"Hey, look, that fiery red sun is a sesame flatbread..."
"It's flat and round..."
Shen Tang was never one to keep her mouth shut.
Whenever the mood struck her, she would hum a few bars of a tune even she barely recognized. It was neither a proper song nor a proper melody, and she had the bad habit of making up lyrics as she went. When she couldn't think of what to sing, she just hummed indistinctly.
Off-key and awful.
But she was having fun singing.
The only one who wasn't enjoying himself was probably Qi Shan.
"...Hey, you're like the rain in spring, the breeze in summer, the apples in autumn, the fire in winter, burning in my heart, hey, hey—baby, you're burning in my heart!" The eleven- or twelve-year-old boy had a clear, bright voice, crisp and pure, and much higher than that of boys his age.
It wasn't loud, but it carried remarkably well.
Qi Shan: "..."
Whenever Young Master Shen sang, he lamented that his hearing was too good. The Literary Heart enhanced the five senses, which meant he could clearly hear every word she sang even from six or seven zhang away. And he couldn't just run off altogether, so he had to grit his teeth and endure the assault.
It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to silence Shen Tang and rob her of her voice.
Shen Tang had retaliated in kind: twice the silencing, twice the off-key singing, and lyrics that grew ever more vulgar, direct, and exuberant.
A naked exchange of blows.
Qi Shan, who had lost a thousand enemies and wounded himself two thousand times: "..."
Enough, enough. He admitted defeat. If he couldn't outdo her in shamelessness, then he couldn't outdo her.
Shen Tang only got more and more carried