Thousands of words

The previous poetry competition had already stunned everyone in the pavilion.

I didn't expect that the immortal poet would have such a talent. He could speak witty words and write poems continuously while walking. It is true that there is no false reputation under the name of the immortal poet. The so-called immortal poet is really good at writing poems.

But what I didn't expect was that there was a more terrible poet in Yangzhou than the immortal poet!

From the beginning, Xia Shang didn't move a step. He didn't hesitate or change when writing poems. It was even more ordinary than talking to people. The key is that the poems coming out of his mouth are classics, and every sentence is wonderful.

How can people get this?

Looking at the past and present, no one can write poems in an instant like Xia Shang!

No wonder Ke Xiaofeng said something shocking.

"The poem just now was not written by you at all!"

As soon as these words came out, another bomb fell on the battlefield that was already filled with smoke, making the battle situation even more confusing.

"Everyone! It's not that I, Ke Xiaofeng, refuse to admit defeat, it's just too weird! As we all know, good sentences are hard to come by, they are only created by a master. Poetry works are all intentional and born out of the scene. If they are separated from the real scene and the real situation, how can they be good works? Although it is common to use "plum" as the theme, it is not ordinary to write plum blossom poems under the scorching sun.

Therefore, I am sometimes dissatisfied with my works, and not every poem can be called a masterpiece.

But he can make every poem perfect, how can people do this? More importantly, the style of his previous poems is obviously different. I delve into poetry and feel the shadows of countless people from his poems!

Could it be that this person hides the souls of countless poets in his heart? Only then can such a weird style of poetry be made from one person's mouth?"

When everyone heard this, they suddenly realized.

Previously, they were shocked by the two people's poetry battle, but forgot to think about the weirdness in Xia Shang's poems.

After this reminder, everyone in the room was knowledgeable about poetry. They immediately realized the problem that Ke Xiaofeng was talking about.

Ouyang Changhao walked up to Xia Shang with a suspicious look on his face, muttering to himself: "Poetry comes from the heart, and good poems can only be written when the state of mind is reached. Different people have different states of mind, so different people have different styles of poetry, and no one in the world has ever been able to write poems with completely different styles. Your previous poems, if you carefully experience them, seem to come from different people's mouths. Great! Xia Shang, you dare to use other people's poems to fill the number!"

Plagiarism of poems!

This is the most taboo thing for literati!

If it is determined that Xia Shang's work comes from someone else's mouth, this matter will be troublesome!

Jiangnan didn't believe it, but she didn't understand, so she didn't dare to speak, just watched anxiously.

Everyone looked at Xia Shang, waiting for his reasonable explanation.

Faced with doubts, Xia Shang smiled.

"That's right, poetry comes from the heart, and good poetry will come out naturally when the mood is right. But can a person write poems of different styles? This is not up to you to decide. Since you have doubts, I will let you know what is meant by "there is always a better place than the best." Bring me a pen!"

There is a desk in the pavilion, with paper and pens on it.

Xia Shang is thousands of feet tall, and when he picks up the pen, he writes with flying dragons and phoenixes, splashing ink and writing.

The grand and sweeping movements are those of a master who has been addicted to calligraphy for decades, and every word is powerful and his style is self-contained.

Seeing Xia Shang's heroic spirit, several people gathered around him, and saw a string of poems coming up one after another.

"The country is ruined, but the mountains and rivers remain. The city is overgrown with weeds in spring. The flowers shed tears when they feel the time, and the birds startle my heart when I feel the separation. The war has been going on for three months, and the letters from home are worth ten thousand gold. My white hair is getting shorter and shorter, and I can't even hold a hairpin.

The jasper is made up into a tall tree, and thousands of green silk ribbons are hanging down. I don't know who cuts the fine leaves, the spring breeze in February is like a pair of scissors.

The grass on the plain is withered and flourishing every year. The wildfire cannot burn it all, and it will grow again in the spring breeze.

The new makeup is suitable for the face, and the red building is locked in the spring~light, and the courtyard is full of sorrow. Walking to the courtyard to count the flowers, a dragonfly flies to the jade hairpin.

The green trees are shady and the summer is long, and the reflection of the building falls into the pond. The crystal curtain moves in the breeze, and the full rose rack is fragrant in the courtyard..."

What is this?

Can a poet who wrote "The country is ruined, but the mountains and rivers remain. The city is overgrown with weeds in spring" say a poem like "The new makeup is suitable for the face, and the red building is locked in the spring~light, and the courtyard is full of sorrow"?

No one can answer.

And the miracles continue...

One, two, three...

Ten...

Twenty...

Everything was done in one go, without pause or hesitation.

Perhaps writing like a god is about now?

Xia Shang wrote until he knew that the rice paper covering the desk could not hold any more, then he stopped writing and looked back at everyone:

"Let me ask, are these all written by others?!"

"..."

Silence.

There was only a long scroll on the desk, with thousands of words written in ink, and what was written in the words was a shocking scroll.

If you savor it carefully, how could this be written by one person?

Which one is not a famous piece that can be passed down through the ages?

Just looking at the poems, it seems that it has condensed the efforts of great scholars from different eras over thousands of years, and written a magnificent poem with a strong sense of history. It seems that you can see the twinkling stars in the historical sky and the heroic spirit of the long river of the world.

This is not something that can be described by a famous work of the ages. This is a treasure, a heritage of history and humanities, a crystallization of human literature, containing all kinds of emotions, and written about hundreds of times.

The people watching almost forgot the time, forgot to think, and almost dared not believe that everything was true.

Is there really a poet in the world?

With such a heavy stroke, what is the so-called poet Ke Dajia in front of him?

If Ke Dajia is the poet, then what is this boy?

Poetry maniac?

Poetry saint?

Poetry demon?

Regardless of the title, the previous scene has subverted everyone's cognition.

What do you say that poetry comes from the heart, and what kind of person writes what kind of poetry?

Everything is a joke in front of this collection of hundreds of poems, a huge joke!

The young man in front of him proved that it is possible to write poetry without thinking, without seeing the real scene, without following the heart, and without a unified style...

Ke Xiaofeng was already blushing. She had never experienced such a failure since she was a child, but she did not blush because of shame, but because of excitement, because her failure was not because she was not good enough, but because her opponent was too strong!

In a trance, Ke Xiaofeng suddenly thought of a poem that was circulated in Yangzhou: "The paper is full of absurd words, and a handful of bitter tears. Everyone says that the author is crazy, who can understand the taste?"

It turns out that this is not about "Dream of Red Mansions", but about the people who read it!

Tired, at ease, quiet...

The atmosphere in the pavilion is indescribable.

Today, I saw the amazing talent named "Xia Shang", and I wonder what kind of waves will be set off tomorrow?

At this moment, a scream came from outside the pavilion, like a thunder that broke the silence in the pavilion.

"Oh no! The thief is coming!"

The sudden scream made everyone stunned.

Thieves are coming?

These words were hard to understand for a while, and people thought someone was playing a prank.

But at this moment, outside the pavilion, looking from the clouds to the backyard of Liuzhuang, a white ocean current was rushing in, and in a moment, it surrounded everyone in the field.