Since ancient times, drinking wine and composing poetry have been the common afflictions of scholars. Walter and his companions, being mediocre scholars of the third tier, naturally fell into this category.

Moreover, Walter and his friends styled themselves as the ’Four Musketeers.’ In the past, Walter had even wanted to include Simon in this group, elevating it to the ’Five Musketeers’ with Simon as their leader. Truly, his face was thick enough to make such a suggestion.

However, the previous Simon had no interest in poetry or books, preferring archery and hunting instead. He scoffed at the idea of being labelled a ’talent’ and thus never accepted the empty title.

But since they were self-proclaimed talents, drinking wine and composing poetry were part of the routine. Even in Simon’s absence, the four of them often engaged in poetic competitions during their family banquets, partly to show off their literary skills and partly to attract attention, much like modern young men learning the guitar to impress others during the spring season.

"Your Highness, I humbly offer my clumsy attempt. Today, I shall compose a poem inspired by the snow: ’Frost can freeze my toe to stone. But this wine says, no, not today. Cheers to wine that stands alone. Winter who? Hip hip hooray!’" Walter recited slowly, hands clasped behind his back like a literary giant.

At this moment, Joan also came upstairs. The distilled liquor from the side hall had been moved to the storeroom, and the distiller had been put away. Bored, she had come upstairs to relieve Gius.

Hearing Walter’s doggerel, she couldn’t help but cover her mouth and chuckle. "With door gods and earth spirits, is this a prayer for a sacrificial ceremony, Young Sir?"

Walter turned and saw Joan. The alcohol had gone to his head, and seeing Joan as fresh and beautiful as a lotus on clear water, he was momentarily entranced, staring at her intently.

"Ahem!" Simon coughed at just the right moment, startling Walter back to reality. He spoke. "Miss Joan, you flatter me. It’s just a clumsy poem."

However, in front of a beauty, any man has the desire to show off. Confident that he was far more talented than Simon, Walter couldn’t resist dragging Simon down to make himself look better. He spoke. "Your Highness, my poem has made Miss Joan laugh. Why don’t you compose a poem for us to admire?"

Simon took a small sip of wine. He knew exactly what Walter was up to. Having spent five or six years in a modern office, he was well-versed in office politics.

However, when it came to composing poetry, he couldn’t compare to these scholars who had spent their lives studying for the imperial exams. Things like parallelism and rhyme had long been forgotten.

But standing on the shoulders of countless literary giants from the system, just as he had with the technologies he had imparted, why should he strain his brain to come up with a poem? That would be a waste of brain cells.

Now that Walter was determined to make a fool of him, he couldn’t be blamed. He thought for a moment, and a flood of poems flashed through his mind. He recited:

"Brambleford’s finest, fragrant with its finest fragrances. Only to be served in the best cups presentable to show off its glory. If a guest could get drunk, they would most definitely forget about the world, even for a short while."

After reciting the poem, Simon felt a twinge of guilt for stealing a poet’s work. But then he remembered he was in a completely unrelated world and let it go.

However, when he looked up, he saw Walter and Joan staring at him in shock, as if a polar bear had just seen a penguin.

Walter swallowed hard. Despite being drunk, he could still tell the difference between his doggerel and the masterpiece Simon had just recited. After a moment of stunned silence, he exclaimed. "A timeless masterpiece! Your Highness is truly a reincarnation of the Literary Star. I could never hope to match you."

"Walter, you flatter me. It’s just a small poem. Come, let’s drink more." Simon said, pouring Walter another cup of wine.

Joan, having been in Eldora, a gathering place for scholars, had heard many poems. The one Simon had just recited was undoubtedly of high quality. She spoke. "My Lord, you are too modest. If this poem were heard in Eldora, even the top scholars might not be able to match it."

"Miss Joan is right. Your Highness’s poem is truly extraordinary. I believe it also reflects Your Highness’s current mood. Drinking Brambleford’s fine wine and having lived here for five years, it’s only natural to feel nostalgic for Eldora." Walter said.

The poem indeed expressed the sorrow of being far from home, and Walter’s interpretation was not wrong. However, Simon didn’t share the sentiment in the poem. He was quite content where he was. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

But to keep the conversation going, he said. "You’re quite right. Let’s not dwell on it. Let’s drink."

The two of them drank merrily, and after two bowls, Walter finally couldn’t hold his liquor anymore, collapsing onto the table, completely unconscious.

Simon, having only drunk three bowls, was slightly tipsy. Seeing Walter out cold, he said to Joan. "Have Gius take Walter back."

Joan acknowledged the order and went downstairs. Shortly after, Gius came up and helped Walter downstairs.

At this moment, Ysabeau came upstairs and spoke. "My Lord, you’ve had quite a bit to drink. Would you like to rest?"

Simon waved his hand. "No need. Come, the view here is quite nice. Let’s enjoy the snowy scenery of Brambleford together."

Joan chimed in. "His Highness just composed a poem on the spot. It was truly breathtaking."

"Don’t be ridiculous. His Highness can compose poetry?" Ysabeau tugged at Joan’s sleeve, thinking she was joking.

Joan pouted and recited:

"Brambleford’s finest, fragrant with its finest fragrances. Only to be served in the best cups presentable to show off its glory. If a guest could get drunk, they would most definitely forget about the world, even for a short while."

Ysabeau listened, stunned for a moment before regaining her composure. She turned to Simon and spoke. "My Lord, did you really compose this?"

Simon blushed but had to say. "Of course. Do you doubt my literary skills?"

"Not at all. It’s just that I never expected Your Highness to have such talent. When I was by Her Majesty’s side, she often said Your Highness was unlearned. But now it seems that during your years in Brambleford, you must have studied diligently." Ysabeau said. Then she added. "However, I think this poem could be improved slightly."

"Oh? Let’s hear it." Simon said, intrigued.

"The line ’They would most definitely forget about the world’ could be changed to ’They would most definitely forget where the world was.’ This would enhance the poem’s expression of longing for Eldora." Ysabeau suggested thoughtfully.

Simon’s eyes lit up. "Hmmm, that could work, though it might not necessarily be better than the original." As he spoke, he observed Ysabeau. Normally, given the strict hierarchy, Ysabeau wouldn’t dare to casually suggest changes to Simon’s poem, as it would be disrespectful. Her bringing it up now must have been deliberate.

Ysabeau explained. "It’s not that I presume to have literary talent, but I feel Your Highness’s poem is perfectly suited for ’Brambleford’s Finest.’ If Your Highness’s poem were inscribed on the wine bottle and word reached the emperor, he might be moved by Your Highness’s homesickness and show compassion. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps the silver will come rolling in. Excellent!" Simon clapped his hands and laughed.

Ysabeau felt a wave of helplessness. The prince was now obsessed with money. What she had meant was that the emperor might be moved by familial affection to allow the prince to return for a visit.