A signature?
Writing a book?
Lin Feng instantly perked up like he'd been injected with chicken blood. His grape-like eyes sparkled, as if starlight danced within them. Chu Yao watched from the side, unsure whether to let this happen or intervene.
What was this "Pig Castration Manual"?
If it really made its way down through the ages, future generations would see the names "Shen Tang" and "Lin Feng" side by side. Then they'd look up the two authors' backgrounds and genders... Chu Yao didn't dare imagine the scene.
Shen Tang was very generous. She smiled and said, "Xiao Fang and Half-Step helped too. When it's finished, make sure you mention their contributions as well."
Chu Yao: "..."
Let's not do that.
Lin Feng only thought his lord was truly amazing: well-traveled, knowledgeable, and skilled in all sorts of things. He looked at Shen Tang with even greater reverence and admiration.
The piglets needed time to recover, and Shen Tang's days visibly grew more boring. Fortunately, she still had Zhai Le for company. The two of them together were far more raucous than one plus one equaling two. There wasn't a thing in the bandit stronghold they couldn't find a way to play.
Of course, their idea of playing wasn't making mud pies or playing house.
They either went hunting in the mountains or sparred on the crude practice field. One didn't use his Martial Spirit, and the other didn't use her Literary Heart. Every time, they ended up evenly matched. They tested their swordsmanship, archery, strength, reflexes, and jumping heights... and always worked up a good, stinking sweat.
Qi Shan and the other man saw it all.
They exchanged a look, speechless.
Qi Shan: And she's still... still a young lady?
Chu Yao: I'm not blind. I refuse to believe