Were they already beginning... to commemorate him?
Was Jiang Wang truly, undeniably dead? Was there no hope of saving him?
Would those letters stacked in the Storage Box truly never increase again?
The Cloud Crane sent out earlier had circled outside the Gate of Ten Thousand Demons... It should have dispersed by now, shouldn't it?
An'an's letters and her letters had all vanished into the clouds.
Before Jiang Wang pursued Zhang Linchuan across thousands of miles, he had secretly sent some gifts to High Heaven Pavilion through a trading firm—some for An'an, and some for her.
Among the gifts he sent her was a Scorched Tail Zither—she had not actually known how to play the zither before. Of the four arts of zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting, only calligraphy had held any interest for her. But practicing characters was far too dry and tedious, so she had never been diligent about it. Only recently, while keeping watch over Jiang An'an, had she practiced more.
The world's notions of what a gentlewoman should be naturally had no bearing on Ye Qingyu.
Red sleeves adding fragrance, playing the zither for her lord... Who was worthy?
Of course, cultivation was a must. Having been called Senior Sister for so long, she had to shoulder some responsibility. Living in the High Heaven Secret Realm, clad in fine silks and fed rich food since childhood, she had to do something for the people of Cloud Kingdom... Like her father, protect the peace of a region.
But in all the time beyond that, she would rather sit and watch the sea of clouds.
What made her happy was the clear, pure sky, the drifting clouds at ease, the stories in books, the wind sweeping over the wilds.
The world held ten thousand mundane affairs, yet none