How can one cultivate immortality without learning modern knowledge?

Chapter 135 Three Hundred Years of Tumultuous Change, I Bury My Dao Heart with My Own Heart

suddenly!

Wu Tianliang, who was at the very center of the ink storm, suddenly stopped, and a beam of light burst forth from his forehead!

This radiant light is in the shape of a blood-red heart!

Zhou Wenju's eyes widened suddenly.

Zhuang Wenhua's eyes snapped open, his expression changed drastically, and he exclaimed, "To die for one's cause with one's heart!"

Everyone behind him stood up at the same time.

boom!

The crimson script core exploded instantly!

A crimson light enveloped Wu Tianliang's entire body, and the light boat beneath his feet suddenly transformed into a flying shuttle—

A crimson shuttle!

The shuttle shot up, detaching itself from the great river beneath its feet, soaring straight into the sky and heading towards the bright moon.

From the bright moonlight came Li Xiangfei's exclamation: "You've shattered your own heart! You've gone mad, mad—"

From within the flying shuttle came Wu Tianliang's long chant: "For three hundred years, the world has been in turmoil; I bury my Daoist heart with my own!"

Chi!

The bright moon was torn to pieces.

Suzhou and Hong Kong, both beneath my feet, have been reduced to fragments.

Fragments fell one after another, recreating the scene of the literary gathering under a clear blue sky.

Above the sky, a wave of light carried a blood-red shuttle, standing high in the firmament.

As the shuttle flew by, Wu Tianliang, covered in blood, looked up at the sky.

As the wind blew, Wenbo vanished like a wisp of smoke.

The shuttle beneath him turned into a cloud of blood mist.

He fell headfirst from the sky!

call!

Two figures stepped forward simultaneously.

On the left, Zhuang Wenhua; on the right, Zhou Wenju.

The two men reached out at the same time and caught Wu Tianliang as he fell from the sky.

A faint smile appeared on Wu Tianliang's pale face, and his eyes slowly closed—

Zhou Wenju gently held him, quietly gazing at him—

From the high platform, the Grand Elder announced, "In the fifth round, the Great Yu Kingdom wins!"

No one cheered.

It was clearly impossible for the Great Yan Kingdom to cheer. Just three quarters of an hour ago, Li Xiangfei was extremely arrogant and aloof, but now he was completely dejected.

The others looked gloomy.

The people on the Daewoo side had tragic expressions on their faces.

They won this round, but at an extremely high cost.

That was a master of painting, who then withdrew from the path of literature.

His heart was broken.

It wasn't an injury, but a complete shattering, a shattering so cleanly and decisively that it left no room for anything else.

The heart is wounded; the temple may have a miraculous cure.

The literary mind has been destroyed so thoroughly that there is absolutely no way to cure it in the world.

A grandmaster has taken his final bow.

His contest with Li Xiangfei was a challenge to the impossible from the very beginning.

His artistic talent, his family background, and his techniques were all utterly and flawlessly crushed by his opponent.

However, he made a breakthrough.

His breakthrough was—"Through three hundred years of turbulent times, I buried my Dao heart with my own heart!"

This marks the end of an era for him, a literary master.

The price he paid was far greater than that paid by Li Xiangfei.

However, it was precisely because of his funeral that he won the most precious point for the Great Yu Kingdom.

They saved the Great Yu Kingdom from its most difficult match point.

The Second Elder spoke: "The Green Mountain Literary Gathering has now concluded its fifth session! Next up is the Poetry Ceremony. Please, masters of both nations, take your places!"

A soft "poof" sound.

It was the sound of footsteps on the high platform.

Wang Zhiyi, the master of poetry in the Great Yan Kingdom, stepped onto the high platform.

Although he was a master of poetry, this man's every move resembled that of a soldier.

Zhou Wenju slowly shifted his gaze from Wu Tianliang's unconscious face and slowly raised his head.

He heard Zhuang Wenhua's voice transmission: "Master Zhou, if you are truly hurt because of Master Wu, then do not betray Master Wu's literary talent!"

Zhou Wenju did not answer, but took a step forward and went straight up to the high platform!

It landed in front of Wang Zhiyi.

As he landed, a long wind rose, his clothes fluttered, and his dashing demeanor caused all the Spirit Clan women to fall silent.

They admire the charm of literature and art.

They also admire his youthful and dashing appearance.

If both cannot be taken into account, opinions will vary.

If one can have both, then naturally one's cheeks will be flushed like peach blossoms, and one's heart will be unable to contain itself.

"Is this Master Zhou the same Master Qingci who wrote 'I searched for her a thousand times in the crowd'?" A woman turned to ask the spirit woman beside her.

"I think—I think calling him Grandmaster is too old-fashioned, let's just call him Young Master." The other woman didn't turn to answer; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed glued to Zhou Wenju's face.

Inside the wooden house.

The girl in purple seemed to brighten a bit: "Holy Maiden, everyone says the outcome of the battle is without suspense, but there is still some suspense! After this round, barring any unforeseen circumstances, it should be a three-to-three tie."

The saintess's gaze swept across her face: "You're that confident?"

"This literary gathering was full of unpredictability. What seemed like a foregone conclusion to everyone's assessment did indeed become quite suspenseful in the end. However, I still don't believe that this Wang Zhiyi can surpass him in the field of poetry!"

This girl in purple, although she is a maid, comes from a special background, and her vision is unique.

In terms of poetic skill, Zhou Wenju's poems are absolutely unmatched.

Judging from the elders' attitude towards him, they actually acknowledged this point.

Otherwise, why target him specifically with such a despicable scheme? They even resorted to witchcraft.

Therefore, the moment he broke free from the Gu curse, it was already declared that his poetry competition was no longer in doubt.

If he is not the only one to win, then the outcome of the entire literary gathering will be highly uncertain.

When the score is tied at three to three, no one can be certain of winning or losing.

The Second Elder spoke up: "Just now, the two masters of painting faced off head-on, showcasing the elegance of literature. Our clan's disciples were truly amazed. Now, with the competition in poetry, why don't the two masters also use poetry as their weapon and engage in a direct battle, creating another legendary tale?"

Upon hearing this, everyone was shocked.

A grand gathering of literary figures, where talent is judged through poetry.

Once a poem is written, Heaven will decide its fate; this is a common practice.

When have I ever seen poetry presented in a straightforward and competitive way?

Poetry, by its very nature, is not a weapon of war; this is completely different from the way of painting.

Zhuang Wenhua abruptly stood up: "Elder, this method is inappropriate! The way of poetry is to fight head-on, only war poetry, and Grandmaster Zhou has never been on the battlefield—"

Yes!

That's the key!

Poetry itself has no fighting power. No matter how good the poems are, they are just for expressing feelings and aspirations.

There is only one kind of poetry that is an exception.

That is the war poem.

War poems are the most difficult type of poetry.

Why is it considered difficult?

Because the battlefield is basically the domain of warriors, and under the rules of a world that values ​​literature over martial arts, how many scholars would fight alongside warriors? Enduring the cruelty of the battlefield while also suffering the stigma of their literary reputation is a thankless and unrewarding task that only damages their reputation. Who would do that?

Those who lack experience in border wars cannot imagine the battlefield out of thin air. Even if they could imagine it, they would not be able to empathize with it and would be impossible to write a true war poem that can blend the spirit of war and touch the heavens.

Zhou Wenju never went to the battlefield.

His opponent, Wang Zhiyi, had served in the army for a full thirteen years!

That's the difference between the two of them!

Perhaps this is why the other side chose a frontier poet. They never intended to compete with Zhou Wenju, a master of ci poetry, on the quality of the poetry itself. They were using their strengths to attack Zhou Wenju's weaknesses.

If this is indeed the idea, then the Second Elder's announcement of this rule is highly suspicious.

He is clearly biased towards the Great Yan.

He is creating opportunities for the Great Yan —

The Second Elder stared at him, a half-smile playing on his lips: "Does Zhuang Xuezheng mean that your poetry has a flaw?"

Upon hearing this, Zhuang Wenhua's expression changed.

His questions are reasonable.

However, the Second Elder's rebuttal went a step further—

If you refuse to write poems of war, then you are lacking in the way of poetry.

Every poet in the world has shortcomings. Some are good at describing things but not at expressing emotions, while others are good at expressing their thoughts through objects but not at describing scenery. It is not wrong to say that all poets in the world have shortcomings. However, at this literary gathering, which promotes the way of literature and takes the display of profound literary knowledge as its basic starting point, does he dare to admit that the way of poetry in the Great Yu Kingdom is lacking?

However, if no changes are made, the perilous situation that the Great Yu Kingdom has just pulled back from the brink will once again descend upon it.

He had just instructed Zhou Wenju not to betray Wu Tianliang's "sacrifice of heart for the cause," and in the end, he would surely betray him.

For a moment, this learned and experienced scholar, who remained calm even in the face of a collapsing mountain, was thrown into turmoil.

"Accepted!"

Two words were uttered from the high platform!

It was Zhou Wenju who spoke.

He agreed!

Zhuang Wenhua looked up, quite surprised.

Cui Wusheng also looked up, even more surprised—

Zhou Wenju smiled faintly: "I have indeed never set foot on the battlefield before, but wasn't taking that step across Dragon City already stepping onto the battlefield?"

Beyond Dragon City lies the battlefield!

A thought struck everyone at the same time—

"Not bad!" Wang Zhiyi said calmly from the other side, "It's somewhat interesting. Let's begin!"

"start!"

As soon as Zhou Wenju finished speaking, a sheet of gold paper and a precious pen appeared in his hand.

Across from him, Wang Zhiyi raised his hand, his pen like a spear; when it fell, it was like a startled dragon.

Four lines of poetry emerged from the gold paper before him—

"Like thunderclaps, ten thousand arrows fly, piercing clouds and splitting rocks with chilling might; rain washes away the soldiers, scattering sulfurous dust upon the world, turning it into ashes of calamity!"

The first three sentences are unremarkable.

As soon as the next sentence was uttered, a burst of colorful light suddenly filled the sky and earth.

"Original colorful poem!" the Spirit Race members exclaimed.

Who wouldn't be thrilled to witness the birth of Cai Shi?

"The rain washes away the soldiers, its sulfurous spray falling, scattering ashes across the land—" Someone exclaimed, "This last line is the crux of the poem! It instantly captures the sorrow of war, elevating the poem's overall scope!"

This discussion is from the perspective of poetry.

Soon, everyone realized something was amiss—

As soon as the poem was recited, a burst of colorful light shot straight into the sky.

With a thunderous roar, a massive army suddenly appeared on the horizon!

With bow drawn and arrows nocked, a rain of arrows fell upon Zhou Wenju.

"War Poem!"

"A Five-Colored War Poem!"

"My God! We've witnessed the birth of the Five-Colored War Poem!" The Spirit Clan disciples went wild.

Zhuang Wenhua and the five masters beside him stood up at the same time.

Everyone's face was as solemn as iron.

War Poem!

This person did indeed write a war poem, and it was a rare and exquisite one among war poems.

Such colorful poems are as powerful as an army formation.

Most critically, Wang Zhiyi was extremely ruthless, giving Zhou Wenju no time to carefully conceive the poem. He started writing immediately upon hearing the word "begin," and the battle poem was already complete. This also demonstrates that he had already conceived the poem long ago.

The choice of a war poem as the theme may have been the result of discussions between the Great Yan Kingdom and this elder.

This was designed to catch Zhou Wen off guard.

In order to win, the Great Yan Kingdom has completely abandoned all pretense of civility.

The signs of communication between the Spirit Clan and the Yan are becoming increasingly clear.

What will happen to Zhou Wenju?

A thousand horses gallop, arrows rain down from the sky—the ferocity and might of the battlefield are fully revealed in a single poem.

Just as the clouds in the sky split open and the army rushed in.

Zhou Wen suddenly raised his hand—

The precious brush falls on the golden paper —

"The moon shines bright over the pass during the war, but the soldiers on the long march have not yet returned."

As soon as those fourteen characters were uttered, the pen in his hand seemed to carry the weight of history, and the tip of his pen seemed to have written down the sorrow of an expedition.

The pen trembled, and the next two lines poured forth—

"If only General Li Guang were here, the barbarian horses would never dare to cross the Yin Mountains!"

With a soft hiss, seven-colored light suddenly burst forth from the center of the gold paper—

With a thunderous roar, a massive military city appeared beneath his feet, and atop the city, the Great Yu Army banner fluttered open—

Above, the rain of arrows shattered.

Beneath the city walls, thousands of soldiers and horses charged through the air, crashing into the walls with a deafening roar, causing men and horses to fall to the ground!

"Seven-Colored War Poem!"

Cui Wusheng plucked the string, his voice completely changing tone.

Zhuang Wenhua was shocked and stared at the military city, his eyes filled with disbelief.

War Poem!

He wrote it!

Moreover, it's a seven-colored war poem. ————

Could a scholar who had never set foot on a battlefield accomplish this?

Why————

Why do I understand him less and less?

On the other side, the teacup in Li Ruoxu's hand from the Great Yan Kingdom cracked with a snap.

His long beard moved without wind.

He stared at Zhou Wenju, seemingly unable to believe his eyes.

The moon shines brightly over the border during the war. The ethereal moon and the imposing border are fused into a single line of poetry, conveying a profound sense of desolation and weight.

It seems that just this one sentence has pulled history out of the long river of time.

The Long March has ended, but the soldiers have not returned. What a desolate battlefield to remember them by.

These first two lines alone are enough to make him famous in the annals of poetry.

Moreover, there are the last two lines: "If only the Flying General of Longcheng were here, the barbarian horses would not dare to cross the Yin Mountains!"

The two countries are separated by Longcheng.

When the Great Yan fled south, it could not bypass the Yin Mountains.

What a heroic declaration and a solemn oath! "If only the Flying General of Longcheng were here, the barbarian horses would never dare to cross the Yin Mountains."

How could someone who had never been to a battlefield write such a timeless masterpiece?

Why is this?

call!

The battlefield was turbulent, and the Great Yu battle flag swept across, wiping out the thousands of troops in front of Wang Zhiyi.

He stared blankly at Zhou Wenju in front of him, his eyes filled with disbelief.

At this moment, his literary heart was riddled with cracks.

He served in the military for thirteen years.

He forced himself to become an outlier in the poetry world.

All for the sake of opening up this path of "war poetry".

He founded his own school of thought in the world of poetry.

He almost did it—

If he succeeds in defeating the most popular poet of the Great Yu Kingdom at the Qingshan Literary Gathering, and also avenges the destruction of the literary heart of the seventh son of the Poet Saint family, he will be the greatest contributor to the Poet Saint family.

Even if he is a relative of the emperor, he will still be famous among poets.

But he lost!

The defeat was completely predictable.

He suddenly felt that the past thirteen years had been completely meaningless to him, and that his path was a joke.

The Daewoo team erupted in cheers.

The entire team from the Great Yan Kingdom had ashen faces.

Team leader Li Ruoxu closed his eyes.

The literary gathering was truly full of twists and turns.

The suspense never stopped —