A live-streamed Chinese language lesson under the sky—the ancients were taken aback.

"Bells and drums, delicacies and jade are not worth treasuring; I would rather be drunk forever than wake up."

In ancient times, the saints and sages were lonely, and only the drinkers kept their names.

Prince Chen once held a banquet at Ping Le, where he drank ten thousand coins' worth of wine and indulged in unrestrained revelry.

"Many people say this is just Li Bai being a sour grapes." Zhiwubuyan shook his head slightly.

"Actually, that's not the case. He really did see bells and drums and delicacies. He was Emperor Xuanzong's court writer, and he went in and out of the palace, where he saw the most luxurious and extravagant things."

It was precisely because he had seen it that he dared to say "not worth mentioning".

He knew that fame, fortune, and the reputation of a sage were all too heavy a burden compared to the joy of life itself.

He brought up Prince Chen, Cao Zhi, not just to use a historical allusion, but also to find a kindred spirit.

Cao Zhi was also exceptionally talented, had unfulfilled ambitions, and lived out his true nature through wine.

In Li Bai's value system, living authentically and joyfully was far more important than being a rigidly obedient sage.

This also reflects Li Bai's unyielding spirit: it's not that he didn't pursue fame and fortune, but that he would never kneel before them.

Cao Zhi is a spiritual mirror of Li Bai's life; both were exceptionally talented and both had unfulfilled ambitions.

Confucius, Mencius, Qu Yuan—weren't they all lonely? Li Bai was telling the truth.

He wasn't denying the virtues of sages; he was trying to find a way of life for himself and all those who are down on their luck. Sages live too bitterly; it's better to drink.

……

"Why does the host say he has little money? Just buy some more to drink with me."

"A dappled horse, a thousand pieces of gold, call the boy to exchange them for fine wine, to dispel with you our age-old sorrows."

He finished reading the last few sentences without hesitation and gently placed the wine bowl on the table.

In the scene, Li Bai takes off his thousand-gold fur coat, leads over his dappled horse, and hands it all to his maid to exchange for wine.

His movements were so natural, as if those weren't priceless horses and furs, but just a few worn-out items.

"By the end of the drinking session, Li Bai had completely let loose."

Don't say you don't have enough money. Even if you have to pawn your precious dappled horse or your thousand-gold fox fur coat, you still have to get wine to drink.

This isn't about being wasteful; it's a materialistic perspective during an economic boom, based on the belief that money lost can be regained, so people aren't bound by material possessions.

Even the most expensive things serve people; if they bring immediate pleasure, they're worth it.

He paused for a moment, then his tone became serious.

The last line is: "Together we dispel eternal sorrow."

This sentence brings the overall structure of the poem back to normal.

This drunken revelry did not only resolve Li Bai's personal setbacks in his official career, but also the common predicament of all geniuses and all lives throughout history.

Time flies, ambitions remain unfulfilled, and life is lonely.

To combat the sorrow that has permeated all of human history with a hearty drink—that is the madness of Li Bai.

It's not that I don't care about money, it's that I care more about myself.

【"Eternal sorrow" are the three most weighty words in the entire poem, elevating personal sorrow into a shared sorrow of humankind.】

Nietzsche said that the Dionysian spirit is about confronting tragedy with revelry; Li Bai accomplished this a thousand years earlier.

……

A tavern in the West Market of Chang'an during the Tang Dynasty.

The scene on the screen was almost identical to the street scene outside the window: a woman selling wine, a camel caravan crossing the street, and the sound of a pipa drifting down from upstairs.

One of the waiters was so engrossed in watching the sky that he forgot to serve the guests their drinks. The guests didn't urge him, and he too looked up at the sky.

The waiter asked, "Who is this person?"

The shopkeeper said from behind the counter, "This is Li Bai, the poet immortal mentioned by Tianmu. If he drinks in our shop, I'll enshrine this table. It will be worth a house in a hundred years."

The guests all laughed.

In the corner, an old scholar in a worn robe held a wine cup, watching the white-robed figure on the sky dip his wine cup and write characters. He murmured, "Granted gold and released... He's so happy to be released by the emperor? This man is really..."

He thought for a moment but couldn't find a suitable word.

He also took the imperial examination when he was young, but failed. He then spent his entire life as a minor official in Chang'an.

He had seen too many disappointed people; some drowned their sorrows in alcohol, some blamed fate, and some never recovered.

But he had never seen anyone laugh after being kicked out by the emperor.

However, the poem was truly well-written, he gazed at the verses on the sky.

On the sky, a knowledgeable voice dissected and explained the poem line by line.

The people in the tavern fell silent.

They understood, not necessarily every single word, but they caught the spirit of the conversation.

That kind of confidence that allows you to stand tall on Chang'an Avenue, that kind of confidence that you don't have to bow to officials and can earn a living through your own abilities, and that kind of confidence that you can earn back the money you spend today.

This is the glorious Tang Dynasty.

On the sky, Li Bai raises his wine bowl high towards the direction outside the frame.

The old scholar in the corner suddenly stood up.

His old robe knocked the chopsticks off the table, and they clattered to the ground, but he didn't bend down to pick them up.

He raised his wine glass above his head, tilted his head back towards the sky, and shouted, "Everyone has their own unique talents!"

His voice wasn't loud, and it had a slightly hoarse quality due to his age, but everyone in the tavern heard it clearly.

Another voice rang out, younger and louder than his; it was the waiter who had forgotten to serve the drinks.

He slammed the wine jug on the table, picked up his own wine bowl, and clinked it against the old man's cup: "What's lost can be regained!"

Then came the third sound, the fourth, one table after another, one person after another.

Wine glasses clinked together, wine bowls clinked together.

They were strangers to each other. There were merchants in silk robes, failed scholars wearing square scarves, camel caravan porters who had just returned from the Western Regions, and a tutor teaching children to read in the next neighborhood.

But none of that matters now.

They were just ordinary people in Chang'an, who, on the same evening under the same sky, heard the same poem.

On Chang'an Avenue, someone raised a glass.

In Luoyang, someone raised a wine glass.

"Let's drink!"

"Don't stop drinking!"

The voice, open and forthcoming, continued to slowly approach.

Many people who read "Bring in the Wine" only see the sorrow, but fail to see the rich inner strength behind that sorrow.

"Bring in the Wine" stands among the top tier of classical Chinese poetry not because it's a masterpiece about wine, but because it combines four unparalleled peaks of artistry.

1. The pinnacle of art.

This poem lacks neat parallelism and deliberate embellishment; the sentence lengths vary, and the rhythm is sometimes fast and sometimes slow, completely following the emotions.

From the grand and majestic landscape at the beginning, to the lighthearted and lively toasting, to the profound and insightful expression of feelings, and finally the unrestrained ending, the emotions surge like waves.

This is the domain of genius; no matter how hard later poets try, they can never capture this natural, flowing dynamism.

[Li Bai's writing was driven by his spirit, not by technique, but by his state of being; being drunk was Li Bai's highest creative state.]

The ballad style reached its peak in the hands of Li Bai; no matter how later generations tried to write it, it always felt like it fell short.

……

2. The pinnacle of the spirit.

This poem perfectly captures the eternal life dilemma of the Chinese people. People in every era have experienced moments of feeling unappreciated despite their talents, anxiety about the passage of time, and weariness of wanting to break free from worldly constraints but being unable to do so.

Li Bai gave everyone the most dignified answer.

There's no need to compromise or belittle yourself; your inherent value doesn't need worldly standards to prove it.

The saying "Everyone has their own unique talents" has become a spiritual comfort ingrained in the Chinese people; reciting it during times of hardship gives them the courage to lift their heads.

3. The pinnacle of the era.

It is a literary fossil of the grandeur of the Tang Dynasty.

After the An Lushan Rebellion, the glorious Tang Dynasty came to an end, and the spiritual essence of Chinese culture gradually shifted towards melancholy, introversion, and restraint.

Later poets either wrote about the worries of the nation or about leisure and tranquility, but they could never write such frank, unrestrained, and unblemished verses.

The poem "Bring in the Wine" contains the shadow of the entire Tang Dynasty.

Material abundance, self-confidence, cultural openness, and the expansiveness of life.

It is not just a poem; it is a written record of the most vibrant era in ancient Chinese history.

4. The author's peak.

Only Li Bai could be called the Poet Immortal.

Du Fu could not write it; his underlying tone was melancholic.

Wang Wei couldn't write it; his underlying tone was serene.

Only Li Bai possessed extraordinary talent, experienced the riches of the court, the expansiveness of wandering, and the resentment of setbacks, and he just happened to be born in the most inclusive era of the Tang Dynasty.

He wasn't creating poetry; he was releasing his emotions with his life.

This innocence, this arrogance, this clarity, mixed with the aroma of wine, ultimately coalesced into the unique image of the Poet Immortal.

And "Bring in the Wine" is the most vivid illustration of this image.

He picked up the wine bowl and raised it slightly towards the screen.

"When we read 'Bring in the Wine' again a thousand years later, we hear not only Li Bai's drunken words, but also the most relaxed appearance of people when an era is growing upward.

It became a timeless masterpiece, and it never had anything to do with wine.

What's hidden in wine is something we all yearn for.

That is the unwavering confidence in oneself and an ever-passionate vitality.

He spilled the wine from his bowl onto the table.

The wine flowed down the table legs, as if offering it to the earth, to the glorious Tang Dynasty that has long since vanished.