She had long grown accustomed to the strange and stringent demands of some distinguished guests within the building; she had even encountered a guest who wanted stinky tofu...
But where to find spring water in the middle of the night?
The agile and frail maidservant bowed to Zhao Rong and Zhao Qian’er, quickly flashing a brilliant smile. However, this smile inadvertently revealed the gap of a missing front tooth in her youthful grin.
After the indifferent young lady left behind a simple instruction and paid her no further attention, she held her folded handkerchief and step by step backed away.
After leaving the noisy lobby on the first floor, the gap-toothed agile maidservant’s smile had already faded. She looked around the empty deck.
Other than a strange sword-carrying man standing at the bow looking at the moon—apparently some tiresome manservant from some household—there was no sign of her companions.
The gap-toothed little maidservant looked a bit dejected, as she covered her grumbling belly with her hand. The cold evening breeze blew for a while, making her shiver, then she forced a big smile again and hopped off to fetch the spring water for the distinguished guest, hmm, and to heat it...
Inside the lobby on the first floor, the noise had already died down, with most people bent over their desks, immersed in creative thought.
Strings vibrating like springwater flowed gently amidst the gathering.
In one corner of the lobby, while his peers were deeply engrossed in thinking about their poems, Zhao Rong was noticeably idle.
He glanced at the agile maidservant’s frail retreating figure.
Zhao Rong turned back, watching Zhao Qian’er.
She stood demurely at Zhao Rong’s table, setting up his paper, inkstone, and brush without uttering a word.
The young girl moved delicately, with focused attention and neatly draped bangs and temple hair covering her peach blossom eyes.
Making it difficult to discern her face clearly.
Zhao Rong silently watched for a while.
Before long, he lowered his head and finished the meat soup in his bowl, then stood up, filled a bowl with milky, fresh white fish soup, and fiddled with the soup using silver chopsticks, seemingly checking for bones.
He knew exactly what that pink handkerchief given to another gap-toothed little maidservant was—Zhao Rong knew it thoroughly.
It was Qian’er’s first Sumeru Object.
As for what was inside...
Zhao Rong suddenly bent down and tilted his head to sneak a peek under Zhao Qian’er’s bangs to catch the expression on her small face.
His movements were as fast as lightning.
However, what he saw was still Zhao Qian’er’s calm expression.
She gently bit her lip, glanced at him with a slightly annoyed look, and muttered cheekily, "Rong’er, you’re being really boring."
Zhao Rong gave an awkward laugh.
Just then, Zhao Qian’er finished preparing the ink and gently clapped her hands.
Zhao Rong passed the boneless, delicious fish soup to her, fluttering his eyes as if flattering her:
"Try this, it’s carp fed by the spiritual objects of Xingzi Lake. I heard it’s monopolized by a few Immortal family firms in town; everyday people aren’t allowed to fish without permission."
Zhao Qian’er’s eyes mirrored Rong’er’s reflection as she narrowed her peach-like eyes and spat at him playfully, "Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, either a scoundrel or a thief."
Zhao Rong’s face stiffened as he said sternly, "Little Qian’er, drink my soup quickly, hm, and don’t be ungrateful."
"You’re full of hot air." Zhoa Qian’er stifled a laugh and glared at the mischievous Rong’er, "I’m not drinking your soup!"
Despite her words, she still pouted and obediently reached out to take it.
"Ah, open your mouth." But Zhao Rong withdrew his hand, advancing further, wanting to feed her himself.
Zhao Qian’er glanced around at the Justice Hall students, many of whom were occasionally stealing glances.
Blush crept up her cheeks, and she earnestly shook her head.
Zhao Rong couldn’t insist and handed her the bowl.
Zhao Qian’er sipped the warm fish soup.
Her eyes curved into crescents.
The corners of her lips, tainted with a hint of creamy soup, also curled.
Zhao Rong, knowing she was without a handkerchief, grabbed the sleeve of his Confucian Scholar robe and wiped the fish-lover’s lips, shaking his head, "Silly girl."
Surprisingly, Zhao Qian’er wasn’t annoyed at him but took another sip of fish soup, tilting her head with her charming peach blossom eyes smiling merrily at the Rong’er before her.
She felt the warmth of the bowl in her hands.
The warmth of the soup in her mouth.
The warmth of her heart beneath her bosom.
And the warmth of him before her.
At that moment, Zhao Rong glanced at the paper, ink, and brush on the table and coughed lightly.
"Qian’er, that... may I not write?"
Zhao Qian’er’s lips curled upward as she gazed at him earnestly, "No, Rong’er, you must write quickly."
She paused for a moment, then looked down and whispered softly,
"Pure White Cold Palace... Isn’t it that men like such beautiful and unique fairies, especially those highly sought after, feeling more accomplished in defeating others to win them?"
Zhao Rong surveyed the hall filled with men fervently writing, some with furrowed brows of distress.
Zhao Qian’er ignored him, pulled out a small purse, and frowned, "I thought I could’ve just bought it directly with money, saving the hassle, but this turned out to be troublesome."
She thought for a moment, then glanced at Zhao Rong, "But it’s just as well, Rong’er, you can win her over with your poetic talent, and that will save a lot of trouble later."
Zhao Rong opened his mouth to speak.
"Winning the beauty under everyone’s gaze, making the fairy fall for you. Mm, what a wonderful thing, Rong’er, hurry up, or do you need naive little Qian’er to hold your hand and help you chase girls?"
Though the young girl was pushing Zhao Rong to write, she couldn’t help adding a slightly sour note to her tone.