The night before the summer solstice has a slight chill.
Xia Yang said that happiness means being able to smile to others when you are sad.
Luo Yan smiled slightly and listened, chiming in a few words from time to time.
Throughout the conversation, Liu Ruixuan listened.
Xia Yang suddenly broke into his life, and Luo Yan appeared inexplicably, but they truly reminded him.
I always thought that I was well disguised, that my emotions and anger were no longer visible, but a little more profound, but others could see through it in a few short dialogues.
Liu Ruixuan sighed slightly, lowered his head and looked at the fallen leaves at his feet.
Deciduous trees in foreign lands, people alone at night under cold lamps.
Who doesn’t know how to hang a book bag? He is also a good at poetry for quite a few years!
Ahem, that seems to be wrong.
Liu Ruixuan raised his eyebrows slightly, and took another look at the fallen leaves under his feet. The fallen leaves were all red and did not sweep away.
This is good and poetic!
Um?
Those familiar eyes, that familiar frost slapped eggplant face.
What does that little look that glances over casually mean?
She actually blinked at him again and again.
A wink? A flirtatious look? A wink?
Ahem, he didn't see anything.
Liu Ruixuan turned his head and said goodbye.
He heard nothing.
I don’t understand why they suddenly changed their poetry appreciation.
Rather than say this, it is better to remain silent.
Then he might as well make a quiet screen beside him.
"Bowl."
Luo Yan's voice came over faintly.
What? Why did you change the topic again and talk about happiness?
"Why is the Autumn Wind Sad Painting Fan?" Xia Yang said with a calm expression, "The first thing I saw was Li Bai's sentence. If I had known that it would be so disturbing, why would I not have known each other in the first place?"
"Huh? I've never heard of Li Bai's long-lasting love poems?" Luo Yan glanced at Xia Yang and then at Liu Ruixuan.
Ahem, what are you looking at him for?
He is not Li Bai.
Liu Ruixuan rolled his eyes silently in his heart, he was not Xia Yang either!
Which poem is this from? He doesn't know.
"Three to five or seven words, Autumn Wind Ci." Xia Yang nodded slightly.
"Three to five or seven words?" Luo Yan was startled for a moment, and her tone rose, "I've never heard of it."
Liu Ruixuan raised his eyebrows slightly,
He has only heard of groups of three and five, seven heroes and five righteousnesses, what are the three, five, and seven words?
He has never heard of it either!
"Huh?" Xia Yang responded, looking around at Luo Yan and Liu Ruixuan, "Haven't you heard of it?"
"Yes." Luo Yan nodded, "Senior Xia Yang, are you sure this is Li Taibai's poem?"
Hmm! Could it be that I remembered it wrong?
Liu Ruixuan also glanced at Xia Yang.
After all, they are very familiar with Li Taibai's poetic style.
"No." Xia Yang's voice came over.
No? Liu Ruixuan looked at Xia Yang after hearing this. Are you kidding them?
"What does Senior Xia Yang mean?" Luo Yan glanced at Liu Ruixuan uncertainly, then looked at Xia Yang with some confusion, "Senior, did you remember it wrong?"
"No." Xia Yang laughed loudly.
No? Ahem, what does this mean?
Liu Ruixuan glanced sideways at Xia Yang, one on the left and one on the right, what does that mean?
Think of him as mentally retarded!
Liu Ruixuan looked away, raised his eyebrows, and quietly took two steps back.
It is better to live without bamboo than to eat without meat.
Braised pork elbow, braised pork, braised pork trotters, here he comes.
"Oh." Luo Yan suddenly laughed, "That's right. Li Bai's poetic style has always been bold and unrestrained, fresh and elegant, rich in imagination, wonderful in artistic conception, wonderful in language, romantic, and clear in conception."
Ahem, Liu Ruixuan took two steps back and couldn't help but roll his eyes towards the sky.
This Luo Yan is also a "talent". She spits out these words like a little goldfish's bubbles, one after another!
"This is not Li Bai's poem." Xia Yang chuckled.
Ahem! Hearing this, Liu Ruixuan looked towards Xia Yang, with a hint of contempt in his eyes.
Finally gave him a chance to despise Xia Yang.
The expression on Luo Yan's face changed, and then slowly returned to the slightly proud look with her chin raised slightly. She glanced at Xia Yang, then turned to Liu Ruixuan, and softly uttered two words, "Senior.
"
Ahem, senior?
What does it have to do with him?
Liu Ruixuan was startled, he was not Xia Yang!
He is not Li Bai either!
He didn't care who the poem belonged to, he wasn't interested!
He is only interested in midnight snacks now!
Let the two of them go to Boyaziqi, where the mountains and rivers are flowing.
He is just a layman!
"Huh?" Liu Ruixuan responded, rolled his eyelids, glanced at Luo Yan, and then slowly lowered his eyes.
"Senior, I think..." Luo Yan looked towards Liu Ruixuan, a bright smile appeared on her fair face, which looked very soft under the orange street lights.
"No need to ask him," Xia Yang took two steps back, put his hand on Liu Ruixuan's shoulder, patted it twice gently, and said with a smile, "He doesn't know either."
Huh? He doesn't know?
Liu Ruixuan glanced deeply at Xia Yang, Luo Yan hadn't asked a question yet!
It's too arbitrary.
"The autumn wind is clear, the autumn moon is bright, the fallen leaves gather and disperse, and the jackdaws roost again. When will we know when we miss each other? It's embarrassing at this time and this night!"
Xia Yang turned his head and glanced at the setting sun on the western horizon, and said quietly, "When you enter my lovesickness door, you will know that I miss you painfully. Long lovesickness brings long memories, but short lovesickness lasts forever. If I had known that it would be such a troubling thing, why would I not have known each other in the first place."
Wind, moon, leaves, night, lovesickness.
These are available at this moment.
Liu Ruixuan looked up at the sky, then looked down at the fallen leaves at his feet.
Xia Yang was probably having convulsions again.
However, it sounds quite poetic.
Especially those few sentences, long-term lovesickness means long-lasting memories, but short-term lovesickness means endless feelings. How could he not feel the same way?
I just knew that lovesickness is painful, but I have tasted the pain of lovesickness.
Suddenly I thought of Stendhal's epitaph: Lived, loved and wrote.
Ahem, is Xia Yang pretending to be a scholar and using words to commemorate his ten-year bitter love?
"This is Li Bai's lyrics, not a poem." Xia Yang's voice came over, with a familiar smile and a familiar calmness.
What? Li Bai also wrote lyrics?
What about Tang poetry and Song lyrics?
Such a cool and unrestrained poet, does he sometimes miss lovesickness?
Liu Ruixuan raised his head and looked at the bright moon above his head, thinking that everyone could taste red beans!
Even Li Bai, who liked to look at the moon and drink alone, was not exempt from this custom.
Painting leisurely among the rain flowers, leaning against the painting screen and thinking about the past. In the south of the Yangtze River with apricot blossoms and misty rain, the green grass overflows the river embankment.
On a summer night in early June, the moon began to shine slightly. In the cool early spring in the south of the Yangtze River, I read an ancient poem and listened to an ancient love song.
I couldn't help but think of that long-ago era, that man in white clothes and robes, elegant, handsome, and full of talent, walking slowly in the woods as the sun was setting, playing a hole-in-the-wall flute.
The sound was soft and faint, approaching from far away, gradually becoming clearer, clearer, and more graceful. As the leaves in the forest drifted, and as the afterglow gradually faded away, it sounded one after another, one after another, night after night, like the silence in a dream.
Silent heartbeat.
Following the everlasting sound of the flute, in the light rain and falling flowers, in the twilight of the night, in the fragrant courtyard, in the words and pictures on the screen, I feel grateful for the cold calmness and refined elegance.
In June in the south of the Yangtze River, there is light rain, and the grass is green. I read a clear poem, bathed in the light mist and rain, and recall a soft song that belongs to the early summer in the south of the Yangtze River...