Black Wind Mountains, Chaoyang Peak, a small courtyard in Qingfeng Village.

Song Yan, holding two exquisite song inkstones, was sleeping in a reclining chair with a free expression. Next to her, a plain-white-skirt Su Niang was reading a novel in a quiet voice. Her voice was crisp and pleasant to listen to, and she also had a soft taste of immersion. It was a pleasure to listen to the voice alone.

Su Niang is quiet and easy to satisfy. A simple love word and a small gift are enough to make her happy for a long time.

Even with the deepening of her cultivation, she still regards Song Yan as...