The midday breeze was warm, but after it swept over Celestial Bright Peak, it turned into a stream of cool air, circling the house before returning to the sky.
The room was inlaid with Fire Stones everywhere, warm and cozy.
Miss Yun lay limply on the bed, as if deflated, the sunlight making her feel listless, lacking any energy... but soon, she became slightly interested, propping herself up to look at the novel in her hands.
Reading carefully, she delved into the somewhat tumultuous love story within the book.
The way she read was quite interesting: when she encountered incomprehensible passages, she would substitute her name and Xu Chang’an’s for the protagonists’, and then she could understand about two or three-tenths of the meaning.
At this moment, Yun Qian’s face was adorned with a light layer of makeup, her lips tinted with rouge.
Early in the morning, with Xu Chang’an working on Muyu Peak, she had leisure time to herself, so she tried her hand at makeup.
Actually, if Yun Qian wanted to learn makeup, she could easily surpass the most skilled Makeup Artist in the world.
However, for Miss Yun, mastering the skill of makeup wasn’t the main point, nor was making herself conventionally prettier.
The main point was what kind of makeup her husband would like... that was the key focus.
What she was studying was the most profound subject in the world.
There was a time when Yun Qian thought that wearing beautiful clothes would make Xu Chang’an like her, but it turned out that his liking for her had little to do with what she wore, or even if she wore clothes at all.
Then she tried wearing something in between, but while Xu Chang’an liked it, he would quickly ask her to change.
Yun Qian looked down at her bright and colorful floral dress, blinking her big eyes.
The only clothes Xu Chang’an seemed to let her wear, which made him smile and let her keep wearing, were the kinds considered gaudy and even comical by worldly standards.
Such color combinations weren’t even worn by girls in brothels.
Her husband’s aesthetic... truly unpredictable.
Next to Yun Qian was a plate of preserved fruits. She gently opened her cherry lips, picked one up carefully to make sure it wouldn’t smear her lipstick, and then delicately ate it while her other hand carefully turned the pages of the novel.
Enjoying the handwriting she liked, eating preserved fruits, reading the story, Yun Qian closed her eyes comfortably, revealing a relaxed and girlish happiness that few had seen.
This kind of leisure was a rarity for her.
Her posture was casual and lazy; similar poses by others might appear frivolous, but on Miss Yun, it radiated a quiet elegance.
She lay down, pressing her hands on the book, and fell asleep with her head resting on her arms.
The light clouds moved west, letting a sliver of sunlight fall through the window onto Yun Qian’s face, casting a golden glow over her sleeping expression, soft and with a hint of allure.
No one should have seen this scene.
Xu Chang’an pushed open the door, walked into Yun Qian’s room, tidied up the scattered bottles on the dressing table, arranged the rouge boxes, and then approached the bed, looking at the rouge that had smudged on Yun Qian’s face, his eyes unable to hide his amazement.
He never thought that such slightly flamboyant makeup would suit Yun Qian so well.
But a beautiful girl would look good no matter what.
Blinking, looking at Yun Qian’s rouge, Xu Chang’an thought the scent... was indeed quite nice, not as astringent as he’d expected, but rather sweet and fragrant.
He covered Yun Qian with a silk quilt, picked up the preserved fruits from the couch and placed them on the table, then walked into the study, noticing the desk covered with papers and tidying up the ink that had started to dry.
"How long has she been practicing her writing?"
Xu Chang’an helplessly glanced through the poetry Yun Qian had copied, but soon his expression changed from helplessness to appreciation and seriousness.
Indeed... despite the myriad of scripts he’d seen, even within the Immortal Sect, Yun Qian’s handwriting remained the most evocative.
The strokes were bold and fluid, yet retained a unique delicacy and clarity characteristic of a woman.
Xu Chang’an thought that part of his calligraphy resembled Yun Qian’s handwriting, likely influenced unconsciously.
Just like how he now appeared slightly more handsome, bearing a closer resemblance to Yun Qian.
People say couples grow to look alike.
Apparently, so do their handwritings.
Xu Chang’an slowly read through the poetry Yun Qian had written, examining each piece intently, allowing the time to flow gently by, lost in Yun Qian’s script, until her midday nap concluded.
Yun Qian lifted the silk quilt, lightly stepping in her embroidered shoes to the doorway of the study, leaning against the doorframe and yawning, her eyes carrying a hint of drowsy Water Rhythm.
Xu Chang’an returned to his senses, looked up to find Yun Qian gazing at him with "tender" eyes, stood up, took out a handkerchief, gently wiped at Yun Qian’s eye corner, and then asked, "Finished your nap?"
Yun Qian nodded, saying, "Why have you come again."
"Not welcome?" Xu Chang’an froze.
Yun Qian thought to herself she had initially felt that there was no rush to meet, wanting to experience the part of "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and the "trials" and "tribulations" between lovers. Instead, she found she could see Xu Chang’an every day, despite saying three days, and then three more days.
"Can’t stay away from me?" Yun Qian asked.
"Does Miss think I’m such a clingy person?"
Coughing, Xu Chang’an helplessly pointed at Yun Qian’s gaudy attire: "Why are you dressed again..."