Young Master's Excellent Poetry

"Maomao, who is that?"

The woman in white asked.

"Uh, it's a young man, and he's a mortal." Maomao opened the door a crack, glanced outside, and replied, turning back.

"A mortal?"

The woman in white frowned, her jade lips parting again. "Ask him what he wants."

"He says he's looking for a place to stay for the night, Miss, what do you think?"

Maomao looked at the woman in white for instructions.

"Let him in, arrange a courtyard for him, and warn him not to wander around at night," the woman in white instructed. She then turned her attention back to her book, no longer paying attention.

"Hey, you can come in!"

Maomao opened the door, and a young man with a bamboo basket on his back and a slightly tired face walked in.

It was Yi Feng, who had come into the mountains to gather herbs. m.9biquge.\ncom

He had his own tent, but he was unlucky. A light rain had started to fall, and it was cold in the mountains, making it impossible for Yi Feng to stay any longer.

Fortunately, there was still a house deep in these mountains.

"Thank you."

Yi Feng quickly thanked them before walking through the gate.

As soon as he stepped inside, Yi Feng was captivated by the sight before him, especially the woman sitting beneath the waterfall, who was so ethereal and otherworldly.

The empty mountain, freshly washed by the rain.

As dusk falls, late autumn birds return to their nests.

A quiet courtyard, a silver screen three thousand feet wide.

A beauty by a rock, playing a zither.

This scene and sentiment made Yi Feng unable to resist quoting ancient poetry from his past life to praise it.

Of course, to fit the mood, he had also slightly pieced together and adapted it.

Otherwise, it would have felt out of place.

However, as soon as Yi Feng finished reciting the poem, the woman playing the zither, who had not looked up until now, suddenly cast a surprised glance his way. She hadn't expected a mere mortal from the mountains to compose such verses.

"The empty mountain, freshly washed by the rain, as dusk falls, late autumn birds return to their nests, a quiet courtyard, a silver screen three thousand feet wide, a beauty by a rock, playing a zither..."

She couldn't help but softly chant it herself.

After finishing, she couldn't help but nod, looking at Yi Feng with a serious gaze for the first time.

On his person.

There was indeed no trace of cultivation.

Undoubtedly a mortal.

Under the misty rain, his blue shirt was slightly damp, but he didn't look disheveled. Instead, he gave off a very clean feeling. It had to be said that this mortal gave her a very comfortable impression.

It was also the first time she had slightly changed her traditional view of mortals.

"Not all mortals are ordinary..." she thought. At the same time, she put down her book with her slender hands and said with red lips, "Young Master, your poem is beautiful. This humble girl thanks you."

"You are too kind, Miss."

Yi Feng cupped his hands towards her and then followed Maomao to his lodging, where he finally settled down.

"Are you settled?"

The woman in white asked softly.

"Yes, Miss, I'm settled." Maomao walked back and then her eyes widened in surprise, exclaiming, "Huh? Miss, what you wrote just now, isn't that the poem he just composed?"

"Mm."

The woman in white nodded lightly, picking up her brush to write down the poem Yi Feng had just composed.

"Hey, hey, Miss, you're not falling for this mortal, are you? You're even writing down his poem," Maomao said from the side, covering her mouth in surprise.

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

The woman gave Maomao a look and put down her brush with her slender hands.

"I just feel that his line of poetry is very fitting for our place. I always felt something was missing here, and this poem makes it perfect."

"So, after the ink dries, you'll frame it and hang it up."

"Hehe, Miss says she's not falling for that mortal, and she's even going to hang up his poem," Maomao giggled playfully, covering her mouth.

"You little rascal, if you keep talking nonsense, I'll hit you!" The woman in white pretended to hit Maomao, saying, "No matter how good a mortal is, he's still just a mortal. There's a world of difference between us. Besides, how could I fall for someone based on just one poem?"

"Besides..."

Her melodious voice trailed off, and she didn't continue. She merely tightened her grip on Dream of the Red Chamber and The Monkey King in her hands.