My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 492 - 331: Isn’t a Man’s Money Meant to be Spent on a Woman?

Chapter 492: Chapter 331: Isn’t a Man’s Money Meant to be Spent on a Woman?

It seemed like simply letting him fend for himself, right?

Sigh, still, Qian’er is great. It would be even better if she didn’t dislike competing with him for a seat.

Zhao Rong nodded inwardly.

The next second, he slightly lifted his buttocks and shifted to the right, generously making space for the quiet little girl ’squeezing’ beside him.

"Hmph!"

However, unexpectedly, Qian’er, seemingly chin-propped and admiring the moonlight afar, suddenly wrinkled her delicate nose and huffed annoyedly.

In an instant, she stood up vigorously, her slender arms hugging her little chest, pouting her lips, and with heavy footsteps, moved to the far opposite side of a certain big pig’s rooftop.

The little girl sat down again, alone, hugging her knees, curling her small body, with her back to Zhao Rong.

Zhao Rong, at first, looked worriedly at the roof tiles, which bore the brunt of the fallout.

Fortunately, the landlord’s house was solidly built, no skimping on materials.

Then, he looked at the thin and slender silhouette of the little girl in the evening breeze. Under the cold silver brilliance of the Moon Palace, it evoked a sense of desolation.

Zhao Rong blinked twice.

He glanced around, hesitated for a moment, then stood up and gently sat beside her.

Zhao Qian’er shifted her little buttocks to the side, away from Zhao Rong.

Zhao Rong, relentless, shifted his buttocks to follow her.

Zhao Qian’er moved away again.

Zhao Rong, persistent, continued to follow.

Finally, the withdrawn little girl was cornered to the edge of the eave, with nowhere to escape.

She didn’t move anymore, letting him close to her small frame, just turning her face away, not looking at Zhao Rong.

After satisfying himself, Zhao Rong, still not contented, leaned out to peer at her facial expression.

"Hmph." Zhao Qian’er twisted her delicate body inward and continued to present the back of her head to him, not letting him see.

Uh-huh, in the past you ignored me, now I’ll make you unreachable...

Seeing the little girl still sulking, Zhao Rong blinked.

He thought for a moment, leaned his shoulder against hers, and nudged her gently.

Zhao Qian’er, like a startled little cat, used her seemingly frail shoulders and forcefully bumped back.

"Sss." Zhao Rong inhaled sharply, rubbing his shoulder.

"Hmph, hmph." The little girl with her hair casually tied in a bun hummed twice, like a victorious little hen, but soon after, sniffled her nose.

Zhao Rong couldn’t help but grin, feeling her recent quaint nasal sound was like the squealing of a little pig.

Yet, he dared not laugh aloud, afraid that Qian’er would hear it; he guessed she might use her small canines on him then.

Zhao Rong, guessing the little girl might have calmed down a bit, leaned forward again to see her expression.

This time, Zhao Qian’er did not dodge, allowing him to observe.

There she was, still pursing her lips tightly, her little face taut, while a few strands of her black hair fluttered across her cheeks and ears in the breeze.

It also carried some of the cold aloofness of Qing Jun when silent and unapproachable.

Zhao Rong nodded lightly, then, his gaze followed Zhao Qian’er’s current line of sight.

From their position on the rooftop, they could see a bright moon embedded in the inky night sky to the right of You Mountain.

And at night, You Mountain was a pitch-black mass, with only a few scattered lights.

One couldn’t tell, amidst the layers of night, whether Huayi Mountain, alias ’Mountain of Floral Attire’, had donned its new flowery garb.

Zhao Rong, watching this, suddenly peeked at the unresponsive little girl beside him.

Zhao Rong’s lips curved slightly, his right hand stealthily drawing out from his left sleeve a ’flashy but insubstantial’ trinket he bought during the day.

He lowered his gaze to the object in his hand, then promptly lifted his hand, inserting it among Zhao Qian’er’s flowery tresses.

It was a flower that, even after leaving the branch, silently continued to bloom.

"Ah! You..."

Zhao Qian’er, attacked suddenly from behind, exclaimed in angry surprise.

She had just bathed, and now he had dirtied her again.

Zhao Qian’er fumed, turning her head, ready to teach him a lesson, and simultaneously, she grabbed the ’foreign object’ in her hair, preparing to throw it away.

But the next second, having caught a glimpse of the true identity of this ’foreign object’, her palm-sized face paused, then instantly delightedly exclaimed:

"Ah, it’s a Purple-clothed Flower!"

Zhao Qian’er lowered her head to look at the color-changing exquisite flower in her hand, her peach blossom eyes widening.

She touched and retouched the Purple-clothed Flower from You Mountain, which she had longed for and remembered, unable to hide the joy on her little face, and murmured to herself:

"It really is a Purple-clothed Flower, Rong... Rong’er bro."

Zhao Qian’er looked up, her large eyes sparkling as she gazed forth.

In her vista, Brother Rong’er was facing her with a profile smile, looking up at the bright moon in the sky.

He nudged her shoulder again.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel