Yao Mengdie usually has no interest in writing poetry, so she hasn't spent much effort on it.
At this moment, she deeply regrets it and feels she missed an opportunity.
Gu Chengyu heard that the women were expected to write poetry and became impatient. When would they finally set the banquet?
"Jinyu! This is your painting; it's a pity to let others inscribe poems on it," Lu Chen said, opening the folding fan in his hand with a movement that was rather self-assured.
Gu Chengyu smiled, "How can this be a pity? As long as the poem suits the painting, it doesn't matter who writes it."
In fact, Zhu Pang was also thinking the same thing. This is to be presented to the Empress, so why give this opportunity away to others?
"I think you might as well write a poem yourself! Why let others take the credit? Those women's poems may not even match your painting!"
Zhu Pang said in a lowered voice.
