My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The courtyard was quiet for a while, with only the sounds of chopsticks clinking against bowls and chewing.

The lantern's light swayed in the night breeze, and the shadow of the jujube tree swayed along with it.

Halfway through the dinner, A Luo suddenly remembered that there was another person upstairs.

Zhou Yan didn't go out all day. His lunch was brought up by A Luo, and he hadn't eaten dinner yet.

She glanced at the dishes on the table—half a braised bear paw remained, a large bowl of stewed bear meat was still left, and quite a bit of stir-fried bear offal was also left.

She took a tray, picked up the dishes one by one, ladled out a bowl of rice, and put out a pair of chopsticks.

"Immortal Master, I'll take some food up to Young Master Zhou," A'Luo said to Ye Qingfeng, carrying a tray.

Ye Qingfeng nodded and continued drinking his tea.

Lu Yang was gnawing on a bear bone when he mumbled, "Go on, take more. That guy's as skinny as a bamboo pole."

Miao Gui glanced at him: "You're quite fat, like a bear."

Lü Yang glared at him: "Who are you calling fat?"

Miao Gui pointed to the mountain of bones piled up in his bowl: "Whoever has the most bones in their bowl is the fattest."

Lu Yang glanced down at his own bowl, then at Miao Gui's bowl, and remained silent.

Aro carried the tray upstairs.

The stairs were made of wood, and they creaked as you stepped on them, a sound that was especially clear in the quiet night.

She walked to the door of Zhou Yan's room, which was ajar, with dim light shining from inside.

She gently kicked the door with her toe, and the door opened.

Zhou Yan sat at the table with several sheets of paper spread out in front of him, a pen in his hand, and was writing something with his head down.

The oil lamp on the table flickered, and his shadow swayed on the wall.

Hearing the noise, he looked up and saw Aro carrying a tray in. He quickly stood up and put down the pen in his hand.

"Why did you come up here?" He walked over, took the tray, and placed it on the table.

A'Luo set out the bowls and chopsticks, saying, "I was afraid you'd go hungry. The village fought a bear demon today, so we made a lot of dishes. Try them."

Zhou Yan stared at the bowl of braised bear paws, then paused, "A bear demon?"

A Luo nodded: "A bear demon came to the village gate this afternoon. It was as tall as a three-story building and had a hundred years of cultivation."

The guards couldn't stop it, and then Young Master Lü killed it with a single sword stroke. A lot of bear meat was divided up, and the clan elders sent some over.

Zhou Yan remained silent.

He looked down at the bowl of bear meat, his mind wandering to other things.

Killing a bear demon with a century of cultivation in a single sword strike is something only a Martial Saint could accomplish, and it certainly wouldn't be that easy.

It seems that this so-called Young Master Lü does indeed have some ability.

However, he was still far inferior to the sages he knew from the sacred mountains.

He didn't ask who this Young Master Lü was; he guessed he was just passing by.

It couldn't possibly be one of those people downstairs, right? I'm not trying to look down on them.

I just felt that the guests from A Luo's house were too approachable, which was completely inconsistent with the temperament of a highly accomplished person.

In his mind, a person of great wisdom should be someone who is distant from ordinary people like them.

It can be admired from afar, but not approached.

He shook his head, not thinking too much about it, picked up his chopsticks, and put a piece of bear meat into his mouth.

The meat was very tender and fragrant.

Aro did not leave.

She stood by the table, looking at the papers spread out on it, and curiously leaned over.

The paper was covered with writing, neat and tidy, each stroke steady.

She doesn't recognize all the characters. Her father taught her to read when she was little, but he died after a few years. She only recognizes the simplest ones.

"Young Master Zhou, what are you writing?"

Zhou Yan put down his chopsticks, gathered the papers together, and did not answer directly: "Just writing things down, a pastime when I'm bored."

A Luo simply said "Oh" and didn't ask any further questions.

Her gaze fell on a blank sheet of paper on the corner of the table, then she looked at the pen next to it, and suddenly felt an itch to write.

She practiced calligraphy when she was little, and her father said she wrote quite well.

But after her father died, she never touched a pen again.

"Can I write two words?" she asked softly.

Zhou Yan glanced at her, moved the blank paper over, and handed her the pen.

A Luo took the pen and wrote a character on the paper – “Luo”.

The strokes are crooked and uneven, with the horizontal and vertical lines not straight. The grass radical on top of the character "萝" is written too big, and the "罗" below is squeezed at the bottom, making it look like two people are fighting.

A Luo blushed when she looked at the words she had written.

She put down her pen and said softly, "It's been a long time since I've written anything, my hand is rusty."

Zhou Yan looked at the crooked character "萝" and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

He picked up his pen and rewrote the character "萝" next to the one A Luo had written.

Each stroke is neat and precise, with straight lines.

That character stood there, like a tall sapling.

"Look, the grass radical shouldn't be written too big, and the bottom part, Luo, should be written more loosely." Zhou Yan pointed to the two characters and gestured to each one.

A Luo looked at the two words side by side. One of them was written by her, crooked and messy, like a child just learning to walk.

One was written by Zhou Yan, neat and upright, like the calligraphy of a teacher in an academy.

She bit her lip, picked up her pen again, and wrote another "萝" on the paper.

This time, the grass radical was written a bit smaller, but the "罗" below was written crookedly.

Zhou Yan looked at it and couldn't help but laugh.

He stood up, walked behind Aro, reached out, and took her hand that was holding the pen.

His hands were large, completely enveloping hers.

His hands were warm, warmer than she had imagined.

"Hold the pen firmly, not too hard, not too loosely." His voice came down from above her head, low and soft.

Aro's back stiffened slightly.

She could feel his breath, very light, brushing against the top of her head.

Her heart suddenly started beating faster, so fast that she could hear it herself.

She wanted to say something, but her throat felt like it was blocked by something, and she couldn't utter a single word.

Zhou Yan held her hand and guided her to write a single character on a piece of paper—"Ah".

Stroke by stroke, slowly and steadily.

His hands were steady, but his heart was unsettled.

He could feel her hands trembling slightly, her back tense, and the faint scent of soap pods emanating from her.

His heart suddenly skipped a beat.

He couldn't explain why, but he felt as if something had hit his heart; it didn't hurt, but it felt very heavy.

He released her hand and took a step back.

"That's about it. You just need to practice a little more." His voice was a little dry and unnatural.

A Luo lowered her head, looking at the character "A" on the paper.

That character was written beautifully, a hundred times better than hers.

But she wasn't looking at the word; she was looking at the hand, the hand that had just held hers.

She suddenly felt her face burning.

She put down her pen, turned around, lowered her head, and said in a very soft voice, "I...I'll go down first. They're still waiting for me downstairs."

After she finished speaking, she turned and ran away without waiting for Zhou Yan's reply.

The stairs creaked and groaned under her footsteps, like a group of mice having a meeting.

Zhou Yan stood by the table, looking at the empty doorway, listening to the hurried footsteps growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared.

He looked down at his hand, the hand that had just held Aro's.

Her warmth still lingered on my fingers, warm and soft.