I, above the court, angrily rebuked the faint king

Zheng Linyuan smiled and said, "Grind the ink, I'm about to start."

Then, Zheng Linyuan began to recite <<Manjianghong>>.

"Angry into the crown, leaning against the railing, Xiaoxiaoyu takes a break."

"Lift our sight, the sky and shouts, grand, vehement."

"Thirty years of fame and dust and soil, eight thousand miles of cloud and moon."

"Don't wait, the boy's head is white, empty and sad!"

After Zheng Linyuan finished reading, Liu Chuanwu unexpectedly wrote "Looking up".

He has entered the path of poetry and forgot to write.

"Good words, good words!"

"It is both ambitious and vigilant, and the words are particularly particular."

"I have never seen a word with such artistic conception in my life."

"Linyuan, tell me honestly, is this word really made by Zhengzhou?"

Zhou Xingbang's hands were full of ink.

When Zheng Linyuan read "Thirty Fame Dust and Earth, Eight Thousand Miles of Clouds and Moons", he forgot that he was grinding ink, and subconsciously danced with his arms and legs.

Chapter 27 Three Sentences Make Great Confucianism Die for Zhengzhou

Only those who really love poetry and songs will be like this.

"Senior Xingbang thought that if there were such exquisite words in the poetry circle of the Song Dynasty, would you not know?"

"really."

"This word should have been made today."

"But this word alone can't prove anything. If you're lucky, someone with a brighter mind can do it."

Zhou Xingbang was still stubborn.

Zheng Linyuan didn't bother to explain, he believed that the appearance of the second poem would make Zhou Xingbang, who is addicted to poetry, kneel directly on the ground.

"Then I will recite the second poem now." Just as Zheng Linyuan finished speaking, Liu Chuanwu actually raised his pen and said, "Wait until I finish this poem."

The so-called environment is very mysterious. Poetry has the environment of poetry, words have the environment of words, and words have the environment of words.

The so-called calligraphy is to write out that state.

Liu Chuanwu's realm is higher, he can change the literary environment according to the context, otherwise he would not be able to be a great literary sage of the Song Dynasty.

"Thirty years of fame and dust and soil, eight thousand miles of cloud and moon."

"Good! Hahaha! Good!"

"This word will definitely last forever!"

Liu Chuanwu laughed wildly and splashed ink with his brush, making everyone's body stained with ink.

But at this time, no one accused Liu Chuanwu.

Their eyes all fell on Liu Chuanwu's words, on which they seemed to really see neighing war horses and an unfulfilled general.

"Chuanwu's handwriting has improved again, and it's only a matter of hard work before it can be finished."

"That's right, the first sage of Confucianism and Taoism in the literary world of the Great Song Dynasty may appear soon."

"I really didn't expect this opportunity to be snatched by Liu Chuanwu. This old boy is really lucky."

Everyone here is a great Confucian, so they naturally know the reason for Liu Chuanwu's breakthrough.

The artistic conception of Zhengzhou's words is too high, and Liu Chuanwu also followed the artistic conception of the words and sentences, and just got a glimpse of the realm of pens and flowers.

It is more difficult for a great Confucian to become a sage than for an ordinary person to become a great Confucian.

Liu Chuanwu's fortune is worth 50 years of life.

"If Linyuan has the opportunity, I will thank Zhouer personally." Liu Chuanwu is an honest man, although he is full of heart, he still said sincerely.

Zheng Linyuan waved his hand and said with a smile: "Senior Chuanwu, today's fortune is not over yet."

"Get ready, the artistic conception of the second song may be a little different from the first one."

Liu Chuanwu put down his pen and ink, and said, "No need, my current state can completely command me like an arm."

Since he was full of confidence, Zheng Linyuan began to recite poems without hesitation.

It's still the familiar Water Tune song head.

When Zheng Linyuan finished reading, the audience was completely silent, and only the first word was left on the blank paper.

"Linyuan, tell me the truth, are these two poems written by Zhengzhou?" Zhou Xingbang asked seriously.

Zheng Linyuan asked back: "Such poems, if I forcibly put them on Zhou'er, will he be able to bear them?"

"Absolutely impossible!"

"This word can be said to be invincible for 1000 years. If you talk nonsense, Zhengzhou will die tonight."

Zheng Linyuan nodded sarcasticly: "Death is certain."

Zhou Xingbang was finally sure that this poem was definitely written by Zhengzhou.

What he just used was the Confucianism-specific method of speaking out.

The fact that Zheng Linyuan dared to answer it meant that he wasn't lying.

Zhou Xingbang sighed in retrospect: "His poetic talent is more than a hundred times better than mine. Give him another ten years, and the nickname of great Confucian poet may have to be enjoyed by someone else."

"I'm more convinced now that you're right."

"Zhengzhou does have the talent to reach the ninth floor."

When Zhou Xingbang was speaking, Liu Chuanwu had just started to write. He had been pondering the charm of this poem just now. Although he can't guarantee that he can master it now, he can still write for a try.

Ink, pen.