Heavenly Spirit Sect Races Wildly Down the Road to Its Own Doom

If there was any season among the turning four that most stirred the literary affectations of scholars, it had to be March.

Flowers bloomed in March.

Flowers withered in March as well.

Between blooming and falling, beauty and splendor had barely shown their faces before making a sorrowful exit.

How could one not be moved?

How could poets refrain from setting brush to paper?

As a rising star of the capital's Literary Altar, and one of Great Cang's few sacred places of the Literary Way, West Mountain naturally lacked no poets.

Wildflowers bloomed across the fields.

At the wondrous realm of Flower Falling Flowing Text, a great many scholars had already gathered early.

There were still several days until the Qingming Festival when Lin Su had once written, "All earthly fragrances fade in April, yet peach blossoms in mountain temples first flourish," but this year's Qingming had already been destined to become a grand Literary Way gathering in Great Cang.

Many poets had arrived ahead of time to first enjoy a round of Flower Falling Flowing Text.

The peach blossoms had only just opened, and not many petals had fallen yet, so the pace was rather slow. Yet precisely because it was slow, the poets had more time to brew their emotions.

For a time, the atmosphere was blazing hot.

Lin Su gazed at the crowd of scholars from afar, and a thought rose in the depths of his heart: You all have fun. It had to be said that a person's realm was still determined by their level.

At his current level, the game of Flower Falling Flowing Text had become a beginner village game. He simply had little interest in taking part...

Better go to West Mountain Villa.

The games at West Mountain Villa were of a far