During her drowsy afternoon nap, Tang Huan heard a commotion coming from outside the window.

I wonder how many people are waiting for me to write poetry.

Then let's not delay any longer.

"Go ahead and deliver the poem to the ship. If anyone is still dissatisfied, then I have no choice but to accept it."

Tang Huan rested her hands on the table and then on her chin.

He just sat there, as quiet as a wooden statue.

Qin Yu stopped looking at Tang Huan and lowered his head to focus on the paper.

"The wind is fierce, the sky is high, and the monkeys howl mournfully..."

Upon seeing the first sentence, Qin Yu's eyes widened involuntarily, and a strange emotion seemed to surge within his chest.

She became subtly excited.

As his gaze moved downwards, Qin Yu saw the entire poem clearly and felt increasingly unable to contain himself.

"this……"

It actually got written.

Moreover, it's an even better work than its predecessor.

Qin Yu didn't linger any longer and quickly walked outside.

Holding the page of poetry in her hand, she couldn't help but exclaim when she saw Li Daikui and Zhang Da standing by the door, "Sir, you've finished writing it!"

Li Daikui was not surprised. "Of course, that's an adult."

Zhang Da took the page of poetry from Qin Yu's hand, and without even reading it, hurriedly walked out.

He walked through the crowd, delivered the poem to the boatman, and then returned step by step to the lake.

"Why isn't Brother Tang back yet? Are you not planning to come back and join the fun?"

Cui Yuanzhao was somewhat idle. He disliked such occasions and didn't get along well with the scholars.

If he hadn't known Tang Huan was participating, he would never have come to a place like this, even if he were beaten to death.

Now, Tang Huan has gone to sleep, leaving me alone on the boat.

Cui Yuanzhao lay on the boat, and no one around him dared to get too close, maintaining as much distance as possible.

"I think he's scared!" someone whispered.

Cui Yuanzhao suddenly sat up. "Who are you calling afraid?"

After being glared at by Cui Yuanzhao, the other party immediately dared not utter a word.

"The poem is here!"

Someone shouted.

Wang Jingze noticed the approaching boatman and quickly took the poem from him.

At the same time, Lei Yan also frowned and looked over.

It actually got written?

However, it's useless; if it's not as good as the first two sentences, it's of no use at all.

Lei Yan didn't believe that Tang Huan could write another excellent poem after getting drunk and falling asleep; it was impossible unless he was a living poet.

Peeking over, Lei Yan only noticed the densely packed handwriting on the letter.

It seems that Tang Huan did indeed write more than one line of poetry; he intended to convince everyone.

Lei Yan couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.

"What poem did Lord Tang write? Quickly, read it to us..."

Some people were impatient, but they were too far from the poem to rush forward, fearing that their reckless actions might cause the boat to capsize, and everyone would suffer as a result.

Just watching makes me anxious.

Urged on by the crowd, Wang Jingze calmed down, looked at the poem, and read it aloud.

"The wind is fierce, the sky is high, and the monkeys howl mournfully; the islet is clear, the sand is white, and the birds fly back."

The moment the two lines of poetry were recited, the entire room fell silent.

A moment later, many people were unable to control their emotions and began to discuss it.

"I seem to see a precipitous mountain gorge, where monkeys howl and birds cry out..."

"The autumn sky is clear and the air is crisp, the wind is strong and clear, and flocks of birds fly and circle around. With just a few words, such a vivid picture can be drawn."

"As expected of Lord Tang, his choice of words and sentence structure are far beyond what ordinary people can match..."

Amidst the praise of the crowd, Wang Jingze lowered his gaze and recited the last two lines.

"The boundless forest sheds its leaves with a rustling sound, while the endless Yangtze River rolls on and on."

Once again, the entire room fell silent.

You could even hear the heavy breathing of many people.

Many of the scholars were already breathing heavily.

Xiao Li exclaimed, "The rustling of falling leaves and the rolling Yangtze River—in just a few lines, the author captures the melancholy of autumn. Master Tang's writing skills far surpass those of some established poets."

"It appears to be a description of scenery, but between the lines it reveals the sentiment of time passing quickly and ambitions remaining unfulfilled. The masterful writing brings an unparalleled momentum, which is truly a rare sight."

Xiao Bai was equally impressed and had already completely admired Tang Huan.

"This poem is enough to establish Tang Daren's position in the Daqing poetry circle. For the next ten years or so, I'm afraid no one will be able to shake his position."

"Indeed, and this time it's four sentences, so there's no way to say that Lord Tang is opportunistic or has gained any advantage."

Wang Jingze glanced at everyone and solemnly said, "This poem is not finished yet."

"What? It's a seven-character quatrain?" Xiao Li suddenly turned to look at Wang Jingze and urged, "What's the second half of the poem? Read it out quickly."

Wang Jingze met everyone's expectant gazes and nodded emphatically.

This time he didn't pause, but recited the rest of the poem in one go.

He suspected that if he delayed any longer, these people would rush over and snatch the poem from his hands.

"I often travel far from home in autumn, feeling sorrow; I am a sick man for a hundred years, and I climb the stage alone. Hardship and sorrow have turned my temples white; in my decline, I have stopped drinking wine."

For a moment, many people gasped in shock.

"The first half of the poem does not mention autumn, yet it evokes the melancholy of autumn. The appearance of the word 'autumn' in the second half makes the whole poem even more sorrowful."

"Half of it is descriptive and the other half is lyrical; both parts are excellent."

"Lord Tang was clearly very young, but I felt a deep sorrow and heaviness in his poems, as if an old man was lamenting, lonely and sad."

“Wonderful! Upon closer examination, there are so many aspects of the poem that are worth savoring. Every line is perfectly regulated, which is something we cannot compare to. The gap between us and Master Tang is too great.”

My dear reader, there's more to this chapter! Please click the next page to continue reading—even more exciting content awaits!