Chapter 318: The Former General Zhaoyi

The door of a neighboring house creaked open a crack, and a white-haired old woman stuck her head out, squinting her eyes to examine it carefully.

Li E turned around and forced a stiff smile on his face: "It's me, Aunt Wang."

"Ah, it's really Li Erlang! Are you back in Fengjing?" Aunt Wang came out in surprise, her face full of smiles.

"I have official business to attend to, so I came back to stay for a while."

"Okay, okay, I'm glad you're back."

Aunt Wang kept saying this and hurried back to the house, "Erlang, wait, I'll get you the key."

"Thank you."

“Of course I should, of course I should!”

Soon, Li E took the key that bore traces of time, said thank you, and opened the door of his house.

The courtyard is not big, just a few inches in size.

There may have been something planted in the yard, but now there is only a field of withered yellow weeds.

There were three low tiled houses with their doors and windows closed.

Li E closed the gate behind him, isolating himself from the outside world.

As I stepped into the courtyard and pushed open the door of the main house, a faint smell of dust hit me in the face.

The furnishings in the house were extremely simple and covered with a thin layer of dust, but the furniture was not rotten, and it was obvious that it was not completely unattended.

Every year he would ask his neighbor Aunt Wang for one or two taels of silver, asking her to come in occasionally to clean and ventilate the house to prevent it from completely decaying.

If a house is left vacant for a long time and no one takes care of it, it will completely lose its "popularity".

Li E had no interest in cleaning and walked straight into the inner room.

There was only a wooden bed, a square table and an old wardrobe in the bedroom.

He walked to the head of the bed and squatted down, groping with his fingers on an inconspicuous wooden board on the inside of the bed, as if looking for something.

After a moment, there was a very slight "click" sound from the mechanism, and a piece of wood was gently pulled open by him.

Revealing the secret compartment inside, an ebony tablet lay quietly inside.

Li E took out the tablet very carefully, as if he was holding some rare treasure.

He used his sleeve to brush away the non-existent dust, then took out a clean plain silk cloth and carefully wiped the smooth surface of the ebony over and over again.

On the tablet, there are several powerful characters engraved:

"Therefore, General Zhao Hui, the great general, was appointed to defeat the enemy."

Li E solemnly placed the tablet on the old square table and took out a small incense burner and three incense sticks from his bag.

Light the incense stick with a fire stick, and blue smoke rises.

He did not kneel, but stood straight as a javelin.

He picked up the pot of wine, pulled out the cork, and slowly poured the clear wine onto the ground.

The wine seeped into the gaps between the bricks silently.

Then he raised the wine jug and took a big gulp.

The spicy liquid rolled down his throat and burned his lungs.

No words, no prayers, just standing in silence.

His eyes passed through the rising green smoke and looked at the cold tablet, which was as deep and dark as a bottomless cold pond.

Time passed little by little, and the three incense sticks finally burned out.

Li E put away the incense burner expressionlessly and wiped the tablet carefully with silk cloth again.

Then, with great care, he put it back into the secret compartment, pushed the wooden board back, and restored it to its original state.

After doing all this, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength and lay down on the hard bed with nothing on it, fully clothed.

But after a while, heavy snoring began.

…

Qin Zhaoyue and his group strolled through the bustling East Market, and then took a quick look through Qiongguifang and Langyinfang.

By the time we arrived at Songyanfang, it was already dusk and the lights were just coming on.

Songyanfang is where the cultural heritage of Fengjing converges.

Bookshops and art studios stand in rows on both sides of the bluestone road, and the air seems to be filled with the faint scent of ink and paper.

Scholars in Confucian robes and literati in wide robes with big sleeves can be seen everywhere.

Some were debating in low voices, while others were stopping to appreciate, all in a very refined manner.

Songtao Pavilion, the largest restaurant in the area, was brightly lit and bustling with people.

Although there was still some time before the most lively night banquet, the hall was already full and there were many people queuing outside the door.

The sharp-eyed shopkeeper caught a glimpse of this group of people from afar, especially the imperial guards and several of them with extraordinary demeanor, and his heart suddenly jumped!

When the shopkeeper saw the Sixth Princess with her curved eyebrows and eyes leading the group, and Commander Meng with a stern face and a knife in his hand, his smile instantly blossomed on his face, almost reaching his ears, and he hurried out to greet them.

"We have distinguished guests here. Songtao Pavilion is truly honored today. Please welcome the distinguished guests!"

The shopkeeper hurried forward with a loud and enthusiastic voice, instantly attracting everyone's attention.

There was a slight commotion among the people queuing, but someone recognized her, and as soon as they heard the title of "Second Princess Shuofeng", the voices of dissatisfaction immediately died down.

"The Second Princess Shuofeng? The one that even Helian Chaolu feels inferior to?"

"It's her, look, look!"

"Shh...shut up!"

Everyone was whispering, looking at Xiao Yunshuo with curiosity, scrutiny, and even a bit of admiration.

Helian Chaolu's poetic talent has already caused a stir in Fengjing. The person who makes him feel inferior is enough to arouse the strong curiosity of all literati.

The third floor of Songtao Pavilion is an elegant pavilion specially used for top literary masters to write poems and paint. There has always been a rule: the poem must be written on the wall.

But rules are dead, people are alive, especially someone like the shopkeeper who is good at dealing with people.

The people in front of us are all princes and princesses, including the second Princess Shufeng who is said to be very talented.

Today's rules must be broken no matter what!

The shopkeeper personally led the group to the second floor.

The view here is broad and the layout is elegant. The most eye-catching thing is the huge poem-inscribed wall that occupies an entire wall.

The wall is covered in ink, but now only one poem remains.

The handwriting is very large, but appears too thin, like a dead bamboo.

The writing is hastily and sloppily done, and the characters alone are not very pretty.

However, when my eyes touched the words themselves...

"I look at my sword by lamplight while drunk, and dream of blowing the horn in the camp."

…

"Poor white hair."

As soon as Xiao Yunshuo's eyes met, he felt like he was struck by lightning.

She recited it subconsciously, and the clanging sound of swords and horses and the tragic and desolate end of the hero struck her heart hard.

She stood there in a daze, her eyes filled with shock, as if she was seized by an invisible force and could not recover for a long time.

Yan Zhibai, who was standing aside, reacted even more violently!

I felt a surge of blood rushing to my head, and my whole body was trembling slightly with excitement.

The magnificent pictures and deep emotions outlined by the poem surged in his mind like huge waves.

He seemed to see the cold moon at the border and the iron horses on the icy river that his father had described!

Draw! You must draw it!

This thought burst out like an instinct. Yan Zhibai didn't care about his manners. He took two quick steps forward and suddenly took off the book basket on his back.

He sat down on the floor with his legs crossed. In the book basket were not books, but his treasured painting supplies.

Wolf-hair brushes of various sizes, exquisite porcelain plates filled with various colors of paint, palettes, ink sticks, and a thick stack of fine rice paper.

Yan Zhibai's hands were trembling slightly, but his movements were astonishingly fast.

He quickly pulled out the largest piece of rice paper and spread it out, then accurately pulled out several wolf-hair brushes of different sizes from the brush curtain.

Without even the time to grind the ink stick, he grabbed a block of thick ink and quickly spun and pressed it in the inkstone, causing the ink to spread rapidly. He took a deep breath, his eyes instantly becoming incredibly focused, as if the surrounding hustle and bustle had faded away...