Wait, the author of this poem seems to be a woman.

'Poetry is the voice of the heart...... Therefore, every poem is seen by people, and people are seen by poetry. Jia Cong suddenly remembered a sentence from Mr. Hengshan in the Qing Dynasty commenting on poetry.

You know, writing poems and lyrics is limited by experience, although there is no shortage of geniuses and adventures in the world, but it is too out of line, and it is always easy to arouse doubts.

For example, Ouyang Xiu, a generation of Wenzong, has articles that are eternal, and his poems are unparalleled.

However, the words are too well written, 'Jiangnan willow, Ye Xiao is not shady...... Fourteenth Five-Year Plan, hugging the pipa and looking for ......'

It depicts the young girl's young age, innocent, vivid, and immersive.

As a result, he was accused of fornicating with his nephew and daughter-in-law with poetry, so that thousands of years later, there were still people who filed a lawsuit for him whether he had fornication or not.

However, Ouyang Wenhao was accused of fornicating with his niece and daughter-in-law, in addition to the article, there may also be a relationship between the parties, because Wang Anshi, Zhu Xi and others after him have enjoyed this treatment.

But if it's really a party dispute, then Jia Cong can only greet the lower limit and imagination of these people's political enemies, why can't they get along with people's nephews and daughters-in-law!

Can't you go east to Fuso to find some experience?

Then again, a literary sect like Ouyang Xiu has been questioned because of his poetry, and a poor writer like Jia Cong, who is a lonely and nameless writer, does not have to worry about being questioned by others, but he also has to pay attention to literature and science, so that he can be worthy of the manuscript fee.

Writing this book, the protagonist is a man, but he uses a woman's poem at the beginning, which is like writing the beginning of the Three Kingdoms without Yang Caizi's rolling Yangtze River East passing water, nor with Master Su's big Jiangdong, but with Cao Dada's lack of material to make up for the sky, it is either over-innovating or running on the wrong set.

If you don't use this one, which one else can you use?

Jia Cong hesitated for a while, tapped his fingers on the desk, and another poem popped up in his mind:

[My predecessor was a crane immortal, and I was punished in the world for a thousand years. Yushengchen's dream is like snow, and he will wake up and the sea will change into a field. 】

With this poem by Shiraishi Weng Shen Zhou?

However, Bai Shi Weng seems to be called the four masters of Wumen together with Tang Yin.

And Tang Yin, Xue Pan has clouds, and Geng Huang is also.

Tang Yin's Spring Palace is all there, can Bai Shiweng's poems be missing?

With this poem, it is better to use Tang and Song poems directly.

Jia Cong searched his stomach and thought about it, he now knows what it means to hate books when they are used.

I really envy those who wear it with a system and the ability to never forget, not to mention that people wear parallel planes to copy famous works, but they can also choose to copy only the works of female authors, and the beautiful name is that the soul of the protagonist is more delicate than that of female writers at that time......

By the way, a female writer, a woman, the protagonist can also be a woman, he is really dizzy, and it's not that he hasn't written a book about the heroine.

However, Jia Cong's little head drooped, this book is not the kind of novel for female audiences.

He plans to write a monastic essay this time, isn't it a bit inappropriate to use the heroine?

Jia Cong suddenly thought again, the legend of the swordsman of Shushan is not based on Li Yingqiong, and in the three Ying and two clouds, Li Yingqiong has the most space.

Although Shushan is also a eunuch text, its influence is far-reaching, and it should be the ancestor of Xianxia.

Wesley, an alien who has more than 10,000 words a day, even called the Shushan Swordsman the first strange book in the world.

Of course, Jia Cong didn't write a fairy tale novel, but it was a monastic text, which was somewhat related to the word immortal.

He neither intends to write about mortal flows, nor does he plan to write about realistic cultivation flows, let alone about torrential flows and immortal flows, and the gender of the protagonist is not so important.

The flow of mortals, fighting, killing, and going to the furnace at every turn, is full of malice towards the female friar.

What about the practice of cultivation, if you come up, you will kill the red dragon, or the dragon girl will be reincarnated, isn't the Nine Heavens Xuannu of the Queen Mother of the West a woman?

As for the Immortal Huliu and the Flood Stream, they are prone to their hearts, but they have to compete for a chance to merge with the heavens, which is a hidden shot of the prince's struggle for the throne or a hidden shot of something else.

Jia Cong said that after this turmoil, he needs time to be quiet, and he doesn't want to touch half a word of what is hidden or not......

Therefore, what Jia Cong intends to write is a synthesis of the ethereal flow and the dnd god flow.

【...... The husband breaks the white clouds, climbs the cangvine, climbs the cuifu, climbs the mountains, wades into the danger of ten thousand people, rises to the top of the Taiyue, looks down at the block, thinks it is high, who does not know the wind in the sky, walks on the long rainbow across the sky, travels on the surface of the void, looks at the sun and the moon, holds the stars, licks the green underworld, and looks down on the dust and soil......]

After writing this paragraph, Jia Cong clenched his fists and smiled, his smile was full of malice towards this plane, and the ethereal stream was sealed with divine streams, for this world of immortals and ghosts......

Think about the police fairy in the too illusory realm, think about the officials in the netherworld, and think about it again, the human traffickers of the monk and the same family, Jia Cong sneered twice.

Anyway, the sky can't fall, as for the consequences, who cares.

Jia Cong was thinking about it, when he suddenly heard a slight sound, he raised his eyes to look, but it was Jia Huan sneaking in.

Putting the pen on the pen stand, Jia Cong shook his head and smiled, took the four books and opened them casually, and said, "Why are you so sneaky?"

Jia Huan cautiously walked up to Jia Cong, looked at Jia Cong fixedly for a while, and said thoughtlessly: "Brother Cong, thank you." ”

Jia Cong knew that Jia Huan's thank you meant Zhao Guoji's donation, so he couldn't help but reach out and pat Jia Huan's shoulder, and laughed: "We are brothers, what do you want to thank or not." ”

But before the words fell, I saw Grandma Li and Cuiyun walking in with a smile, and saw Jia Cong and Jia Huan both in the house.

Granny Li forcibly pulled out a smile on her lips and said, "Why is Brother Huan'er here? Aunt Zhao is looking for you everywhere." The second master came back from the yamen, and he was very unhappy to hear that Brother Huan'er didn't go to school today. ”

Zhao Guoji donated the official, Jia Zheng was inevitably unhappy, and the gold content of his official position was not much better than that of donating the official.

To put it bluntly, Enyin and donating officials, one relies on their ancestors and the other relies on silver, they are not real skills, and the officials who were born in the imperial examination only have the share of being despised.

However, the officials of Enyin still look down on the donors, and think they are coppery, absurd and ridiculous.

Jia Cong smiled sideways and said, "Uncle Rui is sick, the old lady in the school is busy asking for doctors and medicines everywhere, and the school has already had a holiday, why doesn't the second master know?"

As soon as Grandma Li thought that this was the case, and knew that Jia Zheng was a person who didn't care about anything, she smiled and said: "The second master is busy with affairs in the yamen, I'm afraid no one will tell him, I don't know." However, Aunt Zhao and Grandma are in a hurry, and they still have something to find Brother Huan. ”

Hearing this, Jia Cong saw that the sky outside was gloomy, and he was afraid that it was going to snow, and the road was slippery in the snow, so he asked Grandma Li to send Jia Huan back.

Time is rising, it is already the spring solstice in March, on a small hill in Shudi, the peach blossoms are like xia, the pear blossoms are like snow, they complement each other, and they are beautiful.

Not far from the peach grove pear tree, the stream meanders down, falling flowers and flowing water, dyed with moss. Looking for the stream up, there is a small temple at the source, several meditation rooms, and a half-withered and half-glorious yellow cypress old tree.

Under the old tree where three or four people couldn't hug each other, a scholar in Tsing Yi was holding a Buddhist scripture and resting against the tree.

"Childe, Childe-" The boy in his early teens jumped over the threshold, the burden on his back flickering.

The scholar opened his eyes lazily, stretched, yawned, and said, "Noise." ”

The scholar jumped to the scholar's side a few times, tilted his head, and whispered to the merit: "Childe, I went to buy pen and ink, and I saw a new book, which seems to be written by a monk, so I bought it for you." ”

The scholar's eyes lit up instantly, he glanced into the meditation room, hummed and sneered twice, the words related to the monk are nothing more than wine-colored wealth, and the old monk beats the drum This kind of ironic story.

A few nasty stinky monks, every day Amitabha Buddha comes to Amitabha Buddha, more virtuous monks than the great monks, and he is often on fire at every turn.

He dared to be angry but didn't dare to speak, couldn't he still look at the script and be angry.

However, the scholar took the notebook and looked at it, he was dumbfounded, and he softly read out the name of the notebook: ". ”

The scholar smiled bitterly, and casually rolled the book into a tube and knocked it on the scholar's head: "This is a book written and taught, let a few monks see it, and I will read it for a few days and nights, I am more unlucky than Bi Ma Wen." ”

"Da Luo, isn't it Da Luo?" the scholar pouted, rubbing the top of his head.

"Unless the person who writes books is as unlearned as you are. ”

Although the scholar said this, he couldn't help but hide the book in the Buddhist scriptures, carefully opened it, and read the opening words, and the scholar commented: "The imagination is fantastic, quite chic." ”

After reading the small words, the scholar took advantage of the interest to read it, but after only reading a few thousand words, his face was full of incredulity, and he stammered: "This book, this book ......"

"What's wrong with this book?"

The scholar's hand trembled like chaff, and he almost couldn't hold the book, his expression was both surprised and frightened, and his voice suddenly rose: "Could it really be written by the immortals?"