As the eunuchs and palace maids brought forward brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, the concubines concentrated and fell into deep thought, beginning to ponder how to compose their poetry.
The scene suddenly quieted down.
As the Emperor's gaze swept around the room, passing by Lian Hua's direction, he saw the Little Concubine propping her face with her left hand and holding a brush in the right, staring at the paper and furrowing her brows in deep contemplation, the very image of discouragement, clearly at a loss for words.
Her sitting posture was all over the place, far from proper, forming a stark contrast with the other concubines sitting upright next to her.
The Emperor withdrew his gaze, having a good idea of what to expect; he could predict what the Little Concubine's attempt would be like. To put it bluntly, it would be a miracle if she produced anything at all; excelling was out of the question.