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

In the early summer of the third year of the Tianbao era (744 AD), Luoyang was filled with the fragrance of locust trees.

The Luo River flows through the city, wine flags flutter along its banks, and the aroma of newly brewed spring wine mingles with the tantalizing scent of baked flatbread from street vendors and the tinkling of copper bells from camel caravans in the southern market.

This was precisely the time when the grandeur of the Tang Dynasty was at its peak in Luoyang.

In a restaurant by the river in the east of the city, a small banquet for scholars was being held.

Local literati in Luoyang had already received the news: Li Bai, who had just been "granted gold and released" by the emperor, had traveled eastward to Luoyang.

The whole city wanted to see this "banished immortal" who had Gao Lishi take off his boots and Yang Guifei grind ink for him. Those who were able to sit down and accompany him were all well-known local scholars.

When Li Bai took his seat, everyone in the room looked up.

He was forty-four years old, wearing a clean white robe, with a sword hanging at his waist. His temples were a little gray, but he walked with a brisk pace and showed no sign of being disheartened by losing his official position.

Having just broken free from the rules of Chang'an and no longer having to be mindful of the powerful and influential, he exuded a sense of relief.

He cupped his hands in greeting to the crowd, his laughter ringing out. Before he finished speaking, he grabbed a wine cup, filled it to the brim, and drank it all in one gulp, showing no airs of a scholar whatsoever.

At the end of the table sat Du Fu, who was thirty-three years old.

He was wearing a slightly worn blue cloth shirt and sat there quietly.

At this time, he had not long failed the imperial examination and was drifting around Luoyang. He was not yet famous and was only considered a junior among the many famous scholars present.

He came to the banquet with a family friend, and from the moment he heard the name "Li Bai," his heart was filled with admiration.

He had long memorized the lines, "Laughing loudly, I go out the door; how can we be mere commoners?" and longed for the man's spirit of traveling far and wide with a sword in hand and writing with the power to stir up storms.

But he refused to lose his composure, sitting quietly with his gaze fixed on Li Bai, solemn and restrained.

During the banquet, the host led Du Fu forward to introduce him. As soon as he finished speaking, Du Fu straightened his clothes, bowed deeply to the ground, and spoke in a sincere and dignified tone, neither humble nor arrogant.

"I have long admired your great name, Brother Li Bai. Upon returning from Chang'an, the whole city was reciting your poems. To meet you today is a great honor."

Li Bai quickly reached out to support him, his gaze falling on Du Fu's face, sweeping over the melancholy and sharpness in his eyes, and then hearing the name "Zimei," he immediately understood and burst into laughter:

"So it's Du Zimei! Li Gong (Li Yong) from Beihai mentioned you to me a couple of years ago, saying that you were talented at a young age, and that your poems were free of any frivolousness and had a mature and upright character. Meeting you today, I can see that you are indeed extraordinary."

This compliment was not just a polite gesture.

Li Bai cherished talent and chivalry throughout his life, and despised those who fawned upon the powerful and opportunistic.

Although the young man before him was simply dressed and not yet famous, his eyes were clear and upright, and he had no trace of flattery. Instead, he exuded a solid and steady strength, which suited his temperament perfectly.

The two immediately took their seats side by side.

After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation gradually became more relaxed.

When Li Bai talked about old times in Chang'an, he spoke of the constraints of the Hanlin Academy, the scheming and ruthlessness of the powerful and wealthy, and how the emperor, though appreciating talent, only regarded him as a literary jester who accompanied him to banquets.

When it came to being "granted gold and released," he showed no resentment whatsoever. He simply raised his cup towards the Luo River and laughed, "The walls of Chang'an are too high, making it hard to breathe."

"A cup of wine on the Luo River would be far more enjoyable and satisfying."

Du Fu listened attentively.

At this time, he still harbored the ideal of "making the ruler like Yao and Shun, and restoring the purity of customs" and still yearned for the court in Chang'an. However, after listening to Li Bai talk about the infighting in the court, he also sighed inwardly.

He raised his wine cup and said solemnly, "A true man should help the people and secure the country, but if the court cannot tolerate an upright official, even if one has a wealth of talent, it will be difficult to put it to use. Your choice is already a testament to your integrity."

These words struck Li Bai to the core.

He had seen too many literati who fawned over the powerful and wealthy, and had heard too many people advise him to turn back and scheme. Never before had a junior come to understand his choices so well, to understand his underlying nature of "bowing and scraping before the powerful and wealthy, which makes me unable to be happy."

He immediately slammed his fist on the table, called the waiter to refill his wine, and repeatedly exclaimed, "My confidant!"

That day, the wine was drunk from afternoon until dusk, and the Luo River was dyed a molten gold color by the setting sun.

Everyone else had already left, leaving only the two of them sitting opposite each other.

They talked about poetry and landscapes, about chivalry and governance, and found themselves getting along very well.

Li Bai had planned to travel to Liang and Song in the autumn to visit historical sites and hunt on horseback. When he was feeling the effects of the wine, he simply raised his cup to invite him.

"Zimei, Luoyang is a wonderful city, but it's too confining. How about we go to Liang and Song together this autumn? We'll visit the ancient Chui Terrace, hunt in Mengzhu, drink the strongest wine, and write the wildest poems!"

Du Fu was both surprised and delighted. He immediately raised his cup to clink glasses with Du Fu, not caring that the wine splashed on his clothes. His voice was full of youthful vigor.

"That is indeed my wish, but I dare not ask!"

As the moon rose, the two walked side by side along the banks of the Luo River.

A dashing figure in white, exuding the relaxed air of someone who has seen the world.

A composed man in a blue robe, harboring a wealth of ambition and talent.

The evening breeze ruffled their robes, and the distant sound of the night watchman's drum echoed from the southern market. The city's prosperity was bathed in the gentle moonlight.

They had no idea that this was the first of only two meetings in a lifetime.

Who knows if the drums of war in Yuyang eleven years later will shatter all the prosperity and glory before us?

All they knew was that tonight they were drinking with kindred spirits, and that the road ahead held poetry, wine, and beautiful landscapes—this was the greatest joy in the world.

This encounter in Luoyang in early summer became one of the most dazzling meetings in the history of Chinese literature.

The pinnacle of the Tang Dynasty finally fell upon two of the greatest poets, creating an echo that has resonated for thousands of years.