When Cui Yunqi pushed open the door, his whole being was aflame with passion.
At this moment, all sense of etiquette and reason, all aristocratic decorum, were abandoned.
What in the world could compare to the line "Even in death, the chivalrous bones remain fragrant"?
No, it’s not just the fragrance of chivalrous bones in death, but also "Ten steps kill one, a thousand miles no trace remains".
And "Three cups pledge a promise, the Five Mountains bow lightly in submission".
There were so many, each word, each phrase, each line.
They leapt wildly over the hottest bloodline in his heart, tugging at his Divine Soul, making him feel both immensely heavy yet feather-light in his steps.
"Who is reciting poetry..."
Cui Yunqi shouted, stumbling as he rushed inside.
The door slammed with a bang against the wall beside it.
Then, Cui Yunqi finally saw the scene inside the room clearly.
At this moment, the scene was actually quite ordinary—someone sat at a desk holding a pen, someone stood beside the desk reciting with downcast eyes.
The reciting person was dressed as a scholar, with three short strands of beard under his chin, still visibly excited on his face.
And the scholar in a green robe sitting at the desk turned his head in surprise at the sound.
His demeanor was brilliant, his eyes like cold stars—it was indeed Chen Xu!
Cui Yunqi felt he might have run too fast, finding it difficult to catch his breath at this moment.
He felt as if there was a mountain pressing down in front of him.
He was so small at the foot of the mountain, yet fortunate that the mountain was towering and extraordinary, full of mystical aura.
Even in his awe, he found joy.
"I, I..." Cui Yunqi was extremely anxious and finally blurted out, "Brother Chen, may I see the poem you wrote?"
As for the middle-aged scholar standing by Chen Xu’s desk, Cui Yunqi completely ignored him.
When Wang Xian hurriedly arrived from behind, he saw Cui Yunqi holding the literary work cautiously, completely engrossed.
The expressions on Cui Yunqi’s face were so rich that Wang Xian hesitated at the inn’s door, unsure whether to step forward.
Then he heard Cui Yunqi murmur:
"The Zhao guest wore a flowing turban, the Wu Hook gleamed with frost and snow.
The silver saddle shone on the white horse, swift as a meteor.
Ten steps kill one, a thousand miles no trace remains
Finished, he brushes off his clothes, deeply hides both body and name..."
His voice rose from low to high, beginning with a gentle recitation, then gradually becoming clear and exhilarating.
Listening, Wang Xian suddenly felt a shivering sensation, as if an indescribable free and heroic spirit rushed straight from his spine to his crown.
For decades, Wang Xian had been known for his steadiness.
He was conservative and moderate, always evaluated as "lacking the capacity for aggression" from a young age, and he never felt the need to push forward aggressively.
Shouldn’t the preservation of a family be more important than starting a new endeavour?
If it wasn’t for him, Wang Xian, holding the fort at the rear, how could other members of the Wang family pursue their future freely outside?
Wang Xian always thought he wouldn’t be moved by anything overly flamboyant.
But at this moment, as those exuberant and unrestrained words flooded in, an overwhelming heroic spirit came rushing...
Wang Xian suddenly realized that, for his past decades, though he prided himself on witnessing the prosperity of the Mortal World, he was actually still too barren.
He never imagined such words existed in the world.
He never met such words existing in the world.
It was a gust of fierce wind, a sword of freedom, the grandeur of the mountains and rivers, and the unyielding spirit that drank the ages.
It was indescribable... rapturous.
Making even the ordinary people of the red dust feel as if, for a moment, their souls were flying.
Wang Xian stood there dumbfounded, with no reaction or ability to move.
Until Cui Yunqi, holding the literary work, recited "Knight’s Journey" over and over.
Until the corridor of the inn was crowded with more and more people.
Both fellow students from Jichuan County staying nearby, other guests in the inn, and more and more aristocratic families from Yunjiang Prefecture coming with gifts to thank Chen Xu...
Of course, there were also scattered, noisy passersby who noticed the anomaly here.
But the inn had limited space; true passersby couldn’t possibly squeeze in, most just stood afar outside the inn watching.
Or muddle-headedly pointing out a few comments: "Just now someone shouted, saying there wasn’t a green dragon under the cloud light, but someone made a Cyan Smoke Poem!"
"Tsk, what’s a Cyan Smoke Poem?"
"Ha, you don’t understand, do you? This Cyan Smoke Poem is extraordinary.
It is said that only a poem written so well, which can evoke the mystic aura between heaven and earth, will produce a wisp of cyan smoke the moment it is first written."
"Indeed, it’s said the last time Yunjiang Prefecture had a Cyan Smoke Poem was more than ten years ago..."
"Oh, then I have to listen to what poem it is, to be so magical."
"So anxious, why hasn’t anyone spread it yet? Who inside is writing poetry, and what have they written?"
Some appreciate with curiosity, naturally, there are also those in the world who refuse to appreciate.
Not liking something is quite ordinary.
"Pfft, a bunch of fools. What’s so good about poems? Listening to them won’t make you grow more flesh or what?"
"Indeed, they’re all scholars, only having the energy to listen to poems once full. If you can’t even eat your fill, even if you recognize a bucketful of big words, these poems won’t acknowledge you once listened!"
Those who claimed they wouldn’t listen to poems soon ended up slapping their own faces with their words.
After all, what Chen Xu wrote was never just a simple poem.
He wrote "Knight’s Journey" to spread two short stories about Artificial Beast.
In the inn, Cui Yunqi recited the entire "Knight’s Journey" countless times before finally realizing.
Stupidly he asked, "Brother Chen, the knight in this poem is truly inspiring, you are, you are..."
He wanted to ask if Chen Xu had a prototype in mind?
Such a question was not abrupt, after all, for a good poem, being read repeatedly and analyzed was expected.
A poem’s creation must have its origin. Updates are released by Nove1Fire.net
Whether depicting scenery or objects, expressing one’s feelings, or those of others...
Of course, there are also allegories, nostalgia for the past, expressive or romantic writing, and so on.
The variety is not only hard to describe fully but also difficult to tally.
These didn’t mean much, what Cui Yunqi most wanted to ask was whether the knight in the poem truly existed?
Was Chen Xu writing fiction or reality?
The silver saddle shone on the white horse, swift as a meteor—
What an aura of wondrous charm, youthful heroism!
The image of the knight was so enviable and fascinating, emotions surged in Cui Yunqi’s chest, his passion reaching a peak, wishing dearly to drink with the knight face to face, becoming brothers.
But when Cui Yunqi wanted to voice his thoughts, he inexplicably felt embarrassed to ask directly.
As if borrowing Chen Xu to meet the knight in his poem, it somehow seemed like he might offend someone?
Cui Yunqi stumbled with his words, swallowing them, looking somewhat foolish.
Then he heard Chen Xu say, "The knight, such a person does exist."