Yan Shu continued, "Although we do hope you won't change certain things, we also sincerely hope you can strengthen the Song Dynasty. You don't want the Song Dynasty to perish, do you?"
"Stop blackmailing me."
Zhao Jun waved his hand and said, "I don't like it here in the first place. Compared to the future, the future has mobile phones and computers, better medical care and a better life. Why should I suffer and work for you in the Song Dynasty? Why should I be manipulated by you at will? It doesn't make sense, okay?"
Yan Shu smiled bitterly and said, "But as I said before, your being here is a fact and cannot be changed. It's better to make the best of it. We all understand what you mean, but the child is innocent. Aren't you here to promote education?"
"snort."
Zhao Jun snorted coldly.
Yan Shu said again: "But you burned all the textbooks. What will happen to the children?"
"What? Are you playing the family card? Are you trying to use the self-torture tactic?"
Zhao Jun sneered, "Are you trying to use these kids to buy me time? You want me to focus all my time on teaching them, and then teach them to become a bunch of petty scholars who will continue to exploit the people? Do you think I'd fall for that?"
Yan Shu said dissatisfiedly, "Why do you always think so badly of us? I haven't even come to terms with you for plagiarizing my son's poems."
"Forehead"
Zhao Jun's face froze. This was indeed something unkind of him.
But then he thought again and said, "So what? Honestly, if I didn't tell you that it was your son's poem, and I just said a poem from the Southern Song Dynasty, the Ming Dynasty, or even the Qing Dynasty, what could you do to me?"
"Do the Ming and Qing dynasties also have good words?"
Yan Shu was surprised and said, "Didn't you say that among the Tang poetry, Song lyrics, Yuan opera, Ming and Qing dynasties, only the lyrics of our Song Dynasty are the best in history?"
"Being the best in history doesn't mean other dynasties don't have good words to say about them."
Zhao Jun thought for a moment and said, "There's a Ming Dynasty poem called 'Linjiangxian'. The Yangtze River rolls eastward, its waves washing away heroes. Right and wrong, success and failure are all in vain. The green mountains remain, the sunsets turn red again and again. The white-haired fisherman and woodcutter on the riverbank, accustomed to watching the autumn moon and spring breeze. A pot of muddy wine brings joy to our reunion. So many things from ancient times to the present, all turned into jokes! How about this poem?"
"The green mountains remain, how many sunsets have they seen? How many things in the past and present have all become jokes?"
Yan Shu was a lover of poetry. When he heard this poem, his heart was immediately moved. He scratched his head and cheeks with excitement and praised it repeatedly: "Good poem, good poem."
Zhao Jun looked at him warily and said, "Old Yan, you have to have some morals. I returned your son Yan Jidao's poem to you, and you shamelessly spread the word that it was written by you. This poem was written by Yang Shen, the leader of the three great talents of the Ming Dynasty. Have some shame."
“This, this, this.”
Yan Shu became even more excited and his face flushed red. He did have this idea, but he was afraid that his son Yan Jidao's poems would be plagiarized by Zhao Jun, so it made sense for him to put the blame on himself first.
It would indeed be a bit immoral to take away the Ming Dynasty poems.
As a poet, he still had to maintain some dignity, so after being exposed by Zhao Jun, he blushed and said, "Who do you think I am? How could I possibly do such a thing?"
After saying this, he muttered a few more words, carefully savoring this poem that expressed indifference to the world. For a moment, his heart was overwhelmed with emotion, but when he thought that it was not something he had written, he became depressed and felt very uncomfortable.
Seeing Yan Shu's uncomfortable expression, Zhao Jun smiled and said nothing.
joke.
The Ming and Qing dynasties were indeed not the peak period of Ci poetry.
But there are still many good words.
Not to mention Yang Shen for now, Nalan Xingde is the number one poet in the Qing Dynasty.
The poem "Mulanhua" asks, "If life could only be like our first encounter, why would the autumn wind bring sorrow to the painted fan?" And the poem "Huanxisha" asks, "Gambling on books and consuming the fragrance of tea, which I thought was commonplace at the time."
These two poems are definitely not enough to suppress the poetry of the Song Dynasty.
After all, later figures such as Su Shi, Xin Qiji, Li Qingzhao, Lu You, etc. have not yet appeared.
But it is still easy to occupy a place as a great poet in the Song Dynasty poetry world where there are so many masters.
Not to mention that there was Wang Guowei in the late Qing Dynasty and early Republic of China.
"Dielianhua" is one of Zhao Jun's favorite poems.
The line "What cannot be retained in the world is the red face leaving the mirror and the flowers leaving the trees" must have hurt the hearts of thousands of young ladies in the fifty-four brothels in Bianliang.
The two walked for a while, and soon Yan Shu's mood finally calmed down, and his flushed face gradually recovered.
He looked at the Guanjia Palace approaching in the distance, and suddenly remembered the important business of the day. He took a deep breath and said to Zhao Jun, "Jun boy."
"Um?"
"Actually, I still like you to call me Uncle Lari."
"We can't go back, can we?"
Zhao Jun shrugged.
Yan Shu smiled and said, "You can go back. This time we have decided to fully support you. You can do whatever you want."
"after all."
"We all hope for the best for the Song Dynasty."
"Isn't it?"
After he finished speaking, he looked into the distance.
Zhao Jun also looked over.
Outside the Guanjia Hall in the distance, a table was set up again at the place where he once thought was the village entrance.
Lü Yijian, Wang Zeng and others were sitting there.
Zhao Zhen waved to him from a distance.
Next to it is the farmland outside the Guanjia Hall.
The children followed him.
There are weeds growing everywhere between the ridges of the fields.
There are still cicadas chirping in late autumn.
The croaking of frogs could be heard far away in the fields.
Just like Zhao Jun looked when he hadn't opened his eyes yet.
It seems like that summer more than ten years ago.
Zhao Jun is still in the small mountain village in his hometown of Hunan.
Fireflies dance lightly in the summer.
There is a power outage.
In the evening, relatives sat in the yard, enjoying the cool air, chatting and cracking melon seeds.
While the children were laughing and playing nearby.
(End of this chapter)
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