The night deepened, and in the fireplace at the Educated Youths Courtyard, the firewood burned a vibrant red, casting a warm, flickering glow on everyone’s faces.
Master Zhang smacked his lips, tapping his enamel mug with calloused fingers. "That poem was truly magnificent! Little Jiang certainly has a way with words," he remarked with emotion. He narrowed his eyes, as if still savoring the lines of *Snow* that Jiang Rou had just recited, and added, "Far better than those pedantic scholars we have in our own village!"
Jiang Rou smiled, her lips curling slightly. The firelight danced in her clear eyes like flickering stars. She pulled her scarf tighter and said softly, "You’re too kind, Uncle Zhang. I just happened to remember a few lines."
Chapter 142