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Lin Yuan arched her brows, feigning shyness as she lowered her head, yet the corners of her mouth curled in cold mockery, unable to sit still any longer.

Indeed, she soon heard Lady Meng say, "Miss Lin must be an exceptional person with both literary and artistic talent to be favored by Princess Anle and the Third Prince. May I ask what books Miss Lin usually reads?"

Lin Yuan covered the smile at the corner of her lips with a handkerchief, "Madam flatters me, I have not read books, just recognize a few characters, that’s all."

Hmm, a woman without talent is a virtue, Lin Yuan suddenly remembered these words her mother in a palace drama from her previous life would use to educate her daughter.

However, the Lady Meng in front of her clearly did not share the Empress Dowager’s mindset from the TV series.

Lady Meng spoke with feigned regret but actual mockery, "Ah? You haven’t read books? That is indeed a pity."

A lady, who Lin Yuan didn’t know which miss’s mother she was, laughed and said, "Miss Lin comes from an ordinary background, unlike Miss Yao who hails from the Mansion of the Grand Scholar. Madam Yao should not be too demanding of Miss Lin."

"Precisely so," another person laughed in agreement.

Lady Meng was quite pleased with these comments, nodding with a smile, "Exactly, it was mentioned by our ancestors that a woman without talent epitomizes virtue.

The few characters Miss Lin knows is already remarkable.

To ask Miss Lin to become an eloquent literary woman would indeed be too demanding. "

The three of them went back and forth, belittling Lin Yuan to nearly the level of mud, and although Lin Yuan didn’t mind, Lady Liu could not bear to see her daughter put down like this, her cheeks flushing red with anger instantly.

Lin Yuan might not care how others saw her, but she couldn’t tolerate her relatives being demeaned.

Right away, she chimed in with a smile, "Madam Yao is right, historically speaking, eloquent literary women can be counted on one’s fingers, and if Yuanyuan could become one, that would indeed be asking too much of me. "

Upon hearing her mention "history," the two women who flattered Lady Meng earlier couldn’t help but smile mockingly—one even covered her lips and sneered, "Oh, Miss Lin knows history too?

Well, please enlighten us on the historical literary women you know, and broaden the horizons of us simple womenfolk. "

She deliberately emphasized the word "history," curious to see if Lin Yuan had genuine knowledge or was just feigning expertise.

Lady Meng’s eyes twinkled, sipping tea while subtly shaking her head, obviously looking down on Lin Yuan’s capabilities.

Everyone seemed to underestimate her, so if she didn’t demonstrate something real, she’d truly be looked down upon!

Lin Yuan curled her lips and stood up, her voice clear, "In history, only ten women truly merit the title of literary women. These ten are: Li Qingzhao, the Talented Poetess of the Country; Cai Wenji, whose name has echoed through the ages; Ban Zhao, who left an eternal mark with her history writings; Lady Shangguan Wan’er, a multipotent woman of elegance; Su Hui, who composed the unique ’Star Gauge;’ Xue Tao, whose poetic fame lingers like a passing goose; Yu Xuanji, the tragic beauty of the Taoist temples; Zhuo Wenjun, who’s love story transcends time; Zhu Shuzhen, a woman with a broken heart so profound; and Xie Daojun, known for her uncommon grace and spirit. "

Lin Yuan’s soft, rhythmic voice didn’t pause as she listed the names of these women.

Since history varies, among these ten names, some were familiar to the audience while others were not, including a few names that even self-proclaimed erudite Lady Meng had never heard.

Due to Lin Yuan’s rapid delivery, few could recall the names by this point.

The lady who had previously mocked Lin Yuan found it hard to swallow her pride, but seeing doubt on Lady Meng’s face, she felt reassured.

Lifting her chin, she huffed, "Just listing a bunch of names we’ve never heard of, do you think you can fool us with that?

Miss Lin, are you treating us like fools? "

"Made-up?" Lin Yuan chuckled. "Just because Madam hasn’t heard of them doesn’t mean they never existed. These are all from a book called ’Laughing at the Worldly Affairs’ that I read back in Lin family’s valley. They are not my fabrications!"

"Laughing at the Worldly Affairs"? What book?

The women looked at each other, confusion and incomprehension in their eyes.

Lady Meng coughed twice, then with a smile, proposed, "Miss Lin truly has extensive knowledge. Still, I haven’t heard of some of these women. Perhaps you could share their stories with us in detail?"

Lin Yuan’s lips curled into a knowing smile; she anticipated they would say that.

"Whichever woman’s story Madame wishes to hear, feel free to ask."

Seeing her daughter’s confident demeanor, Lady Liu’s anxious heart settled down a bit.

After some thought, Lady Meng only remembered the first two and the last names she heard, but to not appear ignorant, she mentioned the first name she could recall.

"Everyone knows that I’ve always been fond of poetry. Please tell us about Li Qingzhao, the Talented Poetess of the Country, Miss Lin."

"Alright," Lin Yuan secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t have a very clear memory of the others’ specific stories; these were facts she had retained from memorizing the feats of historical women in her school days to outdo a male classmate.

But Li Qingzhao, of course, was the person she remembered best, as her poetry was often studied in school!

"Li Qingzhao was a woman of delicate sensibilities and exquisite beauty. She knew both happiness and adversity in her life. If you are interested, you might consider seeking out ’Laughing at the Worldly Affairs.’"

She paused and then recited Li Qingzhao’s most famous poem, "Slow, Slow Tune.

" When she finished, everyone seemed immersed in Li Qingzhao’s endless sorrow and yearning, especially the line, "Searching, searching, pining, pining; cold, cold, desolate, desolate; miserable, miserable, distressed, distressed," which made many of the women linger over and over, becoming increasingly melancholic.