The poem no sooner had been uttered than silence descended on Yanyu Building.
It was as if time had stopped.
Then, the next moment, peals of laughter filled the hall.
The burly man stood with his neck stiff, unconcerned. Instead, he boomed out loud:
"Miss Xiaoyue, does my poem catch your eye?"
"Don't disgrace yourself with such crude language."
Just now, the scholar snorted lightly.
"Boy, what did you say?"
"Obviously, your poem is so poorly crafted that it doesn't merit the name."
"Then you try." The muscular man stared intently at the scholar.
The scholar took a deep breath, fan in hand. He paced, shaking his head and recited aloud:
The land is rich with a hundred flowers vying in fragrance,
And the muted scent fills the deep aquamarine ponds.
They do not compete with peach and plum for the spring breeze,
July's shooting stars bring a refreshing coolness."
