An hour later, the eunuchs in charge of counting the palace reported the number.

"Ten thousand. ”

"Ten thousand?"

"It's really ten thousand. ”

"It's only been more than an hour, and at this rate, wouldn't Ying Dacai have to compose 100,000 poems a day?"

The ministers were horrified, and in the face of Ying Wuxin, who did this poetry speed, they all had a trace of fear in their hearts, only those of them who have read all their lives and seen a lot of scenery and talents in the officialdom will really understand the terrible thing about this Ying Wuxin.

To say that he is a demon is light.

The same thought rose in everyone's hearts at this moment, this person was most likely a poet fairy or a god of poetry in human skin, otherwise how could there be such a feat.

It has reached a terrifying state, which makes people feel frightened.

Outside the palace, the people were dazzled and a little numb, and the speed of these hundred poems and a hundred poems was quickly refreshed, and they couldn't keep up.

However, seeing that the number of Ying Wuxin was far ahead, several thousand more than that of the scholars, the people rejoiced, and as ordinary people, they trusted the cultivators more, on the contrary, they were somewhat disgusted with the scholars, and most of these disgusts were caused by the arrogance of the scholars and their contempt for people.

Therefore, at this moment, seeing that the scholars were deflated under the hands of the cultivator Ying Wuxin, and the competition was falling behind more and more, their hearts were very happy, and they couldn't wait to howl out loudly and cheer for Ying Wuxin.

"Damn, this guy, is he still human?"

Qin He stood below, clenching his fists resentfully, his eyes were resentful and resentful, the numbers counted by them on their side, combined, were only 1,600 songs, more than 8,000 fewer than Ying Wuxin's 10,000 songs, and they went up to 100 people every time, but it was such a result, it was too embarrassing.

But they are anxious, and there is no way to alleviate it, because they are taking turns to fight, and some readers may not be able to write poems that meet the requirements, which delays the time and affects morale.

At this time, Qin He knew how unbearable the scholars he led were.

"After the new rain in the empty mountains, the weather is late in autumn.

The bright moon shines among the pines, and the clear spring stone is upstream.

The bamboo noise returns to the Huannu, and the lotus moves the fishing boat.

Feel free to rest in spring, and the kings and grandchildren can stay. ”

......

"The old man Gu Ji invited me to Tian's house.

The green tree village is close to the edge, and the green mountain Guo is oblique outside.

Open the noodle garden, and talk about the wine.

Stay until the Double Ninth Day, and come to chrysanthemums. ”

......

On the side of the poetry platform, Liu Yuan and the others looked at the words condensed by the red glow in the night sky overhead, and recited gently, the expression on their faces was serious and serious, and their eyes were even more sophisticated and scrutinized.

At this moment, they no longer care about the number of poems and essays made by the readers, and they have forgotten that this is a competition, and their eyes are only the words condensed by the glow of the sun, and everything that is revealed between the lines, and their minds are completely immersed in it.

"The wind is urgent, the sky is high, the ape is howling, and the white bird flies back.

The boundless falling trees are falling, and the Yangtze River is rolling.

He is often a guest in the sad autumn, and he has been on stage alone for more than a hundred years.

Hardship, bitterness, hatred, frost and sideburns, pouring down a new turbid wine glass. ”

......

"The officials are all year round, and they go out of the suburbs to clear the dawn.

The willows are scattered and the wind is blowing, and the green mountains are worried.

Rest on the bush, and the edge of the stream is gone.

The light rain is in the fangyuan, where is the spring dove.

The joy of the heart has been stopped, and the deeds are still unruly.

In the end, Mu Tao is straight. ”

......

"In April, the south wind barley is yellow, and the jujube flowers have not fallen.

Qingshan said goodbye to the twilight, and the neighing horse went out to miss his hometown.

......

Zheng Guoyou's visit to home was not home, and Luoyang Xingzi sighed.

I heard that Lin knew a lot of people, and how was the dismissal yesterday and today. ”

......

After the ugly time, when the game had been going on for three hours, Ying Wuxin had written 20,000 poems, reaching an unimaginable height.

On the reader's side, he finally barely crossed the 3,000 mark, but because the speed of writing on both sides was too fast, it was not possible to strictly review whether each poem met the requirements.

However, knowledgeable people have seen that although there are many poems that should be done unintentionally, the quality is very high, and I basically don't see that it doesn't meet the requirements, but on the reader's side, even if a hundred platforms are scattered, a platform is just a few people, and it can already be seen that someone's work does not meet the requirements, but the current effort, I can't say, because the competition is still advancing, especially Ying Wuxin, like divine help, is still writing down a hundred poems at the same time, without the slightest pause.

"This kid really wants to write 100,000 songs, doesn't he want to exhaust me?" Wen He watched from the side, complaining in his heart, but this complaint was very refreshing, and he was very satisfied.

Ying Wuxin as a cultivator, this time can be regarded as a great scenery, one person's literary talent overshadowed many scholars in the royal capital, and it will definitely become a good story for future generations.

Such a talented man is his own father-in-law, and Wen He feels the sweetness of joy in his heart.

"Old Wen, can you still hold on?" Ying Wuxin asked while writing a hundred poems at the same time.

"Don't worry, I'm a third-stage Dao sect, don't talk about this level, even if you write a million poems, I can easily hold on. Wen He said with a smile.

Using the glow of light in a hundred places at the same time, condensing a hundred poems, and completely keeping up with the progress of Ying Wuxin, this is definitely a big challenge, which is equivalent to controlling a hundred needles at the same time, and the speed is also very fast, if it is not for Wenhe is Taoist sect, or a three-stage cultivation, he can't bear it.

However, this is more of a consumption of spirit, and there is not much consumption of natural energy, so Wen He has no other hardships except for being a little tired.

In the palace, a group of little eunuchs reacted, and they all kowtowed in the direction of the palace gate, they were thanking Wenhe Daozong, otherwise they should be tired to death if they didn't want to write poems now, and they would definitely not be able to keep up with the speed.

This is simply a devil, and it is even more terrible than the devil to be able to write so many poems in such a short time.

Poof.

Zhao Anbang sat on the ground, his buttocks almost cracked, but he didn't care too much, and he was about to get up.

But after all, I am old, and after standing for a long time, I can't hold it anymore, and when I fall down at this moment, I can't get up again.

Then Feng Qinglu and other old ministers also fell to the ground one after another, screaming, which attracted Wen Liang's attention, and he hurriedly asked people to prepare seats and send them over, so that the ministers could sit down.

Everyone originally thought that this competition would go on until a month later, so they were all going to take a look at it first, and then leave, and wait for the results later, but they didn't expect that Ying Wuxin would compose 20,000 poems in just a few hours, such a speed, I am afraid that the competition will end in one day.

Such an earth-shattering feat of crying ghosts and gods is enough to shine through the ages, they naturally don't want to miss it, even if the old arms and legs can't hold it, they have to insist and refuse to leave.

When the morning dawns, you should have no intention of composing 30,000 poems.

On the reader's side, the poems added together were less than 5,000, and the gap widened further.

When the time came, there should be 40,000 poems without intention, but on the side of the readers, it finally reached 6,000, and the gap is getting bigger and bigger, and the readers are anxious, and there is no way, because the time for them to prepare is too short, some have not yet conceived one, and some are in a hurry, so tired that they can't compose poems at all.