My Wife Is A Sword Immortal
Chapter 394 - 285: Those Few Days Every Month

Chapter 394: Chapter 285: Those Few Days Every Month

Deep into the night, the moon shone brightly and the stars were sparse.

Nanxuan Academy nestled at the foot of Qingshan, a continuous line of diverse buildings, quietly hiding in the darkness.

The fresh glow of the autumn moon descended, casting a soft light over the serene courtyards.

Looking down from the heavens to the mortal world, occasionally a few orange candle lights could be seen within the academy.

The warm candlelight mixed with the cool moonlight at their boundary, faintly blurring as if to melt into the night’s colors.

And in one such place, recently renamed East Fence Small House.

There was a student’s dwelling, which was one of them.

The north room, as every night, still had its lamp lit within.

Behind the half-closed paper window that let out the glow, a desk was piled with stacks of paper drafts and miniature Book Mountains.

A young Confucian Scholar with his black hair casually tied up, propped his head with one arm on the desk, his bent fingers supporting his cheek, eyes closed in silence.

His body swayed slightly from time to time.

Next to the other hand spread out on the desk, there lay a few golden apricot leaves, seemingly inscribed with some words, lying silently on the desk.

The flicker of the candle on the desk cast the shadows of the man and the objects on the desk upon the wall.

Suddenly, all the shadows swayed—it was the orange flame dancing.

As if disturbed by an autumn breeze that blew in from outside the window.

Light and shadows crisscrossed inside the room.

In an instant, Zhao Rong’s eyes snapped open, his hands dropped, and he leaned back.

He stared blankly at the cluttered desk, his gaze sweeping over the maple leaves, then turned to look at the window through which the cool breeze had slipped through.

Zhao Rong’s eyes, bright as stars, seemed to light up the dimly lit room.

It’s just that there was still a hint of lazy sleepiness in his eyes, dreamlike and drowsy.

Zhao Rong shook his head, got up, closed the window, returned to the desk, and sat down again, rubbing his face vigorously with both hands.

He had almost fallen asleep again just now.

In recent days, he didn’t know if it was due to overworking, but in the quiet of late night, he always felt a wave of light sleepiness.

The previous afternoon, after he had assigned homework to the students of Shuaixing Hall and announced the long-planned extra classes, Zhao Rong leisurely returned.

That night, he once again challenged the Eight Extraordinary Meridians.

He had already successfully breached five of these exceptional channels and now only three remained: the Yangwei Meridian, the Yin Wei Meridian, and the Penetrating Vessel.

Capitalize on the momentum gained from drinking the fifth cup of Zhengguan Spring Water from Zhu Yourong a few days ago, he had been attacking the Penetrating Vessel these past few days, with remarkable results.

The progress tonight was also good; even though the little red snake had not yet turned into a dragon, its effectiveness was incomparable to before.

The critical pass within the Penetrating Vessel was on the verge of being broken through.

However, Zhao Rong learned from his previous experience, not rushing things, and proceeded in stages, carefully and steadily over several nights.

Therefore, after completing the day’s progress, he stopped in good time.

The lesson from his over-eager attempt last time was still fresh in his mind; if problems arose again, who knew if he would still be able to hear that strange music from his dreams—if not, he would have made a huge loss.

According to the current progress, if he kept this pace and drank a few more cups of Zhengguan Spring Water along the way, Zhao Rong was confident that he could advance to Fu Yao before Mid-Autumn...

Meanwhile, in the room.

Zhao Rong looked at the flickering orange flame and frowned slightly.

The near slip into sleep just now had made him secretly vigilant.

Based on Zhao Rong’s experience since he began his cultivation journey, it was normal for people at his realm to not feel sleepy for half a month; meditating was rest enough, and the next day they would be full of energy.

He hadn’t been practicing too intensely recently, and didn’t feel overly tired during the day.

But what was the drowsiness just now about? It seemed he had vaguely dreamt of something – pictures filled with ink lines and a blend of black and white. Yet before he could see more and understand it, he was awakened by the cool breeze.

Zhao Rong rubbed his face and muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He would have to be even more careful these days with the meridian cultivation.

However, today was a day of rest and relaxation again.

Thinking of something, he smiled and then reached out his hand.

The desk was piled high with paper drafts, each inscribed with different handwriting; Zhao Rong continued to pick up one of them and scrutinize it carefully under the orange light before lifting his vermilion brush to correct it.

These were assignments from the students of Justice Hall and Shuaixing Hall.

In the candlelight, Zhao Rong bent his head low, his hand pausing as he wrote, his profile concentrated.

But as he wrote on,

He would occasionally knit and then relax his brows.

Sometimes he would nod slightly, his wrist drawing a stroke with care.

Sometimes his eyebrows lifted, and a smile curled at his mouth, his movements of putting down the brush becoming somewhat more brisk.

However, there were also times when Zhao Rong could not help but spread out a sheet of paper to examine it closely, frowning and inhaling sharply, then preparing as if to tear up the eye-soiling script.

But after holding back the impulse and feeling disgruntled for a while,

He would get up and pace back and forth in the room, pondering something.

Then returning to the desk, he would pick up that piece of ’life-threatening’ writing once more, inspecting it from start to finish again before taking up the brush, writing concentratedly, advising the writer on how to improve.

These had been Zhao Rong’s nightly duties since he became the calligraphy teaching assistant at two academies, but the frequency had increased of late because the major examination was approaching.

Although the calligraphy lessons during the day were ’joyful education,’ leading two groups of students around for outings,

Just as he had candidly discussed with Gu Yiwu, the essence of calligraphy lies in ’comprehension’ and ’practical study.’

Both are indispensable.

If the classes were for ’comprehension,’ then the homework assigned to the students was for ’practical study,’ to encourage them to practice diligently.

And although Zhao Rong rarely talked about the mysteries of brushwork during lessons,