“Excellent poem. If I am not mistaken, Young Master Crane's poem uses objects to express feelings, reminiscing about friends who left the capital in earlier years. Such genuine emotion and true talent—the reputation of the The Three Heroes of Washington is indeed well-deserved.” After Keith Young finished reciting, the Guozi Doctor Miles Howard couldn’t help but slap the table in praise.

　　Quentin Wade also smiled, turning to William King and saying, “Brother Mark, Harold Crane's poem is well-matched and quite evocative—very good, very good…”

　　William King smiled without speaking. Although he was quite satisfied in his heart, since the poet was his own student, as the teacher he naturally had to remain reserved and couldn’t openly express his approval.

　　The other distinguished guests and scholars present also nodded in appreciation.

　　Harold Crane not only possessed talent but also came from a distinguished family, and his refined demeanor had long earned him a good reputation among the literati of Chang’an. By taking the lead, even if he didn’t bring down the house, he set a good example.

　　Although Keith Young was somewhat versed in poetry and prose, his skill was still far inferior to that of renowned figures like Miles Howard. Seeing William King and Miles Howard praise the poem, Keith Young was not stingy in giving Harold Crane some face, and echoed with a smile, “Absolutely right, Young Master Crane's work is truly excellent, truly excellent—worthy of the highest praise.”

　　In truth, Harold Crane's poem was proper and sincere, but not particularly outstanding.

　　Harold Crane laughed aloud, “You flatter me, esteemed teachers and elders. Harold Crane truly does not deserve such praise.”

　　With that, Harold Crane returned to his seat, quite satisfied. No matter how steady and reserved his character, he was still in his twenties, and young people—especially talented ones—are always a bit competitive.

　　Seeing Harold Crane win some applause and make a name for himself, Frederick Shaw found it hard to sit still. The three of them, all known as the “The Three Heroes of Washington,” were outwardly close friends and fellow poets, but in truth their relationship was not harmonious. Behind the scenes, they competed with each other, each trying to climb higher by stepping on the others’ shoulders.

　　As the saying goes, “scholars belittle one another”—the old adage rings true.

　　It was just that Harold Crane was open and upright, full of scholarly spirit, and even when he “competed,” he did so in the open. Frederick Shaw and Ethan Brooks, on the other hand, were more scheming and worldly, skilled at hiding their intentions.

　　That was the difference.

Chapter 012: Poetry and Wine Banquet at Qujiang Pond (6)

　　At this thought, Frederick Shaw immediately stood up, walked to the center, and bowed, saying, “Madam, esteemed elders and seniors, I too have composed a poem by chance. Please offer your corrections.”

　　With that, Frederick Shaw bent over the table to write, then entrusted the poem to a servant to deliver to Keith Young.

　　“Willows on the embankment—

Ten thousand strands of drooping willow,

In summer, they weave farewells.

Where travelers break off a branch,

Is when I am heartbroken.”

　　After reciting, Keith Young couldn’t help but smile, “Frederick Shaw is young and talented, elegant and charming, much like Prince Consort Shaw in his youth. To take such a simple topic as willows and compose a poem so full of longing between lovers—impressive indeed.”

　　With Keith Young's evaluation, everyone present burst into hearty laughter.

　　Quentin Wade raised his eyebrows disapprovingly, feeling that Frederick Shaw's poem was too frivolous, but since Keith Young had already praised it, he said nothing more.

　　Mrs. Grant raised her charming eyes, a strange smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “Who would have thought that Frederick Shaw, though young, is already so experienced—not only talented, but also quite the expert among the ladies. ‘Where travelers break off a branch, is when I am heartbroken’—oh my, I wonder which young beauty from the The Shaw Family has been left heartbroken by our young gentleman?”

　　“Care to tell me about it?”

　　Everyone burst out laughing.

　　In Tang times, it was not considered shameful for scholars to frequent courtesans; in fact, it was seen as a refined pastime. Only when a talented scholar did so was it considered truly elegant; for the unlearned, it was just debauchery, like Henry Bolton before.

　　Frederick Shaw smiled lightly and did not explain, bowing deeply once more to Mrs. Grant.

　　Mrs. Grant gazed at the handsome and interesting young man before her, feeling delighted, and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. After a while, she covered her mouth with her sleeve and said, “Very well, I’ll join in the fun and add to the festivities. Flower girl, reward this young gentleman from the The Shaw Family with a pretty maid to liven things up.”

　　A maidservant behind Mrs. Grant bowed in response, then casually pointed to a delicate-looking girl of about fourteen or fifteen. The girl’s expression changed, but she dared not protest, and obediently lowered her head and walked to stand behind Frederick Shaw's seat, silent.

　　Frederick Shaw was taken aback, not expecting Mrs. Grant to be so playful. Though he didn’t quite approve, he dared not refuse in public, so he bowed again in thanks and withdrew.

　　……

　　……

　　“Remembering the willows of the river—

Swaying, stirred by the wind,

By the embankment, softer than silk.

Who can truly understand their grace?

Too weak to stand alone.

Learning to dance, branches turn like sleeves,

Dressed up, leaves arch like brows.

Why, with a single break,

Do I think of friends and compose a poem?”

　　After Harold Crane and Frederick Shaw, the third member of the The Three Heroes of Washington—the grandson of Eric Brooks, Ethan Brooks—was naturally unwilling to be outdone. He too stood up and composed a poem, which immediately drew rounds of applause from those present.

　　With this poetry contest, the The Three Heroes of Washington took the stage one after another, each winning praise. The atmosphere was greatly enlivened, and several young scholars, emboldened, also took turns to recite their own poems. Though their hastily composed verses were far inferior to those of the three, they still won bursts of applause.

　　Mrs. Grant was in high spirits, repeatedly bestowing rewards. She had prepared plenty of prizes for the occasion and was clearly well-prepared. The quality of the poems was not the key; what mattered was having fun and enjoying the mood. For the sake of amusement, she was not stingy with her gifts.