Zhao Rong left Qing Jun's boudoir and meandered around the back house.
Having rushed out the door, his black hair was still loosely hanging down, tied carelessly with a string. Underneath, he wore a white inner garment, and over it, he draped a blue Confucian robe, fastening the waist belt as he walked.
Suddenly, the sound of Qian'er's footsteps and her crisp, melodious voice followed.
"Rong'er bro, wait for me, I'll help you dress..."
Zhao Rong quickened his pace.
He dared not be alone with this little maid, especially since just last night he had placated his wife and taught her some swordsmanship moves and mnemonics.
Ah, in the end, he couldn't help but give Qing Jun plenty of surprises.
Of course, Zhao Rong was kicked in the rear and tumbled off the bed. His buttocks still hurt a bit, but this exchange seemed to be a net win...
Remembering Qing Jun's dumbfounded, shocked face from last night, Zhao Rong's mouth twitched into a smile.
