"Geese, geese, geese, their curved necks raised in song to the sky."
"White feathers float on green water, red feet stir the clear ripples."
A clear, childish voice rang out. Little Yang Guo held a poetry collection, swaying his little head as he solemnly recited. His words were crisp, his pace neither hurried nor slow, bringing delighted smiles to Yang Ming and his four wives.
Yang Ming had always believed that people must never forget their roots. After so many years since crossing over to the Douluo Continent, he could not completely forget his past. He therefore took his son's education seriously, teaching him Tang poetry and Song verse from infancy. He hoped his son would become not merely a brutish Spirit Master who knew only how to wield weapons, but a cultured, courteous man as well.
Little Yang Guo lowered the poetry collection. His round, dark eyes seemed to shine as he stared straight at Yang Ming and said in his clear little voice:
"Daddy, I can recite it now. You have to keep your promise and take me fishing for fishies."
As he spoke, Little Yang Guo seemed afraid Yang Ming would go back on his word. He immediately closed the poetry collection and began reciting with painstaking seriousness.
For a child barely past his first month, this was no small feat. Other children his age were still babbling and could not even walk, yet Little Yang Guo could not only express himself clearly, but speak fluently.
Every parent hoped their child would be clever and successful, and Yang Ming was naturally no exception. Seeing how bright Little Yang Guo was filled his heart with comfort. He scooped his son up with one hand and said:
"All right, Daddy will take you fishing right now!"
"Yay! Daddy's the