Like a little vinegar pot with its lid lifted off.
"You... write a better one, you must surpass them."
Zhao Rong frowned, cutting her off directly, "I don’t want to write."
He gazed at Liu Mei, who was about to get angry, and spoke his mind truthfully.
"If it were before, if you asked me to write, I would definitely write. I could write any sort of poem for you. But now, I haven’t yet written the love poem I promised you, how can I write for another woman?"
Zhao Qian’er’s expression froze, and she turned her face away, seemingly afraid to look into Zhao Rong’s eyes.
After a moment of silence, her lips slightly pursed and she murmured somewhat resentfully, "Rong... Brother Rong’er still remembers to write poems for Qian’er, I thought you had forgotten."
Zhao Rong shook his head, "I haven’t forgotten. It’s been so long because I don’t want the poems for you to be makeshift, or just gorgeously elaborate and high-grade without genuine feeling. So I can’t bring myself to write."
Zhao Qian’er’s eyelashes trembled, and her lips mumbled.
Her peach-blossom eyes under her light pink eyelids dared not flutter for fear that the tears would recklessly flow.
"I... I don’t need you to write too good a poem for me, even just a sentence ’I fancy you’ would seem to Qian’er the most beautiful and moving poem in the world, I... I don’t need it to be so good, silly Brother Rong’er, stinky Brother Rong’er..."
Zhao Rong looked at this young girl who couldn’t contain her expression and remained silent.
Zhao Qian’er wanted to look at Zhao Rong, but dared not, afraid she couldn’t help but burst into his arms crying, making a spectacle of herself.
She had taken the initiative to ask Brother Rong’er to write poems for other women. Even if her heart was very broad, how could there not be a trace of sadness at its deepest?
Did she really not care as much as it appeared on the surface?
However, having heard Brother Rong’er’s response and the concerns he had always held in his heart for her, Zhao Qian’er felt that it was enough.
The two of them were quiet for a while.
Their exchange hadn’t attracted much attention as by this time, the three sticks of incense had already burnt halfway, and everyone was in the midst of inspiration, focusing intently.
Even Gu Yiwu had unconsciously stood up and was pacing around the seating corridors, holding a small broom he had somehow procured... like a woeful little wife being unconsciously waved about by a burly man.
The scenario was bizarre.
Well, according to Zhao Rong’s understanding from his time spent with him lately, Brother Yiwu must be serious.
The other students from Justice Hall felt similarly.
Probably suffocating in poetic composition.
At this moment, Zhao Rong and Zhao Qian’er similarly paid no attention to these external noises.
To them, at this moment, their entire world consisted only of each other.
Zhao Rong gently exhaled and smiled as he ruffled her little head.
"Alright, stop dwelling on this, you almost cried your face off again."
"I didn’t cry," Zhao Qian’er sniffed.
"Alright, alright, Qian’er didn’t cry, not at all."
After a teasing remark, Zhao Rong looked at Zhao Qian’er, whose eyes were slightly red, then his face became serious:
"Back to the main issue, as for the Pure White Cold Palace. I’ve always been with you guys, it’s useless, and in the worst-case scenario, if we encounter danger, we should die together, what’s the use of that thing for survival? Me living alone? And its conditions are harsh too."
"Besides, if we take her back, how do we explain it to Qing Jun? So, as for the poetry, I’m not writing a single one."
He sighed softly, "I really don’t want to help her sort things out."
Zhao Qian’er was quiet for a while, occasionally sniffing her nose, adjusting her emotional expression.
It seemed like she was back to her lively self as before. Hearing his words, she hummed softly, glancing at the now extremely annoying stinky Brother Rong’er.
"You don’t have to worry about Miss. If we can take her back, I’ll talk to her... But, hmph, you talk as if you can win Luo Xiu’s heart with just any poem. Well, if you’re so capable, write it then, all talk and no action, you’ve always been all boast and no go since we were kids."
Zhao Rong’s expression was one of helplessness, knowing the young girl was using reverse psychology.
He suddenly blinked, "You don’t believe it?"
"You really don’t believe I can win her over with just any poem?"
Zhao Qian’er held her head high, not even looking at him, "Don’t believe, don’t believe."
Zhao Rong’s expression became serious, agreeing, "Right. You shouldn’t believe."
He patted Zhao Qian’er’s head somewhat emotionally, "Ah, little Qian’er has finally grown up, a mature Sword Cultivator. Now I’m relieved."
The patronized Zhao Qian’er, "???"
She suddenly really wanted to act for the heavens and strangle this stinky guy.
I don’t know whether I’m mature or not, but you are truly a dog.