Rong’er, I want the East Coming Purple Energy that the miss is wearing too," said Qian’er.
"There’s only one," Zhao Rong replied.
"Rong’er, I want Auntie Liu’s hairpin that the miss is wearing on her head."
"There’s only one," he said.
"Rong’er, I want your hand, the one that’s been kneading the miss."
Zhao Rong, busy with his head down, said offhandedly, "There’s only one..."
He stopped mid-sentence, and the movement of his hands paused.
Qian’er, who had long been sneaking glances and had been fed up with something for a long time, couldn’t bear it anymore and became angry, "You’re lying! You big hoof, you’re supposed to be washing the inkstone—how did you end up washing the miss’s hand?"
At that moment, they were still at a lakeside within Mochi Academy.
Zhao Rong was squatting by the lake with Lingfei and Qian’er, all extending their hands into the cold lake water to wash their inkstones.
The pitch-black ink stained a small part of the lake water, but it also faded away with the splashing waves.
Originally, Zhao Rong, with his long robe rolled up, was squatting in the middle, with Lingfei and Zhao Qian’er on his left and right sides respectively, both hugging their knees as they squatted.
The three of them were each washing their own inkstones.
However, someone’s hand, supposed to be occupied with cleaning an inkstone, got restless. Instead of staying in its own place, it waded across the ink-stained water and naturally slid over to the side.
He first cradled Lingfei’s white, ink-stained hand, feeling a bit cold to the touch.
So he tenderly wiped, rubbed, and pinched it.
Eventually, he just joined her in washing.
The two of them rolled up their sleeves and together they started scrubbing an inkstone.
It just seemed that two people doing the same task could become somewhat clumsy.
Zhao Rong and Lingfei were washing less so the inkstone and more their hands, and soon the four awkward hands became entangled with each other.
They couldn’t finish washing a single one for quite some time.
Qian’er, originally shaking her little head and toiling away, noticed this scene from the corner of her eye, and instantly her face lit up with expression.
The little girl clenched her silver teeth tightly, unhappy.
Therefore, she shouted loudly, fighting for the legitimate right of ’both being childhood sweethearts with the man in front of her’.
But Zhao Rong, absorbed in cleaning the ink... no, that’s not right, his wife’s hands, took on a perfunctory attitude, which really annoyed Qian’er.
At this moment, seeing that Rong’er did not speak,
she pursed her small face.
"Miss, Rong’er, it’s not fair!"
The little girl’s protest echoed around the serene lake.
Lingfei, squatting with her legs folded, gently buried her head in her knees, seeming a little shy as she retracted her hands, although failing to escape successfully.
Her hands, feeling soft and boneless to someone who loved being mischievous, were still tightly held by her husband beside her.
Zhao Rong blinked, as if nothing unusual had happened.
Qian’er, seeing that the miss and Rong’er were still squatting close together, continuing to ’wash hands’ without even returning a word as if they hadn’t heard her, pouted in frustration, "Miss!"
Lingfei’s head lowered even more, her expression unclear, but her exposed fair neck turned a faint blush, like the cloud seas above the Nine Heavens at dawn, bathed in the warm morning light.
She pinched back at her pretend-deaf husband.
Zhao Rong glanced and saw Qing Jun’s shy demeanor, and smiled softly.
His wife was perfect in every way, just a bit too reserved.
And even though they had held hands, embraced, and done many things together, many times before, she was still often shy and easily reactive.
They would stroll down the street holding hands, and Qing Jun would quietly blush,
as if it were their first time holding hands.
That was how she was in private, much less now in front of Qian’er.
Perhaps it’s because of her conservative nature, accustomed to keeping people at arm’s length with her cold and proud demeanor in public?
Or could it be because... her body was inherently sensitive?
Hiss, Zhao Rong hadn’t really noticed this before; he thought Qing Jun was just because she was still pure and untouched.
But now that they were an old married couple, she remained so bashful...
Just as Zhao Rong was about to continue pondering this troubling thought, he felt the hand that he was holding tug at him.
Zhao Rong returned to his senses and looked at his wife.
He cleared his throat softly.
No matter what, a big third wheel was watching them right now.
Even though she was someone close, this kind of ’caught in the act’ situation was quite stimulating—it was the same on the way back to Shuaixing Hall just now.
The atmosphere among the three people washing ink by the shores of Mochi Lake was somewhat awkward.
Zhao Rong understood what his wife meant; he looked up at a certain little girl.
He noticed Qian’er had already stopped working and was squatting by herself.
She hugged her knees, her delicate petite form making her look even smaller, casting a somewhat desolate and lonely silhouette—unloved and unwanted.
The little girl was biting her lip, her slender shoulders shuddering, in tune with the violent heaving of her little chest.
Qian’er’s large peach blossom eyes were wide open, staring resentfully at the ’scoundrel couple’ huddled closely together.
She had a pitiful and yet feistily fierce look about her.
Zhao Rong couldn’t help but smile, wanting to reach out and touch her little head, and say ’how cute’.
But he was certain that Qian’er would bristle and bite him, so he refrained.
Zhao Rong said seriously, "You know, there’s a saying, ’Men and women paired, work is not spared’."
He paused, leaned back, and looked at the little girl grinding her teeth, then continued to explain with a twinkle in his eye:
"And the books say, ’Sharpening knives doesn’t interfere with chopping wood.’ Hmm, nor does sharpening hands."
Zhao Rong grabbed Qing Jun’s four long, slender fingers and lifted her hand as a gesture.