The stage lights shone on Xiao Qingfeng, and the camera switched to focus on his face.
"Since the talented scholars and their families just wrote five-character and seven-character poems, then I will write a ci poem!"
After Xiao Qingfeng finished speaking, he began to write four characters: "Shuidiao Getou".
Xiao Qingfeng's brushstrokes flowed like dragons and snakes, the air filled with the fragrance of ink. He moved with effortless ease on the paper.
When will the moon be clear and bright? I raise my cup to ask the heavens. I wonder what year it is tonight in the celestial palace. I long to ride the wind and return, but I fear the jade towers and crystal palaces are too cold at such heights. I dance with my shadow, how can it compare to being in the human world?
"The moon turns through the red pavilion, shines low through the embroidered window, illuminating my sleeplessness. There should be no resentment, yet why is the moon always full when we are apart? People have sorrow and joy, separation and reunion, just as the moon has its phases of waxing and waning; nothing in this world is ever perfect. I only wish that we may live long and share the beauty of the moon, even though we are thousands of miles apart."
A poem titled "Shuidiao Getou" leaps off the page.
The scene was initially silent, then erupted in gasps of amazement.
The older cultural figures all stared wide-eyed, their faces filled with disbelief.
The fan slipped silently from the hand of the cultured man stroking his beard, and he murmured, "This poem possesses a lofty and transcendent artistic conception; how could someone with such talent exist!"
A scholar stood up excitedly, his voice trembling, and said, "With this poem, I'm afraid no other Mid-Autumn Festival poem can compare. The parallelism is perfect, the emotions are sincere and the style is magnificent. It is truly a masterpiece!"
The judges were also deeply shocked. One judge opened his mouth wide and said after a long while, "This...this is simply a masterpiece! The wording is exquisite, and the emotions are layered and progressive, from questioning the bright moon to reflecting on life. It is amazing."
Another judge nodded repeatedly, his eyes full of admiration: "Mr. Xiao Qingfeng is truly talented; this poem will surely be passed down through the ages."
The other young scholars present looked at each other in astonishment, filled with admiration.
Lin Yue sighed, "I thought my poem was pretty good, but compared to Mr. Xiao's poem, it really pales in comparison."
Zhang Yu also said, "This is a true masterpiece; I am ashamed to admit my inferiority."
In the live stream, netizens went wild.
Wow! Feng Ge is amazing!
"This phrase is absolutely brilliant! Xiao Qingfeng is invincible!"
"What is strength? This is it! Lu Qing was dumbfounded."
"I knew Brother Feng wouldn't let us down, he's amazing."
The barrage of comments flooded in, filled with praise and amazement for Xiao Qingfeng.
Lu Qing stood aside, his face ashen. His previous smugness had vanished, replaced by a deep sense of defeat.
Li Yiyun remained silent, a complex expression on her face.
Xiao Qingfeng stood there quietly, smiling as he looked at everyone, as if everything was within his expectations.
This grand poetry gathering, thanks to Xiao Qingfeng's "Prelude to Water Melody," is destined to become an indelible memory in people's hearts.
Wen Yanbo's eyes gleamed with excitement. He slowly stood up, his gaze fixed on Xiao Qingfeng's poem "Shuidiao Getou". After a long while, he finally let out a sigh.
"Young friend Qingfeng, you are truly a genius! This poem begins with the astonishing question, 'When will the moon be clear and bright? I raise my cup to ask the blue sky,' instantly transporting the reader to the vast and boundless universe. The questioning of the moon is, in fact, a questioning of life and an exploration of the unknown. The lofty artistic conception is truly breathtaking." Wen Yanbo shook his head slightly, seemingly still immersed in the poem's artistic conception.
“‘I wonder what year it is tonight in the celestial palace. I long to ride the wind and return, yet I fear the jade towers and crystal palaces are too cold at such heights.’ These lines intertwine the longing for the celestial realm with the fear of the unknown, creating a contradictory yet real feeling that resonates deeply.” Wen Yanbo’s voice trembled slightly. “And ‘Dancing with my shadow, how unlike the mortal world!’ cleverly pulls the thoughts back to reality, allowing the reader to shuttle back and forth between the real and the illusory, like a dream.”
Wen Yanbo stroked his beard and continued, “‘The moon turns through the red pavilion, shines low through the embroidered window, illuminating the sleepless. There should be no resentment, yet why is the moon always full when we are apart?’ This line perfectly expresses the longing felt on the Mid-Autumn Festival night. The moonlight seems to come alive, shining on the sleepless and stirring up endless sorrow. And the following lines, ‘People have sorrow and joy, separation and reunion; the moon has its phases of waxing and waning, and this has been so since ancient times. I only wish that we may all live long and share the beauty of the moon, even though we are thousands of miles apart,’ elevate the emotion to a new level. It not only shows an open-minded view of life but also a beautiful blessing, which is truly wonderful.”
Wen Yanbo looked at Xiao Qingfeng, his eyes full of admiration: "Young friend Qingfeng, this poem is perfect in terms of its imagery, word choice, emotion, and overall structure. It transcends ordinary Mid-Autumn Festival poems, not only describing the festival but also reflecting on life. This poem will surely be passed down through the ages and become a classic work for future generations to praise."
Hearing Wen Yanbo's high praise, Xiao Qingfeng maintained his faint smile, but his eyes revealed a hint of humility.
Xiao Qingfeng cupped his hands slightly and bowed to Wen Yanbo, saying, "Elder Wen, you flatter me. This junior was merely expressing my feelings on a whim. It is truly my honor to receive the recognition of all the seniors and colleagues."
His voice was steady and powerful, neither arrogant nor impatient. Then, Xiao Qingfeng looked around at the shocked or admiring gazes.
Then he turned to the host and said, "Host, could you give me two minutes? I have something to say!"
The host was also immersed in Xiao Qingfeng's masterpiece at the moment, and when he heard Xiao Qingfeng's request, he handed over the microphone without thinking.
Xiao Qingfeng took the microphone, his gaze not on Lü Qing, Li Yiyun, and the others, but on the students below the stage.
Then, he slowly opened his mouth.
"Students, poetry is a product of the ancients' cultivation of sentiments and expression of feelings. It is a vehicle for literati to reveal their inner thoughts. Therefore, a good poem is naturally an expression of their true feelings."
At this point, Xiao Qingfeng deliberately paused.
Then he continued, "Therefore, poetry is by no means a tool for some self-proclaimed literati to flaunt themselves and think they are superior!"
"A scholar should have the integrity of a scholar. The worst thing is to pursue fame and fortune and show off one's literary talent. Such a scholar who only focuses on superficiality and self-admiration cannot be considered a scholar, let alone a great cultural figure!"
Upon hearing Xiao Qingfeng's words, Li Yiyun, Lü Qing, and the other cultural figures all looked as if they had swallowed a fly, their faces turning extremely ugly.
Xiao Qingfeng paused slightly, a sharp glint in his eyes.
"The literary world today is rife with chaos. Many so-called writers are overly obsessed with fame and fortune, and in order to attract attention, they do not hesitate to hype themselves up, forgetting the detachment and perseverance that writers should have. They do not consider the intrinsic value of a work, but instead seek fame and fortune. With such behavior, how can we talk about the purity of literature?"
"Furthermore, there are many people in the literary world who are complacent and self-enclosed, guarding their own narrow world and rejecting new ideas and styles. Without an inclusive mind, how can we promote the development and progress of literature? True writers should be as broad as the ocean, embracing all rivers, in order to create a vast ocean of literature."
"There are also some people who are keen on praising each other, forming cliques, and excluding those who disagree. Literature should be a place where a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend, rather than a tool for a few to seek personal gain and form factions. Such a literary atmosphere is truly a tragedy for literature."
Xiao Qingfeng took a deep breath and said earnestly, "Students, we should learn from history and not let these bad practices tarnish the sacred land of literature. We should create with sincerity and true feelings, inherit and promote the excellent literary tradition, and inject new vitality and hope into the literary world."
Xiao Qingfeng's words immediately drew enthusiastic applause from the students below the stage.
On the other hand, Wen Yanbo looked worried. Although Xiao Qingfeng's actions were righteous and stern, they offended the entire cultural circle and could very well make him a public enemy of the cultural circle.
......
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