My Wife Is A Sword Immortal

Zhao Rong stopped what he was doing.

He frowned slightly and glanced at the extra Spirit Stone beside his hand.

He didn't reach for it.

"When you're out and about, you'll encounter difficulties; if you can lend a hand, then do so,"

a muffled yet resonant voice came from behind him.

Zhao Rong turned around.

Slightly surprised.

The owner of the voice turned out to be that fierce-looking, surly man who had queued behind him!

But now, Zhao Rong felt an unexpected warmth towards this brother's menacing visage.

Some people are just like that, before you talk to them, you may find their appearance off-putting and repulsive, but once you've exchanged pleasantries, even if it's just a few words, you might find them suddenly endearing.

"Consider it making friends with the young master,"

the surly man added.

Zhao Rong's brows relaxed, he wanted to give a formal bow, but realizing that the other man might not be a scholar, he clasped his fists with a smile, "Many thanks, brother!"

His expression was sincere.

The surly man also clasped his fists in return.

"Heh heh," a few onlookers chuckled, clearly unimpressed with this "chance meeting" scene.

Lin Qingxuan, seeing someone help Zhao Rong, became gloomy and squinted at the surly man, about to speak, but then stopped and gave his folding fan a pat in the palm of his hand.

Forget it, better to be cautious while outside, let this poor scholar off for now.

The surly man was different from Zhao Rong; Lin Qingxuan could tell at a glance that the latter had no cultivation, just a fledgling, but he was somewhat at a loss with the former. His demeanour, taut outfit, robust build, enduring breaths, and subdued vitality suggested he might be a Martial Artist of considerable standing.

Although the cultivator serving as Lin's old servant wasn't weak either, what if this man was a High Grade Martial Artist?

When cultivating in the mountains, you always fear the "what ifs."

With this thought, Lin Qingxuan's sullen expression cleared away in an instant, and he said with a smile:

"Looks like you're in luck, getting a bone thrown to you without doing anything."

He paused, glanced at the surly man, and continued.

"Heh, if one bone isn't enough, feel free to come to this young master. I'm easy to talk to. Seeing that you look like you don't have much learning in your belly, I won't trouble you much—just make this young master 'happy,' and that's fine."

Having said that, he walked away waving his fan, not looking back, towards the teahouse in the main hall, followed by several maid servants.

Only an old servant remained standing in line.

Seeing that one of the main parties of the drama had left, the onlookers began dispersing.

Some shook their heads, feeling that the drama was less exciting because of someone intervening.

Some were disdainful, finding the prideful poor scholar rather foolish.

Others thought the man was being meddlesome and utterly dull.

Zhao Rong didn't pay them any mind. He pushed the token and eleven Spirit Stones to the beautiful matron, his expression indifferent.

"One ticket to Du You City, please."

The beautiful matron checked the Spirit Stones, nodded, and took out a new token from the drawer and handed it to Zhao Rong.

"There happens to be a ferry headed for Du You City that has been docked at Longquan Crossing for a few days; it will set sail again at noon today. Please board on time."

"By the way," Zhao Rong took out another silver token. "Is this cross-continent ferry ticket sold by your Qingfeng Residence?"

The beautiful matron was surprised upon seeing the silver token; it wasn't cheap.

"Yes, young master, this is sold by our Qingfeng Residence on behalf of Weiwei Mountain."

"Does the ticket have a time limit?"

"No, whenever you wish to travel, as long as there is space available on the ferry, you can board with this token."

Zhao Rong nodded, pocketed the silver token, and walked away from the counter. He didn't leave right away, however—he waited on the side for the surly man.

Seeing him purchase the ticket, Zhao Rong approached.

"Thanks again for your help just now, brother!"

The surly man waved his hand and said nothing.

"My name is Zhao Rong, styled Ziyu. May I ask how to address brother?

After a moment's hesitation, the surly man said gruffly, "Liu Sanbian."

Zhao Rong couldn't help but smile; that was an intriguing name.

"A good name. Like Zi Xia said, 'The gentleman has three changes: stern at a distance, gentle when near, and strict when he speaks.'"

The implication was clear that the name's chooser had high expectations for him.

Upon hearing Zhao Rong mention the allusion behind his name, the always serious Liu Sanbian smiled, which paradoxically made him appear even more "ferocious."

"I've been thinking, and I find it uncomfortable to have accepted a Spirit Stone from brother for nothing."

"Although of modest talent, I have read a few Saintly Books and preserved some of my own crude writings. I thought of gifting a few poems to you, brother, as a small token of thanks!"

"It's just a Spirit Stone; no need for the young master to trouble himself."

"I think it's worth it!"

Having said that, Zhao Rong eagerly opened his book chest and took out a writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone without further ado.

Liu Sanbian hesitated for a moment but, seeing Zhao Rong's sincere attitude, did not refuse again.

"Younger brother, can the poem include the words 'Qingshan'?"

"Qingshan?"

"Qingshan."

Liu Sanbian smiled again.

...

In the rest area on the first floor of Qingfeng Residence.

A bored young girl in green idly toyed with a teacup after watching an entertaining scene.

She was a disciple of the Mountain Immortals from a nearby mountain, and her master rarely allowed her to descend. It had taken much pleading to accompany her senior brother to Longquan Crossing for tasks.

She found Longquan Crossing novel at first, but soon thought it was just so-so.

The lively scene she had just witnessed was quite interesting to her, but the ending felt somewhat dull.

In her heart, she supported the ordinary scholar; after all, which girl cultivating in the mountains didn't admire and fancy a Confucian scholar brimming with talent and knowledge?

At least that's what she believed, as someone who secretly enjoyed romances about poets and beauties.

Could there really be any girl who didn't like that? No way, no way.

Moreover, interacting in poetry with scholars could enhance cultivation and benefit the Great Dao, couldn't it? Many seekers of truth were stuck in the Vast Realm, and if they couldn't break through it in sixty years, the Great Dao remained out of reach. This reminded her of an uncle in her sect who had been stalled at the Vast Realm for years, now old and grey, steeped in twilight.

The two orthodox Confucian Academies on Wangque Continent attracted countless people from both on and off the mountains every year, with many a fairy from the peaks yearning for a poetic exchange with an Academy gentleman.

In recent years, an auction in a black market on the mountain sold a poem of the Falling Flower Grade and the State of No Self at an exorbitant price. Although Confucian Academies strictly prohibited such acts, the ban was frequently ignored, and high-grade poetry remained one of the hottest commodities in the black market.

Opposite the Confucianists, the Mo Family and Daoists were not as sought after by mountain dwellers. Though the realms beyond the Vast Realm, the Heavenly Will Realm, and the Golden Core Realm had deep connections with them, in comparison to Confucian scholars, the straightforward Mo Family rangers seemed foolish and the aloof True Men of Daoism quite dull.

Moreover, cultivators who had surpassed the Vast Realm tended to be mature and stable, no longer as impulsive as in their days of lesser cultivation.

The girl in green bit her lip, her mind aimlessly wandering through these thoughts until she caught sight of that poverty-stricken, pitiful scholar again.

What a bookworm, she thought. Others bully you, and you don't even dare to talk back, truly too... No wonder you had to bring a counterfeit flag from Linlu Academy.

Real scholars are definitely not like that.

The girl in green thought to herself.

But all of a sudden, she felt surprised.

At this moment, she was probably the only one in the hall who had noticed that poor scholar out of boredom.

She saw the scholar speaking a few words with the ferocious-looking man beside him, then put down the book chest he had been carrying, took out paper and ink, found a nearby table, and began to arrange the paper and prepare the ink with practiced movements.

What's he going to do? she wondered.

Then she saw the scholar flick back the black ribbon that had slid forward, roll up his sleeves, hold the brush in his right hand, poised and focused before suddenly starting to write, his movements as graceful as flowing water or drifting clouds.

Is he... going to compose a poem?

The girl pursed her lips but her expression turned curious shortly thereafter.

This poverty-stricken scholar, who seemed quite unremarkable, somehow changed completely when he began to write; his whole demeanor altered as if... as if he became a different person.

The girl suspected she was experiencing an illusion.

Before she could dwell on it further her gaze was gradually drawn to the scholar.

Slowly.

The girl in green opened her mouth slightly.

Her expression froze.

In a corner of the hall, the poverty-stricken scholar wrote with focused expression, with ink splattering grand lines. Suddenly, a breeze entered Qingfeng Residence, sweeping across the scholar's table and over the white paper with black ink. The breeze was head-on, making the scholar's hair flutter. And yet, strangely enough, the sheet of paper without a paperweight did not stir even in the slightest, lying there on the table as if weighing a ton.

The girl in green quickly snapped back to reality and walked briskly towards the table.

"Where are you going, junior sister?" a young man called from behind her, but the next second, he too sensed something amiss.

The spiritual energy in the hall was gradually becoming... denser?

The young man looked puzzledly towards the corner of the hall, the direction his junior sister had gone.

Meanwhile, other guests in Qingfeng Residence who felt the anomaly also reacted.

"Odd, why is there a surge of spiritual energy?"

"Who is it? Who dares cast spells within Qingfeng Residence?"

"Has Qingfeng Residence acquired some exotic treasure that's causing such a commotion?"

"Eh, what's that scholar doing?!"

Surprised and questioning voices arose in the hall.

Even people on the street outside were drawn by the phenomenon to come in and investigate.

The girl in green ignored the noises behind her. She was the first to reach the desk, and the scholar there had already stopped writing with a smile. She widened her eyes to take in the scholar and the stern, grim man beside him before her gaze landed on the quietly lying paper on the desk.

On it was a poem, its ink already dry, the title of which she had never seen. The calligraphy was strong and elegant, pleasing to the eye. But it wasn't the style that captivated her—it was the ribbon of light roaming across the paper.

This is... a high-grade poem!