A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

When he spoke his third sentence, his voice was no longer a soliloquy.

It was a tone of voice only used when reciting poetry, neither too high nor too low, neither too fast nor too slow, with every word clear and distinct.

More people around heard it; some turned around, some put down their phones, and some stood up from the rocks.

They didn't know what the person was reciting, but they knew it wasn't reciting poetry; it was composing poetry.

Because none of the known poems contain these three lines.

Su Wanci stood beside him, her hands gripping the hem of her clothes so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

She neither spoke nor moved.

She was afraid that her actions would interrupt him.

"My heart swells with the rising clouds, my eyes follow the returning birds."

He read the fourth sentence, then looked up at the distance.

The sea of ​​clouds surged beneath his feet, and birds flew past below them. He couldn't see them clearly, but he knew they were there.

The wind blew, making his hair all messy.

He stood there, like a tree that had been used to being blown by the wind.

"I will ascend to the very summit—"

He read the first half of the fifth sentence and then stopped.

Su Wanci's heart skipped a beat.

She didn't know why he stopped. Maybe he was thinking about the next word, maybe he was feeling the wind on the mountaintop, or maybe he wasn't thinking about anything at all and just needed to catch his breath, waiting for the sentence to grow out on its own.

The wind blew across his face, across the hem of his clothes, and across the guitar he held in his arms.

He stood there, on the top of Mount Tai, at a height of over 1,500 meters, between heaven and earth.

"Looking down from the top, all the mountains seem small."

He finished speaking the last five words.

The mountaintop was quiet for a moment.

Hundreds of people, hundreds of eyes, hundreds of ears, all focused on the same person.

The man stood atop the highest rock, a guitar in his arms, the wind blowing through his hair.

He gazed into the distance, his expression calm.

He was so calm that he didn't seem like someone who had just said, "I will climb to the top of the mountain and look down on all the other mountains."

Su Wanci did not move.

Her legs felt weak, not from fatigue, but from being hit by those words.

She was the first person to hear the poem, and she was the closest person to him.

She saw the movement of his lips, heard the emphasis and rhythm of each word he spoke, and saw a fleeting light in his eyes when he recited "Looking down on all the mountains from above."

The boy next to me with the sketchbook was the first to react.

His pencil flew across the paper as he wrote down the six sentences he had just heard.

His hands were trembling, and his handwriting was crooked, but he couldn't care less.

He just wanted to hold onto those words before they disappeared from his mind.

His girlfriend took out her phone, opened the notes app, and started taking notes as well.

When she got to the line "荡胸生曾云", she forgot how to write the character "曾". She was so anxious that she stomped her feet. In the end, she typed out a pinyin.

Everyone on the mountaintop realized what was happening.

What is the name of this poem?

Someone asked a question loudly.

Chen Mo turned his head and glanced at that person.

"Looking at Mount Tai".

He then looked away.

"Looking at Mount Tai..."

The person repeated it, nodding.

"Looking at Mount Tai, what a good name."

He typed "Looking at Mount Tai" in his phone's notes app and then started copying and pasting the six sentences.

His fingers flew across the screen.

Many more people around were taking notes; some used memos, some used notebooks, some used their phones to film videos, and some shouted at the top of their lungs down the mountain.

"Chen Mo has written a new poem! 'Looking at Mount Tai! I will climb to its summit and survey all the mountains below!'"

After shouting, I realized I had put the two sentences together, but it doesn't matter.

Su Wanci stood next to Chen Mo, her hands still clutching the hem of her clothes, her knuckles still white.

She took a deep breath and turned to look at Chen Mo.

Chen Mo was still looking into the distance when the wind blew the stray hairs on his forehead, revealing his smooth forehead.

"Chen Mo."

She called his name.

Chen Mo turned to look at her.

"What's wrong?"

"The poem you just mentioned..."

Su Wanci bit her lip, her voice very soft.

"Can you write it down?"

Chen Mo looked at her.

He saw the pleading in her eyes.

She rarely looked at him like that.

When she was with him.

Most of her responses were "Chen Mo, hurry up!", "Chen Mo, eat this!", "Chen Mo, did you stay up late again?"—commanding, declarative, and interrogative tones. She used many different tones, but rarely pleaded.

She is pleading with him now.

It's not for myself, but for those who may never hear this poem again.

She wasn't pleading for herself; she was pleading for the world.

Chen Mo didn't speak. He gently leaned his guitar against the rock, took out the sketchbook from his backpack—the one Su Wanci had stuffed into his bag the night before—and turned to a blank page.

Su Wanci's eyes reddened instantly as she watched his actions.

She walked over to him, squatted down, and looked at the tip of his pen.

The sketchbook is small, A5 size, and the paper is off-white and a bit rough.

Chen Mo held the pencil and wrote five words on the first line: "How is Mount Tai?"

His handwriting wasn't very good; the horizontal strokes weren't straight and the vertical strokes weren't upright, like that of a primary school student who had just learned to write.

Su Wanci thought it was the most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen.

"The green of Qilu is endless."

The second line. He wrote slowly, thinking for a moment before each stroke.

"Nature's creation bestows its most exquisite beauty, dividing day and night with yin and yang."

When he wrote the character "割" (cut) in the third line, he paused for a moment, looked up, and gazed into the distance.

The morning light had already dyed the entire sea of ​​clouds golden, and the mountain peaks peeked out from within the clouds like tiny points, as if sliced ​​by a giant knife. He lowered his head and continued writing.

"My heart swells with the rising clouds, my eyes follow the returning birds."

After writing the fourth line, his finger paused on the paper for a moment.

Su Wanci squatted down next to him, looking at each word one by one, and silently reciting each word in her mind.

"I will ascend to the very summit—"

He wrote seven characters in the fifth line, then stopped.

This pause was longer than before, so long that Su Wanci thought he had forgotten the next line, so long that her heart jumped into her throat.

The wind blowing from the mountaintop rustled the pages of the sketchbook and lifted a strand of hair that hung down beside Su Wanci's face.

Chen Mo stared at the seven characters for several seconds before writing down the last five.

"Looking down from the top, all the mountains seem small."

He lifted his pen, paused briefly at the last stroke of the last character, and then left the paper.

"Chen Mo."

"Um."

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for writing it down."

Chen Mo glanced at her and pulled her up.

She had been squatting for too long, and her legs went numb. When she stood up, she swayed, and Chen Mo supported her arm.

Su Wanci steadied herself, did not push his hand away, and looked down at the few lines of text on the sketchbook.

Sunlight shines on the paper, and the pencil marks gleam with a silvery-gray light, as if they have been coated with a thin layer of metal.

"This notebook is mine."

she says.

"Didn't you say you'd give it to me?"

"It's a gift from me, but it's still mine."

Chen Mo glanced at her, closed his sketchbook, and handed it to her.