The old scholar hurriedly tucked the handful of melon seeds into his sleeve and strode toward them. But instead of speaking to his final disciple first, he looked at Ning Yao and smiled. "Ning girl, you've ended up with a fellow who can't sit still. Please be patient with him. If you ever feel wronged, never mind who's right or wrong—don't you dare think you're being unreasonable, or wonder whether you're making a mountain out of a molehill. Forget all that. Come straight to me and complain. As Chen Ping'an's teacher, I'll help you scold him. I won't take this boy's side!"
Perhaps Ning Yao was the only person in the world whose side the old man would take over his student's if she and Chen Ping'an quarreled.
In human affairs, the difference between good and bad often came down to a sentence or two. That was all it took to turn one into the other.
In anger, one or two harsh, cutting words too many; in ordinary days, one or two comforting, kindly words too few.
For the closer people were, the easier it was to take everything the other did for granted and assume that nothing needed saying.
And the moment one thought the other should understand everything was often the moment the other understood nothing at all.
Ning Yao smiled and nodded. "All right. I'll learn a thing or two about complaining from a certain someone."
Everyone thought Ning Yao's talent for sword practice was so extraordinary that she was bound to be the undisputed number one person in the world over in the Five-Colored World. No feat of hers could surprise them.
She was the unquestioned pillar of Ascension City.
As the years passed, people would even regard Ning Yao as the next Chen Qingdu on