"Three years ago in this very courtyard, her face and the peach blossoms glowed side by side."
"Today her face is nowhere to be seen, yet the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze."
In the room, Cun Caiguang, the Academy Director of Cold Mountain Academy, stroked his beard, reciting word by word the poem that had recently become widely popular within the academy.
The more he recited, the more pleased the old Academy Director became.
"Xichun, what do you think of this poem?"
Cun Caiguang turned his head and asked the student beside him.
"A poem like this... unless I was in a moment of supreme feeling and scenery, I could never write it." Xian Xichun smiled. For one of his own students to be able to write such a fine poem, he, as their teacher, naturally shared in the glory.
