Douluo Continent: My name is Yang Jian, and I achieved sainthood through my physical body

Almost at the same moment, the door to the next room was also pushed open.

Zhu Zhuqing came out, dressed in light-colored casual clothes, her hair neatly combed and tied back with a simple hair tie.

Her face was clean and clear, but there was a faint bluish shadow under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept much all night, or if she had closed her eyes but hadn't really fallen asleep.

When she looked up, her eyes met Yang Jian's.

She saw Yang Jian come out of the next room. Her gaze lingered on the half-closed door behind him for about a moment before she looked away.

He didn't speak, didn't nod, and didn't even greet anyone.

She walked quickly past him, her steps faster than usual, with a deliberate effort to avoid looking in his direction.

As she passed by him, she slightly turned her head and glanced over his shoulder at the slightly ajar door.

But that glance only caught a glimpse of the pale gold curtain being lifted by the morning breeze; nothing else was seen.

She withdrew her gaze, quickened her pace, and went downstairs with hurried and firm footsteps.

Yang Jian stood in the corridor, watching Zhu Zhuqing's figure disappear around the corner of the stairs. Her shoulders looked a little tense in the morning light.

He stood there for a few moments, then slowly walked down the stairs, his steps steady and composed.

He didn't stop when he passed the living room; he went straight through the front hall, pushed open the door leading to the courtyard, and walked into the yard.

The morning light was just right, and the shadow of the osmanthus tree stretched out on the bluestone ground, like a traditional Chinese ink painting whose angle was constantly being adjusted by the wind.

The shadows of those tiny leaves swayed, overlapped, and separated incessantly in the wind.

He stood under the osmanthus tree, his hands hanging at his sides, looking up slightly at the sky above, cut by the branches and leaves.

The sky was light blue, and a few very faint clouds were slowly moving into the distance.

Zhu Zhuqing was busy in the kitchen, with the sound of running water filling the air.

The steady, even thud of the cleaver cutting on the cutting board was interspersed with the soft clatter of the pot lid hitting the edge of the pot.

The sounds drifted out from the half-open kitchen window, carrying the freshness and vibrancy unique to the early morning.

Before long, the rich aroma of rice porridge wafted from the kitchen.

The sizzling sound of oil popping as the vegetables were stir-fried was interspersed throughout, along with the aroma of scallions and soy sauce sizzling in the hot oil, slowly spreading throughout the courtyard.

As Yang Jiao and Yang Chan went downstairs one after the other, the aroma wafted out from the kitchen doorway, spreading a warm scent in the corridor.

Yang Jiao was dressed in a neat school uniform, with the top button fastened, carrying a schoolbag in his hand, and walking with his usual steady steps.

His gaze swept over Yang Jian in the courtyard, paused slightly, and then he nodded: "Good morning."

Yang Chan followed behind him, still yawning. Her hair was tied crookedly, with a few stray strands falling out of the hair tie and landing on the side of her face.

The sleepiness hadn't completely faded from her face, and her steps were a little languid.

She slowed her pace when she saw Yang Jian in the courtyard, her gaze lingering on him for a moment.

As if trying to find something there to confirm whether her vague guess from last night was correct, she whispered, "Good morning, Second Brother."

She then added, "Did you sleep well last night?"

Her voice carried a hint of uncertainty and caution.

Yang Jian glanced at her: "Not bad."

Yang Chan opened her mouth, wanting to ask something more, but Yang Jiao had already reached out and gently tugged at her backpack strap, pulling her towards the door.

The movement was light but the direction was clear: "Let's go, we're going to be late."

The two walked out of the courtyard gate one after the other. Yang Chan's footsteps echoed a few times on the stone path at the gate before gradually fading into the distance.

Yang Jian turned and went into the house.

Zhu Zhuqing had already set breakfast on the table: a bowl of white porridge, a dish of pickles, a dish of scrambled eggs, and several steaming hot buns for each person, all neatly arranged.

The placement of the bowls and chopsticks was very precise, as if she did this every day, and it had become a kind of fixed order.

She sat at the table with a bowl of porridge in front of her, her chopsticks resting on the rim of the bowl, untouched.

He neither ate nor left, as if waiting for something, his gaze fixed on a certain spot on the table, lost in thought.

Yang Jian sat down, picked up her chopsticks, took a bite of a steamed bun, and put it down.

The surface of the steamed buns was baked until slightly golden brown, with a crispy outer layer.

He chewed twice, then lowered his head and took a sip of porridge.

Chapter 234 Slums

When Qian Renxue came downstairs, she had already returned to Xue Qinghe's appearance, dressed in dark casual clothes, with her hair neatly combed.

His face was handsome and gentle; there was no trace of the person who had leaned on Yang Jian's shoulder and spoken to him last night.

Her steps were light and unhurried, and as she descended the last step, her gaze swept around the dining table.

Then he naturally walked to the seat next to Yang Jian, sat down, picked up a steamed bun, broke it open, put a piece of scrambled egg in, closed it, and took a bite.

She chewed twice, then paused slightly, as if savoring the food in her mouth.

Then she looked at Zhu Zhuqing, her tone filled with genuine appreciation: "Your skills are truly excellent. Yang Jian will definitely be blessed if he marries you."

Her voice was natural, as if she were stating an objective fact, but the last syllable rose slightly at the end.

Zhu Zhuqing looked up at Qian Renxue, her gaze lingering on his handsome face for several moments, as if she were reconfirming something.

Qian Renxue said that very casually.

However, Zhu Zhuqing noticed certain subtle shifts in tone.

She lowered her head, picked up the bowl, took a sip of porridge, and said nothing.

He simply turned his wrist slightly as he looked down, turning the edge of the bowl to a different angle, as if that action itself could replace a certain answer.

Qian Renxue finished the steamed bun in her hand, patted the crumbs off her hands, and stood up with a swift and decisive movement.

"It's time to go, I still have to attend the morning court session."

"Today is my first day of officially attending court as the emperor, and I cannot be late."

"Those old ministers are all waiting to see how I, the new emperor, will receive them."

As she passed by Yang Jian, she stopped, glanced at him, and then waved slightly at him.

His figure quickly disappeared into the morning light outside the courtyard gate.

The courtyard was quiet for a moment.

The wind blew through the osmanthus tree, and a few dark green leaves fell from the branches, swirling down from the air and landing on the bluestone ground with a barely audible sound.

Zhu Zhuqing put down her bowl and chopsticks and sat upright for a while.

Her gaze fell on the dish of pickles, and her fingers slowly traced the edge of the table, as if she were refining her words or confirming whether she really wanted to ask.

She looked up at Yang Jian, her voice steady but with a hint of probing: "Your relationship with His Majesty is really good, isn't it?"

Yang Jian nodded slightly: "It's alright."

His answer was short and flat, without saying a single extra word.

He put down his chopsticks, picked up his bowl, and finished the last mouthful of porridge, his movements as natural as if the question had never been asked before.

Zhu Zhuqing remained silent for a while, then shifted her gaze from Yang Jian's face to the table.

She nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

She stood up and began clearing the dishes, stacking the empty bowls together, gathering the chopsticks in one place, and carrying the tray as she turned and walked towards the kitchen.

Her steps were steady and calm. When she walked into the kitchen with her back to Yang Jian, her shoulders relaxed slightly.

Yang Jian remained seated at the table without immediately getting up.

He turned his head and saw Zhu Zhuqing washing dishes by the sink through the half-open kitchen door.

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating her profile and outlining a soft, serene contour.

He looked away and said towards the kitchen, "I'm going out for a walk."

Then he stood up and walked out of the courtyard, his footsteps echoing on the stone path at the gate before fading into the distance.

Instead of following the familiar streets, he turned at the first fork in the road into a side alley he had never been before.

At the entrance of the alley, there were some discarded pieces of wood and a few broken bricks. Clumps of green weeds grew at the corner of the wall, and dark gray moss covered the wall, which spread all the way to the top of the wall.

He walked through that narrow alley, then through another even narrower alley, around several half-collapsed houses, and went deeper and deeper.

The light was getting dimmer and dimmer.

The sky overhead was cut into an irregular blue line by the eaves of the houses on both sides, which were of varying heights.

He had already traversed the bustling main streets and prosperous areas, and was gradually heading towards another side of this vibrant city that he had never been before.

The truths hidden behind high walls and on the edge of temple fairs.

He slowed his pace, as if he were entering another world as an observer, his gaze slowly moving between the low eaves and the peeling paint on the walls.

When Yang Jian walked through the narrow alley, the walls on both sides of the alley were already peeling off beyond recognition.

The surface of the blue bricks was covered with a layer of dark gray moss, which spread and grew along the cracks in the bricks, like a fine net covering the wall.

In some places, the plaster has completely peeled off, revealing the weathered and soft bricks and stones underneath.

The edges of the bricks and stones have been eroded by years of rain, making them rounded and blurred. A light touch with a finger will cause fine powder to fall off.

He paused at the alley entrance, his gaze sweeping over the cracks in the walls.

Some of the cracks were as thin as a hair, while others were wide enough to fit a finger. Tiny green plants grew along the edges of the cracks, trembling gently in the breeze.

He continued walking forward, his shoes making a low, soft sound as they sank into the dirt.

The sound was repeatedly reflected off the walls in the narrow alley, creating a faint echo.

The road surface underfoot had changed from bluestone slabs to compacted soil.

The soil, repeatedly trampled by countless feet, has a smooth and hard surface, like a compacted hard shell.

The road surface was uneven, with potholes and bumps of varying depths everywhere, and shallow puddles of water accumulated, with a layer of dull oil film floating on the surface of the puddles.

It's easy to imagine that on rainy days, this place must be filled with mud and sewage, making it impossible for anyone to walk.