Old Xu looked at Mi Bai, realizing that the same spark was shining in his eyes as well!
Although the master is gone, his works will certainly remain and be celebrated throughout history.
If Tang Luo could understand that master so well, the tradition must've been passed on to the Tang Clan.
Thinking of the thousands of unheard poems, Old Xu eagerly asked, "Do you have the original manuscripts at home? Let's take a look!"
Tang Luo tilted his head, quite puzzled, "Original manuscript? What original manuscript?"
"The original manuscript of the other poems!"
"There's no manuscript."
"Then did you copy this master's anthology?"
"No anthology."
"How many of this master's poems do you remember then?"
"Just this one." Tang Luo replied flatly.
Over a thousand fresh poems disappeared just like that, it felt like he woke up one day to find himself bankrupt.
Old Xu pointed at Tang Luo, his angry finger trembling, "You.. you... you..."