Fan Yushu still wanted to say more.
Zhao Rong sternly said, "Scholar Fan, do not whisper during class!"
Fan Yushu was taken aback, you also knew we were in class, taking us out for a jaunt… But Zhao Rong didn't give him another chance to speak and turned his head away.
Today, at the foot of Linlu Mountain, it seemed especially lively. The autumnal visitors delivering books arrived in succession, with carriages flowing like water outside Zibei Pavilion.
Before long, another fleet of carriages approached from afar, several horse-drawn carriages bearing heavy boxes of books, followed by dozens of bearers, mostly elderly, their dark and lean faces marked with deep furrows, but at this time, those furrows were crisscrossed together, apparently etched with smiles.
Zhao Rong stood in front of the pavilion's gate, glancing sideways a few times.
