No Poetry Tonight

"A person who deceives the world and steals his reputation." This self-deprecating sentence always lingered in Jiang Budu's heart as they exchanged glasses of wine during the banquet. The children of the aristocratic family toasted him for his "excellent poetic talent", the noble girl blushed and asked for advice on poetry, and even the old enemy bowed his head and presented the solitary classics - no one knew that the words he blurted out, "No one has died since ancient times", or the "Inscription on the Humble Room" written in his pen, were not created by him, but were the last words from another time and space. It has been nearly three years since he traveled to this strange ancient world, and there are not many poems and lines left in his "inventory" in his mind. In my previous life, I was just an ordinary office worker who had worked for many years. It was not easy to remember these ancient texts. At first I could write a few more from memory. Later, after I became famous, I only revealed them carefully on specific occasions for fear of squandering them all. Every banquet is like gambling with one's life, for fear that the next sentence "please Mr. Jiang compose an impromptu poem" will reveal his true colors. When the royal family invited him to write the history of the country, he stared at the blank rice paper on the case and broke into a cold sweat: "This time, I really can't make it up." Just when he thought he would definitely die this time, suddenly, an interface called "Traveler Anonymous Forum" appeared in his mind. He pretended to be a doctor and posted a post: "Help! I have to write the preface to the history of the country now, and I can't make it up!" In an instant, several replies popped up: "I sent you the preface template, just change a few words!" "Don't be afraid, we are the literary giants behind you!" Someone even posted a paragraph at the beginning of "Historical Records": "They haven't read it anyway!" Xiao Linyuan followed the writing with trembling fingers, and his heart was overwhelmed: What on earth is going on? . Later, like other forum members, he never figured out why this forum existed. Everyone only knows that everyone seems to be from the same world before traveling through time, and the forum is more like some kind of hidden gift. He gradually got used to the existence of the forum, occasionally making jokes with his fellow villagers, and occasionally helping new people in the forum, and his life was very happy. One night, he and his friends took a walk under the moonlight. The friend suddenly laughed and said: "Your poem the day before yesterday was really wonderful." Jiang Budu looked at the sky full of stars and said softly: "There is nothing to do tonight and no poems." He thought of the fellow villagers in the forum. They never asked each other why they traveled across time, but only cared about the laughter at this moment. Maybe the answer is not far away, but in these "nothing" nights. Ps: I feel like my copywriting is messy, I will probably change it later. Purpose: True talent is not to recite the brilliance of others, but to grow one's own light in interaction with the world.