bookrandom Chapter 756 Words Can Run
Chapter 756 Words Can Run
The dusk dyed the Ganjiang River into flowing amber. Red candles were burning brightly in the Tengwang Pavilion, and the gilded animal-head candlesticks emitted flickering halos of light.
The fingers that Yan Boyu was twisting his beard suddenly tightened, and the green jade ring shone coldly in the candlelight. The first half of the "Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng" in front of him, from the majestic opening of "Yuzhang, the old county, Hongdu, the new capital", to the brilliant stroke of "the setting sun and the lone wild goose fly together, and the autumn water and the sky are the same color", was already full of gems, which made all the scholars in the room intoxicated.
When people heard Wang Bo say that there was a sequel, the whole room was in an uproar that almost overturned the caisson.
"Absurd!" Meng Chang stood up suddenly, his wide black sleeves sweeping across the celadon brush washer on the desk, splashing clear water on the precious Shu brocade tablecloth. "This kind of writing has reached the realm of heaven and man. Even if Cao Zijian were resurrected or Xie Lingyun were reborn, they would find it difficult to add a single word!"
The sword at his waist jingled as he moved, reflecting his flushed face and his eyes full of disdain.
The old scholars around echoed in agreement, their white hair trembling like frost: "The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has absorbed all the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, where is there any room left?"
Wang Bo leaned against the vermilion lacquer column, his cheeks flushed like clouds from the alcohol.
He shook the bottle in his hand, and the amber liquid reflected the shocked faces of the crowd: "Everyone, please take a look. Has the vitality of this article been truly cut off?"
After saying that, he drank the wine in the glass in one gulp. The wine dripped down his jawline onto his washed-out blue shirt, leaving dark marks.
He looked at the darkening sky outside the window. The wind from the Ganjiang River blew in his face with moist water vapor, lifting the green scarf that bound his hair.
Yan Boyu's brows were twisted into the shape of a "川" character, and his brocade robe embroidered with gold thread and cloud patterns rose and fell with his breathing.
This carefully prepared literary banquet was originally an opportunity to make the son-in-law famous, but it was suddenly disrupted by this young man.
"Bring me some brushes and ink!" Wang Bo's voice rang out, and the servants in the corridor came in one after another, holding Duan inkstones and Hu brushes, like frightened birds.
When the rice paper was spread out on the carved sandalwood table, Wang Bo's wolf hair brush was already dipped in pine soot ink.
The tip of the pen hovered three inches above the paper, like a thunderbolt ready to be unleashed. Meng Chang stared at the young man's wrist, secretly calculating in his heart: Even if he could really continue writing, if there was any mistake, he could use it as an opportunity to discredit it and take this article destined to be recorded in history into his own pocket.
Thinking of this, his folding fan made a rhythmic sound in his palm, and a sneer appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Bo, a humble scholar with a humble life. I have no way to volunteer, waiting for the young man Zhongjun; I have the ambition to give up my pen, admiring the long-lasting spirit of Zongque."
The wolf hair brush is like a dragon playing in the water, and the handwriting is so powerful that it can be seen through the back of the paper.
The room suddenly became quiet, with only the rustling sound of the pen tip scratching the paper.
The old scholars unconsciously leaned forward, and a strange light flashed in their turbid eyes.
The young scholars clenched their fists, their knuckles turning white with excitement.
Meng Chang's smile gradually froze - those allusions seemed to come to him effortlessly, and his emotions surged like a river. From the self-deprecation of "I am not the precious tree of the Xie family, but the fragrant neighbor of the Meng family", to the lament of "I have not met Yang Yi, and I feel sorry for myself even though I am so tall", it was even more sharp than the first half of the poem.
When Wang Bo wrote the part about "Now that I have met Zhong Qi, why should I feel ashamed to play Liu Shui?", he suddenly threw down his brush and laughed.
He grabbed the wine jar on the table, tilted his head back and drank it down, the wine splashing on the ink that had not yet dried, and formed a bunch of ink flowers.
Without waiting for anyone to react, he strode towards the carved wooden door, his blue shirt rustling in the draft: "See you later!"
Leaving behind a room full of astonished people and the magnificent unfinished work on the desk.
Meng Chang staggered forward, his fingertips hovering above the paper, hesitant to let go.
He had been versed in classics and history since childhood, having memorized the "Zhaoming Wenxuan" by heart at the age of twelve, and passing the imperial examination at the age of thirteen, making his name known throughout Chang'an. But now, he felt only a bitter taste in his throat—the knowledge and learning that had once made him proud seemed like childish graffiti under Wang Bo's pen.
Watching the other party's smooth second half of the poem, he suddenly remembered his wife's advice last night, "Your husband will surely astonish everyone with your skills." Now it turned into sharp irony, making his eyes burn.
Yan Boyu trembled as he unfolded the entire text, reading from "The Ancient County of Yuzhang" to "Unwavering Ambition," feeling his blood boiling. But the last sentence, "Where is the Emperor's son in the pavilion now? Outside the railings, the Yangtze River flows freely," left a vacancy like a hammer, making his temples throb.
He turned abruptly, his gold-embroidered shoes making a harsh sound on the blue brick floor: "Quick! Catch up with that boy! Even if you chase him to the ends of the earth, you must ask him this word!"
阁内顿时乱作一团。老学究们围在案前，白发乱颤地争论：&34;必是&39;水&39;字，平实中见真章！&34;&34;荒谬！”
Meng Chang retreated to the corridor alone, looking in the direction where Wang Bo had disappeared. He suddenly remembered his childhood teacher's praise: "He can memorize everything he sees, and he will surely become a great man in the future."
"At this moment he finally understood that true genius never relied on memory to construct articles, but let the words flow naturally from the depths of the soul.
When the servant reported breathlessly that Wang Bo had arrived at the inn, Yan Boyu grabbed his cloak and started to chase after him.
But Meng Chang suddenly knelt on the ground, his forehead banging heavily on the blue bricks: "Father-in-law, please allow me to go."
When he stood up, his robe was stained with ink, but his eyes shone with a clarity he had never seen before.
Meng Chang finally met Wang Bo at the inn.
He leaned back in his seat, the wine jug twirling gently between his fingers. "Did Master Meng come here just for that single word?"
Wang Bo chuckled, his eyes fixed on the rippling water on the river outside the window.
Meng Chang bowed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he straightened up. "I'm willing to pay a fortune for your calligraphy, and I'd also like to ask you to clarify my doubts—what exactly is that missing character?"
Wang Bo raised his head and drank the wine in the pot, his laughter mixed with the echo of the river waves: "Is a word worth a thousand gold?"
"Master Meng, why not take a look at the river?"
He raised his hand and pointed at the river surface. The surging river water was like silver scales in the moonlight. "The Yangtze River flows outside the railing." Before he finished speaking, the wine jug fell into the river, and the splashing water scattered like broken silver in the moonlight.
Looking at Meng Chang's puzzled expression.
"Still do not know?"
Wang Bo smiled.
"Come, stretch out your hand and I'll write it for you. But don't look at it along the way. If you do, it won't work. When we get to Tengwang Pavilion, show the words so everyone can see them."
Meng Chang nodded.
Knowing what that word is is extremely important to him.
Otherwise, it would be even more painful than killing him.
Meng Chang closed his eyes and felt a little itchy in his palms.
"Okay, I'm done, let's go!"
Hearing Wang Bo's words, Meng Chang opened his eyes and didn't dare to clench his fists.
"Go ahead, go ahead. Your palms will get sweaty later and you won't be able to see clearly. Remember, don't peek on the road, or the words will run away!"
At this moment, I heard Wang Bo's words and looked at the smile on his face.
Meng Chang believed in his words without a doubt.
Such young men are like immortals banished from heaven.
If he says this word will run, then it will definitely run!
Anxious Meng Changkong clenched his fists and hurried back to Tengwang Pavilion.