"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. ”

This was originally Wang Majie's classic work "Autumn Evening in the Mountain House", firstly, Zhang Fan happened to be able to memorize, and secondly, because this poem is quiet and elegant, suitable for all ages, and the writing is brilliant.

Under Zhang Fan's affectionate interpretation, it is like a picture scroll slowly unfolding in front of him, as if he can hear the sound of the clear spring flowing and the sound of the raccoon girl laughing.

As soon as Zhang Fan's words fell, a strong talent, like a lonely smoke in the desert, rushed straight into the blue sky, and the vision of the word "heavenly cash" appeared again.

Within one day, one person's mouth actually made two poems of "Cai Dong Wen Song, Heavenly Cash Words", and everyone present took a breath of cool air, and their faces were shrouded in shock.

Song Yu's face was even more pale, silent, and he almost bit his lips.

Looking up at the golden characters of Dou Da in the sky that had only dissipated for a long time, Confucius's face was full of excitement, and he muttered: "Genius!

The so-called genius in his mouth naturally refers to Zhang Fan, who is standing not far from him.

"Old Fang, have you written it down?"

Seeing that the golden words in mid-air were about to dissipate, Confucius suddenly asked loudly.

"Remember, write it down!"

His hands trembled slightly, Fang Mingzhou also looked incredulous, and his shocked eyes couldn't help but glance at Zhang Fan.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, how could he have believed that such an amazing talent could have been possessed by such a young man.

This poem seems to be simple and plain, but the movement and stillness are appropriate, the battle is extremely neat, and the reading makes people feel like hearing music, as if they are in a painting.

After hesitating for a moment, Fang Mingzhou cautiously asked, "Lord Dean, are you going to compile this poem into my meditation textbook at White Horse Academy?"

"Of course!" Confucius rolled his eyes, as if he was reproaching Fang Mingzhou for asking too much, "Remember to copy one more copy to the old man!"

Fang Mingzhou smiled bitterly when he heard this, and asked again: "Lord Dean, what grade should this poem be compiled into?"

In the White Horse Academy, according to the amount of talent, the poems are divided into four levels: "Heaven, Earth, Xuan, and Yellow", and in addition to the Heaven level, other grades are divided into nine grades.

And now, in the scripture building of the White Horse Academy, there is only half a fragment of the heavenly level called "The Book of Ancient Poetry", three prefecture-level poems, thirty-seven Xuan-level, and four hundred and sixty-one yellow-level poems.

Who knows, Confucius rolled his eyes again, "Do you need to say this?

"Prefecture-level ...... Jiupin?!"

Fang Mingzhou's mouth opened wide, his hands shook, thinking that he had misheard, and looked at Confucius in surprise.

As if seeing through Fang Mingzhou's thoughts, Confucius smiled and said solemnly: "Prefecture-level nine grades, you heard it right!"

As soon as these words came out, Song Yu and the others all changed their faces.

This also means that from now on, in addition to the half-volume fragment of the White Horse Academy, Zhang Fan's "Autumn Twilight in the Mountain House" will have the highest level.

You must know that even the world-famous "Xi Mengfu" written by Confucius back then was only a prefecture-level five-grade.

Prefecture-level nine products...... Wouldn't you compare the dean's own masterpiece to the master?!

Song Yu hurriedly took half a step, bowed down and said, "Teacher, don't do it!"

"Why not?"

Confucius asked rhetorically.

Glancing at Zhang Fan with some resentment, Song Yu gritted his teeth and said unconvinced: "Although this son has some talent, but at a young age, how can he be worthy of the ninth grade of the prefecture level, above you, the teacher!"

"Song Yu, the old man often tells you that there is no first in literature, don't judge talent by age, why don't you always listen to it?"

Confucius patted Song Yu's shoulder lightly and said earnestly.

"Teacher, I'm ......"

Confucius waved his hand and interrupted Song Yugang's words, "Song Yu, the old man knows that you have a proud personality, but this Mr. Tang's talent is indeed above you and me, his poems, you must read and meditate well, it will be beneficial to you!"

"Yes!"

Although Song Yu said so, deep down in his heart, he didn't think so.

Hearing Confucius, he continued: "No, it's not good to be familiar with it, but all the students of my White Horse Academy must memorize it and know it by heart!"

"What?" Song Yu's eyes widened, "I—Do I want to carry it too?"

"Aren't you a student of my White Horse Academy?"

Confucius's rhetorical question immediately made Song Yu speechless.

Everything he has now, including his reputation, can be said to come from the White Horse Academy.

In other words, it is from the support and grace of Confucius.

If it weren't for Confucius's husband who vigorously recommended Song Yu, a proud protégé, how could Song Yu's name be prominent, and in just half a year, it quickly spread throughout the entire Beginningless City.

In other words, as long as he abandoned the White Horse Academy, it would inevitably be worthless again.

However, Song Yu was not convinced.

This son is the first of the four talents of the White Horse Academy, how can he recite the poems of Tang Bohu, isn't this a slap in the face?

Helplessly, although he had a thousand and ten thousand reluctances in his heart, it was difficult to disobey his master's order, so how could he dare to disobey Confucius's words.

What's more, Zhang Fan's poems are highly talented and obvious to all, and familiarity with meditation is also of great benefit to his cultivation.

Thinking of this, Song Yu's heart finally had some comfort.

"Even if you are talented, you won't make a wedding dress for my son in the end!"

Glancing at Zhang Fan out of the corner of his eye, Song Yu couldn't help but sneer in his heart.

"Mrs. Kong, wait a minute!"

At this moment, Zhang Fan suddenly spoke.

"Does Mr. Tang think there's anything wrong?"

As soon as the words came out, Confucius realized that there seemed to be something wrong with this matter, stretched out his hand and patted his head, and said with self-reproach, "The old man is confused, and he has not consulted Mr. for permission, so he used your masterpiece without authorization!"

As he spoke, Confucius turned his head to Mingzhou and said, "Old Fang, immediately take a million gold coins and give them to Mr. Yu as a reward!

Million gold coins?!

When everyone at the scene heard this, they all took a light breath, and their eyes of envy and hatred turned to Zhang Fan.

A poem, four crosses, a million gold coins, which means that a word is worth 25,000 gold coins.

Ma Dan, we all suffered the loss of no culture!

What shocked Song Yu even more was that Confucius actually wanted to hire Zhang Fan to teach at the White Horse Academy.

Originally, if Confucius included Zhang Fan under his disciples, it would have been difficult for Song Yu to accept.

And now, Confucius is actually planning to hire Zhang Fan as a teacher at the White Horse Academy, which is even more Song Yu's defeat.

W-Why don't you let people live?!

Just when Song Yu wanted to dissuade him, he only heard Zhang Fan say: "Old Master Kong, what you just said is to let all the students of the White Horse Academy recite my poems?"

"yes!"

Confucius nodded, not quite understanding why Zhang Fan asked such a question.

"So, he's going to carry it too?"

Zhang Fan pointed at Song Yu.

"Of course!"

Hearing this, Zhang Fan suddenly grinned, and a somewhat weird smile appeared on his seemingly harmless face.

"Mrs. Kong, don't hide it, the poem just now is nothing, I have a more powerful article!"

Zhang Fan is serious and authentic.

"Really?" Confucius's eyes suddenly lit up, and he said excitedly, "Old Fang, hurry up, take a note!"

Fang Mingzhou hurriedly picked up his pen and listened attentively.

But seeing Zhang Fan's eyes slightly twilight, he said slowly: "There is a fish in the North Underworld, its name is Kun, the Kun is so big, I don't know how many thousands of miles it is, and it turns into a bird, its name is Peng, Peng's back, I don't know how many thousands of miles it is, and it flies angrily, and its wings are like clouds hanging from the sky......"