Yan Qing emerged from his bath and dress, donning the auspicious attire for his grand wedding, and upon seeing the makeup-hastening poems scattered over every table and chair in the courtyard, he glanced over them with a look of disdain on his face. He addressed the crowd, "Whoever wrote these, keep them for your own use, I don't need them."
Cheng Chu let out a bewildered "Huh?"
The group of dandies also sounded a collective "Huh?" in surprise. If Brother Yan didn't want them, had they not wasted their efforts?
Yan Qing, with utter disdain, said, "Aren't I supposed to be the one writing the makeup-hastening poem?"
"Yes, but you can't write poetry," Cheng Chu explained reasonably.
"Then I won't write it. I won't need yours anyway. Keep it for when you all marry your own brides!" Yan Qing waved his hand dismissively, "Whoever wrote it, take it with you."
Cheng Chu and the others exchanged glances.
