Huang Da looked at Chang Ji, bowed to Zhang Shicheng without moving, and said, "I think it can also be seen from the nature of food. Wolves are meat-eating, dogs eat meat when they encounter meat, and feces when they encounter shit (the censor eats shit)!"

As soon as these words were said, Chen Lan's face immediately turned into a pig's liver. She wanted to fight back a few words. Unfortunately, she searched in her mind for a long time and thought of all the interesting stories she heard from all dynasties, but she couldn't think of a better counterattack words. She couldn't help but glared at Chang Ji, Huang Da. She snorted coldly from her nose, and this made Zhang Shicheng and Zhang Shixin laugh endlessly.

The four of them were laughing loudly, and saw a horse running quickly not far away. The running hooves splashed with dust. The horse rushed towards Zhang Shicheng and others, and immediately dressed in spies costumes. The man was outside Zhang Shicheng and tied the reins of the horse. Chang Ji's sharp eyes immediately saw that it was a spy he sent, and hurriedly met. The spy turned over and dismounted, walked to Chang Ji and knelt on the ground, clasped his fists and said, "Sir... a battle in Poyang Lake..."

Chang Ji's face changed drastically: "The news is reliable?"

The secret spy said, "What Bei Zhi saw with his own eyes and heard with his own ears, Chen Youliang, the King of Han, has already…?"

"I know..." Chang Ji waved his hand, turned around and walked towards Zhang Shicheng with a pale face, clasped his fists and said, "Your Majesty, something is wrong... In the battle of Poyang Lake, Chen Youliang's army of 600,000 was defeated by Poyang Lake, and Chen Youliang was shot to death by Zhu Yuanzhang's subordinate Guo Xing!"

Zhang Shicheng was laughing out loud what he said just now. After hearing the news, the laughter stopped abruptly. Zhang Shicheng's face changed drastically. He stared at Chang Ji and said in a trembling voice: "Zhu Yuanzhang killed Chen Youliang...?"

Chang Ji's expression also changed drastically, and he stared at Zhang Shicheng and nodded vigorously.

"Your Majesty...?" Zhang Shixin shouted in a hurry. The joyful atmosphere just now became solemn with this bad news.

Zhang Shicheng frowned slightly, his eyes closed, and he stared at Hanshan Temple not far away and said in a deep voice: "Let's go to Hanshan Temple!"

The main hall of Hanshan Temple is five rooms wide and four rooms deep, and is more than three meters high. It has a single-eaved hip roof, with flying ridges and stretched out on the corners. There is a bronze tripod in the middle of the terrace. The front of the tripod is "serious" and the back is "a hundred and crafted into steel". This contains a religious legend: Once, Chinese monks and Taoists had a dispute, and they were able to see whose classics could withstand the fire. The Buddhists put the Diamond Sutra into the fire of the bronze tripod, and the scriptures were safe and sound. In order to praise this past, they engraved this eight characters on the tripod to commemorate it.

The plaque "Mahara Temple" is hung high on the mast of the palace, and a couplet written by Mr. Zhao Puchu is hung on the court pillars in the hall: "For more than a thousand years of solemn Buddha land, Hanshan Temple outside Gusu City; people are alert and enlightened, and the sound of the sea tide in the middle of the night in Yanfu." The tall Sumeru pedestal is carved with white marble and crystal clear and white. The golden statue of Shiying Muni Buddha, with kind eyebrows and kind eyes and a peaceful expression. There is a room in the corridor on the left side of the main hall, which is the residence of Zhang Ji, a poet of the Tang Dynasty. Since "Night Mooring on the Maple Bridge", this room in Hanshan Temple has become a place that literati and poets yearn for.

At this moment, there were two people sitting in the guest room. One of the leaders was wearing a gray Confucian uniform and a Confucian crown. The Confucian belt at the waist was tied with a piece of purple jade, with bright eyebrows and broad eyes, and a simple Confucian robe. The man sat at the lower head was about fifty years old. He was tall and handsome, with a pair of eyes shining brightly, and with a smile on the corner of his mouth, he looked a bit strange like a scholar. He was wearing a white casual dress, holding a paper fan in his hand, and looking like a scholar in Jiangnan.

The two sat sideways, looking at the wall at the same time. There were two portraits hanging on the wall. The paintings were very old. They were two portraits of monks with funny faces. The man looked at the lower head for a while and suddenly laughed, stood up, stared at one of the portraits, shook his head and said with a smile: "Brother Luo, this is Hanshan, have you picked up the portraits of two eminent monks?"

The man in the leader stuck to several long beards under his forehead, smiled and said, "Brother Shi really has a good look. Did you see it so quickly?"

The man in the lower head passed by a handsome face, glanced at the calligraphy and painting slightly, and suddenly started to mutter: "How can people deal with it by slandering me, bullying me, insulting me, laughing at me, despising me, slandering me, slandering me, lying to me?"

The person in charge smiled unabated, glanced at a portrait on his right side, and casually replied: "Just tolerate him, let him, let him avoid him, be patient, respect him, ignore him, and stay for a few more years and look at him."

The man in the next head turned his head in surprise, stared at the man in the head, smiled slightly, and said, "I didn't expect Brother Luo to have heard this sentence too?"

The man in the leader smiled leisurely, staring at the self-portrait on the left side of the wall, painting the monk, wearing a monk's robe, folding his hands together, looking cute, and looking quite funny, but after looking at the man, after a while, there was no smile on his face, he became serious, staring at the picture and said: "During the Zhenguan period of the Tang Dynasty, there was a monk named Han Shanzi who sailed down the river in the hazy Jiangnan of spring rain.

That day, when the boat gradually approached the town, it was getting late. Hanshanzi looked far away by the boat, but he saw the rain and mist floating on the river, and the vast depths of the mountains, green, vague, and as fantastic as Zen. When the subtle raindrops passed by with the breeze, wet a coarse robe, he didn't care, just looked at it.

The boat finally swayed to the bridge. The boatman turned around and smiled, "Thousands of miles of storm are everywhere, and we can finally dock and rest!"

Han Shanzi was stunned, and a slight ripples suddenly appeared in his heart. He couldn't help but sigh, and the voice of hatred was faintly heard.

Suddenly I heard a sneer.

Han Shanzi looked up in shock and saw an old man wearing a straw raincoat walking on the shore. The man was about sixty years old, with a very clear face, a high expression, bright eyes, and bamboo sticks and straw shoes passing by."

The man in the head looked solemn, as if an old monk had entered a state of concentration. The man in the lower head saw his heart moving, glanced at the portrait on the left, and thought to himself: "Is it because this is Hanshan, I can pick up the stories of two eminent monks? Why haven't I heard of it?"

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Chapter completed!