Zhao Rong smiled helplessly.
He raised his hand, intending to pat her head, but reconsidering that it might not be appropriate, he instead gently scraped the tip of her delicate nose.
Although he had been driven to distraction by this peculiar little girl over the past few days, she was the only person willing to be close to him since he arrived in this world.
He had always believed that there were two kinds of people in the world one must not disappoint: those who love him, and those who hate him.
The little girl was stunned for a moment; her face turned beet red, she hastily turned around, grabbed the clothes and copper basin held by two following maids, bowed her head, and quickly rushed into the house.
Rong'er has really changed; weird, weird, and a bit annoying...
Seeing this, Zhao Rong clenched his fist, coughed lightly, apologized to the two stunned maids with a smile, and gently closed the door.
Turning his head to look, Qian'er was busy at the washstand inside the house, her back to him, her figure slender.
As Zhao Rong walked towards her, he casually asked, "Why did you come so late today? Not accompanying me to morning exercises?"
Qian'er turned around, her blush subsided, and she smiled faintly,
"Today is the grand-mother's ninetieth birthday, I was helping the young mistress make longevity noodles in the kitchen. The grand-mother loves the noodles made by the young mistress the most."
After speaking, she handed Zhao Rong the wooden brush in her hand, already coated with ointment.
"No wonder I was wondering why these past few days the outside of the estate was bustling, I thought there was some festival."
He took the brush resembling a toothbrush and began to brush his teeth by the copper basin.
"Rong'er, do you want to try making a bowl of longevity noodles too?" Qian'er tentatively asked.
He turned back to look at her and seeing her serious expression, he hurriedly shook his head.
Make noodles? What a joke! Instant noodles, maybe? I'm an expert at those, especially the old altar sauerkraut flavor.
"No! A gentleman keeps away from the kitchen."
Seeing his refusal, Qian'er pouted. You made them for me and the young mistress when you were a child, and have you really forgotten whose birthday you share with the grand-mother?!
Suddenly, she rolled her eyes and smirked slyly.
"Rong'er~~"
"Hmm?"
She quickly passed him the hot tea in her hands, and Zhao Rong took it and rinsed his mouth.
"Do you know what else today is?"
"I don't know... It can't be your birthday as well, can it?"
He then casually took the warm, wrung-out face towel offered by the young girl and wiped his face.
Ah, this is absolutely blissful. Is this the life of a wealthy scion in a dreadful feudal society? Why do I feel utterly guilt-free now? Alas, I've fallen.
Initially, he had resisted, unaccustomed to this luxurious life where everything was served on a silver platter, but under Qian'er's strong insistence, he had reluctantly joined in.
If there's no habit, create one...
Thinking of this, he suddenly realized that Qian'er had gone quiet. Removing the towel from his face, he looked at her.
He saw Qian'er staring at him with an odd expression. Is there something on my face?
"Well~ today is also Qian'er's birthday." She averted her gaze, fiddling nervously with the corner of her clothes.
"Oh, what a coincidence." Zhao Rong exclaimed happily. "Then we must celebrate properly!"
He paced back and forth, thinking, "How about I take you out today? Confucius Temple, Evening Water Street, those places are bustling with fun and lots to eat. Shall we go have some fun, eat something delicious?"
Actually, he had planned to visit the Imperial College today, to pay respects to the mentors at the Imperial College, but all these could be postponed. After all, the little girl's birthday was more important, and he had originally requested a ten-day leave from the mentors, of which only half had passed.
Qian'er's face brightened but then dimmed. She quickly waved her hands, "No, no, today is the grand-mother's major celebration, and later I have to help the young mistress; there are lots of things to do, and also..."
"You used to say 'tirelessly our parents brought us up.' My parents are not around, so my birthday cannot be celebrated lavishly, maybe, maybe Rong'er can make me a bowl of longevity noodles!"
Having said that, she cast another glance at Zhao Rong.
Good Lord, I really can't make noodles.
Zhao Rong looked at her with a helpless expression, her pitiable little appearance indeed tugging at one's heart.
"Qian'er, I'll gift you a birthday poem instead." He suddenly raised his eyebrows.
Qian'er's eyes sparkled, "Rong'er, are you going to write a poem for me?"
"Grind the ink for me!" Zhao Rong's eyebrows danced with excitement.
Seeing his confidence, Qian'er suddenly became doubtful. She muttered, "Could Brother Rong be planning to write a limerick?"
However, the young girl still hurried off to fetch the ink slab and stick of ink to grind.
Zhao Rong returned to the bedside and changed into a clean Confucian robe that she had just brought him. After putting it on, he noticed something oddly strange about today's robe.
The material was still luxurious and refined, but the sewing was noticeably poorer compared to what he usually wore. Eh, why are the sleeves asymmetrical? Who was the third-rate tailor who made this?
He found it odd for a while but didn't dwell on it, as the clothes were only slightly uncomfortable to wear, and it was hard for others to notice.
He shook his head, adjusted his clothes, tied his headband, took out the Mystic Bird Jade Poem Card from his waist, thought for a moment, then pulled out a white handkerchief from under the pillow and stuffed it into his chest pocket before heading to the desk.
Meanwhile, Qian'er had already finished grinding the ink and had prepared the rice paper and brush.
Zhao Rong approached the desk, dipped his brush in ink, turned his head to look at the curious young girl beside him, smiled, and focused before starting to write.
His calligraphy skills stemmed not only from the memories inherited by the original body but also from his time participating in the calligraphy club during university.
Although he had been slack in his four years of university, achieving mediocre grades, he had always maintained a passion for calligraphy and classical Chinese, even participating in provincial calligraphy competitions for two consecutive years.
This time he used semi-cursive script, as he wanted to use running script but feared the young girl would not understand it; because the history of this world was different from his previous life, calligraphy had only developed to the point of clerical, cursive, and regular scripts, with no trace of running script...
Qian'er's eyes widened as she watched him write fluently and smoothly on the rice paper. It was a style of writing she had never seen before, but being unfamiliar with calligraphy, she did not pay much attention.
"Fu Ni Chang・Joy of Autumn," whispered Qian'er with her jade lips slightly parting.
Is there such a poem card name? She tilted her little head in wonder.
Whether in the Purple Energy Pavilion where she had stayed previously or at the current Cultivation Holy Land gathering the geniuses of the state, she had attended many poetry societies and literary meetings organized by fellow disciples along with her mistress and had read numerous collections of poems.
After all, the thought of the Hundred Schools of Thought was widespread and had a significant impact on the mountain, involving most of the Cultivation World in this contest of the Great Dao, with Confucianism being one of the three predominant schools among them, not to mention that Cultivation Realm named by the Confucian Saint...
Thus, Confucianism was almost a necessary subject for most cultivators to delve into.
Maybe I just haven't seen it. She stuck out her tongue. Soon, her attention was captured by the poem on the paper.
"Joy of Autumn. Late lotuses adorned with round dewdrops. The breeze is nice; rows of fresh geese cling to the chilly mist. Crisp tunes from the silver pipes, clear strings plucked on jade columns."
The girl frowned slightly, her jade lips parted slightly.
"Toast the boat. Chorus singing, celebrating the birthday. Life lasts a hundred years, separation is easy, meeting is hard... separation is easy, meeting is hard..."
For some reason, as she recited these lines, she suddenly stopped, muttering them over and over; after a while, she took a deep breath and continued.
"On uneventful days, invite friends to the fragrant feast. Time urges green temples, the breeze caresses rosy cheeks... cherish the joyful moments. Why not indulge before the jade cup."
Having finished reading the poem,
she looked up at Zhao Rong, who was a head taller than her, biting her vermilion lips, her eyes shimmering as if they held stars.
Suddenly, the surroundings seemed to brighten. Though no windows were open in the room, a sudden breeze arose, lifting the curtains and flipping the pages of books.
...
At the entrance of the Earl Mansion, a tall, elderly man scrutinizing the guests suddenly turned to glance inside.
...
In a corridor of the mansion, a man holding a sword, with a sedge grass in his mouth and leaning against a pillar with eyes closed for a rest, slowly opened his eyes.
He muttered under his breath, tightened his grip on the sword, and closed his eyes again.
...
"How do you like it?" Zhao Rong asked with a light laugh.
The girl didn't concern herself with the delicate Flying Sword that had appeared in the Heart Lake. She sniffled and earnestly said, "Qian'er likes it very much."
A pearl-like tear rolled down from the corner of her eye, went down her somewhat chubby, fair cheek, and finally stopped at the sharp tip of her chin.
Zhao Rong was taken aback. Wasn't she just smiling a second ago? Why did she suddenly start crying? Is this what women are like? How terrifying.
"Brother Rong, my mistress and I are leaving today."
Zhao Rong fell silent.
She gazed at him.
"Aren't you also leaving?"