‘Won from the grasslands are truly different from Han won!’ Song Qingshu sighed in amazent.
Pucha Qiucao was only fourteen, yet there wasn’t a trace of childishness about her. Tall and slender, her snow-white thighs peeked from beneath her skirt—full and shapely—while her chest was ample and eye-catching. She was the very picture of a youthful beauty.
Song Qingshu’s excitent, however, wasn’t due to her looks. After all, he had encountered countless stunning won in his life, and while Pucha Qiucao was pretty, she wasn’t breathtaking enough to stir his heart.
What truly thrilled him was her outfit. This was said to be the traditional coming-of-age dress for Jurchen maidens, but to Song Qingshu, aside from its ethnic flair, the skirt’s design was no different from the miniskirts of his past life!
‘This brings tears to my eyes!’ He had been in this world for years now. While the won here wore beautiful dresses, their beauty was classical—revealing even a hint of skin was considered indecent, let alone showing thighs.
Rembering the sea of bare legs on city streets during sumr in his past life, Song Qingshu sighed wistfully. ‘I never thought I’d get to see such a sight again in this lifeti. Hmph, if I ever get the chance to unite the world, I’ll make sure miniskirts beco the norm everywhere!’
Pucha Qiucao’s hair was tied into small, intricate braids, each adorned with tiny jade and agate ornants. The playful style reminded him of the trendy “dreadlocks” from his past life, giving her a vibrant, youthful charm.
Her snow-white thighs and the way her soft skirt fluttered with her dance moves—occasionally lifting just enough to tease the imagination—made her seem like an ethereal grassland fairy, dancing by the bonfire.
Many young n in the crowd swallowed hard, secretly wondering who would be the lucky one she’d invite as her dance partner.
“The Pucha family’s daughter is truly beautiful,” Gebi remarked softly.
Song Qingshu’s eyes glead as he leaned in. “How about we have a beautiful daughter of our own?”
At his words, Gebi’s face paled slightly, though she quickly masked it. “Hmph, with your looks, any daughter of ours would turn out plain.”
Song Qingshu chuckled, slipping an arm around her slender waist. “I may not be much to look at, but you’re stunning. Any daughter would take after you.”
Gebiz stiffened, subtly twisting away from his touch before changing the subject. “Who do you think Qiucao will choose as her dance partner?”
Assuming she was just shy in public, Song Qingshu didn’t dwell on it. “Isn’t it obvious? Though she’s dancing for everyone, she keeps lingering around Yang Guo. She’s spent more ti in front of him than all the others combined.”
Gebi nodded. “True. Brother Yang’s looks do appeal to won. It’s just a sha about his missing arm.”
Song Qingshu shook his head. “Not at all. Despite his disability, Brother Yang stands tall with unyielding pride. His martial prowess is unmatched—many n with all their limbs intact couldn’t compare.”
“Then what about you?” Gebi suddenly turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “How do you asure up to him?”
“?” Song Qingshu paused before laughing. “With this bushy beard, I’m already leagues behind him in looks. No contest.”
Gebi shook her head, her gaze distant. “To , my husband is the most handso man in the world.”
Song Qingshu mused that love truly was blind. Tang Kuo Bian was far from handso, yet both Gebi and Wanyan Ping adored him deeply.
“Hahaha, you’re making
blush.”
He instinctively reached for her again. This ti, though Gebi tensed, she didn’t pull away. Perhaps swayed by the festive atmosphere, she even rested her head against his shoulder, her expression unreadable. “We once promised to grow old together. Can you still keep that vow?”
“Of course.” Song Qingshu frowned slightly. Ever since the assassination attempt, Gebi had been acting strangely.
“If we ever have children… they must carry the Tang Kuo na. Do you agree?” she murmured.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Song Qingshu’s heart skipped a beat. Was she hinting that she knew he wasn’t her real husband? But if she did, why was she so calm about it?
“Rember your promise today,” Gebi said, a faint glow returning to her cheeks. “I’ve already thought of nas—if it’s a son, Tang Kuo Nian. If a daughter, Tang Kuo Si.”
“Tang Kuo Nian… Tang Kuo Si?” Song Qingshu’s expression shifted, but before he could speak, the banquet reached its peak.
Pucha Qiucao had finished her dance, stopping directly in front of Yang Guo, her cheeks flushed as she gazed at him.
Watching his daughter, Pucha Ahute felt relieved. ‘If Xiaocao has taken a liking to Yang Guo, that’s the best outco. At least I won’t have to embarrass myself by calling off the engagent.’
The young n in the crowd envied Yang Guo, but the man himself remained oblivious, coldly shaking his head. “I don’t dance.”
His refusal sent waves of mixed reactions—so despaired, while others regained hope. Would Pucha Qiucao choose one of them instead?
Stunned, Qiucao bit her lip and insisted, “I can teach you.”
Yet Yang Guo shook his head again. “Find soone else.” With that, he returned to his wine.
Over the years, Yang Guo had often asked himself why his love with Xiao Longnu had been so fraught with hardship. Beyond societal taboos, he blad his own flirtatious nature—his careless words and actions had entangled too many girls’ hearts, leading to misunderstandings with Xiao Longnu and unnecessary strife. Having realized this, he had vowed to discipline himself, avoiding anything that might mislead another woman. A dance with Pucha Qiucao, laden with implications, was sothing he had to refuse.
Beside him, his uncle Wanyan Zongxian’s face darkened. The engagent between Yang Guo and Pucha Qiucao was known only to the elders—Yang Guo himself had yet to be told that this girl was his betrothed. Seeing his blunt rejection, Zongxian inwardly groaned, ‘This is bad.’
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