Without accompaniment, it cannot be considered complete.

But so what?

The artistic conception of this piece alone transcends the music itself.

The continuous, lingering rhythm echoed repeatedly, leaving those present with a myriad of thoughts.

Distant memories, bittersweet feelings for home.

In the low, gentle places, it seems like a deep valley murmuring.

At its highest point, it resembles flowing clouds over high mountains, soaring and stretching endlessly.

The surrounding ships also heard this mournful and evocative flute music.

Countless people stopped talking or instructed the musicians around them to stop playing.

They listened quietly to the somber and melancholic melody.

Many people recalled the paths they had walked in the past.

This feeling of being far removed from the hustle and bustle, quiet and untainted, is especially clear.

Is it a realm?

It doesn't matter anymore.

They were completely absorbed in it, unable to contain themselves.

They did not want these chaotic reverie to disturb the melancholy brought by the melody.

The Ziyun Painted Boat, which should have been bustling with activity, was now eerily silent.

The previous hustle and bustle was gone, and the traffic and crowds were nowhere to be seen. Even the colorful lanterns all around had dimmed.

The past is like smoke, drifting with the tide.

The song ended.

The sound of the flute gradually faded into the distance.

Many people feel frustrated and have something stuck in their throat.

It seemed to reach out to grab it, but it missed.

Finally, I let out a sigh.

Some people and some things, once they're gone, will never come back.

They all looked towards the giant ship, the one standing atop it, the figure in pale gold robes.

Everyone wore a complex expression.

…

"Father!"

Are you alright?

Yan Ruoxi suddenly came to her senses.

But then they saw Yan Zhenhui, who was standing at the bow of the ship gazing into the distance, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth!

Her sudden outburst immediately jolted everyone present awake.

"Mr. Yan!"

"Quickly, call a doctor!"

"Mr. Yan, please have a seat."

…

At the scene, many of Yan Zhenhui's friends had drastic changes in expression.

Yan Zhenhui shook her head slightly.

Tears welled in his eyes, streaming down his face and mingling with the blood at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't seem to care, and instead raised his hand: "Bring me pen and ink!"

Yan Ruoxi dared not disobey. Although she was worried, she still instructed the servants to bring pen, ink, paper and inkstone.

Yan Zhenhui picked up his pen, closed his eyes slightly, as if recalling the melodious flute music from before.

He quickly opened his eyes: "The first stanza!"

The brush moved freely, leaving a line of blue ink on the rice paper.

"The same applies to all under heaven; how can one know why the cold moon waxes and wanes?"

"Braving wind and rain for a thousand miles, the moonlight shines on us in the night. We face each other from afar, the good times are numbered, and I am heartbroken by longing."

Yan Ruoxi's expression was complicated.

She knew that her father was missing her deceased mother again.

Perhaps it was that melodious flute music that inadvertently stirred up the father's deep-seated feelings.

When emotions run deep, they can move one to tears.

"Alone and lonely, I cannot bear to look back at the old moon."

After writing this sentence, Yan Zhenhui continued writing with his pen.

In fact.

Not only Yan Ruoxi, but also all the relatives and friends who knew Yan Zhenhui present knew that this poem was written under the moon, expressing longing for his deceased wife.

"Xiaque."

Yan Zhenhui did not look up, and the speed at which he wrote suddenly increased.

"The crowds surge, the mortal world is a dream, yet the desolate paulownia tree by the well remains untouched."

"I remember returning to court in glory, having endured many winters and summers."

At this moment, Yan Zhenhui's eyes turned red, and tears dripped onto the Xuan paper, but she was oblivious to it.

He wrote faster and faster!

"How can I bear this? A hundred emotions are wounded, and though we are together for so long, we are left with only the bitterness of separation."

"With one thought, the ways of Heaven are no longer what they used to be; tears fall upon my broken body."

Signature!

At that moment, everyone realized...

The first person to complete a Mid-Autumn Festival poem in this year's Mid-Autumn Festival Poetry Competition is the one standing before us.

Yan Zhenhui!

PS:

Are there really people going to book reviews to challenge each other to a book-review contest?

That's when I got really excited!

Upon closer inspection, it appears as if covered by a blanket of cold water.

The text mentions the word "disagree," which, based on the original text, initially seemed like a typo.

However, looking at its homepage, the comments from all sides are well-structured and contain very few typos.

Finally, it was concluded that it failed to grasp the essential difference between 'mind' and 'suggestion'.

Given its understanding of language, it is true that it doesn't understand.

Therefore, I don't blame it.

sad.

It's a pity.