My Wife Is A Sword Immortal
Chapter 384 - 279 Hey Zhu Yourong, You’re Squishing Me (Thanks for the tickets, brothers!!!)_2

Chapter 384: Chapter 279 Hey Zhu Yourong, You’re Squishing Me (Thanks for the tickets, brothers!!!)_2

The latter nodded from time to time, and if there was any confusion in his brows and eyes, he would point it out directly.

Finally, the previous question had been fully explained.

The two of them fell silent, and Zhao Rong, without lifting his eyelids, suddenly said,

"Yourong, I know you are very interested in the other style of writing that I use, but since you have been practicing regular script, I will still teach you to write it well first."

"Mhm."

"Look at this character."

Zhao Rong abruptly began to write, his brush gliding across the paper like flowing clouds, and with the final stroke, his wrist twisted to the right, casting the ink with a carefree flourish.

Five strokes combined to form a single character on the flower curtain paper.

Yourong tilted her head, looking on with curiosity.

"Is this... ’Eternal’?"

Zhao Rong put down his brush and wiped his hands with a silk cloth. Hearing her words, he said nothing but tilted his head, looking at her.

Yourong studied the character on the paper, her eyebrows drawing together slightly, and she quieted down.

Zhao Rong remained silent.

Suddenly.

"Huh."

She stared at the ’Eternal’ character and exclaimed in surprise, then raised her eyes to Zhao Rong.

He nodded lightly.

Yourong beamed with joy.

Extending her delicate hand, she brushed her index finger over the still-wet ’Eternal’ character, careful and gentle.

Her eyes curved, filled with excitement and interest.

She murmured softly, "Horizontal, vertical, hook, dot, downward stroke... the techniques of stroke order and character structure in regular script are all embodied in this little ’Eternal’ character..."

Yourong suddenly looked up, "Ziyu, what a splendid decision!"

Zhao Rong’s expression remained calm; he lowered his gaze to the paper and, without responding to her words, smoothly guided her gaze with his own and gave a slight nod upward, indicating the character on the paper:

"It’s what I learned in that dream. The eight principles of regular script are all contained in this character. Practice it whenever you can. If you diligently work on it, you should be able to resolve the systemic issues I mentioned before. Keep practicing."

Even the best techniques are just methods; the most important part of calligraphy is diligent practice, which is the foundation of everything.

"Mhm!"

Yourong nodded emphatically, her starry eyes gazing fondly at Zhao Rong, her admiration clear.

Zhao Rong paid no attention and continued to look at the character thoughtfully. Then he bent over the desk and gestured for her to come closer to watch, as he demonstrated how to write the ’Eternal’ character to Yourong.

The day seemed to pass leisurely on a quiet autumn morning in the tranquil Yilan Pavilion.

In the silent study of Lan Xuan, at the desk, a man and woman sat very close, their bodies overlapping. The first rays of sun that burst in through the west window draped over them, adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise cool room.

Both of them, their four eyes, were fixed on the brush held in the man’s hand and the path of its strokes.

Bent over, Zhao Rong held the brush with a stable wrist, and seeing that Yourong was silent, he demonstrated the ’Eight Principles of the Eternal Character’ over and over again.

Outside the window, another autumn breeze blew into the room, caressing the earnest face of Yourong, the girl in the Confucian robe.

It lifted a few strands of her raven hair.

Yourong, who was sitting beside Zhao Rong, lifted her Jade Hand to tuck the rebellious locks behind her ear.

In a moment.

Yourong’s eyes, suddenly darting right, caught in the periphery that the man next to her seemed to continue writing intently, unaware of her.

The woman’s attention wandered for a moment; she couldn’t help but glance sideward again without turning her head, this time lingering longer with her gaze.

Within her field of vision.

In the sunlight, the man beside her showed concentration on his lean cheeks, thin lips pressed firmly, bright eyes reflecting the elegant characters on the desk. His right hand, holding the brush, was slender with the knuckles gone white from gripping the pen firmly, evidently putting his heart into every stroke...

Being so close, the keenly aware Yourong could already sense the masculine scent emanating from him.

She wrinkled her delicate nose slightly, sniffing quietly. She detected the mixed fragrance of old scrolls, wooden pens, and stone ink, all familiar to Zhu Yourong. Additionally, there was a hint of a pleasant morning smell.

What exactly it was, she did not actually know, but she inexplicably felt it was the scent of morning.

Just like the gentle gaze often shown by the man with the surname Zhao and the given name Ziyu, similar to the early morning sun that was shining on them at this quarter past seven.

It was his scent.

Seeing that Zhao Rong seemed to not have noticed.

The woman in the Confucian robe grew bolder and turned her head to examine the one beside her, who when she tapped his head, seemed like a mature brother teaching her how to write.

Looking at Zhao Rong’s profile, Zhu Yourong suddenly felt, when he was focused on writing, he was very close, but when talking and looking at her, he seemed somewhat distant.

But in the next second, his "very close" words unexpectedly came from "very far" away.

"Hey, Zhu Yourong, you’re pressing down on me."

Zhu Yourong: "......"

At this moment, due to both of them unconsciously leaning too close, whether lost in thought or concentrating, they hadn’t noticed before, but now... The left forearm of someone that was resting on the paper was bearing a heavy pressure it shouldn’t have, ’Mount Tai’ crushing down, and it was a double dose.

The next moment.

As if by silent agreement.

The woman in the Confucian robe coughed lightly as she stood up, straightening her torso, and turned her face away.

The young Confucian Scholar shifted his left hand and resumed rolling up his right sleeve to continue writing.

Thus they separated.

The atmosphere became a bit awkward.

Zhao Rong’s hand movements gradually stopped, he pondered for a while, and was about to speak.

Thud, thud————

Just then, a knocking sound echoed inside the room.

The awkward atmosphere instantly dissipated. Zhao Rong and Zhu Yourong had just exchanged a look when, in just an instant, suddenly, with a creak, the door of Yilan Pavilion’s study was pushed open from the outside, revealing a figure.

Not even two breaths after the knock ended, the person pushed the door open without waiting for a response.

The two people inside the study were slightly startled and turned their heads to look.

They saw a stern-looking woman standing at the door, paying her respects.

"Teacher, good morning, Brother Zhao... good morning."

Yu Huaijin’s expression was serious as she looked at the two people inside.

Behind her, suddenly another little head with a tilted Attendant Student hat appeared, with shiny eyes like a little fox, looking curiously inside, her gaze suspiciously revolving between Zhao Rong and her Teacher.

With an impassive face, Yu Huaijin stepped into the room.

...

About fifteen minutes later, Zhao Rong left Yilan Pavilion carrying a hint of orchid fragrance in the hem of his clothes.

After Yu Huaijin’s sudden arrival, the atmosphere in the study had returned to normal.

And became serious.

After showing Zhu Yourong a few more ’eternal’ characters,

He hinted at something with his eyes.

Then, in the presence of Yu Huaijin and Jing Zi, Zhu Yourong brewed another cup of delicious orchid tea for Zhao Rong.

He finished it in one gulp, fulfilling his purpose for the visit, and then glanced at Yu Huaijin who was continuously watching him and Jing Zi who was sneakily peering at him like guarding against a thief. Shrugging his shoulders slightly, he took the initiative to bid farewell and depart.

Outside of Yilan Pavilion, on a serene walkway, Zhao Rong walked with scrolls in his hand. At some point, as if recalling something, he suddenly chuckled and shook his head.

Zhao Rong paid a visit to Linlu Mountain, ascending the winding corridor to the nine-story tall tower on the peak. He handed over a manuscript containing the unofficial history of Nankang along with a stack of notes about his reading experience to a steward outside the tower.

As the steward with a surprised face flipped through the thick stack of papers, Zhao Rong picked up an uncataloged leisure book outside the tower.

Afterward.

He rolled up his sleeves and, carrying the new book and his newly acquired entry pass, returned to East Fence Small House.