My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 507 - 338... Will Only Affect the Speed of Drawing the Sword (Part 2)

Chapter 507: Chapter 338... Will Only Affect the Speed of Drawing the Sword (Part 2)

However, although Qing Jun often resisted with a tense, pretty face during the latter part of the night,

now, in retrospect, Zhao Rong realized that she was actually half willing.

Otherwise, not to mention Zhao Rong who was still one step away from the Fu Yao Realm, who could force Qing Jun?

Her temperament was cold yet extremely fierce, like a sharp sword, bendable yet unbreakable.

Only he, Rong’er, could mischievously bully her, but he could not go too far, lest she felt undervalued and uncherished by him, her husband. That truly would have broken Qing Jun’s heart.

What mattered most to Qing Jun was her place in his heart; it had to be the highest, just as he was her sun.

Zhao Rong was very aware of this point, and he felt the same, considering her the bright moon of his heart.

Thus, Zhao Rong always took care to consider Qing Jun’s feelings, maintaining a certain measure, unless he couldn’t help it.

And last night, after being bullied like that and accompanying his antics, allowing him to roughly succeed, it was probably also a compensatory affection due to her husband’s imminent departure.

Zhao Rong, while listening to the sound of the rain and lost in thought, watched guiltily as Qing Jun tucked herself into the embroidered duvet.

He glanced at the blanket covering himself.

Originally, last night, they shared the same duvet, but then...

At that moment, as the first clap of thunder sounded outside the window and the heavy rain poured down, wave after wave splattering the pure white world below.

Qing Jun, with her beautiful head buried in the duvet, didn’t even look at Zhao Rong, straightaway curled up her slender jade legs and kicked him off the Imperial Concubine’s Couch.

However, Zhao Rong’s cultivation at the Ascending Realm was not in vain, not just in making Qing Jun’s heart tremble with exhaustion.

He instantly came to his senses, swiftly catching Qing Jun’s softly forceful, exquisite left ankle.

Zhao Rong lowered his head, closely observed the neatly curled up little toes on the delicate toes, naturally pink as captivating Dou Kou, then impulsively bent down to lightly kiss the tightly arched, pristine lotus foot.

Qing Jun’s soft and supple body suddenly stiffened, and without thinking, she kicked up her right leg, and the next second, the gluttonous man felt a pain in his behind and tumbled off the bed.

She had kicked him down, landing flat on his back like falling wild geese.

But before Zhao Rong could react, Qing Jun, who had just buried her head in the duvet and ignored him, somehow gathered the strength and sprang up again.

She hurriedly got down from the bed and helped Zhao Rong back onto it, massaging his kicked behind with her jade hand.

But seeing him still grinning foolishly, a mix of distress and annoyance spread across Qing Jun’s pretty face.

She pushed hard against his chest with both hands, tossing him back onto the bed.

Zhao Rong inhaled sharply and rubbed the sore spot, then turned his head to look.

Next, what he saw was Qing Jun, standing in front of the bed in the darkness, dressed in a purple bellyband.

She turned her back, took out a handkerchief, raised her bare hands, and gently wiped her pretty face and vermilion lips; the smoothly rounded throat seemed to swallow down some saliva like a swan.

Qing Jun sniffed, seemingly tired and parched, feeling her cheeks, lips, and throat burning hot.

She picked up a cup of tea beside her, raised her head, and drank it all in one go, then patted her chest lightly, causing her bosom to heave for a while as she took several deep breaths.

Next, after wiping her flushed cheeks and fragrant jaw with the handkerchief a few more times, Qing Jun indignantly raised her hand, intending to throw the now color-stained handkerchief at him, but midway she hastily stopped herself.

Qing Jun retracted her bare hand, carefully hiding the dirty handkerchief inside her bosom.

Later, she casually grabbed a thick blanket and threw it heavily over Zhao Rong’s smiling face.

Qing Jun, utterly embarrassed and angered, forcefully pushed her mishap-causing and still mischievously grinning ruffian husband aside.

Then, her long, supple body blushing from shame and beauty, she burrowed into the embroidered duvet, hid in her own small world, went to sleep, and didn’t bother with him anymore.

Qing Jun thus ousted Zhao Rong from the warm bed, leaving him to sleep until the morning.

At this very moment, hearing the rain in the courtyard gradually lessen and the birds’ chirping grow, Zhao Rong tossed aside the blanket on him and got out of bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

He turned his head and looked again at the bulging oval embroidered duvet, noticing the mistress was still hidden inside and couldn’t help but pat his forehead.

Suddenly, an idea struck Zhao Rong, and he momentarily froze.

He carefully looked at the duvet hiding the fragrant Qing Jun, feeling that it wasn’t very securely covered.

So he tentatively reached out, grabbed a corner of the duvet, and lifted it, then... surprisingly, Zhao Rong lifted the duvet a bit more without hindrance.

He stopped his hand, not continuing to lift it further.

Could his wife like to sleep in late, or was she cooling off, thinking to review the swordsmanship technique and mnemonic he taught her last night?

Zhao Rong thought for a moment, "Qing... Jun?"

Qing Jun did not respond to him, and he didn’t know whether she had fallen asleep.

Zhao Rong raised his eyebrows slightly.

He didn’t immediately take action but instead turned his head to look at the several tightly shut window-doors of the room.

He was confused upon waking and hadn’t heard the bells of Du You City, but apparently, it was still early morning.

He guessed no maid or servant dared to disturb the sleep of the master and mistress by entering the rear quarters inappropriately.

Wutong Street, designated for the gentry and not in a bustling area, currently outside, other than the courtyard’s unusually desolate chirping of birds, there wasn’t the sound of the mischievous Zhao Qian.

If he hadn’t guessed wrong, his wife was now in the covers wearing only a purple bellyband and silk panties.

The quilt concealed wonderful things—black hair, fragrant shoulders, a beautiful back, a slender waist, frost-white calves, and delicate jade feet among others.

And the pure white dress-like nightgown from last night had already been casually tossed under the couch by Zhao Rong as he tutored her in the basics of being a Sword Cultivator and the hundred techniques of requisitioning tribute.

Zhao Rong had adamantly claimed that it would only impede the speed of drawing a sword.

Qing Jun was skeptical, but then she tried it and found out... it was indeed so, so she reluctantly undid it.

At that moment, he even wanted to tell Qing Jun solemnly that dressing cooler could allow her to learn another set of profound sword techniques.

As for the bellyband he wore, Zhao Rong was powerless.

He had never been able to teach her the truly convenient sword techniques.

While Qing Jun was deeply engrossed in studying the Swordsmanship Mnemonic.

Zhao Rong had actually tried to undo the butterfly knot of the purple bellyband tied around her neck, swan-like, which dangled tantalizingly in front of him, making his heart itch.

However, even with his nimble hands, he couldn’t untie that alluring butterfly knot.

Because... that was a clean illusion.

Every time Zhao Rong managed to undo it a bit, the illusion, their cheap daughter, would dissolve into a cloud of Purple Energy, soft as silk, and retie itself into a butterfly knot, guarding her future brother’s cafeteria.

Thus, Zhao Rong could never remove that purple bellyband, let alone obtain the betrothing soft jade he had dreamed about day and night.

Zhao Rong shook his head and sighed.

At this very moment, inside the tranquil boudoir filled with a faint fragrance.

Zhao Rong on the imperial concubine’s couch sensed the vibrant atmosphere of this blossoming morning and then turned his head to look at the gap in the embroidered quilt that had been lifted.

He nodded earnestly.

The next second, he moved as swiftly as a rabbit, diving into the quilt and embracing the delicate and exquisite body hidden inside, immediately feeling enveloped by warm fragrance and soft jade.

"Mmm."

"Sweetie," Zhao Rong teased with a single phrase and couldn’t help but laugh, lowering his head to plant a strawberry on her pale forehead, and then earnestly whispering in her ear:

"Stop sleeping, let’s review last night’s Swordsmanship Mnemonic, this time Rong’er brother promises not to press down your little head..."

As he spoke, he tightened his arms around the beauty in his embrace, only to pause the next second, huh, Qing Jun was wearing too much, and... why had she become smaller? Her son’s cafeteria as well!

Before Zhao Rong could react, Zhao Qian’er in his arms happily lifted her little head and cheerily said, "Rong’er brother, are we going to do kissy things behind Miss’s back?"

Zhao Rong’s eyes widened, "???"

Zhao Qian’er, both shy and happy, wrapped her slender arms around Zhao Rong, her round legs as well.

The little girl clung to Zhao Rong, who was now frozen, like an octopus, tilted her head, thought for a moment, closed her peach blossom eyes, raised her small chin towards Zhao Rong again, and slightly parted her pink lips, her cheeks flushed with red.

A look full of expectation.

"......" Zhao Rong.

How do you pop up from everywhere?

Facing the little Qian’er, always trying to steal his lady and flirt with the son-in-law, he suddenly went expressionless, and the next second, raised his hand and pressed it downward, pushing back her raised head.

Zhao Qian’er pouted in protest, "Mmm, Rong’er brother, didn’t you just promise not to press down my little head?"

Zhao Rong didn’t respond, but quickly loosened his hands, peeling off the snotty girl clinging to him like glue, jumped down from the bed, quickly dressed, and looked around the boudoir that no longer had any trace of his wife.

He didn’t know when she had quietly gotten out of bed during his deep sleep, nor when the mischievous Qian’er had crept into the quilt.

Little Qian’er poked her head out from under the covers, squinting her peach blossom eyes, revealing a look of deep revenge, and threatened in a soft voice:

"Rong’er brother, don’t run, I’ll tell Miss later that when Qian’er came to wake you, you hugged me tightly, stole a kiss, and called me Sweetie... you, come back... ow!"

Zhao Rong suddenly turned around, curling his fingers and planted two chestnuts on her little head where he had mistakenly planted a strawberry, "Still causing trouble?"

"Wuwuwu." Zhao Qian’er covered her flushed forehead with both hands, glaring at Rong’er brother, her eyes both wronged and fierce.

Zhao Rong shook his head speechlessly. Reaching out, he softly tousled her disheveled bun, "Sorry, I mistook you for someone just now. Stop making trouble, Qian’er, I have important matters to attend to today, I must go."

With those words, he quickly left Qing Jun’s boudoir.

Zhao Qian’er puffed her mouth into a bun, annoyed watching the silhouette of Rong’er brother, who one second before had a mischievous smiling face and a serious face the next second, walking away.

At a certain moment, she cocked her head and frowned, tapped her pink lips with her index finger, and muttered,

"He promised not to press down your little head? Hey, why would Rong’er brother press down Miss’s head..."

Confused, the little girl shook her head, planning to turn back and ask Miss.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hooked her embroidered shoes hidden beneath with her toes, tugged on the shoes, and hopped off the bed.

Zhao Qian’er turned her head, shrugged her nose, and sniffed a faint scent.

Not knowing what she thought, her small face blushed, and she muttered lightly, "The couple, shamelessly..."

Immediately, she turned and ran after Zhao Rong.

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