The annual poetry gathering finally opened on the banks of the Chunxi River in Pingjiang City.
Here,
the young talents of all Pingjiang City had gathered.
Here, status was not judged by strength or family background, but solely by literary brilliance.
Of course, though it was said to be an event for mortals, it was not limited to mortals alone. Cultivators could participate as well, but even among cultivators, anyone lacking proper literary cultivation would still be looked down upon.
Such was the moral integrity of scholars!
Yi Feng, having received an invitation, also came to the poetry gathering.
At the gathering, quite a few people flaunted their verses and literary talent, but none of it interested Yi Feng.
He had grown up steeped in five thousand years of culture. He had long absorbed countless poems and verses passed down through the ages. These poems might appear rich in flavor on the surface, yet possessed no conception at their core; they simply could not capture his interest.
Even the Three Hundred Tang Poems he had memorized as a child would have been enough to crush these people.
However.
Within the crowded throng, two pairs of eyes had been watching him all along.
One belonged to Yao Ling'er.
The other belonged to Mao Yun'er.
At last, Yao Ling'er took a deep breath and walked toward Yi Feng.
"Ah!"
Just as she approached Yi Feng, Yao Ling'er stumbled.
Yet Yi Feng did not even spare her a glance. He walked straight past her, and just like that, Yao Ling'er fell flat on the ground for nothing!
"Miss, are you all right?"
"Miss, how are you?"
For a moment, seeing such a breathtaking beauty as Yao Ling'er fall to the ground, countless scholars swarmed over. Some wanted to help her up, while others