Xue Yong
One, two, three or four, five, six, seven, eight and ninety.
Thousands of pieces are always missing when they fly into plum blossoms.
Zheng Banqiao, who first arrived in Yangzhou, was penniless. When he stayed in Biefeng Temple in Jiao Shan, he met Ma Yueyan and Ma Yuelu by chance and forged a profound friendship. Then, on a snowy day, Zheng Banqiao braved the snowstorm to visit the two of them in Xiaolinglong Mountain Pavilion, and met a group of scholars who enjoyed the snow and recited poems. When they saw Zheng Banqiao wearing coarse clothes, they thought he didn't know how to write poetry, so they deliberately embarrassed him. I didn't know that Zheng Banqiao took his time and quietly sang this poem. [4-5]
The first two sentences of the poem are empty, while the last two sentences are real, creating a fresh artistic conception. The first three sentences seem ordinary, wandering in the trough, but the fourth sentence at the end, with the profound artistic conception of combining static and dynamic, pushes the whole poem from the trough to the peak at once.
Almost all poems are piled up with numbers, from one to ten to thousands to countless, but there is no suspicion of burdensome. Reading makes people feel as if they are in a vast world with heavy snow, but when they see a cold plum standing proudly in the snow, they shudder and spit it out. The snowflake melts into the plum blossom, and people also melt into it.