The Smiling, Proud Wanderer: From the Moment He Picked Up Qu Feiyan

Several more days passed.

Autumn is deepening in Hengyang, with the air carrying the delicate fragrance of osmanthus and a refreshing coolness.

As for the marketing of the Light Sound Sword, it needs to ferment further. At least it needs to become famous throughout the area south of the Yangtze River before considering the next step.

Shen An, the instigator of all this, was still able to continue living his routine life, which was almost monotonous.

That afternoon, he returned from practicing martial arts outside the city, passed through the noisy front hall, and went back to his own quiet backyard.

With the addition of Wang Xiaocao and female teachers who frequently come to give lessons in the courtyard, he now habitually knocks gently on the door knocker outside the moon gate before entering the courtyard.

"Tap, tap tap."

The crisp sound had barely faded when the door to the west wing creaked open, and a slender figure, looking somewhat flustered, rushed in to open the courtyard gate. It was Wang Xiaocao.

She was wearing a clean, light blue dress and her hair was carefully combed, but her face still had a lingering blush, indicating that she had rushed over after hearing the knock on the door.

"Young...Young Master is back." She lowered her head, her voice soft, still not daring to look at him.

Sigh, why is this little girl still so afraid of people after all this time? She must have developed some psychological trauma from that tragedy.

"Mm." Shen An responded gently, handing over the roast chicken wrapped in oil paper. "I bought it on the way, it's still warm. Take it and warm it up a bit more, we'll eat it tonight."

"Thank you, young master." Wang Xiaocao carefully accepted the chicken. Holding the roast chicken, she whispered, "I...I'll be right back," and then turned and ran into the small kitchen.

Shen An watched her retreating figure and smiled helplessly.

With nothing else to do, Shen An glanced around and noticed that the yard seemed a bit messy. Knowing that she had been busy with her studies in the mornings these past few days and had only been able to clean up before he returned at noon, which must have been quite tiring, he decided to help tidy up.

He immediately spotted a dead branch leaning against the wall. He bent down to pick it up and found that the tip of the branch was covered with fresh soil and had been repeatedly poked and pierced.

What is this? Shen An initially thought it was a piece of trash that needed to be cleaned up, but now he was unsure, so he put the branch back where it was. Then he saw a copper basin on the open ground next to him, which seemed to be what Wang Xiaocao used for washing clothes or watering flowers.

He bent down to pick up the copper basin, preparing to put it away, but his gaze lingered slightly on the muddy ground beneath it.

There were words written on it by tree branches.

The handwriting is immature, with crooked strokes, clearly the work of a beginner.

The two characters that appear most often on the stone slab are "Shen An".

Some were written too big, some too small, and some had the strokes out of order, but you could see that they were gradually becoming neater. And next to these "Shen An" characters was another name that had been practiced repeatedly—"Wang Cuiqiao".

It's clear that she cares far less about her own name than she does about the name "Shen An".

Indeed, these three characters were more difficult to write, and Shen An felt he understood.

On the edge of the muddy ground, her best and most neatly written "Shen An" and an equally neat and elegant "Wang Cuiqiao" were pressed tightly together.

It's as if the strokes could merge if they were just a little closer.

Sigh, I'll have Li Qingde buy more paper and ink later. Look how stifled the child is; he only has this little bit of space left to write.

Shen An's emotional intelligence is not low.

At least that's what he thinks.

At least he knew that Wang Xiaocao wrote his name at the same time because he was very important to her. Sigh, what more could he ask of him?

Just then, Wang Xiaocao came out of the small kitchen carrying a freshly heated roast chicken. She looked up and saw Shen An squatting on the ground, staring at the land.

"boom--"

Wang Xiaocao felt a rush of heat to her head, and she was completely stunned. The tray in her hand wobbled, almost knocking the roast chicken to the ground. Her cheeks instantly turned as red as if they were about to bleed. She stood there helplessly, forgetting even to breathe.

Oh no... the young master saw it...

She wished she could disappear into a crack in the ground right now.

"Your handwriting is quite good; you've improved. However, what kind of behavior is it to practice writing on muddy ground with a twig? Tomorrow I'll have Steward Li prepare some brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones for you."

He paused, then added, "It's right for beginners to start practicing calligraphy by practicing their own names. Only by writing their own names well can they stand upright in front of others. It's also right for them to learn my name, after all, I am their guardian."

After saying that, he naturally took the tray from Wang Xiaocao's hands.

"Come on, let's have some roast chicken in the main room."

Wang Xiaocao stood there blankly, watching Shen An's retreating figure as he walked into the main room. Her heart, which had been pounding in her chest, was gently enveloped again by tenderness and warmth after experiencing a rollercoaster of extreme embarrassment and panic.

Young master... he didn't laugh at me.

He even praised me.

But what does "guardian" mean? I really want to know.

A bittersweet feeling welled up inside Wang Xiaocao, and she could no longer hold back. She squatted down and buried her face in her arms. Tears streamed down her face silently, but this time, they weren't from sadness or grievance, but from the joy that had been carefully cherished and had nowhere to go.

"The roast chicken is getting cold!"

……

The night is deep and quiet, and the dew is heavy.

Shen An practiced his sword for an unusually long time today because the revisions to the Songshan Sword Technique were almost complete.

In the courtyard, he repeatedly practiced the Seventeen Forms of Songshan Swordplay until every transition was as natural as breathing, and every sword strike carried an overwhelming and unstoppable momentum.

When he sheathed his sword, the moon was already high in the sky, and a thin layer of white frost had formed on the bluestone slabs.

He pushed open the door and entered the room. Before the lights were even turned on, a dark, dim light immediately caught his eye—

On the pear wood pillar directly opposite the bed, there was a needle as thin as a cow's hair and entirely black, which was the one that reflected the moonlight when the door was opened.

A plain white sheet of paper was pinned to the needle.

Black Blood Divine Needle.

Qu Yang.

Shen An's eyes narrowed, and he picked up the thin note and unfolded it. There was only one line of small characters on it:

"Tomorrow at 9:00 AM, on the eastern slope of Huiyan Peak, deep in the green bamboo forest."