Frost flowers covered the window, and a solitary phoenix flew coldly past the eaves.
Baili An’s gaze pierced through the carved window, looking at the distant snowy mountains, feeling an inexplicable gloom.
In the classroom, the incense had already been replaced three tis, and half a day’s ti passed swiftly. Four more sticks and it would be dusk, marking the end of tonight’s lessons.
Perhaps sensing the preciousness of ti, the classroom was void of mockery and laughter, with everyone quietly pondering over the sundial plates in their hands, occasionally accompanied by Ji Yan’s instructive interjections.
Baili An contemplated for a mont, then crushed the shattered sundial on his desk to dust, pouring it into the inkstone, grinding and mixing it.
He took out a piece of xuan paper, folded it into a thick stack, and began to write.
The strokes were firm and clear, yet what he wrote wasn’t words, but the intricate Brahmic script of the Sword Language from the sundial plate.
A soulless sword needle lay beside his hand, dull and lightless. As Baili An steadily wrote, the needle, like a lifeless object, gradually emitted a faint sense of breath.
In the wide classroom, the wind and snow invaded the room, making everyone suddenly feel a chill, thinking the snowstorm outside had intensified.
Unbeknownst to them, it was the chilling Sword Intent, erging from the young man’s pen.
Ning Feiyan, under the table, sensed an invisible change in the room’s atmosphere. Her smiling face instantly darkened, cursing this fellow’s abnormal Talent in her heart.
Just a few glances earlier, he had morized all those thousands of runes that ford the Brahmic script on the sundial plate?!
Ning Feiyan sighed, beckoning Hong Zhuang with her finger, smiling as she asked, "Little Hong Zhuang, are you bored?"
Perhaps the smile seed slightly malicious, as Hong Zhuang didn’t rush forward as usual, shaking her head repeatedly, saying, "I’m not bored?"
"But I’m so bored," Ning Feiyan’s enchanting face bore a playful smile, her pinky slightly raised, her slender fingernail glinting with a blade-like cold gleam.
A slight tearing sound was heard as her fingertip, like a knife, effortlessly sliced open Baili An’s waistband.
The slit wasn’t large, barely revealing the na once left by the Demon Lord.
Ning Feiyan’s movents were so swift and gentle that the focused Baili An, imrsed in comprehending Sword Intent and recalling the Brahmic texts, didn’t notice at all.
Hong Zhuang, blushing shyly, kept her head down, her eyes bright, occasionally stealing glances: "The Demon Lord surely knows how to play..."
Ning Feiyan assessed, "You naughty kitten, always thinking of futile resistance. How do you think we should disrupt his thoughts right now?"
Hong Zhuang felt like a thief and coughed lightly, tentatively suggesting, "Tickle him?"
Ning Feiyan humd in approval, nonchalantly nodding, "I’ll give you a chance to showcase?"
Hong Zhuang, having been raised by Mrs. Ning to follow rules, didn’t have thoughts as mischievous as Ning Feiyan’s.
Yet, being led by her sister into mischief, little Hong Zhuang couldn’t help feeling a tinge of excitent in her rule-abiding heart.
Biting her lip, her bright eyes held a hint of nervousness as she tentatively reached out a small hand to tickle Baili An.
No matter how earnest Baili An was in reliving and copying, he still felt that restless little hand on his waist.
His pupils trembled violently, and his fingers shook. In an instant, he made a mistake in the Brahmic script, causing the half-filled xuan paper to ignite without fire.
In the silent classroom, the sound of teeth grinding was unusually clear.
Su Jing tilted his head to look at him, his gaze falling on the ashes burning on his desk, with a sowhat cool and confused look in his eyes.
The veins on the back of Baili An’s hand lightly protruded. He placed both hands on the desk, about to grab the troubleso little hand.
Feeling a trace of threat, Hong Zhuang’s hand slipped away. She hid under the table, like a little mouse that just stole so oily crumbs, holding her pounding heart.
How thrilling.
Baili An’s face turned blue, angrily crumpling a piece of xuan paper into a ball.
Su Jing saw his terribly gloomy face and simply assud he made a mistake in copying the sundial plate, feeling depressed without thinking in other directions.
Baili An focused solely on comprehending the Sword Soul from the sundial to leave here sooner, hoping to avoid Ning Feiyan from seizing opportunities to tornt him several tis over.
This Enchanting Demon, does she really see him as a toy to amuse herself with?
Starting hands-on whenever she pleases, this damned thing even brought her sister along to tickle him!
Without much thought, Baili An knew this idea must have co from Ning Feiyan, angering him to the point of trembling all over.
Ordinary wives often hold their husbands tightly, cherishing them dearly.
But she, on the contrary, repeatedly uses him to entertain her sister! It could kill a corpse demon!
Seeing Baili An sulk in silence, reacting in such an amusing way, Hong Zhuang boldly tried to tickle him again.
Baili An kept his mind steady, unmoved, knowing that the more attention he gave her, the prouder and more excited this little brat would beco.
Hong Zhuang scratched his left waist, then the right, seeing no reaction from him, as cold as a corpse, halving the fun instantly.
She looked at Ning Feiyan pitifully, silently complaining.
Ning Feiyan was both amused and angry, reluctantly taking action herself, pretending to be disdainful as she gracefully lifted a finger.
Like a refined scholar lifting a pen to paint, her fair wrist like snow, her skin smooth as cream.
It was a hand that could pick out the essence from ancient scroll paintings.
Ning Feiyan possessed this special magic power, though engaging in a frivolous act, inexplicably exuding an elegant and noble charm.
Clearly, they were both just tickling, yet Hong Zhuang saw the usually composed Baili An shiver violently, like a suddenly violated young wife, letting out a breath in class, as if tickling almost made him laugh out loud.
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