Qing Xuan paper blooms into flowers, and the Millennium poetry blooms brilliantly.
Who's that? Who is in the lofty sentiments, free and easy, a tube of luxury goods, unexpectedly dripping into a Millennium myth. Since then, there have been continuous steps under the blue tile and gray wall of Lanting. Who doesn't want to gallop downstream in the legendary myth, let the soul fly and convert?
The hustle and bustle of the world of mortals lacks too much tranquility. The pen and ink bathed in dripping wet, like the holy light bathed in tranquility, makes the dull mind glow with youth, the gloomy sky permeates a ray of golden sunrise, and the pale mind sprouts a piece of green.
Stop, stand up, the sense of smell can't stop the pleasant attack of ink, lie down and indulge in ink for 1000 years.
The big seal script, the small seal script and the picturesque plastic depiction are a dark world, an ancient long-tune ballad, or a soldier's sonorous drum. A little, a horizontal, a left, a left' clever combination, but Yan Zhenqing, Liu Gongquan, and Chu Suiliang were bored loudly; It is the spiritual totem of a generation of book saints, invisible vertically and horizontally, agile as a dragon, and unrestrained as a surprise.
When there are no saints, who can turn that pool of clear water into a fragrant and affectionate Mo Chi? When there is no bosom friend, who can write that tube of wool into piles of wonderful hills soaked with youth?
As a result, the sleeves of the green skirt reached the peak; So, in the place of passion, such a whistling song, bid farewell to the Millennium. Even if future generations continue to write, they can't convey that eternal charm, so in the admiration of generation after generation, they are like a banner of hunting, calling people to wave after wave.
Mo Xiang, is it poetry that naturally floats out? Isn't it? Isn't this the punch line of Wang Moshu? In this way, a breeze came from the ink cloud, filled with the breath of mountains and forests. Isn't the breeze mixed with the fragrance of pine trees? Isn't it? Isn't there a burst of laughter and singing in Mo Xiang? That's not a woman in a dress, drunk and smiling like a lotus flower.
Oh, Mo Xiang, let me dip in a wisp of Mo Xiang, even if it is a dead branch, it may be lush, even if it is pale, it may be poetic, even if it is a humble person, it may be full of enthusiasm.
Oh, Mo Xiang, let me dip into a wisp of Mo Xiang, wander in Preface to Lanting Collection, savor Zuiweng Pavilion, philosophize in Yueyang Tower, and be generous in Chibi Fu.
Oh, Mo Xiang, let the children be imbued with a wisp of Mo Xiang, and let Mo Yun nourish them. You see, although the cute little hand is dirty, although the cute little face has one ink flower after another, but the seeds of that ink don't sprout, blossom and bear fruit in their hearts?
Oh, Mo Xiang, in the bursts of Mo Xiang, I saw a brand-new life coming; Oh, Mo Xiang, in the bursts of Mo Xiang, I saw an increasingly poetic and beautiful world coming.
Oh, Mo Xiang, shape life into a lotus.
Oh, Mo Xiang, make heaven and earth a paradise.