Inside the warm and fragrant hall of Lanyue Pavilion, the music of silk and bamboo instruments temporarily ceased. In the center stood a raised platform covered with a crimson rug, where Old Chen, who was presiding over the poetry gathering, had hair and a beard as white as snow yet maintained a vigorous spirit. His gentle gaze swept over the gathered talents, and after clearing his throat, his clear, resonant voice reached every corner of the room:
"My esteemed men of letters and gifted ladies, the topic for today's poetry gathering has been decided—"
He paused, then uttered two words laden with the clanking sounds of armor and weapons.
Chapter 62