In the inn's room, after three rounds of wine, the atmosphere was just right.
Wu Zhengze praised the good wine and hurriedly said, "No rush, no rush, come, come, Xu, write here."
Chen Xu couldn't help but laugh and said, "Master, I can't make every poem as a Cyan Smoke Poem, Master, this scroll of yours..."
It turned out that what Wu Zhengze took out was actually a blank scroll.
Wu Zhengze, tipsy, laughed loudly, "Who needs Cyan Smoke Poems? If there's no cloud and smoke on paper, isn't it sentiment nonetheless?
Chen Xu, you underestimate your master, come, write it here.
I want to carry it with me, to accompany me through the years."
Feng Yuanbai immediately stood up, personally helped to tidy up the desk, and fetched the inkstone and brush for Chen Xu.
As Chen Xu dipped the brush in ink, a wave of farewell sorrow surged in his heart.
Though it was not truly a parting moment, it seemed as if it were already a farewell.
