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The scene grew lively. Whenever a good line was recited, it was met with rounds of applause.
Mixed in with these sounds were faint voices coming from the men next door.
The students of Anzhou Academy were separated from them by nothing more than a fence, with layers of flowers and shadows in between. It was hard to see the people clearly, but when things quieted down, their voices could be heard quite distinctly.
They had likely learned that poetry was being composed here and had deliberately paused to listen.
When it came to Wei Ruo’s table, Wei Qingwan spoke first. She recited something—Wei Ruo, somewhat absent-minded, didn’t listen carefully—only to hear a burst of applause around her. It was louder than any before, and even the men’s voices from next door were noticeably more enthusiastic.
It seemed that all the ladies present were praising Wei Qingwan, while Wei Qingwan responded with a few shy remarks.
Wei Ruo paid little attention to any of it. First, she truly had no interest in such activities; second, composing poetry was never her strength.
Soon after, Wei Ruo heard Yun Shi and Wei Qingwan call out to her.
“Ruo’er, it’s your turn.”
“Elder sister, it’s your turn to compose a poem.”
Only then did Wei Ruo come back to herself. Calmly, she replied, “I’m not good at poetry.”
Wei Ruo knew that saying this would surely lower others’ impression of her, but she didn’t really mind. The earlier enthusiasm from the Assistant Magistrate’s wife and Madam Jin had already been more than she could handle.
She had never intended to earn a fine reputation among them anyway, so she simply admitted openly that poetry was not her strength.
Seeing Wei Ruo decline in this manner, the others fell silent and did not press the matter.
However, Wei Qingwan spoke up. “Elder sister studied under Master Wang. Master Wang is a widely acknowledged talent of Jiangnan, especially renowned for her poetry. Elder sister must be merely being modest.”
At those words, Wei Ruo’s attention returned completely.
Outsiders might not know, but Wei Qingwan certainly should. Wei Ruo had only returned to the Colonel’s Residence for about a year, and she had studied under Wang Caiwei for merely half a year.
Poetry was not something one could master easily—it required deep accumulation over time.
Yet Wei Qingwan, fully aware of how short Wei Ruo’s schooling had been, still said this in front of everyone. It was hard for Wei Ruo not to suspect ulterior motives.
“I truly am not good at poetry. Younger sister, please don’t force me,” Wei Ruo stated once more.
With Wei Ruo putting it so plainly, even the Assistant Magistrate's wife was about to step in to smooth things over and let everyone skip her.
It seemed that the eldest miss of the Wei family really wasn’t particularly skilled at poetry. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so straightforward about admitting it at such a moment.
The Assistant Magistrate’s wife didn’t think much of it. Being slightly lacking in poetry was no real issue. If it was viewed from the perspective of choosing a future mistress of the household, it wasn’t a serious flaw.
Before the Assistant Magistrate’s wife could speak, Wei Qingwan once again addressed Wei Ruo. “Elder sister, don’t be so modest. Everyone has already composed a poem. You’re the only one left.”
Everyone else had composed one, yet Wei Ruo stubbornly refused, making her appear rather out of place.
Whether good or bad, she could at least say a few lines. After all, not everyone who spoke earlier had produced anything outstanding.
As she spoke, Wei Qingwan gazed at Wei Ruo with eyes full of expectation.
Meeting those watery eyes, Wei Ruo suddenly changed her mind and blurted out, “Then I’ll compose one.”
Wei Ruo looked around, her gaze finally settling on the peach blossom grove behind her. Then she said to Xu Yaojun, who was holding the brush, “Fallen petals are not heartless things, They turn to spring soil to nourish the flowers more.”
After Wei Ruo finished speaking, the surroundings fell completely silent.
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