Chapter 475
Words:1108Update:22/06/18 05:39:17
It wasn't just Wang Long. The surrounding Confucian cultivators who were flattering Wang Long also glared at him.
When the brush falls, it stirs the wind and rain. When the poem becomes, it weeps the gods and ghosts. Was this trying to please the crowd?
All of them immediately glared in the direction of the voice.
The doors of the distant East Palace opened.
After the beautiful words appeared, the Confucian cultivators almost forgot about Yan Chuan. However, at this moment, everyone saw Yan Chuan walk out of the East Palace.
"He's not going to be a coward anymore?" Chen Ping was stunned.
Jumping out at this moment? This caused the originally shocked crowd to reveal a puzzled expression.
Yan Chuan walked out, followed by Qing Long.
"Meow! Yan Chuan, those people are too hateful. They're all cursing you!" Meow immediately ran over.
"When the brush falls, it stirs the wind and rain. When the poem becomes, it weeps the gods and ghosts. Yan Chuan, this is a tough one. Why did you come out at this time?" Dongfang Zhengpai asked, confused.
"Is a literary ghost considered a ghost?" Yan Chuan said disdainfully.
"Ah?" Dongfang Zhengpai said, confused.
"They've already kicked in. Let's go over!" Yan Chuan said indifferently.
"Over? Now? "Dongfang Zhengpai said in surprise.
After all, the other side had thirty-two Confucian cultivators, and they already had everyone's support. If they went over now, wouldn't they be humiliating themselves?
Yan Chuan carried Meow and walked out. Qing Long followed closely behind, holding a large signboard in his hands.
"Huh?"
"Yan Chuan?"
"He dares to come?"
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The surrounding cultivators were all shocked. The nearly ten thousand Confucian cultivators also showed confusion, pity in their eyes.
Although Chen Ping's eyes were filled with mockery, for some reason, he suddenly felt uneasy. Uneasy?
The two floating islands were not far from each other. In the blink of an eye, Yan Chuan arrived.
"Yan Chuan?" Wang Long frowned.
"What are you doing here?" A great scholar frowned.
"Qing Long, show him the invitation. Who sent it?" Yan Chuan said indifferently.
"Yes!"
Qing Long took out the invitation card. Once it was out, everyone immediately recognized the words on it. Wang Long's words.
The Confucians stared at Yan Chuan. Although Yan Chuan came late, he still became the center of attention. After all, Chen Ping's poem was aimed at Yan Chuan.
"Wu wu wu wu!"
In the distance, the literary ghosts were still crying and reciting Wang Long's poem.
"When the brush falls, it stirs the wind and rain, and when the poem becomes a ghost and god?" Yan Chuan showed a hint of disdain.
"What advice do you have for me?" Wang Long maintained his image among the crowd of Confucians.
"That's right. If you have the ability, write it too!" Chen Ping shouted.
Yan Chuan glanced at Chen Ping. He waved his hand slightly.
Qing Long immediately took out a brush.
Close to ten thousand literary ghosts were crying and reciting Wang Long's poem. Yan Chuan picked up the brush and placed it on a huge stone tablet in front of him.
Close to ten thousand Confucian cultivators and close to a hundred thousand spectators were all shocked.
"This Yan Chuan is really courting death!"
"That's right. He dares to compete with Wang Long in poetry?"
"He doesn't even have Righteous Energy, what's there to compete with?"
"He overestimates himself!"
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Sounds of ridicule and disdain came from all around.
But at this moment, Wang Long suddenly had a bad premonition. His expression did not change, but his eyes were extremely sharp.
"Meow, meow!" Meow bared its fangs and brandished its claws at the group of people who were criticizing Yan Chuan.
Qing Long was slightly worried. The Eastern Orthodox Faction was shameless, so it did not matter.
Yan Chuan started writing.
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A lifetime of thinking to break the path of the mortal world, the sword is hidden in the cottage and hidden in the woods. Ten thousand battles claim not to carry a blade, born with a pair of disdainful eyes.
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