My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 195 - 169 Love Letter (Two in One)
Chapter 195: Chapter 169: Love Letter (Two in One)
Chapter 195: Chapter 169: Love Letter (Two in One)
In a chamber of springtime seclusion,
a beauty stands silently reading a letter.
On the desk before her, seven brocade boxes overflow with love letters, some envelopes vibrant in color, others shimmering with light—a clear sign they are not ordinary sheets of an immortal’s craft.
Yet all these have been carelessly placed aside, casually ignored by the lady.
In her eyes, there were only two love letters that mattered.
At the moment, one lay before her.
“I dare to part with my lord… I dare to part with my lord… I dare…”
Her eyes, like pools of autumn water, are lustrous, reflecting the rows of regular script on the paper.
Zhao Rong’s handwriting is forceful and upright, exuding a solemn aura.
Just like the verses themselves—resolute, solemn, like a steadfast oath that would never change, vowing so solemnly, until the seas dry up and rocks crumble, until the end of time.
Rong’er, are you… pledging an eternal vow with Qing Jun…?
Lady Zhao Lingfei’s long lashes quivered, her clear eyes staring fixedly at the ordinary yet extraordinary letter.
Ordinary because the paper was just fine mundane paper, and extraordinary because… the letters on the paper were glowing with a wondrous sheen, regal in their formation, exuding a fantastical charm.
“Shang ye… Shang ye…”
Her rosy lips trembled slightly, parting in a silent murmur.
At that moment,
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the letter displayed a strange phenomenon.
A gentle breeze swelled Zhao Lingfei’s sleeves, her fair hands holding the letter—as the wind inflated her robes, revealing sections of her snowy arms, making them seem even more slender and delicate.
This unexpected breeze, brushing past her, also pressed her loose white clothing snugly against her body.
The beauty’s figure was graceful and undulating with charm.
Had Zhao Rong been present, he would have found it impossible to look away from such an alluring moment, yet in the next second, it was gone.
When Zhao Lingfei felt the spiritual energy surge towards her, she immediately snapped back to reality, flipped her hand to fold the letter, and sighed softly, then looked down at the love letter in her palm.
She smiled faintly, her eyes brimming with joy, holding the letter as if it were precious.
This poem that Rong’er had sent her was of the Falling Flower Grade, State of No Self.
It could assist cultivators at the bottleneck of the Fu Yao Realm to comprehend their breakthrough, and it was also effective for those in the Vast Realm and beyond, instantly replenishing spiritual energy and enhancing one’s cultivation somewhat.
Moreover, the State of No Self poetry could be used repeatedly. Once comprehended, it could slowly absorb spiritual energy and recover.
Just a moment ago, Zhao Lingfei was so engrossed that she involuntarily resonated with the poem “Shang Ye,” drawing its spiritual energy into her body.
Zhao Lingfei needed only to guide it slightly to absorb it, and though she was already a cultivator of the Vast Realm at its bottleneck, this infusion of spiritual energy cultivation could still loosen that mountain-like barrier somewhat.
However,
she was unwilling.
Not the slightest bit willing.
Although Zhao Lingfei was surprised that Rong’er could produce Grade-qualifying poetry, she had already known he wrote a birthday poem for Qian’er, which also qualified as Falling Flower, though it was not as impressive as this one, which was of the State of No Self.
Zhao Lingfei knew that for Confucian scholars, apart from those Reading Seeds born with a natural talent for poetry, it was extremely difficult for most scholars to produce grade-qualifying poems. It required the right timing, the right circumstances, and harmony with people—especially the latter, which was vitally important.
Thus, in her opinion, Rong’er must have been inspired by her connection with Qian’er, pondering deeply until he produced this grade-qualifying poem.
Yes, when Rong’er was young, he would often spend two or three days mulling over the meter and rhyme of a poem, thinking about it while eating, while playing with her, until Uncle Bai called him a blockhead. But I think he was really serious and hardworking. That’s just the kind of man Rong’er is—others have no idea of his virtues…
The journey he embarked on to find her, the countless love poems he must have written for her, only to arrive at this one that has so stirred her soul, of the Falling Flower Grade.
Such was the depth of her lover’s affection.
Zhao Lingfei could not bear to absorb even a trace of its spiritual energy.
She was too reluctant; the magnificent radiant script was too beautiful to look at—if she drew away the spiritual energy, it would lose its luster.
Even though the State of No Self poetry could slowly regenerate, who knows how long it would take? Zhao Lingfei was not willing to wait even a moment.
It should remain as Rong’er wrote it,
untouched…
The woman thought stubbornly.
If Zhao Rong were by her side now and knew of these foolish thoughts in her mind, he would probably roll up the scroll in his hand, tap her forehead gently, or, if he couldn’t bear to tap his silly wife, he would pinch her nose instead, lightly shaking his hand from side to side, watching her small face swing back and forth, seeing her gleaming eyes looking up at him, and tease her by calling her a little fool.
In a certain moment,
Zhao Lingfei’s eyes curved slightly, a touch of pride crossing her face.
Although Qian’er kept claiming the birthday poem was written for her by Rong’er, after all, it wasn’t Qian’er’s birthday—that was her own birthday.
But the birthday poem was indeed intentionally written for Qian’er by Rong’er.
Later, Qian’er made up excuses, such as wanting to keep the poem safe for her, joyfully taking the original manuscript away. Each time she wanted to see it afterward, Qian’er would act worriedly, as if fearing Zhao Lingfei would wrongfully claim it and not return it.
Now, the poem in her hands was even better than the birthday poem, it was the State of No Self of the Falling Flower Grade.
Zhao Lingfei, usually serene and aloof, normally wouldn’t care for the grade of poetry or its realm, but sometimes, in some ways, she did care, like now.
