A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

Chen Mo was completely focused.

He was so engrossed in writing that he didn't need to know what the people on both banks were looking at, like a river flowing on.

"The autumn chrysanthemum shines brightly, the spring pine flourishes. They seem like light clouds veiling the moon, drifting like swirling snow in a flowing wind."

Professor Li's body swayed suddenly.

He instinctively reached out to steady himself on the table, his fingers gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white.

His lips began to tremble, not just slightly.

He is a professor of classical literature.

He spent his entire life studying classical Chinese prose and parallel prose.

I've spent my whole life studying the literature of the Han, Wei, and Six Dynasties periods.

He thought he knew all the classical literary works of this era inside and out.

They thought their aesthetic sense had been honed to its most acute level by the classic works of thousands of years.

But at this moment, he saw an article he had never seen before.

An article whose density of language, richness of imagery, and intensity of emotion were so high that they made his scalp tingle.

He taught for his entire life.

This article has never been seen in any ancient book, any document, or any database.

He didn't know who the boy was.

He didn't know where these words came from.

All he knew was his sixty-year academic career.

In front of this boy, I felt as light as a piece of paper blown away by the wind.

His eyes reddened.

It wasn't just being moved; it was a more complex kind of shock, like a faith being shattered.

He spent his entire life studying classical Chinese texts.

They thought they were standing on the shoulders of giants, that they had seen the farthest scenery.

But today, he discovered that he wasn't even up to the giant's toes.

The crowd was still arguing.

The boy with glasses was still shaking his head.

His girlfriend was still pouting, while the middle-aged man next to him was still loudly expressing his opinion.

"I've been looking at it for ages, and I can't understand a single word. What is this nonsense? Is it just made up?"

Professor Li heard this.

He turned around abruptly.

The expression on his face startled everyone.

His face was flushed red, his eyes were filled with tears, his lips were trembling, and he looked like a volcano about to erupt.

He opened his mouth, and the sound that came out was hoarse and sharp.

"Shut up! All of you, shut up!"

His voice wasn't loud.

But like a muffled thunderclap, it silenced all the noise.

The boy with glasses had his mouth open and forgot to close it.

Everyone was stunned.

They looked at Professor Li—an elderly scholar with gray hair, wearing a Zhongshan suit and leaning on a cane.

This is the old professor who was just sneering and reprimanding the young people.

He was acting like a madman, his eyes were bloodshot and his voice was trembling.

Do you know what you're saying?

Professor Li's voice was still trembling, but he emphasized every word.

"Just because you can't understand it, you say it's poorly written? Just because you don't recognize the characters, does that mean it's made up? Just because you don't understand something, does that mean it's garbage?"

He took a deep breath, and his cane slammed heavily on the ground.

Although he forgot that his cane had fallen, he paused in mid-air, and staggered, but he ignored it.

"I tell you,"

His voice suddenly lowered, as if he were afraid of disturbing something.

"I have studied classical Chinese my whole life and I have never seen anything like this article. Each of these sentences could stand alone as a complete piece. The reason you can't understand it is not because it is poorly written, but because you are not worthy of understanding it."

The crowd was so quiet you could hear the lake breathing.

No one dared to speak, no one dared to move.

The boy with glasses swallowed hard, and his girlfriend quietly put her phone away.

Click to embark on the amazing journey of "Perfect Score in College Entrance Exam? Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng Shocks Everyone!"

The middle-aged man next to him had his mouth open, but couldn't utter a single word.

Professor Li turned around and faced the sheet of Xuan paper again.

His tears finally fell, dripping onto the front of his Zhongshan suit, leaving a small, dark stain.

He took one step forward, then another, until he was almost touching the edge of the table.

He bent down, like a devout believer gazing upon a sacred object, reading down word by word.

"From afar, it shines like the rising sun at dawn; up close, it glows like a lotus emerging from clear water."

His body began to tremble.

He taught his whole life, wrote countless papers, and mentored countless students.

He thought he had seen it all—good, bad, genius, mediocrity. He thought his threshold had been raised to the highest level, and nothing could surprise him anymore.

But now, he knew.

He has never seen anything in his life.

"Her figure was perfectly proportioned, neither too plump nor too slender. Her shoulders were like those of a sculpted figure, and her waist was as slender as a silken thread."

Professor Li rested his hands on the edge of the table.

His fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles as white as bones.

His breathing became rapid and heavy.

It's like a drowning person desperately trying to breathe.

His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't push them up. He just stared at the words from above the lenses, as if trying to etch them into his soul.

"With a long, graceful neck and fair skin, she needs no adornment, nor does she wear makeup."

He began to mutter to himself.

His voice was so low that only he could hear it.

"Impossible...this is impossible..."

He repeated those four words over and over again, like a broken record.

But his eyes never left the paper; he dared not miss a single word.

Those around Professor Li, seeing his expression, finally began to realize that something was wrong.

An old professor, in front of the camera, cried like this, trembling like this, muttering "impossible".

This can't be acting.

Su Wanci stood at the front of the crowd.

She suddenly remembered what Chen Mo had said on Douyin.

"Anyone with hands can do it."

She thought he was too arrogant at the time.

But now she knows he wasn't crazy.

He genuinely believed that.

For him, these things are as natural as breathing and as simple as walking.

He doesn't need to work hard or think; they're already there, in his mind, under his pen, waiting to be written down.

Chen Mo continued writing.

His pen moved across the paper like a fish swimming in water, without any hindrance or hesitation.

Every character landed precisely in its proper place, and every stroke flowed smoothly as if guided by some force.

He wrote about the goddess Luo's hair, her eyebrows, her lips, and every single detail about her.

"Her hair was piled high like clouds, her eyebrows were long and delicate. Her lips were bright red, her teeth were white and shiny. Her eyes were bright and expressive, and her dimples were charming."

Professor Li's body jerked backward, as if he had been struck by something.

He staggered back a step, almost falling, and grabbed at the shoulder of a staff member next to him with one hand, barely managing to keep his balance.

"This is...this is..."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, and his lips were trembling wildly.

"This poem...it's about the Goddess of the Luo River...this is..."

He couldn't continue.

Because his brain can no longer process it.

Those sentences poured into his eyes like a waterfall; each one was so beautiful that he wanted to cry, and each one was so precise that he wanted to kneel down.

He didn't know who the boy was, or where the words came from.

...

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