of big figures including Zhang Fuzi looked at each other in blank dismay, feeling unbelievable.

And 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 Mr. Zeng? The student has something to report..."

The white-bearded old man frowned, recognized that he was his student, and beckoned 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 gentleman outside who has completed the poems of the national teacher, is it natural?"

The student was stunned for a moment, and said, "Did Mr. Zeng know about it?"

The white-bearded old man shook his head, pointed to the words on the table, and said:
"The old man has read these three poems, you..."

The student shook his head, but what he said stunned several Confucian scholars:

"It's not these three songs, this one is outdated, now it's the fourth and fifth... Mr. Zeng, it's very lively outside right now!"

……

Correct the typo first and then change
(End of this chapter)