My Wife Is A Sword Immortal
Chapter 390 - 283: The Arrogant Miss Li (Thanks to the alliance reward from ’O LanLan O’, dear brother!)

Chapter 390: Chapter 283: The Arrogant Miss Li (Thanks to the alliance reward from ’O LanLan O’, dear brother!)

This capricious person with their sword.

Is a scene unique to the Southern Tranquility State.

It even became a knowing smile on the faces of people from the Outer Continent when they encountered each other in different states, as long as they "accidentally" mentioned that name.

As for within the Southern Tranquility State itself... who would dare to laugh?

Well, the owners of the mountain taverns and wine shops must be smiling from ear to ear.

Because whenever someone at the table mentions the name of the one in purple, everyone needs to take a drink to calm their nerves, right?

After soothing their spirits, they must pick up their chopsticks and grab a few bites to settle their minds, right?

After calming their nerves, their movements become gentler, right?

Once their actions are gentler and less coarse, that usual behavior of the swordsmen and heroes who drink half a bowl before they’ve barely started speaking, slamming down the bowl so hard it’s as if they regret not splashing out the remaining wine to display their hearty spirits - those incidences decrease, don’t they?

This has become the golden method for the owners of the wine shops of Mountain Immortals in Southern Tranquility State to increase liquor sales, stabilize order in their establishments, and make a fortune, occasionally sharing insights with their peers.

This is much more useful than those old clichéd stories of passion between fairies and swordsmen stirring the heartstrings, or a swordsman’s furious outburst for a beauty’s sake...

A low white wall surrounds the outside of the Academy, with a small courtyard transition space a few feet between the wall and the building where people usually pass through the courtyard gate before going through the Academy door, entering the Academy after two thresholds.

At this moment, the Confucian sentences appearing on the building and the shifting Confucian Classics are not up against the Academy but like the courtyard wall, several feet apart.

Thousands of ink characters ceaselessly flow.

A step away from the courtyard threshold, the white-browed elder stood alone with his hands behind his back, not looking at the grain of rice, but glancing toward the recently struck part of the Academy, at the Confucian Classics ahead.

His gaze shifted around beneath his white brows, pausing slightly on Li Xueyou’s face before moving on, continuing his surveillance.

The elder shook his head, not seeing the person and several other swords anywhere.

That glaring color, if it had entered the Academy, would have been visible from a great distance – it could not be hidden, nor was it meant to be.

For it was like an unsheathed sword, sharp and imposing.

Only a Sword Tomb after its fall could conceal its sharpness.

The once boastful grain of rice suddenly emitted a brilliant purple glow, with the sword lying horizontally.

The sword tip pointed directly at the white-browed elder who dared to overlook it as he glanced around.

The whole scene was silent, the atmosphere as tense as if swords were drawn.

The white-browed elder in an old black garment glanced over, then took a half step forward, the tip of his cloth shoe just touching the courtyard gate’s threshold.

He shook his sleeve, and an ancient book fell from his sleeve into a withered hand.

With the book in one hand and the other lifting, he wet his fingertip with spit and turned the pages of the book.

The white-browed elder turned the pages as if no one else was present, haltingly.

In the meantime, he occasionally raised his hand to grab with his thin fingers as if extracting something from a certain page of the book.

But the movements were too quick, a burst of light flashed, and before Zhao Rong and the others watching silently could see clearly, it was already grasped in his hand and tucked into his sleeve.

It was as though he was organizing small items, neither hurried nor slow.

Occasionally, the elder glanced at the object in the palm of his hand, then threw it towards the Academy yard with a flick of his fingers.

These were various lengths of sentences, integrating into the maze of words forming the Academy’s protective enchantment.

Among them was an abrupt phrase from a scenic travelogue.

’Moreover, there is the Forbidden Frog Pool, where no frog croaks in the summer months.’

There were scraps of paper from ancient memoirs.

’As a child, he asked his private tutor what was the utmost importance. The tutor said, "Studying to achieve scholarly honor." But it did not satisfy him; he said, "That’s not the most important. Only being a Confucian Saint is!"’

And bits of words from miscellaneous records.

’Holding the pen, I fell asleep, and in my dream, I suddenly composed a poem. Upon waking, I could recall it and immediately wrote it down, the inkbrush paused over fallen petals.’"

There was no shortage.

Ordinary sentences, initially like a stone sunk in the sea, soon caused the sea of words in the Academy to boil and scenes successively emerged on the wooden surface of the building.

There were silent nightscapes, Saintly Auras, dreamlike falling flowers...

The white-browed elder was making room in the book for a certain little one bearing his teeth.

Having not left the Academy to bask in the sun for too long, he always turned the pages indoors, accumulating too many things.

The owner of this sword.

Indeed had a very big background.

Indeed held a very high status.

Indeed was exceedingly noble.

It is said that Sword Cultivators among the numerous cultivators of the Human Clan are the most expensive to maintain, and they possess the greatest killing power.

A certain founder of the Xuanhuang Human Clan raised Sword Cultivators, and the owner of this sword could be said to be... exceedingly, exceedingly noble.

The money spent was not counted in green mantis coins and Colorful Butterfly Coins, but started with the invaluable Golden Turtle Coins.

The white-browed elder frowned slightly; that money, if invested in the seventy-two Academies, who knows how many seeds of the Great Dao with promising futures could be cultivated.

Even if there is fear of the Confucian or Hundred Schools becoming too powerful, spending that unimaginable amount of mountain money on the livelihood of those living below the mountain could bring warmth and security to countless subjects of the kingdoms, and joy in their work and peace in their dwellings.

At the very least, it could have been spent on the Taiching Four Mansions across the states, with great effect.

But the outcome...

The elder stopped turning the pages, because he came upon a certain page.

There, lying quietly, was a forgotten bookmark.

The withered hand gently pinched it and took it out.