The novel "Beggeg's Story of Immortality" describes a student in Henan who accidentally traveled to ancient times while setting up lanterns in the Danjiangkou Reservoir. After all the hard work, he finally returned to modern times. As a result, his father had a problem in the parallel space, and several people went to the parallel space to rescue him... I hope you can click to view the details, thank you for your support!
[Orthodox Group Portrait of Martial Arts] The wind and moon hide the character, the wind and snow reveal the chivalrous heart. Excerpt 1: Qinghuan Pavilion·Taiping Yayun From a high position here, you can have a panoramic view of the entire lobby: the lights in the hall are as bright as day, and the eyes are full of brocades. It is a lively atmosphere for both refined and popular people. Here, a woman in plain clothes is playing the piano by the window, and the sound is clear; Several tables of literati sat around and commented on poems and couplets, clapping tables and cheering from time to time; people sitting quietly at the stone table next to them played chess with crisp moves; there were also people playing flutes, singing, and dancing with long sleeves. The sound of piano, flute, poetry, and laughter were intertwined, making it lively but not noisy. The dancing girl in the hall was wearing colorful gowns and flowing sleeves, which was a sight to behold. There are fine wooden tables and chairs on both sides of the corridor, paved with brocade and fresh fruits. Guests sit on the railings, drink and enjoy the music. It is truly rich but not vulgar, prosperous and elegant. Duan Yunlan pulled Qiao Xiaoshi to sit down at the table with the widest view, and waved away the maid with a smile: "No need to wait more, just bring two bottles of good wine and a few exquisite snacks, and we will sit and watch the scenery by ourselves." Qiao Xiaoshi sat on the chair, still a little restrained, but felt that the warm silk lamps in the Qinghuan Pavilion, the sound of music and poetry, and the peace and tranquility that filled his eyes were completely different from the blood and fire in border areas and the bones in burnt villages that he had experienced. Not long after, a table of literati downstairs was in the mood for wine. One of them stroked his beard and mused, and loudly chanted: "Lights in high buildings are singing softly -" Duan Yunlan became excited after hearing this, and without thinking, he casually answered: "The breeze is beautiful and the wine is lingering." The four people had already nodded in agreement, but he smiled leisurely and went straight to the complete poem: "Lights are shining in high buildings, the singing is subtle, the breeze is beautiful and the wine is lingering." The sound of strings does not understand the affairs of the world, but sings endlessly towards Shengping. Every sentence was sighed, smoothly and naturally, and a low cheer suddenly sounded in the hall. But before everyone could finish the discussion, another scribe on the other side took advantage of the poem's excitement and shouted loudly: "The red sleeves are full of strings in spring -" Everyone had just turned their eyes, Duan Yunlan's lips were slightly raised, and he continued calmly and unhurriedly, and blurted out another complete Qijue song: "Red sleeves are full of strings in spring, and the golden bottles are reflected in the moonlight as they climb the building at night." The music and songs do not disturb the joy, and the world is peaceful when you are drunk. This song has a more graceful demeanor and a more complete artistic conception, integrating seamlessly with the scenery and atmosphere in the pavilion. After the words fell, the whole hall was silent for a moment, and then they burst into cheers and claps, which were several times louder than before. "Okay! Both poems are masterpieces!" "The words are spoken in pairs and the pen is written into a poem. The young master is really a genius!" Fragment 2: Fengxue Pavilion·The Lonely Hero's Sorrow Qiao Xiaoshi stopped outside the pavilion, his heart trembling inexplicably, and he did not dare to step forward rashly. I saw the swordsman in white looking up at Yanmen Pass at the end of the wind and snow. His eyes seemed to be able to penetrate thousands of layers of blizzards and tens of thousands of mountains and fall on the territory ravaged by the iron hoofs of the Hulu. His throat was slightly open, his voice was low and hoarse, wrapped in the coldness of the wind and snow and the sorrow and indignation of crying blood. Every word was a monologue, slowly spreading out in the empty and silent pavilion: Frost and snow covered the sky over the old territory, and the lone front was shining three feet into the setting sun. The blood in the countryside has nowhere to go, and the souls of relatives and friends are left heartbroken. In the secular world, we are all strangers, walking alone in the vast distance for half our lives. The drunken dreams and sorrows in the temple are difficult to relieve, but I am willing to lead the leadership of Guizhou to appease the jackals. At the end of the poem, the wind and snow roared more fiercely, seeming to respond to this sadness. He murmured in a low voice, as if he was self-deprecating: "I wanted to protect the common people in the name of heaven, but now my recruitment has come to nothing. I am so full of blood that I have nowhere to go..." Qiao Xiaoshi was shocked as if he had been struck by lightning. It turns out that in these troubled times, he is not the only one who bears the hatred of his country and his family, is not the only one who harbors the resentment of having no way to serve his country, and is not the only one who is alone and struggling to support himself! The hatred of the fall of his hometown, the grief of the death of relatives and friends, the loneliness of wandering alone, and the regret that his ambition cannot be realized in the poem all touched the most painful corners of his heart, making him clench his fists, his knuckles turned white, and his eyes were slightly red. His heart surged: The court is unreliable, and the border guards are unable to support their troops alone. I will always find those people who have lost their lives like me, and gather together to form a tower. Even with meager strength, I must defend this homeland and kill the Hulu! The swordsman in white slowly closed his eyes, and the snow fell from his shoulders. He raised his hand and took off the wine gourd from his waist, and rubbed the cold gourd wall with his fingertips - it was an old mark left by years of holding a sword, and there was also a shallow scar at the tiger's mouth. Pulling out the cork, he raised his head and drank heavily. The amber wine slid down the corners of his lips and dripped on the white robe, causing a few wet marks. He was instantly chilled by the cold wind. He seemed to want to swallow his grief, anger, loneliness, and obsession with the mountains and rivers together with this strong drink to warm his heart of serving the country that had never cooled in the troubled times. After drinking most of the pot of wine, he put down the wine gourd tightly, clutching the gourd with his knuckles, and his eyes were filled with blood and weakness. The war in the southeast has not subsided, and brothers are either being driven out to kill their fellow villagers, or being framed by the court's suspicion; the dust is rising again in the north, and the border guards are bathed in blood, but the temples are drunk and dreaming. He only has martial arts, and wants to defend the border and protect the people, but he has no way. A long sigh overflowed from his lips, so light that it was almost swallowed up by the wind and snow, and he muttered: "The chaos in the south has not been over, and the northern invaders have arrived again. In the mountains and rivers of the Song Dynasty, there is no place for those of us who serve the country..." An almost inaudible whisper rolled out of his throat, "Brother Gongming... The recruitment was wrong... Brothers..." The snow was still falling wildly, and it stuck to the eyebrows of the swordsman in white. It instantly melted into water and slid down his clear cheeks. It was unclear whether it was snow water or hot tears caused by strong alcohol. He was alone in the snow, holding a sword and drinking wine. His white clothes were particularly dazzling in the vast world. He was lonely and tragic. He became the loneliest and hottest silhouette in this broken landscape of mountains and rivers. Qiao Xiaoshi stood outside the pavilion, the wind and snow had already fallen on his shoulders, but he didn't even notice it. Looking at the figure in white, the loneliness in my heart dissipated a little, replaced by the sourness and inexplicable touch of feeling sympathy for each other - it turned out that in the troubled times, even if he was alone, there were people who had the same obsession and guarded the same original intention as him. ————————————
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