Zhuang Mohan smiled, "Today, I fell by his hands. I gambled seventy years of my reputation and I fully accept my loss. It’s just that I don’t understand how this young Sir Fan is like an immortal sage when it comes to poetry. Had you informed me beforehand, naturally I would not make that gamble."
Eldest Princess sighed. "Other than the fact that he can compose poetry, I also didn’t think he could be so maniacal."
Zhuang Mohan closed his eyes. After a long time, he said slowly, "I only regret one thing. I had believed myself to be wise for over half of my life. Now that I’m at the end of it, I was subjected to such disgrace. Had young Sir Fan not composed three hundred poems in one night, perhaps everyone in the world would have believed me and thought Fan Xian was a shameless plagiarizer."
The old man opened his eyes, his expression returned to its former calm. He smiled and said, "It’s better this way."
