Evil Master and Disciple

"Oh."

Mr. Yi became interested.

He has been in the officialdom of the capital for many years, and of course he knows that some little brats should not be underestimated. Maybe there is a big shot standing behind him whom he cannot afford to offend.

He asked the waiter to hand him the letter, and he casually spread it out to take a look. Suddenly, a look of solemnity appeared on his old face.

There are only two sentences on it.

"The mist rises from Yunmeng Lake, and the waves shake Yueyang City."

These two lines of poetry are magnificent and profound in artistic conception, expressing Yunmengze and Yueyang City vividly.

Just this word...

So ugly.

Master Yi is no fool. Just by reading these two lines of poetry, you can tell their significance.

"What a poem."

The middle-aged man next to him asked in surprise, "Teacher, is that a poem?"

Master Yi shook his head slightly and said, "There are only two sentences. Take a look."

The middle-aged man took it, took a look, and his expression froze slightly.

These people were originally scholars in Yuezhou. They would gather at Yueyang Tower every now and then during festivals.

He wrote countless poems and essays about Yunmengze and Yueyang City.

But there are very few poems and essays that can compare with these two lines.

"The mist rises from Yunmeng Lake, the waves shake Yueyang City... What a wonderful poem! Where is that young master?"

The waiter said, "It's just downstairs."

At this moment, Mr. Yi was sitting near the window.

He stood up, walked to the door, and asked, "Who is it?"

The waiter hunched over and approached, looking down.

There may be tourists and readers below.

However, there were two masked women among Ye Feng and his group, one of whom was a beautiful girl, and she was very eye-catching.

"Mr. Yi, they are the ones drinking tea in front of the teahouse."

Mr. Yi looked in the direction the waiter pointed, and sure enough, he saw five young men sitting in a teahouse on the city wall not far away.

The waiter continued, "The one who wrote this poem was the young man in green."

Mr. Yi's turbid eyes were slightly focused, and there seemed to be a sense of righteousness flowing in the depths of his eyes.

"Cultivator?"

Mr. Yi was slightly stunned.

What a hell.

Are monks so inward-looking now? Not only do they have to cultivate the Tao, but they also have to read and write poetry?

Almost all the good poems in the world recently were written by monks.

Master Yi said, "Go and invite them up."

Although the waiter was a little surprised, he turned around and left.

Soon, the waiter arrived at the bottom of Yueyang Tower and walked towards the teahouse.

Ye Feng was chatting with Hong Jiu when he saw the waiter walking towards him in a hurry.

He smiled and said, "People are coming."

The waiter came up and said, "Sir, Master Yi wants to see you."

Ye Feng laughed and said, "What did I say? As long as I show up, I'll definitely be invited in. Let's go and see if these Confucian scholars are all good-for-nothings."

Shen Tianqi asked curiously, "Xiaofeng, what exactly did you write on that piece of paper just now?"

Ye Feng said, "It's just a line of poetry. As long as that Yi University student has some knowledge and reads the poem I wrote, he will definitely invite us up."

When everyone goes down the mountain to gain experience, the most important thing is to ask questions from all schools of thought, broaden their horizons and increase their experience.

A Confucian poetry gathering of this high standard is not something that ordinary monks would be fortunate enough to participate in.

So Hong Jiu and others followed Ye Feng into Yueyang Tower.

The first floor of Yueyang Tower is quite large, with more than twenty tables, and it is already full of people.

The waiter led everyone up the stairs directly to the second floor of Yueyang Tower.

At this moment, the two lines of poetry that Ye Feng had asked the waiter to deliver were being circulated among the scholars on the second floor.

Those who can go to the second floor are all knowledgeable.

They also wondered why they could not write such concise and moving poems.

At this moment, seeing five young men walking in with swords and knives, many people frowned.

I thought the person who wrote this poem was an old scholar.

I didn't expect it to be a group of young people.

Ye Feng is a thick-skinned and outgoing man.

Seeing many scholars sitting on the second floor, he smiled, clasped his fists, and bowed, greeting everyone: "We are five senior brothers and sisters passing by. We heard that there is a poetry gathering at Yueyang Tower today. We came here uninvited. We apologize for disturbing you all."

A young man near the stairs was holding the two lines of poetry written by Ye Feng.

He asked, "Did you write these two lines of poetry?"

Ye Feng laughed and said, "This is an impromptu piece, not worthy of being worthy of being published in a formal setting. I'm sorry to have made you laugh."

When Ye Feng was being polite to everyone.

Shen Tianqi quietly pulled Yun Shuang'er's sleeve and motioned Yun Shuang'er to look.

Yun Shuang'er didn't understand what was going on, so she glanced sideways and saw several pieces of poetry hanging in the middle of the place.

She was naturally familiar with these poems.

Because several of the poems were written specifically for him by Ye Feng.

Hong Jiu and Qin Chuchu also discovered this.

They all had strange looks on their faces.

It turns out that the poetry gathering held at Yueyang Tower today was to study the poems and essays of Ye Feng.

Hong Jiu patted Ye Feng's shoulder gently.

He pointed his mouth.

After seeing his own poem, Ye Feng opened his mouth slightly and suddenly felt very absurd.

At this moment, the handsome young scholar said, "Why are there only two sentences? It seems incomplete. Could it be that you copied it from somewhere else?"

Ye Feng was speechless.

I thought to myself, you are all studying my poems and essays, how dare you question my poetic talent?

But you're right, man.

The poem was indeed copied by me.

It's because I didn't activate the deepseek system when I traveled through time and could only recite Tang and Song poems.

Ye Feng smiled and said, "Today, my companions and I came to Yueyang City. Just now, when I climbed to the top of Yueyang City, I saw the mist shrouding Yunmeng Lake. I was inspired and wrote these two sentences."

Master Yi said, "You are all monks, right?"

Ye Feng looked at Master Yi and was slightly startled.

Because he could feel that there was a lingering aura surrounding this old man.

Ye Feng was very familiar with this aura. It was the same aura as the magic pen and the magic inkstone. It was definitely the righteous spirit of Confucianism.

"As expected, a great reputation is a living legend. This old man is indeed a retired Grand Secretary from the Imperial Academy in the capital. He actually exudes a strong sense of righteousness and good fortune.

What a pity! Sister Shenxian said that those who have great luck cannot live forever. Confucianists who cultivate luck can only live to eighty or ninety years old at most. Unlike cultivators from other sects, as long as they have achieved some success, they can live to hundreds or even thousands of years old.

Ye Feng muttered to himself secretly in his heart.

Then, he bowed to Master Yi and said, "In reply to what you said, old sir, we are all cultivators who have come down the mountain to gain experience."

Master Yi said, "I wonder what sects or schools you all come from?"

Ye Feng smiled and said, "We are just a group of independent cultivators, not worth mentioning. My last name is Hu, and these are my senior brothers and sisters."

"Self-reliant cultivator? Last name Hu?"

Master Yi was a little disappointed when he heard this.