My poetry and story poetry works specialized as an a Inspiration for all of us, motivations or to do some greater things that we can't see in the near future. It has also a content of expressing my feelings, thought or telling about the story of my life that can amaze you to relate.

I have also a objective to all of readers to create them a poem up to their respective request, to give it voice or make it more powerful, colorful, meaningful and to give it more sense.

Words! They say these 'words' can turn your accomplished life to rubble or help you rise from the ashes. These words can remind you of your worth or make you feel so worthless. As if you just don't belong; you don't matter. 
Most people do not understand poetry. To some its too complicated to understand, but poetry isn't meant to be explained; it doesn't have to rhyme, just like art, it's supposed to make you feel something. 
This poem book is a book of different poems with different topics. Birthdays and parties, funerals and deaths. After all, this is why our life is compared to a journey. Its got it's highs and lows but what matters most is that you keep going on.

Words! They say these 'words' can turn your accomplished life to rubble or help you rise from the ashes. These words can remind you of your worth or make you feel so worthless. As if you just don't belong; you don't matter. 
Most people do not understand poetry. To some its too complicated to understand, but poetry isn't meant to be explained; it doesn't have to rhyme, just like art, it's supposed to make you feel something. 
This poem book is a book of different poems with different topics. Birthdays and parties, funerals and deaths. After all, this is why our life is compared to a journey. Its got it's highs and lows but what matters most is that you keep going on. 
*Not all these poems are written by me. Most of the added are written by other writers, however credits are given.*
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A collection of my poetry over the years... through trauma and life. A rollercoaster of emotions exploding arounds memories of happiness.

Mostly poetry written by me or poetry I find to be good. I’m looking for ways to improve and am looking forward to suggestions. Thanks!

A collection of short poetry. Every poem has a different story.

1. I find a way to admire you. Silently, in writing. Maybe I should have been born as a great writer, because for no apparent reason, I can easily write down your beauty. Because, starting today, you will see that my life has changed a lot. Especially about sense. (The 12th poem, 28 November 2016)
2. Not how good I am in poetry, but how you make me make poetry. It's not about me choosing you, but about you making other women less attractive. (811th poem, 1 March 2017)
3. Not him, or them. Because until this moment, you are still the one who fulfills every sheet of poetry. (April 2017)
4. And finally, from a name to the title of the whole poem. (The 143rd poem, 10 December 2016)
5. This dawn, I found you again. When I thought that I had managed to keep you out of mind, but you suddenly came together with a smile (13th Poem, 29 November 2016)
6. It's been a long time since I started poetry like this. Thank you, you've managed to activate the other side of me that has been dimming for so long. (The 31st poem, 1 December 2016)
7. Good morning, owner of smile poetry. Well, I don't understand what happened to me right now. I am unique, or you are too attractive. (April 2017)
8. I again find you with the dark sky tonight. You smile among the stars, you sparkle beautifully in the darkness of the night. (Poem 1010, March 20 2017)
9. Still about you. About the beauty I touch through prayer, about the perfection I have in hope. (23 April 2017)
10. Do you understand now, why I prefer to love in silence? Because a prayer and a poem written with serenity is far more beautiful, than the seduction of love that is spoken out loud (1067th Poem, 26 March 2017)

My poems were the first I wrote. Track record of how I became a writer. About love, sincerity, ignorance of what people say; the most important thing is my world is calm. Starting from the meeting stage, loving secretly, until the stage of letting go, now (me and my feelings) are immortal in poetry. || Temporary hiatus, currently composing poetry into a story.

Afternoon.

The weather wasn't too good. It was a bit misty.

Zhang Ye came to the unit and before he entered, his phone rang. It was his mother.

"Son."

"Oh, mom."

"Are you coming home for Mid-Autumn's Day?"

"I can't go back; I have to work overtime."

"Overtime on a holiday? You should be free at night then?"

"I should be free tonight. I will go back once I have knocked off."

"Don't come back to Cai Shi Kou; go directly to your grandmother's place. The relatives will all be there. They have heard that you have gained fame; your younger sisters (cousins) are all nagging to see you."

"Okay. Then, I will try to go early."

"Don't forget; my face will depend on you tonight!"

"What face? They are all relatives. Are you bragging about me again?"

"Anyhow, just buy more things and bring them over. Don't be too thrifty; buy the expensive ones. You are now a public figure; don't go throwing my face. Okay, I’m hanging up."

Du Du Du; the line was disengaged.

Zhang Ye smiled bitterly. His mom didn't have any other bad points. The only big feature was that she liked to brag. Yes, Zhang Ye admitted that he had inherited this from his mother. But he had never felt this was a bad point! Many examples in his world would validate this.

Is bragging wrong? No!

Do you know how Bill Gates became the richest person in the world?

Do you know how Li Na became the tennis world champion?

Do you know how Liu Xiang broke the world record in the hurdles event?

Not many people should know about this! What is the reason? Haha, the reason is they...... Alright, all of these events have nothing to do with each other. Let's change the topic!

Not many people had arrived at the office.

Zhang Ye didn't look around as he walked in. Suddenly, a voice appeared from behind.

It was Big Sis Zhou. She smiled. "Greet me, or not. There will I stay, no sorrow, nor joy."

Zhang Ye quickly smiled and turn back to look at her, "Big Sister Zhou, good morning. I'm sorry. The flowers on your desk were blocking you; I did not notice you were here."

Big Sis Zhou said proudly, "How was it, Little Zhang? I used your poem correctly?"

Zhang Ye embarrassedly said, "You saw Weibo last night?"

"Of course, I saw it. I followed your Weibo last night. I did not expect that after I followed it, the party had also started. It caused me to fall asleep after 12 last night. You didn't follow me, right? I even forwarded your new poem." As she spoke, she felt some injustice for him, "Ignore those people from the Writers' Association. If you don't know what art is and can't write poems, then no one in the world can write poems. Big Sis supports you. Don't take it to heart."

Zhang Ye smiled. "Thank you, Big Sis Zhou."

Outside, people began streaming in for their overtime.

"Eh, Teacher Little Zhang, you've come? Why did you get into a pinch with people yesterday?"

"Vice President Meng is the Leader of the Beijing Writers' Association. How did you offend him?"

"That's right. I saw it yesterday, too. Teacher Little Zhang, if I had any say, you shouldn't have posted your last poem. Those are the Writers' Association's Leaders and seniors. If you really offend them, how are you to enter the Writers' Association in the future? I think that it is best to leave some leeway. Hai, but those people are also too much. Why did they reprimand you for no reason? Even if your poems aren't comparable to them as seniors, how old are you? You are still young. They also can't say that your poems have no literary value. That's too damaging. I think your poem is still acceptable and isn't as bad as they say."

"Sis Liu, what did you say? You say Teacher Little Zhang's poem is acceptable? I think you have been misled by that group of people; Teacher Little Zhang has so much talent!"

Several sisters and aunties began an exchange of difference in opinions.

Until work starts at 9 A.M., the topic was hotly discussed amongst everyone.

Tian Bin also had an interest in the battle on Weibo last night. He interrupted to ask, "Sis Zhou, what sort of person is Vice-President Meng like? Those old timers are very experienced. Big Thunder and a few other poets, all of them are professionals. If they said so, then it must mean they criticized it according to their literary learnings. How can we judge, since we are not as knowledgeable as them? It's not that I am stepping on Teacher Zhang Ye. But like the old comrades of the Writers' Association said, there are many issues. After reading it, I also feel some doubts."

Big Sister Zhou looked at Tian Bin, "Then why don't you create a poem for me to listen to?"

Tian Bin replied, "I don't have such capabilities, but I still have some basic judgment skills." He turned around towards Jia Yan, "Teacher Little Jia, what do you think?"

Jia Yan gave some thought and said, "Teacher Zhang's poems definitely cannot compare with those seniors. As for whether it has any literary value, it's not my place to make an evaluation."

What they said was also heard by Zhang Ye.

When Zhang Ye used two poems to save a life on Wang Xiaomei's live broadcast, the office and even everyone in the Beijing Radio Station had completely acknowledged his talent and poem. They had all said that it was good, with no one denying it. But now, the Writers' Association with Meng Dongguo as the head had openly questioned and denied Zhang Ye's poems publicly. As such, his colleagues were now not unified in their beliefs. Some said they were good, while others said they were bad. Even more were uncertain and confused. Sometimes, the authoritative opinions of experts were very damaging and also affected many.

How was one to change the situation?

How was one to eliminate the public's doubts?

There was no other way. As long as Zhang Ye's qualifications were weaker than Meng Dongguo and company’s, then he was not able to turn the tide. He would only be repressed by their words. Unless… Unless Zhang Ye used his absolute talent and strength to trample on Meng Dongguo and company at a specific place and time. Otherwise, the doubts by people would forever linger on. So what if he responded yesterday? So what if the poem was well-written yesterday? The Writers' Association said that it wasn't good! They said that he did not know art! They said that he did not know literature! Just them moving their lips was enough to make you be helpless! This was the deceptive power of authority and prerogative. Many commoners did not understand this, so they only believed what the experts said!

Today, there was no announcement of the listenership ratings, as there were a lot of things happening in the station.

Zhang Ye did not care what everyone said. He got up to get his recording done, "Xiaofang, help me reserve a recording studio. Quickly, or it will be too late."

"Alright." Assistant Xiaofang answered and immediately went to arrange it. However, she returned a few minutes later, "Teacher Zhang, the station has informed me that our Literature Channel's programs from noon to 2 P.M. have all been canceled. There's no need to record. Apparently, the News and Music Channels will also be broadcasting the Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet!"

"Ah?"

"It's been cancelled?"

"Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet? This is the thing that the Leader has been busy with over the past few days?"

A few moments later, Zhao Guozhou entered, "Everyone, quiet down. Today's broadcast has some last-minute changes. Listen for a while. From 12 noon, the seventh Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet that was held in conjunction with the Beijing Writers' Association and our radio station will begin. Our Literature Channel will also join in for the live broadcast. This Poetry Meet will be different from the last one done by the Jinshi Radio Station. There will be a composing and voting segment. We have invited the Education Ministry's Leader and the Vice President of the Beijing Writers' Association and about a dozen of its members. The exact name list has not been confirmed, but there will definitely be quite a few people. As the association's Teachers' creations will be poems related to the Mid-Autumn Festival, the listeners behind the radio can also compose and post them on our website's comment section. Later on, the listeners' votes will decide on the top three. So we have added some competitive elements to make the program more interesting."

Compose poetry?

Then Meng Dongguo and those people from the Writers' Association would also come?

Zhang Ye chuckled upon hearing this. "He who has one enemy will meet him everywhere." Yesterday, he had just been scolded by him on the internet. And today they would be meeting?

Would Big Thunder come?

Would Little Red Mushroom come?

In fact, Zhang Ye actually looked forward to seeing them in the station!

Zhao Guozhou exhorted, "So put down everything in your hands. Today, everything will have the Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet as its focus. Everyone, go help out. The live broadcast venue will be in the auditorium. This is the first time that we are using such a large live broadcast venue. The equipment has not been fully tuned, so those I call out will follow me later and help out. Right. As it was not easy inviting a large audience, everyone should take an early lunch later. The cafeteria will hand out lunch early at 10.30 A.M. At noon, everyone will take their seats in the auditorium.

After calling out some names, Zhao Guozhou brought four young lads with him to the auditorium.

Big Sis Zhou suddenly said, "Teacher Little Zhang, will you be participating in the Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet? Writing poetry is one of your strengths. They said that you don't understand literature? Then show it to them!"

Another Big Sis said, "Come on. Little Zhang did not make any early preparations and just got notified. Those Teachers must have been informed a long time ago. They would have foolproof preparations. How can Little Zhang compete with them? It's better that he not embarrass himself."

An auntie in charge of copyright said, "Little Zhou, don't let them give you bad ideas. Little Zhang's poems are good, but that's only to us. Those people from the Writers' Association are professionals. Some of them are poets and famous artists; how is he to compete with them?" In a layperson's heart, the work is not actually important. Reputation and prestige is what they first look at. Zhang Ye is just a newcomer and has never entered the Writers' Association, so people will subconsciously identify Zhang Ye's works as inferior.

There were all sorts of differing opinions.

Later, as there wasn't much time left, everyone went to the cafeteria for an early meal.

Zhang Ye was actually in a dilemma. For the Mid-Autumn Poetry Meet, Meng Dongguo, Big Thunder and company would most likely be participating. Wasn't this the best time to turn the tide for himself? Wasn't this the best moment to prove himself? But how was he to participate in it? It could be seen from the format of the poetry contest. Although the listeners could participate by publishing their creations, that was just in text form. But the people from the Writers' Association would be reciting their works live. Hence, the top three had already been decided by the station to be one of those from the Writers' Association. They had already given them a huge advantage!

Go mess things up?

Stab them in their backs?

Hence, even if Zhang Ye wanted to go on, he did not know if the radio station's management and the people from the Beijing Writers' Association would let him go on the show.

Forget it. We'll see how it goes. As for the poem regarding the Mid-Autumn Festival? Zhang Ye had not thought of it yet. It was not that his brain was void of works, but it was.. filled with too many!

He wasn’t prepared?

Did he even need to prepare?

Mid-Autumn Festival poems? Not to brag, but Zhang Ye would probably not be able to finish reciting them, even if given a day and a night!

The Mid-Autumn Festival was not a modern day festival. It had a long history that dated back to ancient times, so there was a countless number of poems relating to the Mid-Autumn Festival. In this world, history did not have many changes. There were the same old dynasties and emperors, just like in Zhang Ye's memories. As such, history would not cause too many changes. The game ring probably could not change the historical background, or else society might no longer have such a social structure. It would affect everything.

However, many famous cultural works and famous historical figures did not exist!

Li Bai?

Du Fu?

Wang Wei?

None of them existed!

They were all replaced by others!

This world's ancient master poets were people Zhang Ye had never ever heard of. For example, there was Haoran, or Chen Yiqian, or Meng Fan. Zhang Ye had also never heard of any of the poetry of this world. Similarly, he was sure that they had never heard of the classic poems from his world!


Zhang Ye was originally a mundane college graduate with aspiring dreams to become a star, but unfortunately has below average looks and height. However one day, he woke up and suddenly found himself in a parallel world! 
It’s like the same world, but wait a minute…many brands, celebrities and even famous works from his world changed and are gone in this new world! Armed with the profound literary knowledge of his previous world and a heaven-defying Game Ring that gives him magical items, stats and skills, Zhang Ye embarks on a journey to pursue his life-long dream of becoming famous!
Follow Zhang Ye as he takes the new world by storm, one plagiarized piece at a time, to hilarious reactions!

The military strategist who was bad at poetry introduced his student. "Xu Cijiu, my student who excels in the art of war. He is a promising scholar."
Zhang Zhen kept his surprise to himself.
'You're not a poet, why have you volunteered yourself?'
Zhu Tuizi had thought the purple jade belonged to him when a student called out. Warily, he sized up the competition. However, when he saw that it was Xu Xinnian, his confidence rose again.
Zhu Tuizi only spared Xu Xinnian a glance.
They were classmates for years. Although they rarely interacted, they were aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses.
Xu Xinnian was skilled in composing essays that discussed contemporary affairs, he also had a good grasp of military strategies. Poetry was not his strong suit.
The jade accessory was Zhu Tuizi's.
All eyes fell on Xu Xinnian as he basked in the attention. His eyes were far away, staring into the soft glow of the sun.
"Thousand miles of yellow clouds darken the day."
The national chess player, Li Baimu, stroked his white beard. The simple sentence was meant to set the scene but the words resonated in his chest.
"The north wind stirs the geese and snow."
It was almost winter. While snowfall had not begun, it was only a matter of time before the weather changed. There was no hyperbole in that sentence.
The imagery appeared in everyone's mind. The setting sun was blocked by a flurry of snow as the north wind roared—the sky was dotted with flying geese.
The two sentences painted an image befitting a farewell.
Zhang Zhen was surprised. In his many years of observing Xu Xinnian, the student showed little aptitude for poetry. These two seven-character sentences must have taken a lot of effort. If the whole poem was of this quality, Xu Xinnian might outperform Zhu Tuizi.
Among the three established Confucian scholars, Ziyang's Layman was the most skilled in the art of poetry. He ruminated on the words and felt sorrow in his heart.
A thousand miles, the sunset, the north wind, the flying geese, the flurry of snow… The setting was one of loneliness and desolation.
The poem sounded as if he was being banished, not promoted—and yet there was a certain charm in its sorrow.
His past achievements were acknowledged by the courts, therefore he was assigned to Qingzhou. However, would the powers of the Imperial College allow him to grow and prosper in the courts?
Would they stand by and watch as he built a foundation in the courts for the White Deer Academy?
An unknown fate awaited him in Qingzhou—the path ahead was uncertain.
Then, Xu Xinnian spread his arms apart. His handsome face glowed under the warm rays of the sun, unmarred and delicate.
With his arms wide open, he looked at Ziyang's Layman and recited loudly.
"Fear not a journey of loneliness, for you are not a stranger to the realm."
A hush fell over the pavilion and its surroundings.
A chill swept through the audience.
Zhu Tuizi's head turned stiffly to look at the erect Xu Xinnian.
"Fear not a journey of loneliness, for you are not a stranger to the realm."Li Mubai applauded loudly. "Exceptional!"
The first two sentences evoked sadness, then the last two sentences changed the mood and lifted everyone's hearts and spirits.
Zhang Zhen kept his eyes on Xu Xinnian.
Ziyang's Layman was still caught up in the beauty of the poem, his heart was moved.
"A good one, really impressive," he mumbled.
The military strategist saw that his student did not continue his recital and asked, "What about the next half?"
A smirk tugged at Xu Xinnian's lips as he replied, "The poem exists in only half a stanza."
Only half a stanza?
The scholars were wide-eyed at the statement. This man performed a half-written poem?
"No matter, no matter. Half a stanza was sufficiently impressive," Ziyang's Layman said calmly. He wore a cheery smile as he asked, "Xu Cijiu, does this poem have a name?"
"No!"
Xu Xinnian maintained his proud demeanor in hopes to avoid their questions. His reluctance to elaborate would discourage further questions.
The smile on Ziyang's Layman's face widened. "No rush. This poem was meant for my farewell, right?"
Xu Xinnian nodded.
"Why don't I name it for you?"
Li Mubai and Zhang Zhen realized what he was doing and frowned as if they both tasted a lemon slice.
"How about 'Yang Gong's Farewell To Qingzhou At The Sheep's Pavilion'?" The elder looked expectantly at Xu Xinnian.
"Satisfactory!" Xu Xinnian called out. Noticing his lack of respect, he added. "As you please."
The two elders beside Ziyang's Layman made sounds of disapproval.
"Shameless thief."
"Tsk!"
"It is fate." Ziyang's Layman laughed heartily as he bowed at them with his hands folded.
In an era where poetry was a dying art, this poem would be revolutionary. It would be sung by every student and scholar of the realm.
The name of Ziyang's Layman was bound to the poem's title, and thus would be known throughout the lands.
If the poem survived the ages, his name would also be passed down generations and generations.
The quality of the poem made it highly likely to be well-received by all.
The two elders had called him shameless because Xu Xinnian was presenting this poem as a gift to a mentor. Technically, a courtesy name or art name should be used instead of a given name in the poem title. A given name should only be used in poems about one's peers and close friends.
Evidently, the man was too caught up with fame to feel the shame.
What was every scholar's dream? To cultivate oneself and bring peace to the empire? No, that was an ideal.
Throughout the ages, every scholar's biggest dream was to have their name carved into history.
The two elders were incredibly jealous.
As Xu Xinnian's mentor, Zhang Zhen had some doubts about the author of the poem but he stayed silent. He was happy for his student to receive praise from Ziyang's Layman.
As the three elders discussed, Xu Xinnian coughed to get their attention. "Respectfully, I must declare that the poem is not my work."
The discussion stopped.
The three esteemed scholars wore different expressions—surprise, shock and understanding.
Li Mubai was surprised.
Ziyang's Layman had the largest reaction. He took two steps forward and asked, "Who is the author? Is he from our academy? Is he here?"
He looked past Xu Xinnian as he scanned the crowd.
Xu Xinnian lifted his chin and said proudly, "It is my elder brother."
A chatter began among the student body.
"Xu Cijiu's brother?"
"Where does he study? I've never heard of him."
"If I remembered correctly, Xu Cijiu is the eldest of his family."
"Cijiu, what is your brother's name? Who is his mentor? Tell us. A poet of this caliber yet unknown to the academy?"
The students were eager to hear about this mysterious poet.
The three elders watched Xu Xinnian.
'Ah crap, I've been badly influenced by my father's impulsiveness. I shouldn't have revealed the existence of my impulsive brother.' The eagerness in the students' eyes made Xu Xinnian rethink his decision.
To be a scholar was to be the top of society, as shown by the haughty Xu Xinnian.
Those from the White Deer Academy were no exceptions.
If Xu Qian was a scholar, these people would sing praises and laudation. Revealing the poet was a constable would give rise to a negative reaction.
If a lowly constable could write such an exemplary seven-character poem, what of the scholars?
Xu Xinnian pushed through with his explanation. "My brother… He studies the scriptures at home and doesn't attend the White Deer Academy or the Imperial College. He is a simple man who doesn't want fame and prefers to be left alone to his works."
Such dedication was praiseworthy. The White Deer Academy students were pleasantly surprised as a gush of friendship filled their hearts.
Unsurprisingly, the purple jade was presented to Xu Xinnian. Ziyang's Layman bid the crowd farewell. In a burst of inspiration, he left them with a line before he entered the decorated carriage.
"Talents cannot be covered in dust, speak carefully in such times of peace. What do you say?"
The two other elders gave no response. Perhaps they understood but pretended not to. The crowd watched as the carriage ferried Ziyang's Layman away. After some time, Li Mubai tapped Xu Xinnian on the arm. The two men stepped aside to have a private conversation. "Cijiu, I suddenly have the urge to take in a disciple. If you are free today, can you introduce me to your brother?"
Zhang Zhen appeared and quickly said, "Cijiu, wouldn't it be great if you and your brother were under my tutelage?"
It did not matter if the man wrote any more poems. The main goal was not to let the talent be buried.
Perhaps the future had a famous poem titled, 'My Mentor, Zhang Zhen'.
Li Mubai argued, "Military strategy is not the main branch of study. Every scholar has to start with the scriptures, essay composition and self-cultivation."
"Oh? And chess is a main branch? A mentor who can't take a loss and has never won against Wei Yuan?" Zhang Zhen taunted.
"Shut your mouth, you old thief. Don't mention Wei Yuan in my presence. I have always cherished my talents, this student is mine."
"You old fool, you just want him for his poetry skills."
"Shameless! Watch me strike you down with my noble spirit."
"As if I can't do the same."
Xu Xinnian's head was heavy.
The students who stood a distance away were in shock. The two established Confucian scholars were red-faced as they argued—it looked as if a fight was about to break out.


Once a police academy graduate—Xu Qian, woke up and found himself in jail. He was to be banished to the borderlands in three days...
Stuck in this inhumane society, his initial goal was just to be a rich man and pass his days in relative safety.
…
Many years later, Xu Qian recalled the events of the past. His enemies and friends were dead, there was nothing of them left but bones.
The rolling Yangtze River flows east as the waves wash away the heroes. 
Success or failure, wrong or right; matters little, it might?
The lush mountains remain while the sun sets every night.


Once he was out of the gardens, there was one person who stood idly by. It was someone Shen Lian knew, it was Shen Ruoxi.
Even though Shen Lian did not return to the Shen residence often, his power and influence grew with his every return. Even Shen Qingshi and Shen Qingsan treats him courteously without them knowing.
It was not that Shen Lian was harsh, but when a person's position and influence increases, the way other people see him would be different.
Shen Ruoxi, who was prejudiced towards Shen Lian in the beginning and later understood the things about Shen Lian personally and even developed an understanding of Jianghu, had a kind of unexplainable and complicated admiration for him instead.
She still did not know that it was Shen Lian who rescued her from that dreamscape. So much time had passed after all, even if there were some recollections of it, it was later all a blur.
Even more, she did not know the beginning, nor the end.
"Ruoxi, were you waiting for me?" Shen Lian proactively greeted her. Shen Ruoxi was already 16 years old. She was at her best age, she stood gracefully, erect like a bouquet of lotus flower.
"I was about to enter when grandpa dismissed his attendee, so I just waited for you out here." Shen Ruoxi bit her lower lips lightly, the young female's fragrance wafted amongst the peaceful silence of the two people.
In Shen Lian eyes, even when Shen Ruoxi's skin was very tender, he still could see the flaws on it. She was not as perfect as Xin Shisiniang but she felt more real.
Furthermore, Shen Lian did not have a younger sister in his previous life since his generation was during the single-child policy. He craved for a sibling.
Ultimately, there was an unbreakable blood bond in this world and Shen Lian had eventually thought of her as his younger sister, which was a complete opposite when he first came back to the Shen family.
"Is there anything?" Shen Lian did not beat around the bushes, he was about to embark on the path of cultivation to attain immortality and there was a chance that he would not be able to return to this life. If Shen Ruoxi had any requests, he would do all he could to help her.
"I thought of holding a plum flower appreciation and poetry gathering." Shen Ruoxi lifted herself on her heels. As she ages, she becomes more ladylike and gentle.
"Just do it, plus, second uncle will not forbid you from holding a poetry gathering." Shen Lian smiled.
"You know I am not as well versed as you even back then, can you help me with a poem?" Shen Ruoxi tugged on Shen Lian's sleeve.
"I'm afraid I am not good enough and would embarrass you," Shen Lian shook his head.
"There's no such thing. If you were serious, it would definitely have an edge over the others." Shen Ruoxi almost wanted to hug Shen Lian's arm and shake it.
Lately, she had sneakily read many chivalric stories and she was able to simply use phrases such as having an edge over others.
"I definitely cannot come up with poetry by myself but I can help you copy a poem from someone else. I can guarantee that no one would find out," Shen Lian casually said.
"Really?" Shen Ruoxi's face showed her suspicion, as though saying that he should not cheat her just because she did not read much.
"Nope. You can choose to believe it or not." Shen Lian lifted his foot and was about to leave.
"Alright, I believe you. Don't think I don't know you have a photographic memory. It should be enough to deceive them with a less notable poem." Shen Ruoxi experienced Shen Lian's superb memory by accident one time. Last year, while she was studying on the mat at home, her tutor gave her a question and she could not answer so she had to look through the books for it and copy it 100 times. Coincidentally, Shen Lian came back on that day.
Shen Lian used a martial arts skill that allowed him to teleport his voice to her, telling her that it was in which book, which page and which row.
It was impossible for Shen Lian to have known first hand because the tutor gave her the question spontaneously.
This showed that just how superbly good Shen Lian memory was.
The Shen family was not a scholarly prominent family, but there was no collection of books in the State Capital of Qing that was as vast as the Shen family's.
Shen Ruoxi knew that sometimes, Shen Lian would go to the places where the books were kept and stay there, it was not a surprise for him to see a less notable poem and remember it.
Of course, it was impossible for Shen Ruoxi to know that Shen Lian did not spend too much time to remember every kept book, he also knew much strange news and weird occurrences that others did not know.
"Listen carefully, I am only going to say it once." Shen Lian patted Shen Ruoxi on the head.
"Don't make it too long, or else I cannot remember it."
"It's very short."
"Then quickly tell me."
Shen Lian was very well read. It was just that the even if the source of the poetry from this world was really remote, there was bound to be someone who knew about it.
The poetry he was about to give to Shen Ruoxi was from planet Earth.
The cultural background of the two worlds was quite similar and so the form of it was also the same.
There was one poem about plum blossoms that he had read flashed through, Shen Lian chose that and recited:
"The plum blossoms thrive in the wintery forest,
Not mingling with the plums and peaches to be reduced to secular;
Suddenly, the refreshing fragrance permeates through the night,
It scattered became the new spring of the world."
Shen Lian's inner Qi was sufficient. Even though he was humming, there was an air of artistic talent around him.
The words used in this poem was not really elegant, the origination of it was high and the concept was brilliant. It was actually fitting to Shen Lian's qualities and it also coincided with him.
Ending on a breath, Shen Lian felt the meeting of his mind and senses, the long-stagnant checkpoint was actually loosening slightly.
"This poem won't do." Shen Ruoxi uttered.
"Why?"
"This poem is so good that other people probably knew about it long ago. If you ask me to present it, then I would just be embarrassing myself." Shen Ruoxi was shocked and troubled. It would be great that this poem by Shen Ruoxi was above average but the thing was, this poem was easily understood, the rhyme was skillful, it was definitely well known. Which meant it would easy for people to see through it.
"If you believe me, then use it. If you do not believe me, then think of something yourself."
"Fine, I'll just say you were the one who wrote this. If it gets exposed, the ugly one would be you," Shen Ruoxi humphed.
"I actually wished someone could expose it," Shen Lian thought to himself. Shen Ruoxi reminded him that the poem with five characters by Wang Chongyang used by Ling Chongxiao during his storytelling was probably not from this world.
He wondered what secrets and wonders were in it.
Time flew by really quickly and it was the fifteenth already. The weather, however, was not good. The skies were clear for two days before a wave of cold air came by.
There was no star or no moon, only the lights on the ground were illuminating.
The lights of the Qielan temple was of course very bright like the day.
The second time Shen Lian encountered Xin Shisiniang was inside the yard of the Qielan temple of the Qielan Mountain.
The lights were dense and it flowed from the door like flowing water. Blending with the icy snow, it was translucent like water.
A sparse and horizontal plum blossom flower, a beautiful captivating young lady.
The light yellow flower, the dark red dress.
"With you here, I do not know whether to look at the flower or look at the person." Shen Lian had a smile on his face. He was relaxed being in this temple in the deep mountains on this starless, moonless night.
"Firstly, I am not human. Secondly, the flowers are not as beautiful as I am. Young Master Shen is really clumsy with his words," Xin Shisiniang laughed brazenly.
"The plum blossom is proud, the snow is beautiful, both are deserving of being admired, revered and loved. It is also meant to be put in sight, for me, there is no comparison."
"I've met Ye Liuyun before and felt that he was not as good as you, but now I feel like you're not as good as him." Xin Shisiniang bent her finger and flicked the plum blossom flowers. The branches swayed and the shadows against each other.
"Oh, why is that so?" Shen Lian asked at the right time.
"He is not blind after all."
Shen Lian gave a good chuckle and said, "You are the only lady that is most interesting amongst all that I've met in my life."
"But you're not so interesting, you're like an old man. Where is the present you promised me?" Xin Shisiniang extended both her hands, her demeanor showed that either he gave her what she wanted or he could not cross over.


What is a Daoist Master? One that is imageless in ten directions and vanishes in the six paths; unrestrained by the three realms and the five elements.                                                                                                                                           
After a day at the clinic, Dr. Li Feng met with an accident on his way home. When he regained consciousness, Li Feng found himself in the body of a weak teenage boy who was born out of wedlock, Shen Lian. Who was the father? The mother would not tell. A scripture he found among his mother’s remnants was the only thing he knew about his father.                                                                                                    
The mother came from a wealthy and well known family. When Shen Lian was recalled back to the Shen family, he was entitled for part of the grandfather’s inheritance and businesses. Despite the grand value, Shen Lian did not take a cent with him when he decided to leave the family. Why would he leave this comfortable life behind?                                      
His journey with this new identity brought him into this new world as he travelled between realms in search of knowledge to improve his Daoist skills. As he conquered trial after trial, would he become the chosen one? Will he succeed in becoming the Daoist Master? Only time will tell.

There was a whooshing sound as everyone's gaze turned to Fan Xian. He smiled bashfully and cupped his hands. He did not pass himself off as an artist; after all, he was Fan Xian, not Fan Wei.[1] 
The Crown Prince looked at him and almost began to laugh. He couldn't believe what Miss Fan had said. A ten-year-old might be able to write good poetry, but to meticulously weave together such a poem as this? It wasn't possible. He figured Fan Xian had written it the night before and gave it to Fan Ruoruo to pull out at the poetry contest in order to wow everyone. 
He wasn't angry; on the contrary, he was quite intrigued that someone as seemingly carefree as Fan Xian could write such a poem. 
Fan Xian had no idea what the Crown Prince was thinking. The poem was from a poet in his previous world named Meng Haoran, who had written it to suck up to the minister Zhang Jiuling. It was of a far higher standard than the people at the contest, so he was confident that he had satisfied his father's wishes. 
Looking at the people around him, Guo Baokun began to get angry. He could never have imagined that this young man, all beauty and no brains, could write such a poem to save his skin. He wasn't willing to let the matter lie. He laughed coldly. "Who knew  Brother Fan was such a fine writer? Such work... and written at the tender age of ten."
His words made it clear that he did not believe that the poem was written by Fan Xian. 
Fan Xian sighed. Why did people always have to press him on such matters? When it came to composing poetry, in this world, who could be his match? After all, he had the works of the poets Li Bai, Du Fu, and Su Shi on his side, and a mastery of five thousand years of poetic tradition. He laughed. "I never write compositions on set topics."
Guo Baokun regarded Fan Xian's thoroughly confident manner and gritted his teeth as he spoke. "Then Brother Fan, I invite you to write on a topic of your choosing, and let all of the capital bear witness to your brilliance."
Fan Xian frowned and glanced coolly at this troublesome scholar. He wrote down a poem, then left the garden, asking the servants to escort him to the latrine. 
A single poem is recited in a resounding voice that stuns the garden and forces the defeated enemy into retreat.
The poem he wrote was powerful and resonant. The entire garden was stunned; his victory had been absolute. 
After a bout of cheering, everyone was still pondering its meaning. Guo Baokun's face went a pale green color, and he was unable to speak. The Crown Prince felt unable to hold his fan without incurring Fan Xian's judgement on his character. He closed it shut with a bang, and read the poem aloud.
"The ape cries out in the windy skies. Birds circle round the islet of clear white sand. Trees shed leaves endlessly, rustling down. The great river surges on ceaselessly. Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always someone’s guest. A hundred years of ailments, I climb the terrace alone. With much suffering, I regret my white temples. Frustratingly, I stop drinking my murky wine.."
...
...
"Sorrow, clarity, ceaselessness, endlessness, ten thousand miles, autumn, guests, one hundred years, sickness, loneliness, and the worries of all eternity; all of these condensed into a single cup of wine! Bravo! Bravo!" The Crown Prince praised him loudly, before realizing how overly-carefree he must have looked. In fact, he was feeling sad about his father. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a certain heartache and a powerful sorrow. He shook his head and said nothing for a long while. 
Some time later, he came to a realization: Fan Xian was so young; even if his life had been miserable, how could he say that the hair on his temples was white, and he had suffered so much illness? It was something he couldn't understand. It didn't make any sense at all. But everyone was still lost in the atmosphere of the poem. Watching the sunset, whether rich or poor, brings to one’s mind the impermanence of life, the inevitability of loss. And so everyone had simply forgotten any of the discrepancies between the poem and Fan Xian's own life. 
And no one doubted that it was his work. After all, no one but an expert in the world of poetry could write such a thing. An expert would not be willing to write such a poem even on behalf of the Emperor, let alone on behalf of the young son of the Fan family. 
"With this poem, even if Master Fan decided never to write again, it would not matter," sighed Crown Prince Jing. The scholars by the lake remained speechless. They all knew that none of them could ever write a finer poem, and so the whole contest fell silent as a result of Fan Xian's work. They never even noticed that the author had already slipped away. 
—————————————————————————
In all honesty, the poem fit neither the time nor circumstances, but Fan Xian felt a desperate need to relieve himself, so he quickly wrote down something he had memorized just so he could finish off his enemy. He had relieved himself of two burdens: the first being that scoundrel Guo Baokun; the other, more-urgent one being from when he had drunk a little too much in his earlier boredom. 
Hiking up his pants as he left the toilet, he gave a sigh of relief, fastened his belt, took a towel from the servant and wiped his hands. On his way back, he came across a beautiful plant nursery that was filled with soft green leaves and delicate flowers. He felt the energy of life itself underneath the tall trees beneath the evening light. 
He turned and asked the servant whether it was possible for him to go in and look around. The servant knew that this was the older brother of the Fan family. Fan Xian’s younger sister, and the younger brother, Fan Sizhe, had before run around the grounds of the prince's mansion as he pleased. Naturally, he could not say no, and so he respectfully replied that it would be no problem.
Fan Xian was quite pleased and sent the servant away as he walked into the nursery and looking around. He discovered that the nursery was lacking the rare flowers beloved by rich families; instead, a number of plants were there that he could not name. They were crude and awkward-looking, possibly wild herbs or crops. 
He was curious. The Crown Prince's family mansion was extraordinary, and yet they had planted these things. 
As he wandered around the garden, the sunlight was still bright, but the sky above him was obstructed by a canopy of trees, so all seemed peaceful. He could hear the lively chirping of birds returning to their nests, and surrounded by such greenery, he felt very much at ease. Fan Xian was very happy to break away from that boring poetry contest. He hummed a folk song to himself as he walked further in, smiling as he walked. "Maybe I’ll run into a fairy, just like Duan Yu had,"  he said to himself. [2]
"Who are you?"
Someone stood up from the thicket of plants, regarding Fan Xian with curiosity. 
...
...
Fan Xian was taken aback. He should have listened more carefully, he thought. Walking this far away from anyone, if this was a murderer, he would be done for. After he had come to the capital, it seemed that he had significantly lowered his guard. 
He looked at the person in front of him, and laughed at himself. 
The person certainly wasn't Wang Yuyan[3],  and it wasn't the girl in white who he couldn't get out of his mind. It was a middle-aged gardener, with a hoe in his hand and a muddy basket by his feet. He had a fair and honest face, with a slightly hurried look in his eyes. It appeared that, seeing the clothes that Fan Xian was wearing, he was somewhat reverent. 
Fan Xian smiled, and cupped his hands to the gardener in salute. "I'm sorry to have surprised you. I'm a guest of the prince;  I saw all these wonderful plants on my way back, so I thought I'd have a look around.
The gardener wiped his hands on his clothes, seemingly unsure how to greet Fan Xian. After hearing praise for his garden, he smiled earnestly. 
[1] Fan Wei, a Chinese sitcom and film actor.
[2] Duan Yu, a character from the wuxia novel Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.
[3] Wang Yuyan, another character from Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, with whom Duan Yu falls in love at first sight because she resembles a statue of a fairy-like lady he chanced upon before.


A family inclined to kindness and charity would grace the descendants.
Thanks to one small act of kindness,
by providence she comes across a grateful friend;
Fortunate that her mother,
has done an unperceived good deed….

Men should rescue the distressed and aid the poor…
Who would have guessed that kindness in this world ultimately would be the road that one must choose, that proverbial fork in the road?

Clouds of rain float on eastern winds as new vines start to blossom.
Though drums of war roar too loudly and their brilliance has been lost,
a green grass carpet greets the sun by the break of morning.
Let us wait for the yellow leaves, a few gourds are harvested.

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