The charming widow of the Marquis's mansion: The stable boy carries the flag and raises the dra

Wang Long didn't hesitate.

He bowed to Xu Wanyun and greeted her with a smile, "Wanyun."

Xu Wanyun smiled faintly and nodded slightly to Wang Long.

She didn't know why, but being addressed that way by Wang Long made her very happy.

The instructors and disciples around Xu Wanyun, who were infatuated with her, nearly popped their eyes out when they saw the intimate interaction between the two.

"Mr. Xu actually told him to address him by his first name?!"

"What gives this old man the right? Mr. Xu is usually very polite and distant, never getting close to anyone, how could he..."

Whispers rose and fell, filled with envy, jealousy and resentment.

Zhou Wenyuan stood not far away, his face ashen, and he almost broke the wolf-hair brush in his hand.

He pursued Xu Wanyun for three whole years!

Let alone calling him by his first name, he rarely even gets a chance to say more than a few words.

Every time he approached her to strike up a conversation, Xu Wanyun would nod indifferently, give a few polite but distant replies, and then make an excuse to leave.

He thought that Xu Wanyun was just that kind of person by nature, treating everyone the same.

But today!

She actually offered to grind ink for that old geezer!

The reason why Wang Long used such an intimate term of address.

He also smiled at Wang Long more than once.

Zhou Wenyuan felt a surge of anger.

He gripped the pen tightly, his veins bulging.

"Why should I...?"

He gritted his teeth and said angrily.

Zhou Wenyuan sneered, picked up his brush again, and began to wield his brush on the rice paper.

He wanted to write a groundbreaking poem to show everyone who the most outstanding young talent at Wenxin Academy was.

Let Xu Wanyun know who is truly worthy of her.

What does an old man know about poetry and literature!

Xu Wanyun stood beside the desk, looking at Wang Long, and tentatively asked.

"Sir, if you have some free time after the poetry gathering, would you like to discuss poetry and literature with Wanyun?"

Her voice was soft, tinged with anticipation.

Wang Long smiled and nodded.

"Since Wanyun has invited me, how could I possibly refuse?"

Xu Wanyun smiled sweetly, a hint of joy flashing in her beautiful eyes.

"Thank you, sir!"

To be able to brew tea and discuss poetry with the person who wrote such poems.

It's truly a wonderful story.

Qin Jiaojiao leaned over the desk, watching the two chatting happily, her little face full of smiles.

She glanced at Wang Long, then at Xu Wanyun, feeling secretly pleased.

"That's wonderful! Grandpa and Master have such a good relationship, we'll be able to see each other more often from now on."

Having followed Xu Wanyun for so many years, Qin Jiaojiao noticed that many of the instructors and disciples around her were in pairs.

His master always kept to himself...

On the high platform.

Shen Qianqiu's gaze swept across the square. Seeing that there were hardly any people left in front of the desk, he raised his hand and gestured for a moment.

"The time has come, everyone please stop writing."

The noise in the square gradually subsided, and everyone looked up at the platform.

Shen Qianqiu stood up and waved his hand.

An invisible force surged from his sleeve, like a gentle breeze sweeping across the square.

He rolled up all the Xuan paper on the desk, neatly stacked it, and sent it into his hands.

Shen Qianqiu divided the Xuan paper in his hand into three pieces, handing one piece to the burly old man on the left and one piece to the kind old man on the right.

"My two instructors, please join me in appreciating this."

The three of them picked up their poems and carefully read through them one by one.

Everyone held their breath, watching the three of them with bated breath.

Shen Qianqiu flipped through the poems in his hands one by one, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking his head.

Occasionally, he would stop and whisper a few words to the two instructors beside him.

The changing expressions of the three elderly men captivated the hearts of everyone in the square.

Some looked expectant, some were uneasy, and some were confident, with a determined smile on their lips.

Zhou Wenyuan stood in the crowd, his hands behind his back, his back ramrod straight.

He slightly raised his chin, his gaze occasionally sweeping over the surrounding crowd.

He was very confident in the poem he wrote that day.

When Shen Qianqiu turned to his page, her fingers paused slightly, her eyebrows lifted slightly, and a hint of surprise flashed in her eyes.

He pulled out that poem, set it aside, and continued reading the rest.

The burly old man on the left noticed his movements, leaned over to take a look, stroked his beard, nodded, and showed approval on his face.

"This poem is good; it is metrically perfect, profound in meaning, and sincere in its encouragement of learning."

The kind old man on the right also looked over, squinted and read the poem from beginning to end, then spoke with a smile.

"Yes, it is indeed a good poem. If we consider today's poetry gathering, this one is the best."

The three elders' comments, though not loud, were clearly heard by everyone present.

The square immediately erupted in commotion.

All eyes turned to Zhou Wenyuan, and whispers rose and fell.

"It must be that Instructor Zhou's poem was singled out by the dean!"

"It seems that Instructor Zhou is the undisputed champion today."

"Instructor Zhou is the youngest eighth-rank Confucian scholar in our academy, and his poetic talent is unmatched. It was expected that he would win the championship today."

As Zhou Wenyuan listened to the surrounding chatter, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, but he forced himself not to laugh.

He waved his hand modestly and smiled.

"This is a poorly made work, not worth mentioning. You all flatter me."

As he spoke, his gaze swept across the crowd and landed on Xu Wanyun.

Xu Wanyun was standing next to Wang Long and didn't notice him at all.

Zhou Wenyuan's smile froze for a moment, and a hint of gloom flashed in his eyes.

He then looked at Wang Long, a mocking smile playing on his lips, his eyes full of provocation.

Wang Long sensed that gaze, looked up, and met Zhou Wenyuan's eyes.

He smiled faintly, casually looked away, and continued talking to Xu Wanyun and Qin Jiaojiao.

Zhou Wenyuan's face darkened.

This old bastard, how dare he ignore him?

He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and suppressed the surging anger in his heart.

Not urgent.

Let's wait for the dean to announce the results and see if this old man can still keep up the act.

Shen Qianqiu finished reading the last poem in his hand, reorganized the selected masterpieces, and was about to announce it.

His fingers suddenly stopped.

My gaze fell on the bottom sheet of Xuan paper.

The paper was buried at the very bottom and was almost ignored by him.

But just as his finger was about to turn the page, he saw the first line of text on the paper.

The lamp burns at midnight, the rooster crows at dawn.

Shen Qianqiu's fingers paused slightly.

His gaze lingered on that line of text, his pupils slowly contracting.

The handwriting wasn't very good; in fact, it could be described as somewhat rough.

The strokes are not vigorous enough, the structure is not rigorous enough, and even the most basic horizontal and vertical lines are not done well enough.

But between each stroke, there is a power that is incongruous with the font itself.

Shen Qianqiu frowned slightly.

He pulled the paper out from the bottom, placed it in front of him, and read it from beginning to end.

The final signature is Wang Long.

Shen Qianqiu read it only once.

His hands began to tremble.

Shen Qianqiu suddenly stood up, the chair tipped backward and crashed to the ground with a thud.

He was completely unaware.

His gaze was fixed on the sheet of Xuan paper, his lips were slightly parted, and his face was flushed red.

The burly old man was startled and quickly came closer.

"Dean, what's wrong?"