Yang Zongzhi wrote this poem very well. If a person who could preface the poems of such a famous scholar, he would naturally become a rising star in the Sichuan literary world, which is a great honor.

Since ancient times, literati have been neglecting each other. Everyone has a good idea of ​​writing whoever writes or not, and they must also weigh whether they can bear this honor.

Of course, if you volunteer, the words written in front of so many people will inevitably be criticized by others. If you look for bones in eggs, you will always be caught by loopholes. At that time, it will become a laughing stock, which will be unbeautiful.

Therefore, although I was very moved, because I had no absolute confidence and was greeted in advance, all the scholars began to be humble.

"Scholar Zhou, your literary talent is excellent. Why don't you try it?"

"Don't, the young student has limited talent. Even if he can barely write three or five words, how can he be worthy of Mr. Zongzhi's poem?"

"Or, Mr. Cheng, come. Mr. Cheng's eight-legged essay is first-class in our mansion."

The juren named Cheng, who was named, was over fifty years old. He heard this and quickly bowed: "The eight-legged article tests the words and moral articles of saints. But I am not good at poetry and songs, so I will not be ugly."

...

Hearing everyone's words, Yang Zongzhi couldn't help but wave his head, and even the prefect Lin next to him was full of doubts.

These scholars know that on weekdays, they say that the past is coming, and they have fame and fortune, and they are arrogant and do not accept anyone. They dare not fight for the first place in such a big show of things like this.

But today everyone seems to have changed their temperament, each of whom is modest and cautious, and has a hypocritical attitude.

This was much beyond their expectations.

...

After a while, the discussion finally became less and everyone's eyes fell on Lin Tingchen, the cousin of Prefect Lin.

Seeing that the fire had arrived, Wu Lun coughed, pretended to walk to Lin Tingchen, bowed a long time ago: "I heard that Brother Lin is the number one talented man in Guizhou for a long time. I have read a few of your poems and essays, and I am very impressed. Whether it is talent or writing, I am willing to give a chance, and only your writing is worthy of Mr. Zongzhi's eternal quatrain. I have a heartless request, and I would like to ask Brother Lin to write and write, so that I can open my eyes."

"Yes, yes, only Mr. Lin's words are worthy of Mr. Zong Zhi's poems."

Everyone bowed to Lin Tingchen at the same time and begged repeatedly.

Lin Tingchen was happy in his heart, knowing that everyone had a tacit understanding and wanted to win the first place. He couldn't help but look at Wu Lu, feeling satisfied: Wu Lu is agile and a good person who can do things. If I become the grandson-in-law of Mr. Lu, and I will be a juren and a Jinshi, and become rich, I might as well support me.

When Wu Lun saw Lin Tingchen's gaze, he was also happy. He couldn't help but look at Wu Jie again, sneering in his heart: Aren't you both poetry and lyrics? I won't give you the opportunity to write poetry, so what can you do? Your eight-legged essay in the county exam is indeed well written, but this kind of article that suits the situation in the essay is completely different from the exam-oriented essay. You have never learned to write such things before. Even if you force it, how can you beat Lin Tingchen? Haha, Wu Jie, Wu Jie, I admit that you are a talented person, your talent, and even I, Wu Lu, are deeply jealous of me. But this time I want to let you return with your feathers. Don't think about it. Go back to your Nanjing obediently and don't snatch Miss Tang from me.

Seeing Wu Lun's complacent spirit, Wu Jie suddenly smiled in his heart and felt a little sympathetic to this cousin.

To be honest, Wu Lun is also a talented person and may not have a bright future the next day. However, his character is really unbearable. Even if he enters the officialdom in the future, he is afraid that he will not have a good result. Although the villain's conspiracy can be successful for a while, it is not the kingly way.

Well, let me show my skills and prove my innocence.

After being begged by everyone for a long time, Lin Tingchen felt a little fluttered.

But he still shook his head and said, "Mr. Zong's poems, how can he dare to preface him if a young boy like Lin Tingchen?"

Everyone begged again.

Lin Tingchen still refused, but he had already walked to the inkstone and slowly grind the ink. While grinding the ink, he was thinking about what kind of article he should write to shock the scholars in the entire Chengdu Prefecture.

When Yang Zongzhi and Prefect Lin saw Lin Tingchen start grinding ink, they looked at each other.

Prefect Lin stroked his beard and smiled with a gratitude: "My family is also a talented person, but I don't know if the article I wrote later can be seen by you."

Yang Zongzhi only smiled but said nothing.

Lin Tingchen was still grinding the ink leisurely, just waiting for the ink to be ground, and everyone begged again, and then reluctantly agreed.

He is also an outstanding person. In just a moment, he has already written a few hundred words of articles, and he is very satisfied. Although he is not first-class, he is already a super-level performance for himself.

Mr. Lin is in a surprisingly good condition today and has never felt so good.

I was satisfied, but still sighed: "Mr. Zongzhi is a person who is admired by Lin Tingchen. What kind of virtue do I have to dare to show my ugly face in front of him? I still can't do it."

After saying that, Lin Tingchen put down the ink ingot, pretended to be in front of him, and went to grab the brush on the table.

But at this moment, suddenly, someone strode forward and snatched the pen over. He laughed loudly: "It's just a preface to the poem. Since you can't write it, why don't you let me try it."

The sudden scene shocked everyone. At the same time, he looked closely and said, "Who could it be if it weren't Wu Jie?"

I saw him holding a wine pot in one hand, his clothes were already a little disorganized, but his body exuded a sharp aura, and his eyes were so bright that they were afraid of people.

Lin Tingchen reached out and grabbed the sky, his right hand was awkwardly fixed in the air. His expression was shocked and angry, and his body was trembling slightly.

"Oh, who are you? I don't seem to have seen you." Prefect Lin didn't realize that there was something wrong. It was a literati and unrestrained person, and it was no big deal.

Besides, Sichuan scholars have always been arrogant and will compete for winning or losing word by word on weekdays. It is the right reason to be dissatisfied with each other, which is the moral integrity that scholars should have. As before, because Lin Tingchen was his confidant, he was timid, which made people displeased.

Before Wu Jie could report to his house, Wu Lun next to him shouted: "Wu Jie, what are you going to do?"

Wu Lun felt a little bad in his heart: Could it be that this guy’s article is also very well written and he wants to come out and grab the first prize halfway?

He strode forward and bowed to the prefect Lin: "The magistrate has set up a night banquet on the banks of Jinjiang River today, and the poetry and wine sings will surely be prosperous in the world in the future. However, such a grand event has shameless literary thieves. Where will the scholars in Chengdu Prefecture be placed? In front of the old man, I must report it to my later generations."

Prefect Lin was a little confused: "What a literary thief, who is this person?"

Wu Lun: "This person is Wu Jie, the younger brother of the late-born clan."

"Ah, it turns out that it is this literary copycat!" Everyone echoed in unison and shouted: "Mr. Lin, these literary thieves are actually on the same table as me, and they are really ashamed to join him."

"Quiet, quiet!" The sudden riot shocked the yamen runners next to them, and they shouted loudly.

Priest Lin's face also changed: "It turned out to be him, such a villain with a corrupt character, how could he let him come in and blast it out?"

"Don't be busy." Yang Zongzhi grabbed the sleeve of the prefect and looked at everyone with a smile: "You said he copied, who has evidence? It's not the style of a gentleman to shout and kill like this."

When the prefect Lin heard Yang Zongzhi's words, he felt something was right and said, "This matter is just a rumor. Wu Jie, what do you have to say... Wu Jie... is so bold!"

He slapped the table and stood up: "What a crazy pervert!" He trembled with anger.

It turned out that Wu Jie had already walked to the pink wall and picked up the pen and wrote it on it.

While writing, he turned around and smiled at Yang Zongzhi and said, "Mr. Zongzhi, as soon as my poem preface is released, a hundred years later, I am afraid that the world will only know the poem preface of me, Wu Jie, and no one can remember your original poem."

"What a gentle and scum who dares to humiliate Mr. Son and kill this beast!"

The three generations of the Yang family were idols in the minds of Sichuan scholars. Wu Jie's behavior was an insult to the entire Sichuan Shilin. As soon as everyone rushed up, they were about to beat Wu Jie out.

But at this moment, Yang Zongzhi walked behind Wu Jie and exclaimed: "This is what you wrote, it is really what you wrote. Boy, you are so arrogant in front of someone, and you are indeed a bit arrogant."

Everyone was stunned.

But I saw that Wu Jie was writing in a cursive script that I had never seen before. The ink was as black as jade, and the pen was like a dragon and a snake, and it was like a living person and singing teeth and claws on the wall.

This is Zhang Xu's crazy cursive script, using wine as a medium, qi as a agent, and full of passion and blood.

A sip of wine, a line of words, and a spit out a mouth, it means a prosperous Tang Dynasty.

The world is filled with Wu Jie's long whistle and laughter.

"The heaven and earth are the backward journey of all things, and time is the passerby of a hundred generations. But life is like a dream, how much happiness is? The ancients traveled at night with candles, which was good. Moreover, the spring summoned me to smoke and scenery, and large pieces of me to write articles. Meeting the fragrant garden of peaches and plums, and prefaced the joy of family life. The handsome and beautiful seasons are all Huilian."

The first piece of a short essay has ended, and the continuous cursive script has finally been cut off, but there is a trace of aftertaste that cannot be ended.

Gaining momentum for the next film.

The calligraphy that was astonishing as a dragon, as graceful as a terrifying bird; the otherworldly words that were unparalleled but strong feelings were like a heavy hammer that shocked everyone to breathe.

This is the gap in strength, the gap between a group of third-rate literati and a master of literary circles.

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Chapter completed!