Mo Ronyan lowered his eyes, with a strong possessiveness in his eyes, "What reward does Xiao Haitang want to give to my husband?"
Su Ruotang's long eyelashes like butterfly wings trembled, and there was a hint of ecstasy in her clear peach blossom eyes.
Before she could speak, Mo Ronyan leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against her peach earlobe, "Would you give me whatever you want, madam?"
His voice was lazy and carefree, and the tone was as sweet as cold spring hitting rocks, with a bit of a seductive smile in it.
Su Ruotang took a small breath and trembled at the end, "Well..."
As soon as her trembling voice finished, a low chuckle sounded in her ears.
Mo Rongyan narrowed his eyes, hooked his slender and clean fingers on the hair hanging down from her temples, and slowly moved it behind her ear:
"Xiao Haitang, God may not fulfill your wish, but as long as you want it... you will give it to your husband."
Su Ruotang's heart was filled with excitement.
She curved her lips, raised a smile and said proudly, "Then I want this piece of white jade now."
Mo Rongyan's crow-feather eyelashes drooped, casting a thick shadow under his eyelids.
A low laugh escaped from his throat: "Little Haitang, you can say - I want the white jade hairpin carved by my husband himself."
Whatever Xiao Haitang wants, he will do his best to find it for her.
Su Ruotang raised the corners of her lips, tilted her head to look at him with a sweet smile, "Come on, husband."
Her dark pupils were filled with belief.
Mo Ronyan chuckled and walked slowly onto the wooden platform.
A total of twenty people participated in composing the poem.
Su Ruotang stood under the stage, looking at Mo Ronyan who was dressed in black clothes.
The man's clear and clean fingers held the brush.
The sleeve of the hand holding the pen slipped down, revealing a wrist with noble lines.
The red rope tied loosely around his cold white wrist gave him a youthful air.
The little jade cat hanging on the red rope is shiny and translucent.
Her brocade-like hair was half-tied with a white blond crown, and the breeze blew through it, slightly lifting it up.
It is as beautiful as a painting and as cold as an immortal.
"Wow, that man is so beautiful!"
"The banished immortal came into the world and was not stained by the mortal world, but was dragged into the mortal world by a wisp of the mortal world."
"I always thought that Young Master Cheng, the lord of the city, was already a stunning beauty in the world, but I didn't expect that this man was even better."
"Hey, that's the kind of wife you've never seen married by the River God! That's the most beautiful woman in the world, the one who will captivate a country!"
"I didn't expect that the River God's marriage was caused by the Renyazi gang."
"It's so heartbreaking. If a miracle doctor hadn't come to Jingzhou City and cured some of the people's illusions, everyone would still be in the dark."
"The earth dragon rolled over and crushed those gangs to death. This is God's punishment for them."
The discussion among the people gradually stopped when Mo Rongyan stopped writing and was the first to hand in the poem.
The man took the rice paper in surprise: "Sir, are you sure you don't need to think about it anymore?"
Mo Rongyan's beautiful eyebrows were indifferent and distant.
The temperament around him is noble and cold, which makes people feel respected.
He said calmly: "No need."
After finishing his words, he looked sideways at the audience.
He happened to catch the sight of the third prince and concubine.
Their eyes met, and the frost in his eyes quietly melted away, turning into the pure flowing water of March.
The eyebrows and eyes, as pale as green mountains, are tinged with faint smile marks.
Su Ruotang curved the corners of her lips, and her bright peach blossom eyes curved into crescent moons.
Mo Ronyan subconsciously smiled.
In the pupils, only the figure of the third prince and concubine remained.
Everyone's eyes fell on the two of them, their eyes full of surprise and blessing.
After a while, everyone who participated in the poetry writing submitted their works.
The man read it carefully and looked at Mo Ronyan in amazement, "Master Rong, this piece of white jade belongs to you."
For convenience, Mo Rongyan used a pseudonym - Rong Yu.
Hearing this, a smile appeared in his eyes, and he picked up the white jade on the tray.
Under the dappled sunlight, the man's cold-white jade fingers pinched the translucent white jade.
For a moment, everyone couldn't tell whether the white jade was whiter or the man's fingers were whiter.
Suddenly, a voice came: "Isn't it a bit unfair that you alone decide the winner or loser?"
Everyone followed the sound.
It was a man participating in the poetry meeting on stage.
He angrily accused: "The Poetry Club in Jingzhou City is really eye-opening and hasty and arbitrary. It simply insults the name of the Poetry Club!"
As his words fell, others on the stage couldn't help but speak:
"That's right, in previous poetry fairs, the poems were hung up for selection."
"Haha, it's really funny. We organize a poetry meeting with everyone, but we decide who owns Bai Yu just based on one person's words. It's better to just give Bai Yu to him."
"Is it fun to play tricks on us like this?"
“Hang out his psalms!”
"Hang out!"
Nineteen participants were filled with outrage.
Everyone in the audience also complained: "Put out his poems!"
Mo Ronyan's expression was indifferent, and he pinched the white jade with his slender fingers and played with it casually.
He glanced at everyone lightly.
Indifferent and emotionless eyes fell on everyone, and they suddenly felt a chill in their hearts.
Unknowingly, I stopped talking.
Mo Ronyan's eyes were cold and calm.
The syllables that spilled out of the thin lips were like quenched ice slag, "Nian."
With a chill in his heart, the man read out the top poem, "The spring breeze evens out the colors, making it easy to carry glasses and compose poems."
Beauty is best when it rains, and beauty is all about blooming.
Don’t worry about pink and white being lazy by the window, and Liang Guang being slow to click on his paintings.
I can't see enough of him when he's drunk in the morning and sings in the evening. I envy him that butterflies live on deep branches. "
As his last words fell, everyone who was still aggrieved became speechless.
The scene fell into silence.
After a while, the man finally spoke, "Do you still have any objections?"
Have it?
Everyone shook their heads subconsciously.
No.
The remaining nineteen people on the stage were all silent.
This poem, both in terms of artistic conception and description, is far superior to their poems.
The man folded the rice paper and handed it to Mo Ronyan respectfully, "Mr. Rong, the city lord said that he has prepared a banquet at his house to congratulate the winner."
As he said that, he asked carefully: "Can you..." give me a favor?
Before the last three words were spoken, the servant of the city lord's palace came in a hurry, with an anxious look on his face, "Butler, the young master is sick again!"
