Several shopkeepers were about to hand over the silver to Xu Zhong when they heard someone stopping them, and they were taken aback, looking towards Yuan Ruxin.
Yuan Ruxin circled around Xu Zhong, her eyes filled with critical suspicion.
"Can such a destitute scholar create such an exquisite poem? Don't you all find this matter suspicious?"
Scholars are diligent, and Xu Zhong was most angered by someone questioning his talent.
"This young lady, I, Xu, could write at three, read history and literature at five, and by the age of eight, I had already participated in the village examinations."
Yuan Ruxin smirked, letting out a sneer.
"I'm not interested in hearing about your past achievements because, after all, they could all be falsified!"
"What I want to point out is that you obviously come from a poor family. As far as I know, studying requires a lot of silver; otherwise, you can't even afford paper, ink, or inkstones."
