"This... how is this possible?" the middle-aged scholar whispered incredulously.
The other literary guests were even more visibly shaken with disbelief.
Even those utterly ignorant of literature could tell that this short piece was refreshingly lovely.
Let alone this group who had spent their lives immersed in poetry and prose.
In their eyes,
Xue An's work was light-hearted and lively, yet it harbored a hint of lonely desolation.
Such a piece, embedding emotion into the scene while using the scene to narrate the feeling, wasn't just a matter of surpassing the middle-aged scholar's poem.
It was about advancing the craft of Wing Chun poetry by a substantial margin.
It could even be called the best Wing Chun poem of the past three years.
This tremendous gap in skill left the literati speechless, unable to utter a word.
Tang Sheng and his daughter Tang Ling'er were equally astounded.
Tang Sheng hadn't expected this down-and-out youth to write such exquisite poetry.