Airplanes!

Airplanes!

Airplanes!

Airplanes!

Airplanes!

Airplanes!

In the shocked eyes of Miaozhu, the giant bell of the Confucian Temple of Zhibei County, which had not been sounded for a long time, rang by itself when no one hit it, and the thick bell spread throughout the entire Zhibei County. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 ｉｎｆｏ

Boom!

Two sounds!

Three times!

Four sounds!

Five sounds!

Six tones!

A full six rings, without anyone hitting it, the Wen Bell in Zhibei County rang six bells!

But this kind of thing did not stop, and the Wen Zhong of the neighboring county seat of Zhibei County also rang with itself, and in the end, even the Wen Zhong of the state capital Bei County also made a thick bell.

The whole of North County was shrouded in bells, and even the dull knew what was going on.

"Mingzhou poems, Mingzhou poems, someone in Zhibei County has written Mingzhou poems!"

Miao Zhu's eyes suddenly lit up, and after disbelief, he threw the rag in his hand aside, and rushed to the Confucian Temple like crazy, shouting excitedly.

There is no sign of dissipation in the air, but it is as bright as the morning glow, every person in Zhibei County is looking up at the sky, and the cloud brocade in the sky has become a paper shape, and a huge text has emerged.

The mountain is not high, and there is a fairy name. The water is not deep, and if there is a dragon, it will be spiritual. Si is a burrow, but Wu Dexin. The moss marks are green, and the grass is green. There is a lot of talk and laughter, and there is no white ding. You can tune the piano and read the Golden Sutra. There is no silk and bamboo, and there is no case. Nanyang Zhuge Lu, West Shuzi Cloud Pavilion. Confucius: What's ugly?"

The last sentence of Situ Xing can be called the finishing touch, borrowing the majesty of Kong Sheng, and raising the pattern and artistic conception of the entire poem by several grades.

The statue of Confucius in the Temple of Literature was stimulated by the poems, and it vibrated and hummed. A trace of white literary qi rose into the air, and in the white air, there was a faint Confucian saint wearing Confucian clothes, wearing a turban, and a simple face reciting loudly.

Confucius said: What an ugly thing!

Confucius said: What an ugly thing!

Confucius said: What an ugly thing!

This sentence seems to fit a certain law, and the voice is surprisingly grand, not only the people who know North County can hear it, but even the entire North County is shrouded in holy sound.

"Kong Sheng is shaking, and the hundred saints are chanting!"

It is really a rare grand occasion in a hundred years, and there are really articles and poems that are in line with the way of Confucius and are recognized by Confucius, so that this kind of spectacle will appear.

The eyes of everyone looking at Situ Xing were completely different, and there were originally a few Confucian scholars who wanted to make trouble in the name of "slandering the sages", but now they all kept their mouths shut, because their mood fluctuated too much, and their faces were all red.

"Narushu, it's really Naru!"

Fu Juren looked up at the sky, in the sky, this is the unique atmosphere of Mingzhou poems, his lips trembled, and a drop of turbid tears slipped uncontrollably from the corners of his eyes.

"This is an unprecedented event in Zhibei County in a hundred years. ”

"Congratulations!"

"Color!"

"Color!"

"Color!"

All the Confucian scholars stood up, stretched out their thumbs to Situ Xing, and shouted excitedly.

Color!

Color!

Color!

Some scholars disregarded the image of the wine glass on the case, like a peddler pawn gulping cow drink, a trace of wine slid down the side of the mouth, wet the placket, if there would have been someone in the past who would have said that his behavior was not in accordance with the etiquette, but now no one blames it.

Because every Confucian student looked excited. Even worse, they hugged their shoulders and slapped each other.

Huang Zicheng looked at the stunned people, and then looked at the manuscript of the poem that exuded a literary atmosphere, like a jade carving, and the original manuscript of the Mingzhou poem, this is a rare heirloom, even the wealthy families in Beijun may not have a piece.

Thinking of this, his eyes couldn't help but roll. The chubby body seemed to be off the rabbit, and it rubbed over in an instant.

But before his fat hand could catch the manuscript of the poem, a swarthy ring ruler fell down. Huang Zicheng's fat hand couldn't help but stagnate.

It was at this stagnation that the distance between his hand and the manuscript of the poem became a stone's throw away.

"How unreasonable, how unreasonable. ”

Fu Juren held the ring ruler in his hand, his eyes widened angrily, looking at Huang Zicheng who was trying to detect the leak, he couldn't help but be angry, and he wanted to eat him alive.

Huang Zicheng saw that his behavior was discovered by Fu Juren, and Fu Juren regarded the original manuscript of "Burrow" as his own, looked at him angrily, touched the back of his head with his hand, felt a little embarrassed, and smiled wryly, but the chubby hand did not mean to retract at all.

"This liuyu poetry meeting is presided over by the old man, and Situ Xing is the old man's student, and the poems he made at the poetry meeting should naturally belong to the old man. ”

Fu Juren stared at the manuscript of the poem, waved the ruler lightly, and said with a natural expression.

The Xiucai next to Fu Juren, when he heard Fu Juren's almost scoundrel words, subconsciously looked up at the sky, or covered his face with a paper fan.

It's really Sven sweeping the floor, not a son of man.

However, if there is a chance, I will definitely not let it go, after all, this is the original manuscript of Narushu's poem.

Appreciate it day and night, nourished by the culture, and you will have something.

What's more, this "Burrow" is a classic of self-cultivation at first glance, and it is also very beneficial to the enlightenment of future generations.

For the sake of Mingzhou poetry, what is it to lose some face?

Even if it reaches the Confucian literary world, it is also a good story, and stealing poetry is not stealing.

If it weren't for the lack of status and the distance, I am afraid that I would not be able to help but stretch out my hand.

Huang Zicheng glanced at Fu Juren with some disdain, although he didn't refute it, but the eyes and the fleshy hands all showed his attitude.

Even if you, an old horseman, say that you will come to the next day, don't want to take this Narushu poem for yourself.

Bai Zicong's face was gray, in front of Situ Xing, who wrote Mingzhou's poems, what face did he have to pretend to be Zhibei Wenkui?

I'm afraid that it won't take half a day for Situ to write a poem about Mingzhou will spread all over Zhibei County, and the title of Wenkui of Zhibei County will be given to others.

Thinking of this, his face became even more gray.

It was as if there was a boulder, and he couldn't breathe at all.

There was a faint pain in his chest, and there was a faint smell of blood in his mouth.

Bai Zicong looked at the crazy students around him, as well as Fu Juren and Huang Zicheng who seemed to be fighting bulls, smiled bitterly, a little gray, and staggered out of the side door.

is completely different from the starry circle at the beginning of the poetry meeting, and now no one notices Bai Zicong's early departure.

Even if a few people found out, they only glanced at it and put their eyes back on the field.

"The son of the Huang family, the old man and your father are world friends, are you sure you want to grab this poem manuscript with the old man?"

Fu Juren's eyes were like knives, staring at Huang Zicheng viciously.

"My dad would do the same here. ”

"If my dad was here, it would only be faster. ”

Huang Zicheng faced Fu Juren's threat, his face did not change, and his chubby big hand retracted.

"You can't teach a child. ”

"You can't teach a child. ”

Fu Juren looked at Huang Zicheng who was facing each other, and couldn't help but curse in his heart, but he couldn't do anything about it.