Chapter 3 Prologue Let's Put the White Deer Between the Green Cliffs

Tang Baoying first year, Dangtu County. In the middle of the night, the autumn rain was swaying, and the doors and windows were all closed. An old man was lying slumped on the bed, his eyes closed, his clothes reeked of alcohol.The radiant vitality in the past is about to dissipate, and now he only has an old body lying in the world, like a dying candle. "The living are passers-by, and the dead are returnees. When the heavens and the earth travel against each other, we share the eternal sorrow..." The old man moved his lips with difficulty and groaned softly. Although his voice was hoarse, he was open-minded, as if he didn't take it seriously.He groaned to the top of his voice, and tried in vain to grab the wine jug beside his pillow with his right hand, only to find that there was no wine left in it.

"The ancient sages are all lonely, lonely without wine, lonely without wine..." The old man looked at the ceiling and muttered to himself.Suddenly there seemed to be some movement in the room, he twisted his neck vigorously, turned his head to look, but only saw his poem bag and brush on the table by the window.The room remained silent. "Maybe it's the time limit is approaching, so my eyes are dizzy and my ears are ringing." The old man thought to himself, not without a feeling of embarrassment.This poetry pouch and brush have been with him for many years, and he wonders if he will still have the opportunity to drink fine wine and write poems with a brush.Fortunately, the poem manuscripts I have accumulated over the years have been entrusted to my uncle Li Yangbing, so I have no regrets.

The old man patted the empty jug lightly, feeling nothing but nostalgia in his heart. A burst of thunder rolled over, and the old man looked again, and found that there was an extra person beside the table.This man was tall and tall, dressed in a jet-black robe and wearing a crown. He looked like a scholar, but his haggard complexion was indescribably strange. "A layman Qinglian?" The voice was deep and gloomy.Through the lightning outside the window, the old man saw a strange wooden cylinder on the back of the visitor. The sides of this wooden cylinder are narrow, but not very long.

"Your Majesty?" The visitor clasped his fists and gave a little salute: "I am the owner of the pen mound, and I am here to find Mr. to practice pens." "The master of the pen mound... refining the pen..." the old man muttered to himself, chewing on these six words over and over again, puzzled. "Man has soul, poetry has soul. Mr. Poetry is rich in poetry, and resides in the soul. Wouldn't it be a pity to die with him now? I want to refine Mr. soul into a pen, and put it in the pen grave to keep it forever." Bi Zhong The master said lightly, without any ups and downs, as if he was talking about an ordinary thing.

Hearing this, the old man sighed, "Death is like a lamp going out. It would be a good thing if we could keep a piece of good luck. It's just that the lamp is exhausted, and the heart is more than enough, but the strength is not enough." The owner of the pen mound said: "You can put your heart at ease, and you can write poetry with your spirit. If your heart is not dead, your poetry will never die." The old man couldn't help laughing when he heard this, and sat up from the bed with a bang, and said loudly, "That's right. Well, well said, bring the wine!"

The owner of the pen mound spread out his right hand, he got a jug of wine from somewhere, and brought it to the old man's mouth.Thirsty and thirsty, the old man immediately snatched the wine jug and drank it to one's heart's content. "Good, good, good! Three cups lead to the road, and one bucket is natural." The old man wiped his mouth and praised loudly.At this time, the drunkenness surged up, and his heroic spirit exploded, his originally depressed spirit suddenly rose, like a snake riding a fog, his eyes were full of infinite spirit.He staggered to the table, picked up the pen on the paper spread by Jiuxing, and wrote and chanted, the pen flew away, and the sound of chanting resounded in the small room:

"The roc flies and shakes the eight descendants, but the sky is destroyed and the strength is weak. The remaining wind blows the ages, and the hibiscus is hung with stones. Later generations get it and pass it on. Who is crying when Zhongni is dead..." The voice of the old man gradually became higher and higher, and the momentum of reciting became more tragic and agitated.At the climax, thousands of beams of light and smoke flowed out from his body, swirled and swayed in the room, and gradually converged into a pen shape.The shape of this brush is as light as a cloud, like a dream, and a radiant lotus flower blooms at the end of the brush, exuding a faint and elegant fragrance.

"What a green lotus pen!" the owner of the pen mound praised, and immediately removed the red sandalwood pen holder on his back, with the opening facing upwards, and with a slight movement of his right hand, he wanted to put it in his pocket.Unexpectedly, the Qinglian Pen didn't listen to his call, it just circled in mid-air and flew straight to the southeast. The master of the pen mound's complexion changed, and he threw the red sandalwood pen container into the air and shouted: "Zhang!" The mouth of the pen container suddenly opened wide, like a huge mouth swallowing a boat, and it went straight to the pen spirit.Qinglianbi's figure was swift, she dodged left and right, but she was never restrained by the pen container.

This red sandalwood pen holder has swallowed countless pen spirits, and its stature has reached the level of the sea of ​​pens, but it has never come across a pen that is as unruly as the Qinglian pen, and it can't help being restless.Seeing that the red sandalwood pen holder could not succeed for a while, the owner of the pen mound took out a panqiu pen holder from his bosom and offered it secretly.This panqiu pen hanger was originally the root of a hundred-year-old tree. The branches are twisted and staggered, and there are natural pen hooks everywhere. The newborn Qinglian pen inherits the spirit of Taibai, and it is extremely agile, but the room is narrow after all, and it gradually shows its disadvantages under the pincers of the red sandalwood pen holder and the panqiu pen hanging.The master of the pen tomb faced each other with two fingers, his eyes were fixed on the three spiritual creatures fighting for a moment, and they were muttering to themselves.

After about half a stick of incense, the Qinglian pen was finally forced to the corner by the panqiu pen, seeing that it was about to recede into the black mouth of the red sandalwood pen holder, the tense expression of the master of the pen tomb relaxed a little. At this moment, the old man sitting beside him suddenly laughed loudly: "Good pen! Good pen! You go!" There was a sudden gust of wind outside the window, and the two windows were blown open with a bang.Hearing the master's call, Qinglianbi let out a long whistle, exerted force suddenly, and knocked the Panqiu pen hanging to the ground, then flew out of the window and disappeared in the wind and rain.

The owner of the pen mound was shocked, and rushed to the window. There was only the pouring autumn rain in front of him, only the whistling sound could be heard faintly.After a while, even the whistling was no longer heard.Seeing that the spirit of the pen could not be traced, he put away the two pens helplessly, and turned to look at the old man: a generation of poets sat on the ground and passed away, holding a brush in his hand, and the paper was full of dying songs and poems. Dry.The master of the pen mound took his last pen, spread it out on the table respectfully, took the inkstone to calm it down, and sighed: "Mr. After saying that, the master of the pen tomb adjusted his crown and bowed three times to the old man's body, then looked out of the window, shook his head and said: "Taibai's pen is unrestrained and unpredictable, but I don't know when we will meet the spirit of the pen." Then he turned and left. Also disappeared in the vast wind and rain...