King An wanted to write poems and essays.

Upstairs and downstairs, a sensation suddenly arose.

Some people look forward to it, while others think that Qi Xiaotian is not worthy of his reputation, so he is watching with a cold eye.

Those literati and Confucian scholars who have not been praised by Qi Xiaotian have an attitude of watching the fun.

Some people even think that His Highness An is quite interesting. Anyway, it’s not their own scolding, so they are happy to have fun.

The servant has long put the four treasures of the study upright.

Qi Xiaotian walked to the square table, swept the group of Confucian scholars who stretched their necks around him, sneered, and grabbed the brush.

It has been more than a year or two to come to this world, so naturally I can write calligraphy.

Qi Xiaotian meditated slightly, showed a strange smile on his face, and picked up the pen and put it on the paper.

Everyone's eyes fell on the rice paper in front of the square table.

I saw Qi Xiaotian finish writing a poem bit by bit.

The waiter who was responsible for drying the fan immediately walked up and read it while fanning gently:

"A few crows were chirping.

He was spraying feces all over his mouth and was croaking.

I'm looking for happiness for the time being today.

Everyone will be terrified tomorrow morning.?”

When the scholars and scholars heard the waiter read it, they shook their heads and immediately said, "Can this be considered a poem? It's just a shrew scolding."

"That's right, without artistic conception, without literary talent. It's simply extremely vulgar, extremely vulgar." A slightly older scholar shouted as if he was losing his parents.

As everyone was talking, the waiter kept a smile and asked, "Your Highness, does this poem have a title?"

Qi Xiaotian looked at the messy scholars around him arrogantly, with a strange smile on his face and even more disdainful.

He spoke, "The title of this poem is...swearing...literary...scholars."

As soon as the words "swearing a scribe" were expressed, the messy discussions around him disappeared immediately.

No one expected that King An would dare to write such a poem in public to curse the literati all over the world.

"Haha, Your Highness, you are the prince, and you are a prince. But according to my opinion, you are just ignorant. In the Wenhui, where talents gather in the capital, I openly humiliated me. Even if I, Mr. Zheng, don't want this life, I will fight to the end." The literati who had lost his parents before was already angry and screamed.

"Yes, even today's saints attach importance to scholars and have never despised them at all. Now, talents in the capital gather here. You actually use such poems of shrews to curse the streets to humiliate us. Scholars can be killed, but not humiliated. I am not convinced." Another scholar shouted with Zheng Zigong.

Suddenly, the second floor was excited.

Soon, this song of scolding the scholar was passed downstairs.

The scholars downstairs also became restless.

Someone shouted: "It would be fine if you write a poem well. Now that you are like this, you are really a polite and a polite sweeping!"

"In my opinion, King An can't write any good poems. Otherwise, why does this happen?"

"Yes, since he looked down on literati, how could he learn from us and write poetry? I'm afraid he doesn't know many words."

For a moment, voices of condemning Qi Xiaotian came one after another.

Qi Xiaotian looked at everyone coldly, his face full of disdain.

Wei Qing and Sima Zhen saw this poem written by Qi Xiaotian, and they felt very good about their temper. When the two of them stood up and stood by Qi Xiaotian when the literati were making excuses.

"You guys, are you enough?" Qi Xiaotian's voice was not loud, but it made everyone shut up.

Because behind him, Chen Jia and Bai Yi had already drawn out a bright short knife from their hands.

Qi Xiaotian looked at the swords in the hands of the two, then looked at the silencers, and sneered, "I, the God of War in the Great Yong, resisted the Western Yi, and fought against the Western Yi tribes in the battle. This is the elite of our dynasty. Isn't it?"

When Zhao Kuo heard his first words, he turned out to be his father, and he couldn't help but have a good impression of King An.

Qi Xiaotian finished asking loudly and continued, "Duke of England swept across the northwest with an iron spear and the northwest Hu tribe, and was frightened by the wind and cold. He was a great hero. He said he was the elite of our dynasty, but he was not right."

When Sima Zhen heard this, his eyes shone and bowed slightly to Qi Xiaotian.

"The Grand Sima Weizhuang, general leader of the three armies, fought against the Huns, and ruled the Donghu. He was magnanimous and heroic. He devoted all his efforts to peace in our dynasty. Is it considered the elite of our dynasty?"

"The pixie Wang Kang, who is a general and a prime minister, can be at peace with the world, and can be at peace with the world of literature and can be at peace with the country. This is the Great Yong elite in my heart. There are also Duke An Guo, Duke Rui Guo, etc., and that is the elite of our dynasty."

Qi Xiaotian changed his swear words and said righteously.

"You are visiting prostitutes in the capital and drinking, reciting poems and writing poems. Occasionally, you can write a few inappropriate poems and essays, but you dare to call yourself an elite? Bah!"

"In my opinion, those who sprinkle blood on the battlefield, the ones you say are more like my Da Yong elite."

"Yes, I wrote to scold the scribes, but I was not convinced. I said that poetry is a small way, but I was not convinced. Don't worry, Your Highness, Your Highness, Your Highness, will definitely convince you today."

"Isn't it just poetry? I really don't want to write it. Because if I start writing..."

"...I don't have room to write later." Qi Xiaotian is now completely crazy and arrogant.

"Brush, ink, paper and inkstone." He said, grabbing the brush.

The waiter immediately grinds the ink well.

I saw Qi Xiaotian splashing ink and writing, and poems appeared on rice paper.

"The moon hangs on the sparse tung tree, and the person is silenced. When I see the lonely man coming and going, the shadow of the lonely wild golf is missing."

When the waiter saw the upper quota, he couldn't help reading it.

"Okay!" Shi Lin on the side couldn't help but say a good word when he heard the upper quit.

Zhou Yun, Liu San, and Monk Jiang who were present were all experts in poetry, so they naturally knew that the previous text was written very well.

For a moment, I only hoped to see the next stanza, but no one disturbed Qi Xiaotian, for fear of breaking his literary thoughts.

"I was shocked but turned around, and there was no one to hide. I picked up all the cold branches and refused to live, and the lonely sandbank was cold."

Qi Xiaotian wrote this poem out in one breath.

"The moon hangs on the sparse tung tree, and the person is silenced. When I see the lonely man coming and going, the shadow of the lonely wild golf is missing.

I was startled but turned around, and there was no one to hide. I picked up all the cold branches and refused to live, and the lonely sandbank was cold."

"Good words. This last sentence, I picked up all the cold branches and refused to live, and the lonely sandbank was cold. It really wrote all the voices of our generation." Shi Lin sighed secretly.

Just as there are a thousand different Hamlets in the hearts of a thousand people.

Everyone will have different feelings when they see "picking up all the cold branches and refusing to live in the lonely sand bank".

The waiter also read the poem repeatedly, but actually forgot to ask Qi Xiaotian the title of the poem.

The piano sound starts.

It was the Red Mansion's courtesan Luo Yuzhu and the quasi-court Yan Rui who set the tone together.

The sound of the guqin was melodious and a few times, and then a sigh was heard, followed by a song: The moon hangs on the sparse tung tree, and the person was silent. When I saw the secluded man alone... I picked up all the cold branches and refused to live, and the lonely sandbank was cold...

The courtesan of the Red Chamber, the singing is deep and thorough, and it hits the soul.

When the last sentence is finished, the piano sounds are endless.

People who have thoughts are fascinated by hearing this, and when they hear it, they are all sad.

By the ending of the "Lonely Sand Bank" ended, many people were already in tears.

"I copied it, definitely copied it."
Chapter completed!