When Chen Ang heard this, he couldn't help laughing. Murong Bo's ambition to restore the country had already fascinated him. For national affairs, he could sacrifice anything and make use of everything. He put all his personal grievances and family happiness second. However, this cruelty can be called a hero.

Even though he was very concerned about Murong Fu at this time, he was so proud that he would win over him as long as he was valuable. I really don’t know if it was ridiculous or pitiful. To some extent, such indomitableness is worthy of admiration.

"Old sir, you underestimate Chen too much!" Chen Ang said with his hands behind his back: "The great cause you are pursuing may be worthy of all your efforts in your eyes, but what is it in Chen's eyes?"

"What you said is to break the ground and be king, fame and wealth." Chen Ang paused slightly, turned around and looked at Murong Bo, "I'm sorry, Chen doesn't take it seriously yet."

"The fame and fortune on earth are all dust, and I just wish to be like this bright moon, bright forever."

His tone was calm and his eyes were sincere, but the content made Murong Bo unable to suppress his anger, "If you refuse, you will say no to me, just tell me to say nothing, so that I will look down on you. I will only ask you, will you share this great Song Dynasty with me?"

"No!"

The clear voice, without any anxiety, came from Chen Ang.

Murong Bo held his fists tightly, and a layer of tough energy appeared on his two iron fists. Duan Yu even saw Murong Bo's body trembling slightly, obviously trying his best to suppress himself. "You must think clearly, and what you say will be difficult to contain."

"I thought I had already said it very clearly. If you still don't understand, then I will say it again." Chen Ang said coldly. The answer Murong Bo heard was still the only two firm words.

"No"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Murong Bo said three words "good" in a row, and was already anxious. He lifted his palms in a deep spirit. Duan Yu was several feet away, and he was sensing the thick palm power several feet away. However, Murong Bo was silent for a while, and suddenly put down his flesh palm. His figure flashed and he took off a large pen hanging on the wall.

This surprised Chen Ang a little. He had reached this point and had never given up the hope of persuading him. As expected, he was a hero who was indomitable and could bend and stretched. His mind was much more tenacious than Murong Fu. Unfortunately, Murong Bo had no talent in the overall situation of strategy, which can be seen from Murong Fu.

Wang Yuyan once said, Murong Fu, "He wants to be a Hu person, not a Chinese person, and he doesn't even want to know Chinese characters, nor does he want to read Chinese books." With such ridiculous thoughts, he still tried to restore the country. I am afraid that the two of them never thought about how many Xianbei people there are in this world, and what is their Xianbei country based on the foundation?

He is so superficial in politics that he can only make trouble in the martial arts world with his fairly brilliant martial arts. Chen Ang could see that Murong Bo seemed to want to use his old tricks again and impress him with his martial arts. This kind of energetic approach made Chen Ang wonder whether he praised him for his heroic spirit or ridiculed him for his innocence.

There are not many people in the world who are proficient in the martial arts of hundreds of schools. Murong Bo is one of the few. It is rare to have such an opponent. It can prove the martial arts of hundreds of schools and be more in love with Chen Ang.

Chen Ang took off a large hair hanging on the table, and the ink mark on the tip of the pen had not dried yet. Duan Yu looked at it and said to himself: Brother Chen and his two were using large brushes of calligraphy and painting in a hurry. The tips of the pens were all filled with soft hairs. The tips of the pens were soft and the pen holder was loose. How could they hurt people? Compared to them, they would not really fight for life and death.

Before he could come back to his senses, he saw Murong Bo wave his pen and point three points to Chen Ang’s left cheek. Under his thick internal force, the tip of the pen was far sharper than the sword. Under the stimulation of the energy, the air was like a splashing ink and wielding a phantom of thick ink and heavy colors, with all the strength and muscles.

Duan Yu said in surprise: This man has such a powerful brushwork. As I have seen in my life, Uncle Zhu Danchen is already the number one judge in the brushwork. He is a little worse than Mr. Murong. This brushwork is complete with muscles and bones. In the past, Uncle Zhu taught me to study and talk about Yan Jinliu. When I saw him today, I knew what muscles and bones are.

Murong Bo is scattered, every word is thrilling, with a dot like falling stones, and the metal and stones are blooming under the tip of the pen; the painting is like summer clouds, and the clouds and water flowing in the splash; the hook is like crooked gold, and the soul is caught in the turning point; the spear is like a crossbow, and the strong wind is howling when dancing, with elephants and ambitions.

The moves are always separated from Chen Ang’s key points. A large brush is like a silver-edge iron rod, sharp and far better than a sword.

"What a good "Zang Huaike Monument"!" Chen Ang exclaimed.

In the air, Chen Ang raised his pen and used his strength to make him look more elegant. Duan Yu saw a small pen, dismantling it between the energy that Murong Bo exuded. He lifted and erected, and directly hit the place where Murong Bo's pen was scattered. It was graceful and elegant, round and charming. It was either running or flowing, or flowing, or flowing. It was written with a lot of Murong Bo's writing.

The two of them did not intersect, and they were all empty tricks. However, Murong Bo's pen was no longer as smooth as he started. He only felt that the pen was so clumsy and difficult to do. On several occasions, he could not write that kind of pleasure. He used his strength intermittently and felt very aggrieved. On the other hand, Chen Ang was free and free, and his writing was extremely free.

Murong Bo dismantled his pen several times, but was passively influenced by Chen Ang's ink splashing and had no time to resist. Seeing Chen Ang's "Quick Snow Shiqing Tie", the more he wrote, the smoother he wrote, but his writing was in a mess. He was anxious and simply used the way of weapons to force it to dismantle it. In Duan Yu's eyes, he knew that he had lost most of it.

"Since it's here, it's better to just be a little bit." Murong Bo felt ruthless in his heart. Regardless of the artistic conception of the pen, he only used the most basic judge's brushwork. When the strokes were dotted, the side edge fell sharply, spread the brush and stroked, and the momentum was enough to close the tip, forcing Chen Ang to turn around to protect his body, and he used extremely exquisite force. When the strokes were horizontal, it was like falling from the paper. He slowly returned and quickly turned back, and he tied Chen Ang's throat.

Murong Bo repeatedly used the eight methods of using the word "Yong" and eight methods of using force, which were to be stumbled and turned upside down, and could not make a complete character. Only the strokes were used force, and there was no restraint of the rules. It was obviously the idea of ​​pushing Chen Ang.

Unexpectedly, Chen Ang laughed loudly, and his writing changed from "Quick Snow Shiqing Tie" to "Lanting Preface", "The ninth year of Yonghe, the year is in Guichou." The first character Yong is to point the key points on the side, to straddle the soldiers' tips, to vertically work, to make long-term efforts, to tilt, to raise strategies, toss, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, tosses, to force Murong Bo to have the power to resist.

When writing "the beginning of late spring", the word "zhi" is like a dragon and snake rising from the land. There is actually a solid pen power in the air. It is invincible and unbearable. No one can stop it.

Murong Bo's face was loud, and a lightning-like crease was drawn on his face, just a little aftermath. It made him so shocked that he couldn't help himself. Just as he was about to retreat, another word "一" was sprinkled out from Chen Ang's pen. The sharp blade was folded, and Murong Bo tried hard to support him, and another red mark appeared on his hand.

Twenty characters, in Chen Ang's writing, were thrilling, just like the sword technique of heaven and man. Duan Yu was swaying and could not help himself. "With martial arts and calligraphy, Wang Youjun is just like this in this world." How could he have seen such a reckless brushwork? He only felt that this brushwork was used there, which was a touching and wonderful way.

Murong Bo was sweating profusely, blocking his left and right, and then he simply started to play tricks, and walked around in a small inner room, and said hurriedly: "Good martial arts, I admit defeat in this game, the governor might as well watch me write."

As soon as I stepped on my feet, I soared into the air. The big pen was like a big axe, swung down, and the energy was like the vast Yangtze River, surging away. In the pen, the brokenness was like a wave, and thousands of horses were galloping, hitting Chen Ang. In Chen Ang's writing, it set off waves several feet high. It was really like turbid waves coming empty, turning the rivers and seas, destroying everything.

However, no matter how turbulent the momentum is in Murong Bo's writing, Chen Ang is as steady as a mountain and surging waves, and in his writing, he is as obedient as a tamed sheep, with a calm and gentle taste. If Murong Bo's writings are like a great river and sea, outlined, brushed, rubbed, dotted, dyed, and poured out momentum.

Chen Ang was like a mountain peak, towering and motionless. A small pen, a large hemp texture, actually had the majestic and unmoving spirit of Mount Tai. Chen Ang held his left hand and stood alone in his arms, leisurely facing Murong Bo's attacks. A small pen, like spirituality, against the waves, was like flying swifts, suddenly rushed to the top of the waves, and suddenly fell into the valley, walking freely in the surging energy.

Little by little, it seemed as if the red sun was rising, the mist dissipated, and a corner of the green mountains leaked out from the sky, blocking the river, allowing its tide to flow, the green mountains remained calm, and the small pen slowly lifted the veil of the green mountains, a towering peak stood still in the river, blocking its way, and allowing the turbid waves to roll, it was unshakable.

Murong Bo's writing became narrower and narrower, as if a huge peak was blocking his face, allowing his big pen to swell, and kept slowly oppressing him. His momentum was solemn and his mighty pressure billions of people, making him so sad that he wanted to vomit blood, but he couldn't hold back his momentum, so he could only let the big pen go further and further and gradually reach extremes.

Finally, it hit the mountain and it became a broken bone.

With a loud "bang!", the huge pen in Murong Bo's hand burst, scattered into millions of thin threads, falling down one after another. Murong Bo's face turned gray and looked at his empty hands.
Chapter completed!