章節 218: AZI Volume 4 Epilogue – How I Wish to See… Her Face Once More
"Literary feud, poetics as our topic! Whoever fails to continue at where the other leaves off needs to forfeit their rights to bid!"
Hearing this, Mo-laoban blinks her eyes, to which, Long Hua asks—
"What? You afraid?"
"Hmph. Who's afraid of who exactly? You can start!"
Seeing the other side accepting his suggestion, Long Hua smirks on the inside, while thinking—
(In Dao He Palace, every individual is a genius of the arts, not a single one of them is a Chinese cabbage.)
As someone who was a part of this sect that is made up of spirit foxes, Long Hua himself is no exception to this saying.
Drawing in a deep breath of air and exhaling, Long Hua begins with—
"Moonlight graces old haunts."
Poems cannot be considered Mo-laoban's specialty. However, having lived for as long as she has, she has delved into this topic of study—in the hopes of being able to immerse herself in flute music more deeply, by attaching suitable stories to each notable piece she comes across.
"The flames of war—fresh, as it always has."
Placing one hand onto the guard rail, Long Hua returns Mo-laoban's line with—
"The horse drags my rain drenched figure along its back."
Pressing a hand onto the guard rail as well, Mo-laoban replies—
"Sword in hand, I cleave through the battlefield."
"Loyalty not for the emperor."
"But for a deceased."
"…"
Glancing between Long Hua and Mo-laoban, Zhen Qing Huai blinks her emerald-green eyes. She doesn't know what Long Hua's thought process had been like—to challenge Mo-laoban to a literary feud, but for the time being, she decides to go with the flow, and simply enjoy what these two manage to come up with.
Placing his second hand onto the guard rail, Long Hua continues the poem with—
"I—like all others, are born into chaos."
"Within a beginningless story that lacks a fulfilling ending."
"Such… Is what mortals call… Fate."
Placing her second hand onto the guard rail as well, Mo-laoban returns Long Hua's line with—
"As we dance beneath God's eyes."
"Survived, but without meaning."
"Forever marred by wounds that refuse to close."
"…"
Clenching the guard rail tightly with both hands, Long Hua emanates killing intent, and replies with—
"Bleed! Bleed as these wounds must for the body must wither for there to be rest!"
Sensing this killing intent clearly, every person inside the restaurant—regardless of where they are, feels as if there is a cold-blooded serpent coiling around their limbs.
"…"
Not losing to Long Hua's killing intent, Mo-laoban's amber-colored eyes narrow into slits, as she replies—
"A person may live, but their heart… May be long dead!"
Releasing his grip on the guard rail, and straightening his back, Long Hua exhales a breath of air.
Placing his left hand behind his back, Long Hua takes out his fan, and positions it right in front of his chest.
"…"
"…"
As Nuo'er gulps down her spit once more, Bai Wen holds his cup of wine in front of his chest without moving a single inch.
"Others dream soundly, I… Dream in lunacy, for my obsession remains unquenching, seeking… To reunite with the blue butterfly, who slipped from my grasp."
Amidst these words, Long Hua gradually unfolds the fan, and seeing the words written on the fan, Mo-laoban nearly loosens her tension-filled shoulders.
(Number one hottie in the mortal realm, is this bastard sane in the head?!)
"Pu…-!"
Setting his cup down, Bai Wen can't help but quickly press a hand to his mouth, afraid of ruining the mood with his laughter.
Similarly, Zhen Qing Huai and Zhen Rong did the same.
"Holy, it's surnamed Long…!"
"…"
Recognizing that unique fan immediately, Shao Tianming and Wang Yongning widens their eyes with astonishment.
Compared to them, who are only in shock from discovering how wealthy Long Hua is, Chen Lan feels his entire world collapsing, as he thought—
(Shit, this is bad! If ancestor wins this bidding war… I…)
Having come to acknowledge Long Hua as his ancestor, Chen Lan doesn't have the guts to accept the former's money—even if he was beaten to death a hundred times.
"…"
As Mo-laoban maintains her silence, Long Hua tauntingly gestures for her to continue with his chin.
Clicking her tongue, Mo-laoban says—
"Amidst my lunacy, I see… The Yellow Springs. There… Red higanbanas' petals scatter, cry and mourn as they will, yet… Who cares for their tears?"
*Pah.* collapsing the fan, Long Hua raises it, and with an air of confidence that is akin to a god staring down on mortals from above, he says—
"Opposite sides… We stand, her back towards me."
Directing the fan towards Mo-laoban, Long Hua adds—
"How I wish to see… Her face once more."
"…"
"…"
Glancing between Long Hua and Mo-laoban, the Tai Xuan Emperor thought—
(It's over, surnamed * has won.)
The potential for continuing this poem—from this line, is extremely narrow.
Even if an individual was able to, there's no guarantee that their continuation would add more substance to the poem. If anything, the odds of ruining the poem would be much higher.
"…"
For someone of Mo-laoban's level, she knows that if she says even one word wrong going forward, it could ruin the poem's artistic sense that's been built up thus far.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票