Martial Arts Crossover: It All Started with Hijacking Li Canghai

Jia Baoyu squatted in the middle of the main hall, holding his head, his face covered in tears and snot, his shoulders shaking with sobs, and repeating those few words over and over in his mouth.

"Lin Mei... Lin Mei, where are you... My head hurts so much... it hurts so much..."

Many officials from the Western Xia were present. Some people covered their mouths and chuckled softly, while others exchanged glances and whispered among themselves, pointing at Jia Baoyu on the ground.

Hu Weiyong now truly wishes he could turn back time. If he had known Jia Baoyu would be so unstable, he would have left this morning instead.

The polite smile that had been on Helian Tieshu's face disappeared. This was not only embarrassing for Jia Baoyu, but also extremely disrespectful to this marriage proposal.

He raised his hand and made a gesture behind him.

"Someone, please escort Young Master Jia out."

Two burly warriors from the First Rank Hall strode into the center of the arena, grabbed Jia Baoyu's arms on either side, and pulled and dragged him off the ground, half-dragging and half-pulling him out of the hall.

Jia Baoyu kicked and thrashed his legs on the stone slab while muttering incoherently.

"Don't touch me... Let go... I want to go home to find Lin Mei..."

When Mingyan saw this scene from outside, she was so anxious that she broke out in a cold sweat. She immediately went up to help Master Jia.

Helian Tieshu turned his head and glanced at Hu Weiyong.

"The Southern Song delegation was eliminated in the first round of the literary contest."

Hu Weiyong swayed slightly, but didn't say anything more. He actually felt that Jia Baoyu's behavior was too abnormal.

But last night, the doctor was a renowned expert in Lin'an, yet he couldn't find anything wrong with the examination.

I thought everything was normal this morning.

result……

The gazes of the surrounding foreign delegations were all turned toward them, making them feel uneasy. Some looked toward the Southern Song and laughed, some shook their heads, and others huddled together and whispered.

Now we can only leave first and send the person back to the Jia family mansion in Lin'an.

After Hu Weiyong took Jia Baoyu away.

Behind the beaded curtain in the palace, Li Qiushui let out a cold snort.

"These are the people sent by the Southern Song Dynasty court?"

Li Qinglu stood beside her grandmother without saying a word, her gaze passing through the gap in the beaded curtain and landing on a man in the distance.

Wu Yingxiong sat in the Qing court seat, grinning, though his missing two front teeth made him look somewhat less dashing.

He tapped the folding fan twice in his hand and looked in a certain direction.

"Haha, wasn't the Southern Song Dynasty supposed to be a land of etiquette? Their greatest strength was poetry and prose, so how come their level was this low?"

Kublai Khan echoed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, unusually standing on the same side as Wu Yingxiong.

"Even a three-year-old child on the grassland is better than this good-for-nothing."

Prince Zongzan turned his head and gestured towards Kumārajīva beside him with his lips.

"Imperial Preceptor, I remember the Jia family are also descendants of Dukes. Could it be that the Jia family's descendants sent a clown here specifically to make us laugh?"

Helian Tieshu pointed towards Tibet, and Zongzan's smile immediately vanished.

"Next up, the Tibetan delegation."

Writing poems on the theme of the martial arts world was somewhat difficult for him. He had practiced swordsmanship, horsemanship, and the art of controlling people since childhood, and he handled weapons most often.

He can't even recognize a few Chinese characters, let alone write poetry.

For some reason, Kumārajīva actually wanted to respond on behalf of Zongzan.

"Prince, please calm down. This humble monk will recite a poem for you."

He stepped out of his seat, clasped his hands in front of him, cleared his throat, and recited a four-line Buddhist poem.

The words and phrases are well-structured, but the whole piece is filled with Zen philosophy about the suffering of all beings and the illusion of the mortal world. It has nothing to do with chivalry or chivalry and sounds like something a monk would say.

After listening, Helian Tieshu turned his head and glanced at the direction behind the beaded curtain.

"The Tibetan delegation barely passed the test, but was rated as the worst."

Zong Zan's face turned green; he had prepared a pedantic scholar in advance.

Never mind, he's waiting to participate in the physical combat anyway, as long as he's not eliminated too early in the literary combat.

Kublai Khan immediately ordered a Han Chinese scholar he had temporarily found to recite a poem. The scholar hunched his neck and stammered, but managed to rhyme and barely managed to finish four lines.

In the end, it was rated as average.

Wu Yingxiong himself had read a few books, but when asked to compose a poem on the spot, he tapped his folding fan in his palm for a long time and only managed to utter two incoherent sentences.

"The glint of a blade...that...the shadow of a sword...the courage of a hero..."

I thought about the last three words for a long time, but in the end I couldn't come up with them, as if I had suddenly forgotten the words.

Qin Han glanced at Wan Yaonu and realized that the woman was using a secret technique similar to soul-capturing on Wu Yingxiong.

He then remembered that the Yin Gui Sect's Heavenly Demon Skill was no weaker than the Nine Yin Manual.

Helian Tieshu curled his lips down and waved his hand, telling him to go back.

"The Qing Dynasty delegation is of the lowest rank."

Wu Yingxiong walked back to his seat and sat down, still a little confused. He had memorized the lines perfectly last night, so how could he have suddenly forgotten them?

Before Helian Tieshu could call out names again, Kublai Khan turned to look at Qin Han, who was sitting on the other side.

"Was the King of Qin also invited to choose a wife?"

The sound was so loud that everyone present could hear it.

"Your Southern Song envoy just made a fool of himself here. As the Prince of Qin and a member of the Southern Song imperial family, why don't you come out and salvage some face for your Southern Song?"

Wu Yingxiong's eyes lit up, and he spoke up.

"That's right. If you can't even write a poem, then you're even worse than Jia Baoyu."

Zong Zan tilted his head and looked in that direction, his hands resting on his knees.

"I've heard that the King of Qin is quite skilled in martial arts; I wonder how good his literary talent is?"

The three people kept talking back and forth, clearly wanting to see Qin Han make a fool of himself.

Duan Yu took half a step forward from his seat in Dali, wanting to speak up for Qin Han.

Zhu Danchen reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

"Your Highness, don't get involved."

Wanwan sat to the side, tapping her bare feet twice on the ground, her eyes looking at Qin Han's profile.

She was somewhat curious. Qin Han's forces were spread far and wide, and his martial arts had reached the pinnacle of simplicity and naturalness.

I don't know if they have real talent or skills, but now is a good opportunity to see.

Qin Han listened to the voices of the three people beside him without showing any anger. He believed that such flattery should be used to kill someone, depending on whether the other party actually had real talent.

He didn't read it out loud like the two of them before.

Instead, he walked to the desk in front of the hall, where writing brush and ink were prepared, and a sheet of Xuan paper was laid out on the table.

Looking at the thick ink in the inkstone, he reached out and picked up the wolf-hair brush, dipping it in the ink.

Behind the beaded curtain, Li Qinglu leaned forward, looking at the man from last night.

Li Qiushui's gaze followed the gap in the beaded curtain to the figure in the hall, eager to know what he could write.

Qin Han gripped the pen, his inner energy gathering at his fingertips and pressing down along the pen shaft.

As the brush tip touched the surface of the rice paper, a restrained sense of pressure emanated from the tip, causing the edge of the rice paper to tremble.

Wu Yingxiong was still making sounds.

"Pretending to be something you're not, let's see what kind of tricks you can come up with."

Kublai Khan crossed his arms, waiting to see the spectacle unfold.

Zongzan nudged Kumārajīva next to him with his elbow.

"Imperial Advisor, what do you think this person can write?"

Kumārajīva clasped his hands together, his gaze following the line of sight to Qin Han: "This humble monk cannot see through him."