"This young master has quite a temper." A clear voice came from the stairs, and Meng Zhao slowly walked down.

Upon seeing the shopkeeper arrive, the scholar seemed to have found a powerful backer. "Shopkeeper, you've come at the right time! Quickly teach your servant a lesson. It's an insult to literature to let some crude and burly men comment on poetry and prose here."

The burly man hadn't expected that his simple desire to try a small dish would spark such a debate. A hint of unease appeared on his dark face. Seeing this, Meng Zhao said, "Young master, you are mistaken. Although this gentleman is not skilled in poetry, he did not vote randomly but read each poem carefully. How can that not be considered sincere?"

"Moreover, the essence of poetry and literature should be appreciated by both the refined and the common people. As the ancients said, 'Poetry can inspire, can be appreciated, and can be shared.' If it is confined to scholars and literati, it loses its original meaning. Therefore, this poetry gathering is meant to be open to everyone."

At that moment, someone in the lobby on the first floor asked loudly, "Shopkeeper, can we roughnecks compose poetry too?"

"Of course! As long as you compose a poem, good or bad, you can receive a special pastry." With that, he laid out a plate of pastries, with at least seven or eight pieces on it, each shaped like a plum blossom. They looked very delicate and would probably cost at least forty or fifty coins in a pastry shop. Upon hearing this, everyone became excited.

An oil vendor squeezed to the front, rubbing his hands together and laughing, "Shopkeeper, is what you say true? Then let me compose one too!" He cleared his throat, swaying his head as he recited: "The aroma of oil fills the street, the poetry gathering is truly lively. The snacks look tempting, to eat them I must compose a poem. Shopkeeper, may I have a look?"

The oil seller looked at her expectantly, and Meng Zhao was momentarily stunned, feeling that she had shot herself in the foot. The scholar from before had just burst out laughing, "Hahaha, you call this poetry? Fellow students, take a look, it's absolutely hilarious."

"Let's recite a poem!" Meng Zhao suddenly interrupted loudly. She stepped forward and personally handed a plate of snacks to the oil seller. "Although it doesn't conform to the rules of tonal patterns, it is full of genuine feelings."

He then turned to the crowd: "Today's poetry gathering is meant to bring joy to everyone. If you are interested, please feel free to give it a try." Meng Zhao prayed in his heart that the kitchen would prepare enough food.

The scholar's face immediately turned ashen, and his voice became shrill: "I have never seen such an absurd poetry gathering in my life! To make me, a scholar, participate in the judging with these commoners is an insult to scholarship! As a member of the Ming Dynasty..."

"Shut up!" A deep, resonant voice suddenly rang out, interrupting the scholar's words. Everyone looked in the direction of the voice and saw an elderly man, about fifty years old, standing with his hands behind his back. His temples were slightly gray, but his eyes were bright and piercing, exuding an air of authority without anger.

The old man strode over, and the scholar was struck dumb. His legs went weak, and he almost knelt down. "Dean... Dean..." the scholar's voice trembled, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Gu Chongshan didn't even glance at the scholar, walking straight to Meng Zhao's side and asking with a smile, "Young friend Meng, I'm a little late today, I hope I haven't delayed our business?"

Meng Zhao's eyes were full of smiles: "Old Gu is too kind. It is our honor that you can come. There is no need to say that it has been a delay." Then he turned to the people participating in the poetry gathering and said: "Gentlemen, this poetry gathering is set up for people of all tastes. However, Yingkelou also thought that relying solely on the voting results might not be convincing to everyone."

She turned slightly to the side and gestured to Gu Chongshan, "Therefore, I have specially invited Dean Gu to serve as a special judge for this poetry gathering, to evaluate the poems together with everyone. With Dean Gu here, fairness and impartiality will be guaranteed."

Upon hearing this, no one dared to say anything. After all, for everyone present, having their poems reviewed by Elder Gu was already a great honor. Who would dare to utter a single word of criticism? Even those who came for the prize couldn't care less about such things at this moment, only hoping that their poems could receive some guidance from Elder Gu.

While Mr. Gu was appreciating the poems, the rest of the people in the restaurant continued to compose poems and vote. By evening, the final results were in.

The casual patrons on the first floor, though they wrote quite a few entries, were mostly just there for the fun of it and rarely received any votes. Once the top five names were announced, Old Gu nodded slightly, stroked his beard, and praised, "It perfectly matches the rankings."

Meng Zhao was genuinely a little apprehensive. After all, scholars are generally proud, and she was worried that her actions today might anger them. Just as she was secretly planning how to appease them, she saw those people sitting in groups of three or five on the second floor, all of them excitedly discussing something with great enthusiasm.

“Look, just now, Master Gu changed the rhyme of my poem, and the change really makes a big difference!” A scholar in a blue robe held the manuscript and read it aloud repeatedly as if it were a priceless treasure.

A woman nearby said, "This is nothing. Old Master Gu just commented on my poem, saying it has the style of his when he was young!" As she spoke, she couldn't help but unfold the scroll again and examine it carefully.

The scholar who had caused trouble earlier was now huddled alone in a corner of the private room, his face alternating between pale and flushed. His classmates deliberately kept their distance from him, occasionally casting disdainful glances at him.

"Look, it's that guy. At first, he kept saying he wouldn't bother competing with women in poetry, but then he said downstairs that he wouldn't let ordinary people judge him. And he's supposed to be a student at Mingde Academy? I don't know how he got in."

Meng Zhao ignored him and presented the prizes he had prepared in advance to the five winners, while also giving Wenxin Pavilion a shout-out.

After the poetry gathering concluded successfully, Meng Zhao had the winning poem displayed in the building. Anyone who disagreed could challenge the winner at any time and receive a reward.

At the same time, Qiao Yanhe, whom Meng Zhao had been waiting for for a long time, finally came to find her.