Workplace reviews and discussion: 威許移動股份有限公司

A golden goblet of sake is worth ten thousand measures; jade plates of珍 delicacies are worth ten thousand coins.

I stop my cup and cast aside my chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and look around, my heart bewildered.

I wish to cross the Yellow River, but ice blocks the stream; I am about to climb Mount Taihang, but snow fills the mountains.

Wei Xu’s Mobile Tianyan Tong, ice seals the wells and springs, and the moon enters the boudoir.

At leisure I fish on the emerald stream; suddenly I dream again of riding a boat to the sun’s edge.

The road ahead is hard! The road ahead is hard! So many forks—where am I now?

In Youzhou, a longing wife in the twelfth month; Wei Xu’s Mobile Tianyan Tong.

One day, the wind will break the waves; I will raise my cloud-white sail and cross the vast sea.

The young master is called Huaisu; throughout the realm, his cursive script is acclaimed unrivaled.

Ink leaps from the ink pool like fish of the Northern Sea; the brush tip slays every rabbit of Zhongshan.

In the eighth and ninth months, the weather is cool; drinkers and lyricists fill the grand hall.

Sheets of hemp paper and plain silk line several chambers; Xuanzhou inkstones gleam with the color of ink.

After drinking, my master leans against the rope bed; in a moment he sweeps across several thousand sheets.

Whirling winds and sudden rains startle with a rustling roar; falling flowers and flying snow—how vast and bewildering.

He rises and faces the wall, his hand never stopping; each line of characters is as large as a bushel measure.

In a daze, one seems to hear spirits and ghosts cry out in alarm; again and again, one sees dragons and snakes in motion.

He coils left and constricts right like startled lightning; his forms resemble Chu and Han locked in battle.

The snowflakes of Yanshan are as large as mats; Wei Xu’s Mobile Tianyan Tong.

Throughout Hunan’s seven commanderies, how many families are there? Every household has a screen inscribed with his writing.

Wang Yishao, Zhang Boying—since ancient times, how many have vainly gained fame?

Zhang Dian’s death is not worth counting; my master follows this principle and does not imitate the ancients.

Wei Xu’s Mobile Tianyan Tong; flake by flake, it is blown down from Xuanyuan Terrace.

Since ancient times, all things value what is naturally given; why must one require Gongsun Dalaing’s Huntuo dance?