I Am Really a Poet, Don't Believe It

I, Xiao Ming, am a down-and-out poet who knows nothing but writes whatever I want. Because of an accident, I was reincarnated. As for any accidents, don't worry about it. Yes, I drank Mengpo soup as expected, but why didn't this Mengpo soup work? My memory was not erased, but the memories in my mind were strengthened, including those cultural and artistic classics I had seen. But... Why can't I speak? Isn't this just a man's head and a woman's waist, you can only look at it but not tease it! Twenty years later... "Welcome the youngest and greatest artist, poet, songwriter, painter, writer and musician in the world - Xiao Ming." "How did Mr. Xiao Ming win the Nobel Prize for Literature despite having so many careers?" Xiao Ming waved his hand and said words that made everyone present feel like Versailles. "It's not that great. For example, when writing songs, I just used other people's coffee time to write casually, and it only took a minute or two..."