The Marquis Mansion’s Elite Class

The master of emotional poetry, Hermit Yiyun, was unparalleled in stirring up emotions. Watching the five young boys pick up their brushes with gritted teeth, ready to denounce Luo Jingfeng and condemn the misdeeds of the Duke Protector's estate, the private tutors and Baili Xi exchanged glances, silently marveling: "Truly, Hermit Yiyun."

Their previous methods of teaching poetry had been formulaic, but poetry required creativity and innovation—hence why the boys had never made any significant breakthroughs. Mr. Su's approach was vivid and masterful in evoking emotions, for it was in moments of emotional turbulence that one's deepest reflections emerged.

Xu Wan observed Su Xi's indignant expression and found the old man oddly endearing. Even after assigning the task, his anger hadn't subsided, a testament to the depth of his resentment.

The five boys worked faster than usual, their brushes flying across the paper as they completed their poems in no time, handing them over to Su Xi one after another. Stroking his beard, he read them with delight: "Shen Yibai… passable. The poetic skill is lacking, but the aggression isn’t weak. There’s room for improvement."

Shen Yibai excitedly waved at his brothers.

Su Xi continued, "He Zheng… the tone is fierce, but don’t name names outright. Otherwise, if someone accuses you of slandering a meritorious official, you’ll be prime material for exile."

He Zheng quickly bowed. "Yes, thank you for the reminder, Master Su."

"Wei Xinglu…" Su Xi frowned as he evaluated. "Lacking impact. Did you forget how to insult someone? Your wording is too formal—are you sitting for the imperial exams?"

Wei ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‍Xinglu blinked. "Isn’t learning poetry meant for the imperial exams?"

Su Xi spat. "Nonsense! If poetry isn’t for insulting people, it’s utterly meaningless."

Everyone: "…………"

Still fuming, Su Xi flipped to Zong Wenxiu’s poem and slammed it onto the table. "Zong Wenxiu, this is the worst of all—utterly toothless. Is this an insult or a tickle?"

Zong Wenxiu hung his head. "My apologies, Master. I’ll study harder…"

The little devil, Zong Jincheng, was displeased. Insulting him was one thing, but insulting his brother? Unacceptable. He glared at Su Xi with unmistakable displeasure.

Noticing his defiant gaze, Su Xi picked up the last submission and taunted, "Boy, your emotions are leaking from your poem straight onto your face. Let’s see what nonsense you’ve written… Hmm, the insults aren’t bad, but I take back my earlier words—yours is even worse than Zong Wenxiu’s. Your phrasing is like a toddler’s. Is this even poetry?"

Su Xi tore into both Zong brothers, riling up Zong Jincheng until he snapped back, "You’re contradicting yourself! I don’t believe a word of your critique!"

Su Xi’s interest was piqued. "Oh? You dare talk back? I take it back—you brats from the capital are all spoiled. Fine, enlighten me. Where exactly am I contradicting myself?"

Zong Jincheng fumed. "You just said the harshest insults make the best poems, yet you admitted mine was the harshest but called it the worst. That makes no sense! And if harshness isn’t the standard, then my brother’s poem is the strongest among us—yet you called his the worst too. Your logic is a mess!"

The five tutors watched in horror. Even Baili Xi wanted to intervene. Su Xi was, after all, a renowned poet of their time—eccentric, yes, but still their teacher. For the little devil to challenge him so brazenly bordered on disrespect.

But Su Xi wasn’t angry. He bared his teeth in a grin. "All that bluster to scare me? I did say the harshest insults make the best poems, but what you wrote isn’t poetry. Just forcing a rhyme doesn’t make it a poem. Insulting someone while patting yourself on the back? Are you writing nursery rhymes?"

Zong Jincheng’s face flushed with rage. "Who cares? I’ll write how I want!"

The angrier the little devil got, the more Su Xi enjoyed it. He smirked. "Luo Jingfeng dragged me here to teach you brats. If I’m suffering this month, so are you—everyone, rewrite your poems. Keep at it until I’m satisfied."

The boys groaned and started anew, leaving only Zong Jincheng glaring at the eccentric old man before grudgingly sitting down to write.

After reconciling with Luo Jingfeng, his resentment had waned, so his earlier poems lacked bite. But now, if the target shifted to this maddening tutor, he could write a hundred insults!

Since he didn’t need to name names, Zong Jincheng redirected his fury from Luo Jingfeng to Su Xi, pouring his rage onto the page…

The boys submitted draft after draft, only for Su Xi to lazily critique and send them back to rewrite. By evening, whether the boys were in good spirits was unclear, but Su Xi’s frustration over being forcibly recruited by Luo Jingfeng had nearly dissipated.

As night fell, those who passed went to dinner, and even the tutors and Baili Xi left. Only Xu Wan remained, keeping Zong Jincheng company as he worked on his eighth attempt.

Bent over his desk, Zong Jincheng scribbled furiously, switching brushes multiple times—proof of his seething anger.

Su Xi read his latest effort and teased, "Boy, after all these drafts, your emotions are finally flowing freely. Did you finally forget about forcing those useless rhymes?"

Zong Jincheng thought, That’s because I want to curse you even more now. Coldly, he retorted, "If we submit unrhymed insult-poems in the exams, you’re just setting us up to be thrown out of the examination hall."

"Fair point," Su Xi grinned like a devil. "Rewrite it."

Zong Jincheng: "!!"

His face twitched. Glancing at his mother beside him, he remembered she and his uncle had hired this so-called poetry master. Swallowing his fury, he sat down for his ninth attempt.

Seeing how late it was, Xu Wan stepped in. "Master Su, perhaps it’s time to rest. Dinner is ready—you should eat and retire early. You can continue guiding Jincheng tomorrow."

Su Xi glanced at her. "Feeling sorry for the boy? He’s got plenty of energy—no need to coddle him."

The little devil’s head snapped up, shooting Su Xi another glare.

Su Xi immediately retaliated. "I’ve seen your schedule—etiquette lessons? Scrap those. Replace them with poetry. With that attitude, etiquette is wasted on him. Better to learn how to hurl insults for self-defense."

Xu Wan: "..."

Are you sure "self-defense" won’t just get him beaten up?