"Exquisite script!"
"Exquisite script!"
Young Master Shangguan could not help but exclaim in admiration. The cursive script was spirited and powerful, the transitions between strokes flowing like moving clouds and flowing water—a display of unrestrained, effortless brilliance. He could not resist reading the poem aloud:
"Tea,
Fragrant leaves,
Tender buds.
Yearned for by poets,
Loved by players.
Ground in white jade,
Sifted through red silk.
Boiled in a scoop, it takes on the color of yellow stamens,
Swirling in the bowl like fermented dust flowers.
By night, invited to accompany the bright moon,
By dawn, commanded to face the morning clouds.
Washing away the weariness of men through the ages,
Who could boast after becoming drunk on it?"
Chapter 110