Yang Xing’s lips split into a wide, unreserved grin.
“Alright!”
He turned and fetched a stool from the corner, placing it opposite his own and patting the seat twice.
“Come, sit here, across from me.”
Ning Rong looked at the stool.
She walked over reluctantly and sat down on the stool.
Still perched on only the front third of the seat, her back ramrod straight.
The two sat facing each other.
Yang Xing took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.
He raised his right hand, index and middle fingers pressed together, lightly forming a hand seal in front of him.
His left hand rested on his knee, thumb moving back and forth over the knuckles of his other four fingers, the speed varying between fast and slow.
His lips moved slightly, as if silently reciting something.
The room fell quiet.
Completely quiet.
Ning Rong was still somewhat unaccustomed to it.
One moment they were bickering back and forth, the next the whole world was reduced to the faint sounds from Yang Xing’s fingertips and the occasional distant birdcall from outside the window.
Propping her chin on one hand, she simply stared with her large, crystal-clear eyes, blinking as she watched Yang Xing putting on his act across from her.
His brow was slightly furrowed, his eyelashes lowered, casting a small shadow beneath his eyes.
To be honest, when this guy was serious, he really did look the part.
Even though she was one hundred percent certain he was faking it.
One minute passed.
Ning Rongrong yawned.
Two minutes.
She yawned again.
She was truly exhausted.
From leaving the city, to being tricked into signing the contract, to chasing Yang Xing all over the streets, to being chased around by the snake he transformed, and then the successive Soul Skill bombardments and psychological tug-of-war.
An entire afternoon’s energy had been completely drained by this swindler of a master.
Ning Rongrong covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yawned again, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus her gaze on Yang Xing’s face.
Her thoughts began to wander.
Could he really calculate it?
Impossible.
A thousand years—dozens of generations of the entire sect hadn’t solved this problem.
But.
That old farmer really did find the Gold Spirit Coins.
That honest man’s wife really was pregnant.
He did accurately state all her information in one go.
What if?
What if he really could calculate it?
As soon as this thought surfaced, Ning Rongrong shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake water out of her mind.
Unrealistic.
Absolutely unrealistic.
She propped her chin up again and continued staring at Yang Xing.
The quiet room felt like a gentle cocoon.
A faint scent of wood mixed with sunshine emanated from Yang Xing.
The afternoon light slanted in through the holes in the wall, warm and soft on her face.
Ning Rongrong’s head drooped lower and lower.
Her elbow slipped from her knee, and she jerked her head up.
She was awake for two seconds.
Then her eyelids drooped again.
After repeating this three times, that delicate, petite head finally rested against the palm of her propping hand.
Her breathing grew long and even.
Her eyelashes closed, casting a soft, fan-shaped shadow on her cheeks.
Her lips pouted slightly, her exhales uniform and gentle.
Her ear-length bob hung beside her face, revealing earlobes so fair they seemed translucent.
She was fast asleep.
She was quiet and still, without the sharp, prickly aura she had during the day.
At this moment, Ning Rongrong looked like an ordinary, pretty twelve-year-old girl—well-behaved, peaceful, even carrying a hint of the innocent childishness that matched her age.
Yang Xing opened his eyes.
He glanced at Ning Rongrong.
He really had exhausted her too much today.
He shook his head, raised his right index finger, and casually drew a talisman in the air.
The strokes were minimal, forming in just a few moments.
A pale cyan light talisman appeared.
With a flick of his finger, Yang Xing sent it floating silently toward Ning Rongrong, where it sank into the center of her forehead.
Rhythm Spirit Talisman.
A minor trick from the compendium of one thousand and eight basic talismans that the system had instilled in him after converting the Heaven-reaching Record into a Soul Skill.
It calmed the spirit and stabilized the soul, allowing one to replenish their mental energy.
These basic talismans weren’t particularly powerful—even if he exerted his full Cultivation Base, the effect would only be that of his full Cultivation Base—but they were versatile and useful, offering even more varied minor applications than the Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate.
After finishing this,
Yang Xing picked up a piece of wood from the table and rubbed it between his fingers.
A long wooden stick took shape.
He gripped the stick and, without hesitation, tapped Ning Rongrong on the head.
Not too hard, not too soft.
Tap.
“Huh?!”
Ning Rongrong jolted awake.
The moment her eyes opened, they were still misty with sleep, her pupils unfocused, her whole person caught in a dazed, half-asleep state.
“Who…
what…”
Yang Xing spoke.
“Kira Tulip.”
Ning Rongrong blinked.
“The method for advancing the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda to the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda.” Yang Xing’s pace of speech was neither fast nor slow, as if reciting a list.
It can directly enhance your aptitude, upgrading the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda to the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda.”
He finished speaking.
Ning Rongrong’s brain was still booting up.
She stared blankly at Yang Xing, her lips parting slightly, a tuft of bedhead sticking up from her short hair where she had dozed off.
Yang Xing was already standing up.
He patted his robe, stretched with a big yawn, and let out an unabashed sigh.
“Alright, the method I promised you for advancing the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda to the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda—I’ve given it to you.”
As he spoke, he was already walking toward the bed in the right corner of the room.
“Pick one from the Soul Skills I introduced earlier, and I’ll teach it to you.
Then go sign up for that Shrek Academy of yours.”
Another yawn.
“Your master needs to rest.”
With that, Yang Xing had already reached the bedside.
He turned sideways and flopped onto the simple wooden plank bed.
Facing away from Ning Rongrong, his robed figure curled up as he found a comfortable position.
Ning Rongrong stared at his back and rear.
She muttered unconsciously.
“Kira Tulip…
Kira Tulip…”
An Immortal Herb?
What is that?
Is it real or not?
Then another piece of information suddenly exploded in her mind.
Ning Rongrong’s eyes widened.
She shot up from the stool, rushed three steps to Yang Xing’s bedside, planted her hands on her hips, arched her willow-like eyebrows, and leaned forward.
“What do you mean, ‘pick a Soul Skill yourself’?!”
Her voice was sharp enough to pierce through walls.
“What are you trying to say?!”
Yang Xing lay on the bed.
He didn’t even turn over.
The hand facing upward lazily waved in the air a couple of times, as if shooing away mosquitoes.
“Exactly what it sounds like.
Pick one, and I’ll teach it.”
Ning Rong’s voice cracked in the very next second.
“Aren’t you going to teach me everything?!”
This time, Yang Xing didn’t even wave his hand.
The voice came muffled from the direction of the pillow, as flat as if stating something utterly obvious.
“One is enough for you to grasp and learn.
My Soul Skills are all very powerful, each with its own requirements.
If you can perfectly master one, that will be quite impressive.”
He paused.
“Don’t aim too high.”
He yawned, his voice growing indistinct.