Jingyang inside the portrait and Jing Jiu outside it looked at each other. Clearly, the one standing outside was better-looking.
Jing Jiu was no longer the Jingyang of old, but that air of his was no different from Jingyang's.
After Nan Wang heard him say, "Then let it be today," this thought arose in her heart. She shook her head gently and walked out of the small tower.
Sunlight pierced the thin mist in the mountains and the branches and leaves overhead, falling on a nameless stream and scattering into faint, slightly disordered glimmers, like her Sword Strings and her feelings at this moment.
Her bare white feet stepped over the rocks beside the stream, carrying her swiftly upward like a beautiful mountain spirit.
The silver bells rang crisply, like her laughter of old.
Outwardly, she was still that girl from the Southern Barbarians, but in truth, she was not.
At the summit stood a large black rock, with a flowering tree growing before it and a pile of delicate, lovely little wine jars beneath the tree.
So this was Qingrong Peak.
Nan Wang produced a jar of wine from somewhere and tossed it behind her.
With a soft slap, the wine jar landed squarely in Jing Jiu's hand.
Hundreds of years had passed, yet the two still worked together with such practiced ease, like drifting clouds and flowing water.
Jing Jiu looked at the wine jar in his hand, thought for a moment, then pulled out the stopper and took a sip.
Watching this, Nan Wang's expression softened a little. She walked back to him, took the wine jar, and drank a large mouthful. Breathing out a faintly sweet breath of wine, she said in a soft, slightly husky voice, "I burned your Remains in that cave abode not