He was even less likely to know.
Qin Shaofeng, that literary thief, had never possessed much formal education to begin with.
After so many years in another world, he had long forgotten most of the poems and verses he had once crammed into his head by rote.
Otherwise, it would have been impossible for seven or eight tenths of what came out of his mouth to be things stolen from who knew where.
"Who is Li Bai? Huh?"
Qin Shaofeng seemed to have finally realized that this poem did not appear to be Master Li's work. He hurriedly said, "It should be: 'When life goes well, one must enjoy oneself to the fullest; do not let a golden goblet face the bright moon empty.' Hahaha..."
The face of the man who had asked the question immediately darkened.
He had to admit that Qin Shaofeng's literary talent was something he had never seen in his life.
Even those he had met who were hailed as great literary masters of Cloud Immortal Hall were nowhere near a ten-thousandth of the man before him when it came to poetry and verse.
But what was the problem here?
This did not seem like a place for you to recite poetry and compose couplets, did it?
And your answer seemed to have not even a fart's worth of connection to the question this old man had asked, did it?
"This old man is asking you: who is Li Bai?" The elder's fury blazed.
"Who are you?"
Qin Shaofeng still did not answer his question.
He raised the wine gourd in his hand and took a swig, then swayed as he asked.
If this were not the site of a martial contest,
and if the terrifying aura the elder had displayed earlier had not been so