我的征尘是星辰大海。。。
The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...
-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆
作者:黄教授
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直播间的故事4
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原始脚本
第七章，翰墨斗雅，行香子与七律，修订版。 第七日，清堂案上选这幅素绢，他先提笔蘸墨，写下一阕行香子起题。 墨洒宣章，字里情长。 瓶前谁与赏清光，且将心事赋予词章。 由笔中去，意中暖，韵中香。 赵公子的词立刻带着金粉特效冲进来。 行香子，笔走龙蛇，墨染绫罗。 看瓶中佳人婀娜，千金买字，不换情多。 愿朝相伴，暮相守，共笙歌。 莫对酸儒，空费吟哦。 问书生能耐平和？朱门酒肉，胜却诗魔。 且抛愁绪、抛词句、醉颜酡。 紧跟着帝王套礼物特效刷屏，金光几乎漫过素绢。 清棠指尖抚过素绢，笑着回了阙行香子。 公子爱字，金粉相饰，可知墨里有真痴，千金难买一字情思。 若心不诚，笔不暖，韵何痴？赵公子看得眉开眼笑，又刷了10个火箭，只要是糖糖的字。 行 诚得很。 王总的行香子来的沉稳，带着江湖气的通透。 墨洒宣章，字里情长。 赏屏中，才女疏狂。 我虽不敏，愿护柔肠。 有金为盾，银为甲，玉为章。 休笑我俗，只认真章。 怕书生薄幸无常，若能相守，何惜囊藏。 便弃浮名，弃富贵，伴身旁。 清塘将王总的词默念一遍，何了却，君言护我，金盾银甲。 可知笔墨也堪夸，柔肠不需藏，字向词中挂。 若情真处，贫也罢，富也罢。 王总见他回应，立刻刷了30个火箭，弹幕里王总大气的赞叹刷屏。 林艳秋望着素绢上的留白，想起自己案头那支磨秃的毛笔。 敲出一阕行香子，墨染素卷，字寄心弦。 每相逢，恍若千年。 俗尘难扰，雅意相牵。 有秉中语，笔中趣，意中缘。 何须宝马，不用金钱，只消得几句轻言，纵然隔世，也算童颜。 愿此长和，墨常润。 清棠念到月长圆时，握笔的手轻轻一颤，一滴墨落在卷角，晕成个小小的圆。 他抬眼笑了，像月光落进砚台，先生这月长圆，我接了。 提笔续道，笔走龙蛇，墨落生花，玉君言，顿扫尘沙。 秉前唱和，纸上芳华。 有一分痴，一分念，一分夸。 休提富贵，莫论贫家，且将这心绪轻拿。 纵然路远，未敢相奢。 药自同温，词同暖，梦同华。 赵公子见他与林艳秋 词意相合，填了首七律来赠。 汉墨从来属富家，穷酸怎配品烟霞。 我挥金笔题佳句，你抱残书叹落花。 若问真心值几钱，且看火箭叠成塔。 瓶中若肯随吾意，胜过寒窗十年纱。 清塘回了首七律，笔风温和却有骨。 墨香不向朱门绕，字韵偏从素纸生。 公子金多虽可羡，书生笔暖更堪矜。 真心启用火渐亮，雅意何须金塔成。 若识词中藏日月，贫家也有满天星。 王总也续了七律，语气里带了几分劝诫。 莫笑商人重利名，笔端也有赤心明。 千金能买佳人笑，半句难酬故友情。 怕见书生多薄幸，宁将珠宝作长盟。 若卿肯解其中意，不向江湖独自行。 清堂贺了首七律，商人重利非无意，书生薄幸亦偶然。 珠宝作盟虽可贵，词章相继更延年。 江湖路远君相护，笔墨情长我自谦。 若问真心何处寄，一笺小字抵万千。 林艳秋看着一间小字抵万千，忽然觉得案头那支旧毛笔重于千金。 敲出一首七律，不羡朱门酒肉林，比肩德育赏童心。 词如明月照尘俗，字若清风拂玉尘。 敢以秃毫酬秀色，懒将浮利扰知音。 他年若遂相逢愿，共对残灯品旧吟。 青堂念完，将他这首与自己的七律并排贴在素绢两侧，轻声道，笔墨最是公道，真心假意，纸墨都记得。 他卷起素绢，明日带支新制的笛来，吹首折柳，三位可要听？直播关了，林艳秋把满纸诗词叠好，清堂的瓷像，那方素绢，既承得住赵王的金粉光，又托得下他的轻佻痕。 这一来一往间，倒让这直播间成了能变雅俗的书斋。 他摸着那张写着共对残灯的草稿，忽然觉得明天的笛音里该飘着更浓的牵挂了。 第八章，笛音斗情，鹊桥仙与七绝，修订版。 第八日，清塘将玉笛横在唇边，先吹了段折柳前奏，随后填了阕鹊桥仙起题。 笛音穿有，离情暗斗，屏前谁解此中瘦？且将心事付心声，怕吹落眉间春皱。 赵公子的词立刻裹着笛音冲进来。 鹊桥仙闻笛笛音袅袅，屏中影翘，惹得痴心狂跳。 千金难买一回眸，怎奈这相思难了。 朱门备好，豪车在道，只待佳人清照。 莫学织女隔天河，且与我同欢良宵。 紧跟着火箭雨特效刷屏，密密麻麻遮了半屏。 青棠指尖在笛孔上一顿，笑着回了鹊鹊桥仙。 公子痴心如瀑，火箭飞石霞布，笛音源是素离情，不是那合欢门路。 赵公子看得直乐，又刷了10个火箭，合欢门路 我来铺。 王总的鹊桥仙来的承缓，带着几分过来人的心气。 笛吹折柳，声传别绪，惹起平生感触。 江湖浪迹久离群，幸得见，炳忠先叔。 今虽非福，情却是路，愿以余生相护。 何须银汉隔双星，我为你架桥铺路。 青堂吹了个清亮的梵音，回了句，君言架桥铺路，心意已藏深处。 笛中折柳飞离歌，试盼那知音常驻。 今非福分，情是归宿，不必朱门高筑，顶前暂借一寸光，也能把真心留住。 王总见他回应，立刻刷了20个火箭，弹幕里王总暖心的赞叹刷屏。 林艳秋听着笛音里的怅惘，想起自己挤在地铁里听手机外放的日子。 敲出一阙鹊桥仙，笛音穿有，愁思绕指，勾起客中离绪。 庭前酒力似吃人，怕惊散这份相遇。 真词见性，伪作难藏，一眼便知真趣。 纵然有科情枪手，怎比得情真句素。 经堂念到情真句素时，眼底亮了，吹了段应和的短调。 提笔絮叨，君知词中真趣，我识笔底情愫。 笛音不向俗尘吹，只与那真心相诉。 秉前唱和，原非斗富，只为知音相遇。 纵然剧桌少人夸，自有我藏之肺腑。 赵公子见他独与林艳秋说真心相诉，填了首七绝来腔。 笛音怎比火箭响，诗句空萦枉断肠。 我有新词三百首，感同酸子论短长 清塘回了首七绝，语气带了几分调侃。 火箭升高虽震耳，不如笛韵入心肠。 新辞三百若五谷，怎抵真心一句强。 赵公子被逗笑，又刷了5个火箭，我的真心比火箭沉。 王总也续了七绝，语气里带了几分劝诫。 书生莫道才情贵，柴米油盐最是真。 我有良田千亩在，何愁无处寄深沉。 清堂贺了首七绝，良田千亩春常在，不及丙中半句清。 笔里能消心上事，词中可抵世间平。 林艳秋看着词中可抵世间贫，摸了摸口袋里刚领的实习工资，敲出一首七绝。 笛音一缕透屏来，荡尽尘心万念灰。 纵使囊空无长物，清词一阕胜金堆。 青堂念完，将三人的诗抄在笛谱旁，轻声道，笛音有三境，吹给耳听，吹给心听，吹给懂的人听，今日算都吹到了。 他将玉笛收好，明日带本旧词集来，念几句给三位听，可好？直播关了，林艳秋把满纸诗词摊在桌上。 清塘的词像那支玉笛，既承得住赵王的惊声浪，又吹得出与他的玉律风。 这一来一往间，倒让这直播间成了能容雅俗的笛亭。 他摸着那张写着圣经堆的草稿，忽然觉得明天的词集里该藏着更重的牵挂了。
修正脚本
第七章，翰墨斗雅，行香子与七律，修订版。 第七日，清堂案上选这幅素绢，他先提笔蘸墨，写下一阕行香子起题。 墨洒宣章，字里情长。 瓶前谁与赏清光，且将心事赋予词章。 游笔中去，意中暖，韵中香。 赵公子的词立刻带着金粉特效冲进来。 行香子，笔走龙蛇，墨染绫罗。 看瓶中佳人婀娜，千金买字，不换情多。 愿朝相伴，暮相守，共笙歌。 莫对酸儒，空费吟哦。 问书生能奈平和？朱门酒肉，胜却诗魔。 且抛愁绪、抛词句、醉颜酡。 紧跟着帝王套礼物特效刷屏，金光几乎漫过素绢。 清棠指尖抚过素绢，笑着回了阙行香子。 公子爱字，金粉相饰，可知墨里有真痴，千金难买一字情思。 若心不诚，笔不暖，韵何痴？赵公子看得眉开眼笑，又刷了10个火箭，只要是清棠的字，诚得很。 王总的行香子来的沉稳，带着江湖气的通透。 墨洒宣章，字里情长。 赏屏中，才女疏狂。 我虽不敏，愿护柔肠。 有金为盾，银为甲，玉为章。 休笑我俗，只认真章。 怕书生薄幸无常，若能相守，何惜囊藏。 便弃浮名，弃富贵，伴身旁。 清棠将王总的词默念一遍，和了一阕：君言护我，金盾银甲。 可知笔墨也堪夸，柔肠不需藏，字向词中挂。 若情真处，贫也罢，富也罢。 王总见他回应，立刻刷了30个火箭，弹幕里王总大气的赞叹刷屏。 林艳秋望着素绢上的留白，想起自己案头那支磨秃的毛笔。 敲出一阕行香子，墨染素卷，字寄心弦。 每相逢，恍若千年。 俗尘难扰，雅意相牵。 有闲中语，笔中趣，意中缘。 何须宝马，不用金钱，只消得几句轻言，纵然隔世，也算童颜。 愿此长好，月长圆。 清棠念到月长圆时，握笔的手轻轻一颤，一滴墨落在卷角，晕成个小小的圆。 他抬眼笑了，像月光落进砚台，先生这月长圆，我接了。 提笔续道，笔走龙蛇，墨落生花，应君言，顿扫尘沙。 屏前唱和，纸上芳华。 有一分痴，一分念，一分夸。 休提富贵，莫论贫家，且将这心绪轻拿。 纵然路远，未敢相奢。 药自同温，词同暖，梦同华。 赵公子见他与林艳秋词意相合，填了首七律来赠。 汉墨从来属富家，穷酸怎配品烟霞。 我挥金笔题佳句，你抱残书叹落花。 若问真心值几钱，且看火箭叠成塔。 瓶中若肯随吾意，胜过寒窗十年纱。 清棠回了首七律，笔风温和却有骨。 墨香不向朱门绕，字韵偏从素纸生。 公子金多虽可羡，书生笔暖更堪矜。 真心启引火渐亮，雅意何须金塔成。 若识词中藏日月，贫家也有满天星。 王总也续了七律，语气里带了几分劝诫。 莫笑商人重利名，笔端也有赤心明。 千金能买佳人笑，半句难酬故友情。 怕见书生多薄幸，宁将珠宝作长盟。 若卿肯解其中意，不向江湖独自行。 清棠和了首七律，商人重利非无意，书生薄幸亦偶然。 珠宝作盟虽可贵，词章相继更延年。 江湖路远君相护，笔墨情长我自谦。 若问真心何处寄，一笺小字抵万千。 林艳秋看着一笺小字抵万千，忽然觉得案头那支旧毛笔重于千金。 敲出一首七律，不羡朱门酒肉腥，比肩对语赏童心。 词如明月照尘俗，字若清风拂玉尘。 敢以秃毫酬秀色，懒将浮利扰知音。 他年若遂相逢愿，共对残灯品旧吟。 清棠念完，将他这首与自己的七律并排贴在素绢两侧，轻声道，笔墨最是公道，真心假意，纸墨都记得。 他卷起素绢，明日带支新制的笛来，吹首折柳，三位可要听？直播关了，林艳秋把满纸诗词叠好，清棠的字迹，那方素绢，既承得住赵王的金粉光，又托得下他的清浅痕。 这一来一往间，倒让这直播间成了能变雅俗的书斋。 他摸着那张写着共对残灯的草稿，忽然觉得明天的笛音里该飘着更浓的牵挂了。 第八章，笛音斗情，鹊桥仙与七绝，修订版。 第八日，清棠将玉笛横在唇边，先吹了段折柳前奏，随后填了阕鹊桥仙起题。 笛音穿牖，离情暗逗，屏前谁解此中瘦？且将心事付心声，怕吹落眉间春皱。 赵公子的词立刻裹着笛音冲进来。 鹊桥仙·闻笛，笛音袅袅，屏中影翘，惹得痴心狂跳。 千金难买一回眸，怎奈这相思难了。 朱门备好，豪车在道，只待佳人清照。 莫学织女隔天河，且与我同欢良宵。 紧跟着火箭雨特效刷屏，密密麻麻遮了半屏。 清棠指尖在笛孔上一顿，笑着回了鹊桥仙。 公子痴心如瀑，火箭飞处金霞布，笛音源是素离情，不是那合欢门路。 赵公子看得直乐，又刷了10个火箭，合欢门路 我来铺。 王总的鹊桥仙来得沉缓，带着几分过来人的心气。 笛吹折柳，声传别绪，惹起平生感触。 江湖浪迹久离群，幸得见，屏中仙步。 今虽非福，情却是路，愿以余生相护。 何须银汉隔双星，我为你架桥铺路。 清棠吹了个清亮的泛音，回了句，君言架桥铺路，心意已藏深处。 笛中折柳飞离歌，试盼那知音常驻。 今非福分，情是归宿，不必朱门高筑，屏前暂借一寸光，也能把真心留住。 王总见他回应，立刻刷了20个火箭，弹幕里王总暖心的赞叹刷屏。 林艳秋听着笛音里的怅惘，想起自己挤在地铁里听手机外放的日子。 敲出一阙鹊桥仙，笛音穿牖，愁思绕指，勾起客中离绪。 庭前酒力似催人，怕惊散这份相遇。 真词见性，伪作难藏，一眼便知真趣。 纵然有假情枪手，怎比得情真句素。 清棠念到情真句素时，眼底亮了，吹了段应和的短调。 提笔絮道，君知词中真趣，我识笔底情愫。 笛音不向俗尘吹，只与那真心相诉。 屏前唱和，原非斗富，只为知音相遇。 纵然句拙少人夸，自有我藏之肺腑。 赵公子见他独与林艳秋说真心相诉，填了首七绝来呛。 笛音怎比火箭响，诗句空萦枉断肠。 我有新词三百首，敢同酸子论短长。清棠回了首七绝，语气带了几分调侃。 火箭升高虽震耳，不如笛韵入心肠。 新辞三百若泥土，怎抵真心一句强。 赵公子被逗笑，又刷了5个火箭，我的真心比火箭沉。 王总也续了七绝，语气里带了几分劝诫。 书生莫道才情贵，柴米油盐最是真。 我有良田千亩在，何愁无处寄深沉。 清棠和了首七绝，良田千亩春常在，不及君言半句清。 笔里能消心上事，词中可抵世间贫。 林艳秋看着词中可抵世间贫，摸了摸口袋里刚领的实习工资，敲出一首七绝。 笛音一缕透屏来，荡尽尘心万念灰。 纵使囊空无长物，清词一阕胜金堆。 清棠念完，将三人的诗抄在笛谱旁，轻声道，笛音有三境，吹给耳听，吹给心听，吹给懂的人听，今日算都吹到了。 他将玉笛收好，明日带本旧词集来，念几句给三位听，可好？直播关了，林艳秋把满纸诗词摊在桌上。 清棠的词像那支玉笛，既承得住赵王的金声浪，又吹得出自家的清韵风。 这一来一往间，倒让这直播间成了能容雅俗的笛亭。 他摸着那张写着胜金堆的草稿，忽然觉得明天的词集里该藏着更重的牵挂了。
英文翻译
Chapter 7: A Battle of Brushes, "Walking in the Incense" and "Seven-Character Regulated Verse," Revised Edition. On the seventh day, Qingtang chose this piece of plain silk on the clear hall table. He first dipped his brush in ink and wrote a lyric to "Walking in the Incense" as an opening. Ink splashes on the paper, feelings linger in the characters. Who else can appreciate the clear light before the vase? I entrust my emotions to the verses. As the brush roams, warmth fills the heart, fragrance in the rhyme. Young Master Zhao's lyric immediately burst in with golden powder effects. "Walking in the Incense"—the brush moves like dragons and snakes, ink stains the silk. Look at the graceful beauty before the vase, a thousand gold coins for words, not to be traded for more love. I wish to accompany her at dawn, stay with her at dusk, share in song and dance. Don't mind the pedantic scholars who waste their chants. Ask the scholar, can he match this? Red mansions with wine and meat surpass the demon of poetry. Cast aside worries, cast aside verses, and let your drunken face flush red. Following closely, the emperor's set of gift effects flooded the screen, golden light almost overwhelming the plain silk. Qingtang's fingertips brushed over the plain silk, and he smiled as he returned a lyric to "Walking in the Incense." Young Master loves words, adorns them with gold dust, but do you know that true obsession lies in ink, that a thousand gold coins cannot buy a single word of feeling? If the heart is not sincere, the brush not warm, how can the rhyme be passionate? Young Master Zhao watched with delight and sent ten more rockets, declaring that as long as it was Qingtang's writing, his sincerity was absolute. Chief Wang's "Walking in the Incense" arrived with steadiness, carrying a worldly clarity. Ink splashes on the paper, feelings linger in the characters. Watching on the screen, a talented woman in her wild elegance. Though I am not clever, I wish to protect your tender heart. With gold as shield, silver as armor, jade as seal. Don't laugh at my vulgarity, I only value true sincerity. I fear scholars are fickle and inconstant. If I can stay with you, I would not hesitate to empty my coffers. So I abandon fame, abandon wealth, to stand by your side. Qingtang silently recited Chief Wang's lyric and responded with one of his own: You say you'll protect me with golden shields and silver armor. But know that the brush and ink are also praiseworthy; a tender heart need not be hidden, it hangs in the words. If love is true, poverty or wealth matters not. Seeing his reply, Chief Wang immediately sent thirty rockets, and the barrage flooded with praise for Chief Wang's generosity. Lin Yanqiu gazed at the blank space on the plain silk, recalling the worn-out brush on her desk. She typed out a lyric to "Walking in the Incense." Ink stains the plain scroll, words carry the heartstrings. Every meeting feels like a millennium. Mundane dust cannot disturb, elegant thoughts draw us together. There are idle words, the joy of the brush, the fate in meaning. No need for fine horses, no need for money, just a few light words. Even if separated by lifetimes, it counts as youthful charm. May this last forever, may the moon always be full. When Qingtang recited "may the moon always be full," the hand holding the brush trembled slightly. A drop of ink fell on the corner of the scroll, forming a small circle. He looked up and smiled, like moonlight falling into an inkstone. "Sir, this 'moon always full'—I accept it." Lifting his brush, he continued: The brush moves like dragons and snakes, ink falls like blooming flowers. Answering your words, I sweep away the dust and sand. Chanting and harmonizing before the screen, writing out the splendor on paper. There is a trace of obsession, a trace of longing, a trace of praise. Forget about wealth, don't speak of poverty, just lightly hold these feelings. Even if the road is long, I dare not be greedy. Medicine shared in warmth, words shared in warmth, dreams shared in glory. Young Master Zhao, seeing the harmony between Qingtang and Lin Yanqiu, composed a seven-character regulated verse to present. Han ink has always belonged to wealthy families. How can a poor scholar deserve to savor rosy clouds? I wield my golden brush to write fine verses, while you hug a worn-out book sighing over fallen petals. If you ask how much true heart is worth, look at the rockets piling into a tower. If the beauty in the bottle is willing to follow my will, it surpasses ten years of cold window study. Qingtang responded with a seven-character regulated verse, gentle in style but with backbone. The fragrance of ink does not circle red mansions; the rhyme of words is born on plain paper. Though the young master's gold is enviable, the scholar's warm brush is even more admirable. True heart ignites the fire gradually; elegant intentions need no golden tower. If you recognize the sun and moon hidden in words, even a poor home has stars filling the sky. Chief Wang also continued with a seven-character regulated verse, with a tone of advice. Do not mock the merchant for valuing profit and fame; his brush tip also holds a clear red heart. A thousand gold can buy a beauty's smile, but half a sentence can hardly repay a friend's feeling. I fear scholars are often fickle, preferring to use jewels and pearls as a long-term bond. If you can understand the meaning in this, I will not walk alone in the rivers and lakes. Qingtang harmonized with a seven-character regulated verse: The merchant's valuing profit is not without meaning; the scholar's fickleness is also accidental. Jewelry as a bond is valuable, but matching verses last longer. On the long road of rivers and lakes, you protect me; in the long feelings of brush and ink, I am humble. If you ask where true heart is lodged, a single sheet of small characters is worth ten thousand. Lin Yanqiu, seeing "a single sheet of small characters is worth ten thousand," suddenly felt that the worn-out brush on her desk was heavier than a thousand gold. She typed out a seven-character regulated verse. I do not envy the red mansions' stench of wine and meat; standing together, we talk, appreciating childlike hearts. Words are like the bright moon illuminating the mundane; characters like a clear breeze brushing away jade dust. I dare to repay your beauty with a worn-out brush; too lazy to let floating profits disturb a kindred spirit. In the future, if we fulfill the wish to meet, we will share the taste of old verses by a dim lamp. After Qingtang finished reciting, he posted this poem alongside his own seven-character regulated verse on both sides of the plain silk. He said softly, "The brush and ink are most fair—true heart or false intent, the paper and ink remember." He rolled up the plain silk. "Tomorrow I'll bring a newly made flute and play a 'Breaking Willows'—would the three of you like to hear it?" The livestream ended. Lin Yanqiu folded the paper full of poems. Qingtang's handwriting, that piece of plain silk, could bear both Zhao's golden powder light and his own light traces. This back-and-forth turned the livestream room into a study that could transform elegance and vulgarity. She touched the draft that read "face the dim lamp together" and suddenly felt that tomorrow's flute sound should carry a deeper longing. Chapter 8: A Flute's Heart, "Immortal at Magpie Bridge" and "Four-Character Quatrain," Revised Edition. On the eighth day, Qingtang placed the jade flute horizontally against his lips. First, he played a prelude of "Breaking Willows," then composed a lyric to "Immortal at Magpie Bridge" as an opening. The flute's sound pierces the window, parting feelings secretly stir. Who before the screen understands this emaciation? I entrust my heart to the sound, afraid it will blow down the spring creases between my brows. Young Master Zhao's lyric immediately burst in wrapped in the flute's sound. "Immortal at Magpie Bridge·Hearing the Flute": The flute's notes curl upward, the figure on the screen sways, stirring a mad pounding of infatuated heart. A thousand gold cannot buy a single glance—how to end this endless longing? The red mansion is prepared, luxury cars on the road, only waiting for the beauty's clear reflection. Don't be like the Weaver Girl separated by the Silver River; instead, enjoy a joyful night with me. Immediately, a rocket rain special effect flooded the screen, densely covering half the screen. Qingtang paused his finger on the flute's hole, smiled, and returned a lyric to "Immortal at Magpie Bridge." The young master's infatuation is like a waterfall; where rockets fly, golden clouds spread. The flute's sound originates from parting feelings, not the path of union joy. Young Master Zhao watched happily and sent ten more rockets, saying, "I'll pave the path of union joy." Chief Wang's "Immortal at Magpie Bridge" arrived slowly and heavily, carrying the spirit of someone with experience. The flute plays "Breaking Willows," the sound conveys parting sorrow, stirring up life's feelings. Long wandering in rivers and lakes, far from the crowd, lucky to see the immortal steps on the screen. Though it is not a blessing now, emotion is the path. I am willing to protect you for the rest of my life. Why need the Silver River separate two stars? I will build a bridge and pave the road for you. Qingtang played a clear overtone and replied, "You say you will build a bridge and pave the road—your intention is already hidden deep. The flute's 'Breaking Willows' sends a farewell song, hoping for a constant presence of kindred spirits. It's not a blessing now, but emotion is the destination. There's no need for tall red mansions. Borrowing an inch of light before the screen can also keep true heart." Seeing his reply, Chief Wang immediately sent twenty rockets, and the barrage flooded with praise for Chief Wang's warmth. Lin Yanqiu listened to the melancholy in the flute's sound, recalling the days she squeezed on the subway listening to her phone's speaker. She typed out a lyric to "Immortal at Magpie Bridge." The flute's sound pierces the window, sorrow wraps around my fingers, stirring up parting feelings on my journey. The wine in the courtyard seems to urge me on, afraid to startle apart this meeting. True words reveal nature; false works cannot hide. One glance and you know the true interest. Even if there are fake emotional ghostwriters, how can they compare with sincere words and plain lines? When Qingtang recited "sincere words and plain lines," his eyes lit up. He played a short echoing tune. Lifting his brush, he continued: You know the true interest in words; I recognize the feelings at the brush tip. The flute's sound does not blow toward vulgar dust; it only speaks to true hearts. Chanting and harmonizing before the screen was never about showing off wealth; it is only for encountering kindred spirits. Even if the lines are clumsy and few praise them, I will keep them in my heart. Young Master Zhao, seeing him speak of "speaking to true hearts" exclusively with Lin Yanqiu, composed a four-character quatrain to tease. How can the flute's sound compare to rockets roaring? Empty verses only break the heart in vain. I have three hundred new poems—dare to argue with a sour scholar over who is better. Qingtang responded with a four-character quatrain, with a tone of good-natured teasing. Though rockets soaring are loud to the ear, they cannot enter the heart like the flute's rhyme. Three hundred new poems are but dirt—how can they compare to a single line of true heart? Young Master Zhao was amused and sent five more rockets, saying, "My true heart is heavier than rockets." Chief Wang also continued with a four-character quatrain, with a tone of advice. Scholar, do not boast of your talent's worth—firewood, rice, oil, and salt are most real. I have a thousand acres of fertile land—why worry about nowhere to place your deep feelings? Qingtang harmonized with a four-character quatrain: A thousand acres of fertile land in eternal spring—not as good as half a clear sentence from you. In the brush, one can dissolve heart matters; in words, one can offset worldly poverty. Lin Yanqiu, reading "in words, one can offset worldly poverty," touched the intern salary she had just received in her pocket and typed out a four-character quatrain. A thread of flute sound pierces the screen, washing away the dust and ashes of the mundane heart. Even if my purse is empty without possessions, a single pure verse is worth a pile of gold. Qingtang finished reciting and copied the three people's poems beside the flute score. He said softly, "The flute has three realms: blowing for the ear, blowing for the heart, and blowing for those who understand. Today, I think I've blown all three." He put away the jade flute. "Tomorrow I'll bring an old collection of poems and read a few lines for the three of you—would that be alright?" The livestream ended. Lin Yanqiu spread the paper full of poems on the table. Qingtang's lyrics were like that jade flute—they could bear both Young Master Zhao's golden sound waves and blow out his own clear charm. This back-and-forth turned the livestream room into a flute pavilion that could accommodate elegance and vulgarity. She touched the draft that read "worth a pile of gold" and suddenly felt that tomorrow's poetry collection should hold an even heavier longing.
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