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

Three days later, the sky lit up again.

What appeared was a hazy, dreamlike spring scene in Jiangnan.

In the fifth year of the Dali era, 770 AD, in Tanzhou.

Spring in Jiangnan is different from spring in the North. Spring in the North is like new grass sprouting from scorched ruins, with each leaf reminding you what lies buried beneath your feet.

Spring in Jiangnan is gentle; fallen petals drift on the water, floating with the current, as if there had never been a war, as if Chang'an had never been burned.

An old man walked on the stone-paved road in Tanzhou. He was wearing an old robe that had been washed until it was faded. His sideburns were completely white, his back was slightly hunched, and his steps were very slow.

His eyesight wasn't very good anymore; he had to squint to see things in the distance, but he still recognized the person.

That was also an old man, an old man playing the pipa.

He sat at the entrance of a tavern facing the street, holding an old pipa in his arms, his fingers casually plucking the strings, playing a tune that no one had ever heard before.

His weathered face held that characteristic of someone struggling to make a living—a cautious, ingratiating expression.

He would play a line, then look up at the passersby; no one stopped.

Du Fu stood across the street and watched him for a long time.

A voice, seemingly wanting to say something, came from off-screen.

"In the previous two videos, we talked about the period before and during the An Lushan Rebellion. In this video, we will talk about the period after the rebellion."

In the fifth year of the Dali era (770 AD), seven years after the end of the An Lushan Rebellion, Du Fu, at the age of fifty-nine, was wandering in Tanzhou when he met Li Guinian on the streets of Jiangnan.

The two elderly people in the picture finally made eye contact.

Li Guinian paused for a moment, and stopped playing the pipa.

He recognized Du Fu, and Du Fu recognized him too.

Where was the last time they met? In Chang'an, at the residence of Prince Qi, in front of Cui Jiu's hall, at those brightly lit banquets, on those nights when everyone was still young.

"Li Guinian was the most famous court musician during the Kaiyuan era. His pipa was praised by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, and his singing was praised by Consort Yang Guifei."

The nobles and princes of Chang'an considered it an honor to have him perform at their residences.

"Du Fu knew him. At that time, Du Fu had just arrived in Chang'an. He stood in a corner of the banquet, looking up to listen to him sing. They were both in the best of years, in the best of Chang'an."

In the scene, Li Guinian stands up, his withered fingers still holding the pipa.

The two old men looked at each other, neither of them mentioning Chang'an, neither of them mentioning the war, neither of them mentioning the dead emperors and concubines, the burned-down palaces, or the people who starved to death on the roadside.

They only needed to glance at each other to know that the other remembered just as much as they did.

"Often seen at the residence of Prince Qi, heard many times before the hall of Cui Jiu."

He wanted to say more, so he read these two sentences very slowly.

"These two lines are ordinary and simple. Du Fu did not write about the war or the fall of Chang'an."

He wrote only two sentences: "I have seen you, at the residence of Prince Qi; I have seen you, in front of Cui Jiutang; I have heard you sing."

"and then?"

In the scene, fallen flowers from Tanzhou drift on the river, on the stone road, and on the white hair of two old people.

Springtime in Jiangnan is beautiful.

"The scenery of Jiangnan is truly beautiful, and I meet you again amidst the falling blossoms."

He hesitated for a long time, wanting to say something but unable to.

The scene shows only fallen flowers, river water, and two old people gazing at each other across a stone path. The pipa in their arms is silent, and they are not speaking.

"Meeting Li Guinian in Jiangnan" was later praised as "Du Fu's masterpiece among seven-character quatrains".

What is the best poem? It is the best poem. Du Fu wrote poetry all his life, and his best seven-character quatrain was not about the destruction of the country and the loss of his family, nor about the suffering of the people, nor about the fire that burned for eight years.

It was springtime, in the Jiangnan region, and two old friends reunited amidst the falling blossoms.

"But if you read this poem after the An Lushan Rebellion, what are the fallen flowers? They represent the entire prosperous Tang Dynasty."

What is a reunion? It is surviving a catastrophe.

What is the beauty of Jiangnan? It is a place untouched by war, a corner where people live in peace and tranquility.

Two of the most outstanding talents of the Kaiyuan era, a poet and a musician, stood on the most central stage in this prosperous age. Now they are old and poor, swept by fate to the southernmost corner of the empire. They meet again in the season of falling flowers, but can do nothing but look at each other and say a word.

You're still alive.

"All the things that Du Fu didn't say are in his poems."

It was common to see the residence of Prince Qi, but the residence of Prince Qi is long gone.

I heard several times in front of Cui Jiutang that Cui Jiu had also died.

Everyone I met at the banquet is probably dead.

The boy who sang and the boy who listened to the song are now in different places: one is busking on the street, and the other is plagued by illness and destitution.

They stood there amidst the fallen blossoms, gazing at each other.

In just twenty-eight characters, the prosperity of the Kaiyuan era is contrasted with the desolation of the An Lushan Rebellion. That catastrophe is already hidden in the blank spaces of falling flowers, wandering, and reunion of old friends.

In the video, the two elderly people finally started walking.

They bowed to each other briefly, but there was no hugging, no weeping, and no lengthy reminiscences.

Li Guinian sat down and began playing the pipa again.

This time, he wasn't playing any piece of music, just some scattered, intermittent tunes, like fragments picked up from his memory.

Du Fu stood beside him, listening with his eyes half-closed.

Behind them, the river in Tanzhou flowed silently, and the fallen flowers drifted silently.

On the sky, a final line of text appeared.

In the winter of the fifth year of the Dali era, Du Fu died on a boat on the Xiang River at the age of fifty-nine. Li Guinian wandered to the south of the Yangtze River and his whereabouts are unknown.

The comments section remained silent for a long time before slowly starting to appear.

I can't imagine how many unspoken words were in that glance they exchanged amidst the fallen blossoms.

The last fragments of the prosperous Kaiyuan era were reunited amidst the falling blossoms of Jiangnan.

Du Fu used four lines of poetry to hold a funeral for the entire prosperous Tang Dynasty.

There were no cries at the funeral, only falling flowers.

……

"Du Fu's Poetic History".

It is neither an annals of emperors nor a biography of generals and ministers.

She is an old man who escaped by climbing over the wall, a soldier who married at dusk and parted at dawn, a woman who died unaware that her husband had turned to dust, and a widow who had no food or children and relied on picking dates to fill her stomach.

These people have no names in official history.

No one wrote biographies for them, and no one asked them how they lived or how they died.

Du Fu wrote, etching each of those deleted faces into his poems.

The Three Officials and the Three Separations are not poems, but testimonies.

The old woman from Shihao Village is still traveling through the night, the newlywed young woman is still seeing her husband off to war, and the homeless soldier is still standing blankly at the empty village entrance. This is not literature.

That is history unfolding, being meticulously recorded by someone deeply involved, before it can be forgotten.

He paused for a second, seemingly wanting to speak, and then spoke very softly.

"Meeting Li Guinian in Jiangnan" is Du Fu's last tenderness to the world. He did not write about war, children starving to death by the roadside, or the cold night on the broken boat on the Xiang River. He only wrote about fallen flowers, spring, and the line "Meeting you again".

But everyone knows that the grand era that began in the residence of Prince Qi has already drifted on the river like fallen petals.

Du Fu's personal history is also a microcosm of the national crisis.

He was not a bystander in this catastrophe.

He himself was a refugee, a heartbroken father, and a scholar who was repeatedly threatened with conscription while fleeing.

He used his own life as ink to paint a holographic picture of an era.