Reborn Song Qingshu: Besieging Bright Peak at the Start

This poem, from the first encounter under the willows on the Gan-Liang Road to the parting with a glance back on horseback, every word and line is a scene from that day.

Zhao Min's gaze was fixed on the last sentence.

"Just one glance is worth a thousand years." The last stroke of the character "eye" on the paper is drawn out extremely long, as if the writer had used all his strength in this stroke and was reluctant to let the character end.

The hall fell silent for a moment.

The members of the Ming Cult were all seasoned veterans, and from the expression on Zhao Min's face, they could roughly guess that what was written on the paper was definitely not ordinary content.

Zhou Dian craned his neck to look, but Peng Yingyu pulled him back.

Zhang Wuji did take a closer look, but after understanding the meaning of the poem, he silently retreated.

Zhao Min's fingers tightened slightly inside her sleeve, her nails digging into her palms, as she used the pain to force herself back to her senses.

She looked up and met Song Qingshu's smiling gaze. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something polite to ease the awkward atmosphere.

For example, "Young Master Song's limerick is quite well-written," and "This humble woman is unworthy of such praise"...

But his usually eloquent tongue was now tied in knots.

How could she not understand the heartfelt sentiment conveyed in the poem? Every single word and phrase was about her.

She just looked at him.

Those clear, black and white eyes held a mixture of emotions, their light and shadow shifting.

There was a hint of annoyance in her eyes, annoyed that she had seen it all before, yet she had repeatedly lost her composure in front of him. This was unlike her; it was completely unlike her.

There was also a hint of panic, a panic that concealed an emotion she didn't want to name.

There was also a hint of sadness in her eyes; her next plan was to destroy Wudang.

Zhang Sanfeng's refusal to submit to the imperial court was a major threat to the court.

His fame was so great that he was revered as a pillar of the martial arts world. Since he was an enemy of the imperial court, no martial artist in the Central Plains was willing to submit to him.

She has come eastward with the heavy responsibility of dismantling the martial arts world, and this move by Wudang is one she cannot afford to make.

Not only is it going to fall, but it's already halfway through.

The main force of the Wudang Sect that went to Bright Peak is still imprisoned in the high tower of Wan'an Temple, and Yin Liting's limbs were crushed by her subordinate Ah San with his Vajra Finger.

Even if he learns about all this later, just this incident right now...

Will this poem become a weapon sharper than the Heaven-Slaying Sword, turning around and piercing his own palm?

She really didn't know how to face this feeling.

I had no choice but to keep my heart locked, but eventually, that door was pushed open a crack.

  

She gently rolled up the paper, her movements careful.

"Young Master Song is indeed a man of great literary talent."

She finally spoke, her voice still clear and composed, but if one listened closely, a barely perceptible tremor could be heard beneath that composure.

"This poem... I will accept it."

After speaking, she turned to face the assembled heroes, no longer looking at Song Qingshu's burning gaze, afraid that she would soften her heart.

She raised her hand and said, "Gentlemen, you have come from afar. Please forgive our humble abode for our lack of hospitality. You must be tired from your journey. Please come over here and have some food and wine."

He then stepped forward to lead the way.

The assembled heroes exchanged bewildered glances. It seemed that "Young Master Song was interested, but Miss Zhao was indifferent," and she had politely declined.

There was another round of deliberate hissing and sighing, and everyone followed Miss Zhao away.

As Zhou Dian walked, he shook his head and sighed, "Alas, what is love in this world..."

Peng Yingyu continued, "It makes one lose their appetite."

He touched the cloth bag and said, "What a pity, what a pity. If this old monk's bag were a few sizes bigger today..."

Before he could finish speaking, Wei Yixiao kicked him from behind.

Yang Xiao walked past with his hands behind his back.

The frustration he'd been holding in for days, watching this kid flirt with his Bu Hui, instantly melted away. He thought to himself:

You think everyone's as easily fooled as my Bu Hui? You've got what you deserve this time.

He strolled leisurely past Song Qingshu, reciting a line of poetry at a leisurely pace: "How much sorrow can one have? It's like a river of spring water flowing eastward."

These were originally Li Yu's most melancholy lines, but Yang Zuoshi recited them with such intonation and rhythm that he managed to evoke the atmosphere of "good days."

Song Qingshu: "..."

The group of heroes walked through corridors and courtyards and arrived at a large garden.

The garden features ancient and rustic rocks, clear streams and ponds, and several clusters of flowers in full bloom, dotting the crevices of the rocks and the banks of the pond, creating a very elegant scene.

Judging from a single spot, one can see the whole picture; the owner of this garden must be a man of great vision and wisdom, certainly not a vulgar person.

Although the members of the Ming Cult were江湖人 (jianghu people) who had lived on the edge of a knife and blood, they had traveled all over the country and were very knowledgeable. After seeing the layout of the garden, they couldn't help but nod and secretly praise it.

Several tables of food and drink had already been set up in the waterside pavilion.

The pavilion is built by the water, and a gentle breeze carries the fragrance of flowers and plants from the shore, making people feel relaxed and happy.

The dishes on the table were exquisite, and the cups and saucers were elegant.

The Eight Heroes set up a banquet in the side hall to entertain the rest of the Ming Cult members. Zhao Min invited Zhang Wuji, Yang Xiao, Yin Tianzheng, Wei Yixiao, the Five Wanderers, and Song Qingshu, among other leaders, to sit in the waterside pavilion.

Xiao Zhao and Yang Buhui were taking care of Yin Liting, who was unable to get up, in the side room. Zhao Min had already ordered someone to send him a table of fine vegetarian food.

With everything arranged, everyone took their seats.

As the hostess, Zhao Min naturally sat in the main seat.

She had just sat down when she heard a rustling sound of fabric beside her. Song Qingshu had already sat down right next to her, not forgetting to move his chair half an inch closer to her.

Zhao Min rolled her eyes at him expressionlessly, having no other choice but to let him be.

As a princess of the Great Yuan Dynasty, if she truly didn't want someone sitting next to her, she would have countless ways to make him obediently get lost.

But she didn't say anything, she just turned her head to the other side, pretending to be instructing the servant to add more dishes.

He secretly cursed in his heart: "Shameless."

The assembled heroes witnessed Young Master Song's persistent and tenacious actions and couldn't help but admire him.

Zhou Dian gave him a thumbs-up under the table and silently mouthed two words: "You've got guts."

Peng Yingyu lowered her head and chanted Buddhist prayers, the "Amitabha" she uttered carrying a somewhat wry and amused tone.

Zhao Min personally took the pot, poured a large cup of wine, stood up, and drank it all in one gulp.

Her drinking posture was remarkably bold; she downed the glass in the blink of an eye, and without changing her expression, she put down the glass and declared loudly:

"This is Liulin Tribute Wine. Legend has it that Yang Guifei, the imperial concubine of the Tang Dynasty, drank this wine at a banquet in Huaqing Pool. Please try it, everyone, and tell me what you think!"

Although the members of the Ming Cult firmly believed that this Miss Zhao was a chivalrous person, those who travel the martial arts world must be cautious at all times.

Alcohol is the easiest thing to tamper with; even a god would have difficulty detecting a colorless and odorless poison mixed in.

The crowd exchanged glances. Although they felt that Zhao Min's manners and demeanor just now didn't seem like someone who would poison someone, they couldn't be too careful. For a moment, no one took the lead in raising their glass.

Just as he hesitated, a long, hissing breath was heard, followed by a hearty exclamation: "Ah—good wine! Good wine!"