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The "poet" clasped his hands respectfully toward Zhongli, his face filled with admiration.
Rumors said that Zhongli was a man of profound learning, versed in both astronomy and geography.
It was precisely because of his vast knowledge that the Crown Prince had invited him to serve as a guest advisor in the prince's residence.
To rise to such prominence—becoming a guest of the Crown Prince—solely through scholarship spoke volumes about the depth of Zhongli's wisdom.
Such a refined scholar was the very subject poets yearned to praise!
After finishing his performance, the poet sincerely approached Zhongli, seeking advice on how to improve.
If he could receive even a sliver of guidance from Zhongli, he might ascend to greater heights.
Hearing this, Zhongli took a sip of tea before setting down his cup.
The teahouse was crowded, but most patrons weren't there for the tea or poetry.
Their real purpose?
Information exchange.
How else would so many major factions know about Zhongli's preferences?
Of course, a few were genuine enthusiasts—either of poetry or tea—who came simply for leisure.
After a brief pause, Zhongli finally spoke.
"In the matter of poetry, I am but… modestly acquainted."
The moment these humble words left his lips, Paimon, who had been sipping tea, froze.
Her head slowly turned toward Zhongli.
Modestly acquainted?!
Is there anything you're not "modestly acquainted" with?!
Ancestor of Adepti, God of Contracts, Martial God, Lord of Geo…
If this was your idea of "modest," then what did real expertise look like?!
Paimon's tiny mouth opened, then closed.
Normally, she had no filter—whatever crossed her mind, she'd blurt out.
She rarely held back.
But this time, she was genuinely at a loss for words.
Modestly acquainted—he hadn't claimed ignorance.
There was simply no way to refute it.
Hearing this, the others twitched.
Had they not known Zhongli's "true background," they might have believed he was merely being humble.
But they did know.
"Truly befitting of Lord Zhongli! Such power, such erudition, yet so humble and courteous—he is a model for all of us!"
"From this day forth, I shall sing of Lord Zhongli's deeds!"
"I shall record his exploits in writing!"
Discussions buzzed, and a wave of Zhongli admirers seemed to be forming.
In his presence, they felt no divide of status.
Even the spies from major factions couldn't help but admire him.
A Titled Douluo, wielder of a 100,000-year spirit ring, and possessor of twin spirits—
Yet he treated them as equals, discussing history and philosophy without the slightest condescension.
Zhongli's eyes gleamed as he glanced at the speakers.
These "elders" had the air of scholars—and perhaps the makings of fine storytellers.
Singing of me?
Listening to legends about myself…
Arranging my own funeral—now that's something only Zhongli would do.
The one and only critic of the Geo Archon… was Zhongli himself!
Who understands the Rock-Sovereign better—you or me?!
"Lord Zhongli, I beg for your guidance. Whatever the outcome, I shall be eternally grateful!"
The poet bowed again, his sincerity undeniable.
Such a mighty figure, yet so unassuming—it was enough to leave one awestruck.
Zhongli was humble.
Morax?
Morax had never heard of the word.
Nodding, Zhongli studied the poet for a moment before speaking.
"Your poem extols the past merits of the nobility…"
Here, he paused.
This "poet" was no Hu Tao.
His verses glorified the nobility's historical achievements while carefully avoiding mention of their present deeds.
A prudent choice—one that spared him the wrath of current aristocrats.
A seasoned poet indeed.
Had he been some hotheaded youth, he'd have already been imprisoned—or worse—by offended nobles.
The nobles of old had fought for humanity, risking life and limb to protect the land.
That was why they became nobles.
Praising them honored tradition.
But today's nobility—especially in the Heaven Dou Empire—had long forgotten their founding purpose.
Celebrating the past while ignoring the present was this old poet's wisdom.
To betray his conscience and laud the current aristocracy was beyond him.
That was his dignity as a scholar.
A scholar's dignity—but not much.
After all, in this world, strength reigned supreme.
"Your diction and phrasing are impeccable."
"However…"
Zhongli paused again, his tone carrying deeper meaning.
"Beyond the mundane before us lies poetry… and distant horizons."
With that, he gave the poet a meaningful nod, leaving the rest unsaid.
The poet stiffened, his expression shifting through a myriad of emotions before settling into profound respect.
This lord understands. He understands what I wished to convey!
And he is guiding me.
A melody that rends the heart—where else might one find such a kindred spirit?
Lord Zhongli's wisdom was no mere boast—he truly comprehended!
"My deepest gratitude, my lord. I am enlightened!"
There were countless things in this world worthy of praise—why fixate on the shifting tides of nobility?
One misstep could mean death.
Poetry should be born of journeys—of seeing more, experiencing more.
Could such revelations not inspire verse?
The poet's eyes shone with realization, his gratitude toward Zhongli deepening.
Zhongli's message was simple: Travel. Broaden your horizons. Better poetry awaits.
But because he'd phrased it so… subtly, the poet had taken it as—
Well, the meaning wasn't too far off.
Close enough.
"Truly, Lord Zhongli! I may not grasp his words, but they feel profound."
"Indeed. Beyond the mundane before us lies poetry… and distant horizons."
Paimon's eye twitched.
Don't these people ever get tired?
All day, it's 'Lord Zhongli this' and 'Lord Zhongli that'…
Suddenly, several figures entered, their presence starkly at odds with the scene.
Their sharp, predatory gazes marked them as anything but poetry enthusiasts or tea lovers.
They looked more like troublemakers.
Marching straight to Zhongli, they halted.
The lead figure—an elder with garish makeup—offered a perfunctory salute.
"Greetings, Advisor Zhongli."
Without waiting for a response, he seated himself opposite Zhongli.
"Respects to Lord Zhongli!"
The three youths behind him bowed—a junior's courtesy to a senior.
They remained standing, lacking the status to sit.
Seating arrangements were dictated by rank and strength.
Zhongli was a "Titled Douluo."
The elder, too, was a Titled Douluo.
Thus, they met as equals…
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 125 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 20 power stones I will publish the next chapter.