Hearing An Yuanyao’s sudden question, Liu Changqing froze for a mont. He looked at her face and could tell she was genuinely serious.
After thinking for a bit, he replied, “It’s alright, I guess...”
Then, he couldn’t help but feel a bit puzzled about why she’d ask such a thing.
“Why are you suddenly asking if I like short hair?”
“What do you think about Zhao Xuanwen’s mom... does her short hair look good?”
“...”
An Yuanyao’s words left Liu Changqing montarily speechless. When he realized what she was getting at, he suddenly felt an urge to laugh.
Suppressing his amusent, he leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice.
“So, what are you trying to say?”
“I noticed you kept staring at her earlier...”
“You think I’m into her type?”
“Hmm...”
“What exactly is going on in that head of yours?”
Sitting back upright, Liu Changqing started the car. He glanced toward the road and, seeing no pedestrians, drove off.
“So, do you—”
“I don’t.” Liu Changqing cut her off, answering firmly. As he navigated the road, he added, “Stop overthinking weird stuff. I know perfectly well what I like.”
“...”
An Yuanyao fell silent, not saying anything more.
The rest of the drive was quiet, and soon, Liu Changqing returned to the office. After parking, he got out and waited by the car for An Yuanyao. Once she exited, they walked inside together.
An Yuanyao headed to her small workspace, while Liu Changqing went to Feng Qian’s office.
Pushing open the door, he found no sign of Feng Qian. Instead, two children were leaning over the desk and turned to look at him when he entered.
Liu Xiazhi quickly got off her chair and ran over to him with a slightly worried expression. After hesitating for a mont, she finally asked, “Is she... sick?”
“You should call her ‘sister.’” Liu Changqing gently corrected her and then continued, “She just has a bit of an upset stomach.”
“Is it because... I said I didn’t like her? Is that why her stomach hurts?”
Liu Changqing froze briefly at his daughter’s words.
Wait, is my daughter... worried about that little girl?
He’d always assud that Zhao Xuanwen’s clingy behavior toward Liu Xiazhi would annoy her. But judging by her current reaction, had she actually developed so affection for her?
Seeing the concern in his daughter’s eyes, Liu Changqing smiled.
“Don’t worry, it’s just because she ate too many popsicles. You should be careful too—if you eat too many, your stomach will hurt as well.”
“Mm!”
“And you shouldn’t go around saying you dislike others. It’s very impolite. How would you feel if others kept saying they disliked you?”
“I...”
His words left Liu Xiazhi montarily speechless. She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, she nodded.
“I understand... I won’t do it again.”
“Good girl!”
Liu Changqing ruffled her hair affectionately, then walked further into the room and pulled out a chair to sit down.
These days, thanks to An Yuanyao’s help, Liu Changqing’s workload had significantly decreased. He now spent most of his ti idly supervising the kids as they did their howork, occasionally using the computer to write.
The first volu of Battle Through the Heavens had been published, and while sales were average, it still brought in so additional inco.
However, writing more and more, Liu Changqing began to notice the drawbacks of being an author.
Initially, he chose to write Battle Through the Heavens because of its past-life popularity and its familiar tropes. But as ti passed, the story began to diverge from the original plot. The fuzzy mories he had were insufficient, forcing him to invent many new scenarios. Thankfully, the story hadn’t fallen apart yet.
Still, the repeated tropes of defeating stronger opponents and pretending to be weak were starting to wear thin. So readers had already begun to voice their frustrations in the comnt sections about the repetitive nature of the story.
But Liu Changqing had no choice. He wanted to write other famous works from his previous life, but every ti he sat at the computer, he couldn’t even get through the first chapter.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling.
Maybe I should retire from writing after finishing this book...
Just as he was lost in thought, Feng Shuyan gently set down her pen, grabbed her Chinese textbook, and ran over to him. Tugging on his sleeve, she brought him back to reality.
Tilting his head to look at her, Liu Changqing asked, “What’s up?”
“Uncle, what does this an?”
She held up her textbook and pointed to a line in it.
Liu Changqing blinked and then took the book from her, looking it over.
It was a poem.
“...”
His brows furrowed.
Who wrote this? Why have I never heard of it? It says it’s from the Zhou Dynasty... the author is Wang Bai?
Does this person even exist? I have no impression of them at all.
Glancing at the eager faces of Feng Shuyan and Liu Xiazhi, who had co over to join the fun, he redirected his focus to the textbook.
The more he read, the stranger it seed. What’s with all this talk about February and March? Since when did elentary school kids study such obscure poetry?
I could recite “Goose, goose, goose, bending your neck to sing toward the sky” with no problem...
“Well, this poem...”
“Hey? When did you get back?”
Feng Qian walked in just as Liu Changqing was about to bluff his way through an explanation. His entrance saved Liu Changqing from having to make up sothing on the spot.
Seeing him, Liu Changqing’s eyes lit up.
“Hey, Feng, why don’t you explain this poem to your daughter? I’ve got sothing to handle.”
He passed the textbook to Feng Qian, who instinctively took it. Glancing at it, Feng Qian remarked, “This is Wang Bai’s Longing for Spring, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, you take over. I’ll step out for a bit.”
With that, Liu Changqing quickly stood up, squeezed past Feng Qian, and darted out of the room.
The three remaining occupants watched him leave, bewildered.
What’s so urgent?
Pushing the thought aside, Feng Qian looked at his daughter, sat down, and began explaining the aning of the poem from the first line.
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