A trace of hesitation appeared on Zhao Feng's face.
He looked as though he were pondering, making the students look even more smug.
"I knew he couldn't write anything."
"He twisted the reasoning and exploited loopholes, but there isn't a drop of ink in his belly."
"Someone probably coached him through that sophistry. He's nothing but a crude warrior himself."
Just then, Su Qingwan's voice suddenly sounded in Zhao Feng's ear. "Brother Zhao, let me help. I'll dictate, and you write."
He looked up. Su Qingwan's lips clearly hadn't moved. He knew this was a secret technique called Voice Transmission.
Su Qingwan was not only exceptionally accomplished in the martial Dao and Dao arts, but also a renowned talented lady.
The corners of Zhao Feng's mouth curved slightly.
Su Qingwan's beautiful eyes narrowed a fraction. She understood what he meant: he didn't need her help.
"Brother Zhao, my talents are modest, but I could compose a poem for you," Ye Wuya offered.
"Young Master Ye, isn't that inappropriate?" Xiao Fan said coldly.
He knew Ye Wuya excelled in both literary and martial pursuits. Yet now he was standing up for Zhao Feng?
"The students of your Academy have been belittling us warriors all this time. I simply couldn't bear to watch any longer and offered a helping hand," Ye Wuya said.
"Brother Zhao, don't put yourself in a difficult position. Let me do it," he said, looking at Zhao Feng.
Zhao Feng frowned. How could he fail to see the man's little scheme?
"No need. I already have a draft in mind. If you wish to compose a poem, Brother Ye, you may do so after me."
"Very well. I'll wait until Brother Zhao has finished." Ye Wuya still wore a smile, but a flicker of disdain crossed his eyes.