How can one cultivate immortality without learning modern knowledge?

"No... I'm not used to it!" Zhou Wenju quickly stopped the maid's hand. "Sisters, please go out first, thank you so much!"

The two maids looked at each other, and finally went out and closed the bathhouse door from the outside.

Zhou Wenju looked up and let out a soft breath, sighing inwardly: "Having two beautiful women accompany you while taking a bath is considered hospitality in this world, but what about in that other world? It's called a group sex party... What kind of comment is this bastard feudal dynasty?"

Then, take off your clothes and enter the pool.

The water temperature in the pool was just right.

After the fire magic stone was heated, it entered a semi-hidden state, maintaining the current water temperature.

This design is probably something only the Mohists could come up with.

It works in a similar way to the automated temperature control in modern society.

However, when he picked up the soapstone, he still felt the difference from modern society.

Two lines of poetry are engraved on the soapstone: "A cool and peaceful night, a shared sentiment among people."

Who has ever seen a bar of soap with a poem engraved by hand?

It just so happens to be here!

Isn't it elegant? Isn't it sophisticated?

However, high-end soapstones have lost their basic functions!

Its "stain-removing ability" is... well, let's just say it's not that great...

I applied soapstone to the same spot five times, but I still couldn't get rid of the dirt on my body.

Fortunately, the time frame can be quite long...

Anyway, it's freezing outside, so soaking in hot water for an afternoon is quite pleasant.

Besides, he had created such a great miracle; any reward was well deserved...

This miracle was ruthlessly suppressed by Lao Can, who only proposed a theory.

No one in the entire literary community has broken through to the next level.

root cause……

The problem is the lack of a simple, brutal stab!

It's no wonder they lacked the courage to explore and the decisiveness to break through; the key is that the Heavenly Wall is neither real nor illusory, and without the ancient artifact, the Needle of Illusion, you can't break through it even if you want to...

The line between the bizarre and the real is as thin as a needle. Isn't that infuriating?

It's the season of heavy snowfall.

The line between day and night is actually quite blurry.

It was already dark, but the snow-covered shores of Moqing Lake still offered a clear view of the Mo family's landscape.

The corridor was dimly lit by the night lights.

Inside the tea room, Mo Ziyi and Rou'er sat facing each other. On the tea table in front of them were a pot of wine and several small dishes.

There's no need to worry about the food getting cold. The sage families of literature and Taoism, and the holy land of Mohism, have long been accustomed to incorporating the changes of the four seasons into their daily lives.

The door to the tea room opened gently, and a figure in white appeared before them.

A glint flickered in Mo Ziyi's eyes...

She seemed to see a completely different Zhou Wenju!

Wearing this snow-white scholar's robe, he has not only completely erased the image he had on Huding Mountain that day, but he has at least achieved a great transformation in his image.

At this moment, he had a handsome face and a well-proportioned figure. In particular, the way he walked was no less impressive than that of his elder brother, Mo Wushuang.

Is this the nourishment of literary talent?

Or is it a change in mindset?

Or perhaps my perception of him is flawed? — When you begin to accept someone, every move they make feels comfortable to you…

However, Rou'er quickly rejected this last point.

Rou'er jumped up abruptly, with an exaggerated expression, and said something that anyone her age could say casually: "Young Master Zhou, how come you've suddenly become so dashing and debonair?"

Look, even she says that, so it doesn't seem to be a problem with her mindset.

Mo Ziyi breathed a sigh of relief.

Zhou Wenju laughed: "Not at all! People rely on clothes, and Buddhas rely on gold. It's purely thanks to this Mo family's clean robe!"

"Young master, you'd never guess what this clean robe is...?"

Mo Ziyi interrupted directly, "Young Master Zhou, dinner is ready. Please eat!"

Zhou Wenju couldn't fall asleep for a long time that night by the Moqing Lake.

He leaned against the bed and looked out the window at the tallest building.

That is the Ink Hall.

The place where the Mohists truly held power.

The theory of Lao Can's physical abilities led him to pay the price of thirty years of inhuman living.

He gave the Mohist brothers a respectable reason—the Mohist sage, in order to "prevent the Mohist school from becoming a target of public criticism," reluctantly sacrificed Lao Can.

But is this reasoning really valid?

I'm afraid that's not necessarily true!

Today, in the Mo family, he saw some things that he liked, such as Mo Wushuang's sincerity and uninhibitedness, Mo Ziyi's boundless charm, and Rou'er's innocence and naivety...

But what else is there besides that?

Is this Ink Hall truly a repository of the Mohist principle of "non-aggression"?

Why do I feel that the Mohist principle of non-aggression is actually quite aggressive?

That's enough...

The Mo family, the place where the original body stayed for six years, was destined to have this entanglement with him. Tomorrow, it's time to leave!

sleep!

The next morning, the snow cleared up.

Zhou Wenju got up early and stood under the plum tree in the courtyard. The snow had weighed down the plum blossoms overnight, and the dew had condensed into glistening beads on the branches.

"It's already the end of late autumn, and the plum blossoms still have two months before they bloom!" A voice came from behind: "Is Young Master Zhou imagining the scene of this tree of winter plum blossoms in full bloom?"

"The flowers bloom the same every year, but the people change year after year!" Zhou Wenju smiled gently and turned around: "The affairs of the world..."

His voice abruptly stopped.

The painting before him caught him completely off guard.

Against the backdrop of pristine white snow, a figure in purple stands out as the most beautiful embellishment in the world.

A rising red sun, behind Mo Ziyi, reflected on Mo Qing Lake.

She stood in the courtyard, yet it was as if she were standing on the surface of a lake.

Her beauty was truly unparalleled, her grace and grace unmatched in the world.

"Young Master Zhou, write it down, write it down..." A figure in green darted past, it was Rou'er, her face as red as the sunset, holding a stack of gold paper, and presented it to Zhou Wenju.

"Write what?" Zhou Wenju frowned.

"The flowers are similar year after year, but the people are different year after year... This must be another colorful poem. After you finish writing it, let's go fishing before we continue our journey." Rou'er was very excited.

Mo Ziyi's eyes also lit up.

The flowers bloom the same year after year, but the people are different year after year. It seems to violate the taboo of poetry by repeating words and phrases, but the artistic conception is so extraordinary.

Poetry, first and foremost, emphasizes meaning, then the rules of prosody...

If you've got the point, why care about the rules?

Write the whole poem and let's see...

"You! I was just making a casual remark, I never said I was going to write a poem!" Zhou Wenju said, both amused and exasperated.

"It's not about writing poetry. Well... young master, keep this gold paper. Whenever you have inspiration along the way, write it down. Here you go..." Rou'er handed the stack of gold paper to Zhou Wenju.

Zhou Wenju turned his gaze to Mo Ziyi.

Mo Ziyi smiled gently: "Take it. This girl forgot her own clothes, but she didn't forget to take out every single piece of gold paper from my cabinet. Don't let her kindness go to waste."

"Miss, why are you like this?" Rou'er objected. "Does our Mo family lack even a few sheets of gold paper? Young Master Zhou has no place to buy this now that he's leaving the mountain..."

"Alright, alright, shut up!" Mo Ziyi glared at her. "Young Master Zhou, shall we get going?"

"Miss, please!"

A hairpin in her dark purple dress flew up out of thin air and transformed into a light boat.

The three boarded the boat, took off into the sky, and flew south.

In the secret chamber of the Ink Hall, Mo Sanqiu's face was ashen: "Father, the Nanyang Poetry Gathering, just like that, he snatched it away? Can you swallow this insult?"

The elder's face was gloomy, and he didn't say a word.

High in the sky, the red sun hangs high.

Beneath the flying boat, the sea of ​​clouds churns and surges.

Inside the cabin, Rou'er had already poured tea. Mo Ziyi picked up the teacup and asked, "You've been in and out of the Mo family for a while now. What are your thoughts?"

"How incredibly lucky!" Zhou Wenju raised his teacup, offering a toast to her from afar, and took a small sip.

"This answer... is it another way you've saved face for the Mo family?" Mo Ziyi asked with her beautiful eyes.

"No, it's really not!" Zhou Wenju said, "This trip was made possible by your kindness, and it also witnessed the kindness of the Holy Son of the Mohist School. How fortunate we are!"

Mo Ziyi looked at him quietly and sighed softly: "Previously, you also gave the Mo family some face, linking the matter of Lao Can to the overall situation of the Mo family, telling me that my father was not unable to distinguish right from wrong, but made a choice based on the overall situation... Now I want to tell you that this face only applies to my father, and does not include Mo Tang!"

Zhou Wenju frowned slightly.

He didn't speak, because he didn't need to.

There must be more to the story about the man in the dark purple robe.

Mo Ziyi took a sip of tea, and sure enough, she continued, "Some people in the Mo Hall don't act with decorum, and their thoughts and ideas are not entirely the same as Father's! For example, the Nanyang Poetry Gathering we're going to attend next started with very unseemly intentions!"

Nanyang Poetry Gathering...

Zhou Wenju's heart skipped a beat: "What was the initial motivation?"