Xu Wan's lips twitched as she thought to herself: Well, you're the one who loves baked pancakes the most. When the others are busy studying, they prefer steamed buns—convenient and nutritious.
Su Xi, seeing her reluctance, didn’t force her to comply. Instead, he sighed lightly and said, "Prepare both steamed buns and baked pancakes. You’ll understand soon enough."
Xu Wan looked at him in confusion.
She ordered the servants to prepare the food. Once it arrived, the little old man strolled over with his hands behind his back, observing the boys hard at work. He teased, "It’s been all morning, and you’ve only dug up a few flowers? Such slow work, young masters. If it were us country folk, we’d have finished by now."
Zong Jincheng, who had just uprooted a flower without even looking up, retorted, "You want to plant vegetables but don’t care about the flowers. We can’t bear to see good flowers die, so we’re taking the time to save them. Naturally, that slows us down."
Su Xi feigned surprise. "Oh? Doesn’t that waste your precious study time?" This was the same argument they’d used against him earlier—claiming it wasn’t worth the effort.
The little troublemaker clenched his fists in frustration. How dare this eccentric old man say that? If not for his unreasonable demands, would they have spent their morning doing servants’ work?
Zong Jincheng suppressed his temper and silently moved on to the next flower.
Su Xi nudged his calf with his foot and remarked, "Kid, you’ve got quite the patience. Not even angry?"
Zong Jincheng was on the verge of snapping. He screamed internally: Stop poking me, you weird old man!
Su Xi scanned the field and noticed that while the boys were visibly annoyed, they all held back their tempers. Some even brainstormed solutions to his absurd demands—a level of maturity far beyond ordinary people.
No wonder their policy essays were so well-written.
But without emotional turmoil, how could they write good poetry?
Su Xi decided to push further. "Alright, enough work. Go wash up for breakfast."
The five boys immediately dropped their hoes and eagerly rushed to wash their hands. The aroma of steamed buns and baked pancakes wafted from the distant pavilion, making their empty stomachs growl.
They swarmed the table, all reaching for the steamed buns—until Su Xi stopped them. "Stand straight! The buns are for us. You get the baked pancakes."
The boys glared at him in unison.
Shen Yibai was the first to protest. "Teacher, this is abuse! Steamed buns are soft; baked pancakes are hard. Buns have meat; pancakes are plain. How are we supposed to keep digging flowers on just pancakes?"
"Exactly! We need energy to work."
"If we only get pancakes, maybe we shouldn’t work at all."
"Fair point. Choose: either let us eat buns or forget the work."
Su Xi raised an eyebrow, grinning like a fox. "No. I want both—your labor and your pancakes. And don’t even think about seconds. One per person."
The boys exploded in outrage.
Wei Xinglu shouted, "This is too much! It’s outright abuse! We’re growing boys—one pancake won’t even fill us up!"
He Zheng fumed, "You’re bullying us! No teacher we’ve ever had starved us. If you like pancakes, eat them yourself! Why force us? We’re here to learn poetry, not suffer!"
"Right!" Zong Jincheng backed his friends. "Teacher, your demand is unreasonable. We won’t accept it!"
Shen Yibai and Zong Wenxiu nodded vigorously: Unacceptable. Unthinkable.
The five boys dug in their heels, determined to out-stubborn Su Xi.
But Su Xi simply said, "Then write poetry. If you don’t want pancakes, earn your buns. Good poems get buns. Bad ones get pancakes."
"Fine! We came here to write poetry anyway!" Zong Jincheng, the most easily provoked, rolled up his sleeves and stormed to his desk in the study.
The others followed. Read complete version only at novel_fіre.net
With no assigned topic, they defaulted to yesterday’s homework: crafting elegant insults. Only this time, their target shifted from Luo Jingfeng to Su Xi.
Yesterday’s sympathy for Su Xi’s misfortunes paled in comparison to today’s firsthand frustration.
Anger, it turned out, was excellent fuel for creativity.
When the new batch of poems was submitted, the boys’ fury hadn’t subsided. They stood in a row, avoiding Su Xi’s gaze—lest they be tempted to punch the eccentric old man.
Xu Wan and Su Xi reviewed the poems together. The rage practically leaped off the page, and though no names were mentioned, Xu Wan knew: these were directed at Su Xi.
Oh no. Would the old scholar take offense?
She glanced sideways—only to see Su Xi grinning ear to ear. "Good, good! Now this is more like it. Alright, you pass. Go eat your buns."
Who knew Su Xi was —happy to dish out insults and just as happy to receive them?
The boys lunged at the buns, each grabbing two and devouring them. Growing boys with bottomless stomachs, they finished in seconds and went back for more.
Zong Jincheng, munching on a bun in each hand, offered one to Xu Wan. "Mother, haven’t you eaten yet? Here."
Xu Wan’s heart warmed as she accepted it with a smile. "I should thank you all. Without your help, I’d be stuck eating pancakes too."
Zong Jincheng giggled. "Don’t worry, Mother. We’ll study hard and get you all the good food."
Su Xi, nibbling a pancake, watched the mother-son exchange with amusement. This kid—rebellious in appearance, yet filial to his core. How was he raised?
After this ordeal, Xu Wan finally understood Su Xi’s method. He wasn’t a senseless eccentric; he recognized the boys’ discipline and rationality—and deliberately provoked their emotions.
Su Xi, a master of emotional poetry, thrived on empathy. And that was precisely what these boys lacked.
No matter how polished their policy essays were, they were products of crash courses—full of theory, empty of experience. And in poetry, that gap showed most glaringly.