At this time, everyone's eyes looked at Bu Ru.

The gazes of these people range from playful to contemptuous and disdainful.

"What? Haven't thought about it yet? Do you want to give two sticks of incense more time, you think about it. ”

"It's better to surrender directly, you can't write a better poem than Brother Zimeng."

Most of the people who said these words were a few showmen who had just slapped the prince's ass.

These people may have been secretly arranged for a long time.

Or after knowing Wang Zimeng's identity, he looks forward to getting some benefits by his side.

There are also some people who simply feel that the prince is outstanding in learning and sincerely admired.

But there are also anticipation, encouraging burning eyes. And more of a waiting-eyed to see the excitement.

Bu Ru opened his eyes violently, glanced at his mentor Zhao Fuzi next to him, and then looked at the sunset in the waning mountains, and then wrote with a pen; The vast and sorrowful day is slanting, and the whip points to the end of the world......

As soon as these two sentences were written, the onlookers were shocked. Especially Zhao Fuzi, looking at these two poems with incredible eyes.

Bu Ru did not raise his head, and continued to write; Falling red is not a ruthless thing, turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers.

The onlookers are all talented, and regardless of their character, they at least prove that they are people with some ability in reading.

These years of dealing with articles and poems, even if they can't write good poems, but the level of appreciation is definitely there.

Most people can tell at a glance whether a poem is good or bad.

Instead, he put down his pen and continued to close his eyes after writing.

At this time, his heart was peaceful, his poetry level may be the worst in this group of talents, he knows this himself, so he doesn't know if this poem can compare to Wang Zimeng's poem, he doesn't want to see the result, so he simply closes his eyes.

There was a great silence all around, and all the people around them stared at the poem.

The little chubby show, who had filmed Prince Meng's ass before, wanted to spray two sentences, but when he saw that the people next to him and He Jiaoyu were looking at this poem with solemn faces, he was afraid that he would become a joke instead.

So he kept his mouth shut.

The middle-aged Xiucai, who was in his forties, stared at these thirty-two words, and he read them three or four times, and each time he read it, the better the poem became. At this point, he was tempted to find flaws in the poem, but he couldn't find them.

He Jiaoyu and Wang Zimeng looked at the poem in front of them, and their hearts were turbulent; Didn't you say that this guy in front of you can't write poetry? How......

Poetry doesn't have to be written, just thirty or fifty words of poetry, and even if there are mistakes, there are not many. What's more, the poem seems very mature, even perfect, and there is nothing wrong with it at all.

"What the hell is written? Read it out and listen to it! "There are people in the ordinary readers and ordinary people on the periphery shouting.

Zhao Fuzi laughed loudly, and then read the poem aloud.

"Falling red is not a ruthless thing, turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers. Good poems, true quatrains. Suddenly, an old voice in the crowd shouted.

Bu Ru opened his eyes and looked, but it was the old man who said that his article was okay before.

He knew this old man, he once went to his noodle shop with a young couple to eat noodles a few years ago, and later saw the article on his bookcase, and specially asked himself to go out and chat for more than an hour.

At that time, he felt that this person was very talented and learned, especially because he had studied Shangshu deeply, especially when he had just started to write Shangshu, and he gave a lot of good opinions and suggestions, which helped him a lot.

Later, I wanted to ask him for advice several times, only to learn that he was a foreigner, and I didn't expect to appear here today, and after the meeting ended, I must have a good consultation with him again......

Combined with the scene here, the author of this poem feels that he is being persecuted by a group of small people, and is about to abandon his fame, so he is sad and indignant, and there is a sorrow in his heart for leaving. Therefore, I plan to chant the whip and point to the east, and the place where I go is the end of the world. Losing fame is like falling red petals, and the author secretly tells himself that even if he loses fame, he is not ruthless, because falling red can be turned into spring mud to protect flowers, just as grief and anger can be turned into strength to make his future go to the next level. ”

"Good poetry, good poetry! In particular, this sentence "falling red is not a ruthless thing, turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers" tells a truth, which can be applied to all aspects, and can be used for inspirational sentences that have been passed down through the ages. ”

At the beginning, many talents and ordinary readers felt that this poem looked really good, but many people couldn't say what was good, but at this time, after the old man said it, many people were suddenly enlightened and suddenly realized.

Even ordinary readers and ordinary people understood it all in an instant.

"What are you? You say yes? Lao Zhou jumped out at this time, pointed at the old man and scolded.

Sometimes people are strange things, and when he falls out with someone, he really wants to throw the other person to the ground and step on it hard. Especially when I see him frustrated and embarrassed, there will be a very happy feeling.

Lao Zhou is this kind of psychology at this time. Just saw that Bu Ru was about to be pressed to the ground and rubbed, and his heart was so happy, at this time, seeing that he was about to turn over, he suddenly jumped out to stop it.

At this time, a middle-aged man suddenly rushed out, slapped Lao Zhou's face a few times, and scolded angrily; "What are you? It's crooked here. ”

Lao Zhou was stunned for a while, and it took a while to come back to his senses, and he was about to have a seizure, when he suddenly saw that the person who beat him was the sheriff Wang Zhutou of Lin Feng Town, and he was immediately dumbfounded.

"Uncle Wang, you ......"

Wang Zhutou lowered his voice and said viciously; "Shut up for me, that person is the mentor of Lord Zhixian, and Lord Zhixian is here......"

Lao Zhou suddenly broke out in a cold sweat, lowered his head and disappeared into the crowd.

"Whose poems are better, everyone votes." Seeing that it was quiet, Zhao Fuzi shouted loudly, then picked up the pen and put a small tick next to Bu Ru's poem, and stood aside.

He really couldn't have imagined that this time his disciple would suddenly be possessed by the spirit of the poet immortal and poet saint and write such beautiful poems.

Just now, he has been struggling with one thing, if Bu Ru's poems are not as good as Wang Zimeng, who should he tick off.

If you tick Buru with your conscience, your conscience will not go. If you favor the disciples to tick him, people will laugh at him for favoritism.

Well, now that you have a good conscience for your disciples, you won't be upset, and no one dares to say that you are favoritism, right?

The rest of the Xiucai also picked up the pen and ticked the works of the two, although there were also seven or eight people who ticked Wang Zimeng's works, but most of them gave the hook to Bu Ru.

In the end, even Chen Jiaoyu ticked off Bu Ru's works.

"Chen Jiaoyu, you ......" Wang Zimeng glared at him, just about to say something.