1897. Poetry becomes a sword, and literature is trembling

Feng Xinyan said slowly.

But Mu Qingxue's eyes widened with joy: "Wow, is that so powerful? Then I can open my mouth and recite a few poems to exert the power of overwhelming mountains and seas?"

Feng Xinyan shook her head: "How is that easy?"

"The ordinary psalm will only make the buds sway."

"Excellent poems can be made into swords with poems and lyrics to kill people."

"Only the poems of the Immortals can seduce the heaven and earth and shake the mountains and rivers."

"Where is the saint?" Mu Qingxue asked curiously.

Feng Xinyan smiled and shook her head: "I don't know either. Because I haven't appeared yet."

"Then the Holy Son, how many poems should you write? The Holy Son is so good at writing, he will definitely seduce the world and cause mountains and rivers to riot." Mu Qingxue excitedly pulled Chu Yun and clamored for him to write poems.

Feng Xinyan was shocked, but there was a little more colorful in her beautiful eyes looking at Chu Yun: "Can the Holy Son of Chu Yun still write poems?"

The poems are elegant and obscure, and few people know it.

Even the people in Wen Palace recite poems by ancient people and rarely write them by themselves. Even the few sentences compiled are extremely simple and not enough to seduce the power of heaven and earth.

After all, the fairy world is martial, and there is no strong literary atmosphere, so it is natural that some popular poems have been born.

"Don't listen to Qingxue's random words. I can play a few zithers at most, and how could I do such things as poetry and songs?" Chu Yun smiled awkwardly, then glared at Mu Qingxue, asking this girl not to talk nonsense.

Chu Yun's words are true. How could he, a person who has only been in college for a year, write poems and lyrics? At most, he could memorize a few poems.

But that was the thing of the ancient Chinese people. Unless it was forced to do so, Chu Yun still didn't want to use other people's things to gain fame. Chu Yun was not so vain.

While we were talking, it was already ten o'clock in the evening.

There was a sudden noise by the pavilion in the middle of the lake.

Those friends or couples who made an appointment also began to show their magical powers, recite poems and lyrics, and show their literary talent.

But Chu Yun heard those rustic poems so hot.

What are "You are so beautiful," what are "You are the star in the sky".

It's simply a bad word, and there is not even the most basic beauty, let alone the neat parallelism and smooth rhyme.

What's this called poetry?

But even so, there were still many people cheering.

Chu Yun immediately smiled bitterly in his heart.

If my Chinese poetic immortal poet and saint are here, then wouldn’t he be an invincible existence?

After half an hour, Chu Yun heard a lot of poems, but the best thing was that the buds of the Wen Shenghua swayed, and there was not even a poem that inspired the power of the moonlight.

At this time, I don’t know who recognized the Holy Son of Wengong.

There was a sudden noise in the pavilion in the middle of the lake.

"I'll go, isn't this the Holy Son of Wengong?"

"It's true that it's a talent."

"The fairy next to you is also very beautiful."

"I guess he is the lover of the Holy Son of Wengong?"

Some people envy and some admire them.

In an instant, almost everyone in the pavilion in the middle of the lake looked at the handsome young man in front of him.

Rong Zi'an was born in the Immortal City and grew up in the Immortal City. He often came to this pavilion in the middle of the lake, so it is not surprising that Rong Zi'an was recognized.

"The Holy Son, the moon is quiet and beautiful, and the beauty is pretty."

"Such a beautiful scenery, why not write a poem to open our eyes?"

"Do you guys say it's right?"

Someone in the crowd suggested that, and instantly, the people around him started to make a fuss.

There were cheers everywhere in the pavilion in the middle of the lake.

Lu Xuexin also smiled softly and looked at Rong Zian beside her. Although she didn't say anything, the expectation in her eyebrows was particularly clear.

"Xuexin, do you want to listen to my poems too?" Rong Zian ignored everyone's cheers, but turned to look at the woman beside him and asked in a low voice.

Lu Xuexin nodded: "I'm just a little curious. I don't know what kind of scene it will be like when poetry stimulates the power of heaven and earth. If Zi'an Shengzi is in a dilemma, you don't have to care."

Rong Zian shook his head and smiled: "Xue Xin wants to hear it, how could I be embarrassed?"

With a proud smile, Rong Zi'an carried his hands on his back and looked around everyone. The sound immediately resounded throughout the world: "Thank you for everyone's love, Rong Zi'an will write a poem on the spot tonight. I am a little talented and knowledgeable person. If I don't do it well, I hope everyone won't laugh."

“Haha~”

"Your Son, are you kind?"

"Who doesn't know that the Holy Son of the Wen Palace is so talented."

"If we are as ignorant as the Holy Son, then we will all be illiterate."

"Okay, Master Cheng, say a few words, and everyone will be quiet. Don't disturb the Holy Son's chanting poems."

As Rong Zi'an prepared to write a poem, the originally noisy pavilion in the middle of the lake suddenly became quiet.

Everyone stood or acted, listened quietly, or looked up with admiration, and stood respectfully on both sides, waiting for Rong Zi'an's poems.

At this time, Rong Zian did not speak, but stood by the lakeside with his hands on his back, looking up at the moon for a while, and then looking back at the beauty.

It seems that I am sorting out my thoughts.

No one dared to speak, for fear of disturbing Rong Zi'an's thoughts.

On the other hand, Chu Yun and Feng Xinyan obviously noticed the movement ahead.

"It seems that the Holy Son of Wengong is writing a poem?"

Feng Xinyan put down her teacup, and her beautiful eyes turned around, looking at the handsome young man who was heading to the lakeside.
Chapter completed!