"Heir Jiang wins this round!"
As the Brush Holder spoke, he glanced at Jiang Xiaobai in amazement.
In past examinations at the Orchid Pavilion Tower, poetry and essays had required at least several Senior Scholars, or the elders upstairs, to deliberate over their merits.
After all, there was no undisputed first place in literature. Sometimes, whether a poem was good depended not only on its structure, but also on its imagery, choice of words, and spirit.
But now? The gap was too vast-so vast that deliberation had lost all meaning.
Wind, flowers, snow, and moon: four topics.
The moment Jiang Xiaobai produced his four poems, he crushed everyone else's earlier verses into silence.
Under these circumstances, what was there to deliberate over? He could simply announce the result.
And he believed not a single person would object.
Sure enough, as the Brush Holder's words fell, none of the twelve people in the Jia Character Area spoke up, while the surrounding scholars once again erupted into cheers that filled the hall.
Jiang Xiaobai sat there holding his teacup. Upon hearing the verdict, he turned his head toward the Brush Holder. "Huh? I won again?"
"I only... tossed together four poems!"
He knew saying that would make people hate him a little.
But at this juncture, he had five thousand freaking years of history and culture backing him up. If he didn't swagger now, when would he?!
That was absolute confidence!
"..."
The Brush Holder's face filled with a wry smile.
Just listen to him. How infuriating!
He had casually tossed together four poems?
If those four poems were casually composed, then what did the people in the Jia Character Area count as having written after racking their brains?
Practice pieces?
He was beginning to understand more and more that Jiang Xiaobai's