64, Hongyi Lane

Lin Chaojing's laughter rang out, "I've figured out who our friend behind the curtain is, it's none other than the Princely Heir. How about this, Brother Wenzong, it's only nine autumn-related poems after all. You and I, having shared classes with the Princely Heir for three years, let's help him out. I'll write four, you write five. Then we'll act as if it was all written by them and take down that curtain."

Chen Wenzong hesitated, "This doesn't seem proper."

Lin Chaojing smiled faintly, "Then I shall write all nine."

He rolled up his sleeves and summoned an attendant of the embroidery building to bring ink, brush, paper, and inkstone. With a single flourish of his brush, a poem was settled.

The crowd gathered around only to see that the opponent had composed nine poems in one go, as effortlessly as picking flowers on a whim.