Pei Ye quietly studied those eight lines, the sounds of sabers and swords seeming to recede from his ears.
After a few breaths, he raised his head and looked at the man sitting silently in a daze before him. "After you've shown me something like this, how am I supposed to dare study poetry?" he asked earnestly.
Xu Menglang paused, then laughed twice and turned toward him. "Young Master Pei, you have far more talent for flattery than I do."
"It really isn't flattery." Pei Ye looked as though he had found a treasure. He rubbed the sheet of paper, reluctant to return it. "Do you have any other poems?"
Xu Menglang shook his head with a smile. "All right, the poetry and swords over there are moving rather quickly-Young Master Pei, though I know nothing of swords, those fellows before you all seem very formidable. Are you going last? If you ask me, you should have grabbed the spot right after His Ninth Highness..."
Pei Ye said nothing to that, looking earnestly at the man instead. "I'm talking poetry with you."
Xu Menglang froze slightly.
"You write such fine poetry, yet once you've written it, you wallow in self-reproach and despair, unwilling even to spare it another look." Pei Ye lowered his gaze to those eight exquisite lines. "Because you don't actually want to spend your talent on poems like this, do you?"
"..."
"..."
"I think... we needn't spend our time discussing life right now," Xu Menglang said quietly. "Young Master Pei, aren't you going to take this chance to watch how that Little Sword Immortal uses his sword?"
"I am watching. Splitting our attention is quite easy for cultivators like us."
"...Oh." Xu Menglang fell silent, then could not help chuckling.
Pei Ye smiled too, looking at